bookbashuk Page 419
Page 419
You should have some patience, Tarachin, the space necromancer thought.
When the game ended and the lights were turned off,
He made another move.
As a passing righteous messenger who had helped humanity, Tarachin believed that the Lord of Humanity would not be so narrow-minded.
It's just something I borrowed to display.
Can you keep up?
Corax's whisper fell on Tarasin's red robe. Tarasin recalled the top speed of his body and shook his head.
His most robust body could not be disguised as a mechanical sage, so Tarachin chose a body that was closest to that of a sage.
[...As expected.]
Tarasin stared at Corax, the Primarch who was almost bent over like a bow, like a raven poised to pounce. Corax was tense and instinctively swelled up as much as possible, as if in some kind of demonstration.
This pose is also suitable for display as an exhibit.
Tarasin knew what would happen next; his sensors told him there was still time, so he wasn't nervous at all, and his exhibit would be intact.
We entered his exhibition hall intact.
Unlike the relaxed Tarasin beside him, Corax subconsciously swallowed. He stared nervously at the man opposite him, his eyes bloodshot, the blasphemous scene almost bringing him to tears.
He saw his younger brother, Alpha.
From the pool of blood, a pitch-black claw that could hardly be called a hand stretched out, carrying a soaring aura of bloodlust. Rough, brass-like scales climbed up the arm, and blood slowly flowed down from the grooves of the scales.
Corax didn't understand—he couldn't understand—this was a scene that no one with a conscience would tolerate—it was a scene of utter depravity.
But what Corax found even more unacceptable deep down was that his soul was subtly resonating with this brutal depiction of hell.
The Primarch's dark pupils widened. Corax suppressed his instincts with his reason. Run, run! Don't think about anything else.
This is a hell that amplifies the chasm of desire.
He caught a whiff of decay, and the rotting monster behind him was vomiting out of its cocoon. Corax felt his hair stand on end, and for a moment, he felt paralyzed. His Primarch's abdomen, pierced by Horus, throbbed with intense pain. Corax was certain that there were unseen forces at work, watching him and pressing down on his soul.
However, the sage beside him stirred, and he watched as Tarasin took a slight step back.
Corax, you need to pull yourself together.
The Primarch realized that you weren't the only one here, and you weren't the only one who needed saving.
【…】
The Primarch let out a painful gasp, and his lips moved—
【three. 】
As the Primarch uttered the whispered words, Tarasin felt his body float up in that instant!
The technology from the space necromancers didn't even have time to react; the sensors beeped, and Tarachin miraculously found himself "flying."
Kolac was running wildly, carrying the Great Sage in one hand, as he fled, trying to escape his fallen brother.
The Primarch's speed was indeed beyond Tarasin's expectations.
Talazin reaffirmed his determination to collect Corax, documenting this rare sight—the experience of being carried away by the Primarch would be unique in the galaxy.
Kolac gasped for breath as he ran, hearing their roars. His vision began to blur, the road ahead becoming hazy and indistinct. The Primarch let out a furious howl like a trapped beast. He gripped the Tri-Headed Power Whip tightly in his other hand. He heard Alpha's maniacal laughter behind him, and incredulously, Alpha was faster than him.
Go find the Khan!
Kolac roared, aimed at the distant corridor, and hurled Tarachin. His vision blurred further; something was happening here that Kolac couldn't comprehend.
But there was no time to react. Corax suddenly raised his hand, and the power whip collided with the battle axe flying towards him with a crisp sound!
The whip relieved much of his force, but even so, Corax still felt his arm go numb from the force.
Your opponent is me.
The Lord of Dark Ravens stood there, calmly awaiting his enemies, his power whip crackling with electricity.
He stared intently at the two figures—were they still alive? Could he kill the dead? Corax remained silent.
"Let's delay a little longer," the Primarch thought, and then he would find another opportunity to leave.
The white mist obscured Tarasin's direction. Corax gritted his teeth. If Tarasin was trustworthy, then he at least hoped that Tarasin could leave.
A sage is not supposed to be involved in the war between Primarchs, Corax thought.
He raised his whip, looking at his enemy with a death-defying resolve.
----------
Tarasin, who had been slammed to the ground, struggled to lift his head—
He saw a pair of feet, a pair of feet covered in withered leaves and ashes.
"this way please."
Tarasin spoke in a dry, electronic voice, his composure seemingly vanishing. The space necromancer pointed behind him, and Mortarion, who appeared to be on his way, stopped in front of him. The Pale Lord stared at him with an unfriendly expression.
+? +
Mortarian uttered a questioning sound.
Great!
Chapter 494 Mortarian: ?
Sometimes, luck also plays a role.
For example, right now, at this very moment, Tarahim must be lucky.
Because Mortarion had lost part of his memory, and the Pale Lord had only glanced at the battle reports of the Legion's countless previous battles after that.
The Pale Lord had little recollection of the Space Necromancers, the aliens the Legion had dealt with in its early days; he only remembered that a particular weapon in the Legion was modeled after them.
Through the mist, those hazy eyes were fixed on Tarasin. Mortarian felt a strange sense of familiarity, but that wasn't what surprised him most—
The "being" before him had no soul.
The Pale Lord sensed no trace of a soul.
Time seemed to slow down. Mortarion stood there in disbelief, before him lay Talassin prostrate on the ground, the Pale Lord straining to make out his features—
But there was indeed nothing there. The being in front of him had no projection in the warp, just like a stone, pure matter, something completely ignored by the warp.
Generally speaking, even those without souls will leave traces of their existence in the warp—their "souls" are more like a rejected existence.
The warp is inherently tolerant; servants, mechanical sages whose physical content is less than one percent of their body, even an old, worn-out gun, or even the deceased, will all have their own warp projections.
Unbelievable… Mortarian stared intently at the sage lying there, trembling as he guided him. From the perspective of the warp, there was nothing there, absolutely nothing!
In a daze, Mortarian considered whether the sage had directly given his entire soul to the deceased—but could he still survive that way?
What exactly is this?
"...Sir, over there."
Tarasin pointed nervously behind him; the indicator lights on his body seemed to freeze, mechanically flashing green.
Mortarion took a deep breath, and only when the desperate roar of Corax reached his ears again did the Primarch hurriedly leave the place, looking back every step of the way.
Only when Mortarian's questioning gaze finally disappeared into the white mist did Tarasin let out a loud sigh of relief, as if he were a human.
If he were a human, he would probably be drenched in sweat by now.
Crisis averted...
...Motalian.
The signal lights on Tarasin's face were flashing as he pressed himself against the deck of the Vengeance Spirit, turning back thoughtfully to stare at the swirling fog.
Talathim recalled the warp projection of the Pale Lord, the one who had torn the authority from Nurgle's body—Mortalian—had already begun to possess the authority of [Death] and [Plague].
The Primarch with an extremely high compatibility with Nurgle has already achieved the initial stage of turning against the gods, and has enormous potential for growth...
...Can Mortarion still grow? Can he grasp the power that symbolizes "life"?
Can he wield the power that symbolizes "new life"?
Tarasin lay on the ground, deep in thought. He stared at the violently churning mist, the pure white warp fog obscuring his vision, while faint roars and the clanging of metal could be heard.
Tarachin could imagine the fierce battles that were taking place there. The clashes between Primarchs were always breathtaking, and the battles between demigods, with gods pouring their power into it, must have been a spectacular struggle, a fate of fratricide, and a determination to fight to the death.
Moreover, Nurgle's power has already descended—could Mortarion bite off another portion of the God of Life and Death's authority? Unfortunately, he couldn't record all of this; this would be his greatest regret—
A gigantic figure burst forth from the white mist!
The next moment, Tarasin felt himself flying again!
A massive, increasingly larger black shadow raced through the corridor of the Vengeance Spirits!
Amidst the violent jolts, Tarasin slowly turned his head and saw... through the gaps in the enormous wings, Corax, his face covered in blood, was also looking at him at the same time, blood gushing from Corax's forehead as the jolts continued.
The Lord of the Dark Raven stared at Talathin with a puzzled yet relieved expression, seemingly celebrating their survival.
A moment later, Tarasin realized that they were being carried by Mortarian on either side as they ran at full speed.
He was held between the Pale Lord's left and right hands, while on the other side, Corax was relentlessly spitting blood onto Mortarion's shoulder.
Behind them, angry roars echoed from the deep corridor, as giant beasts bellowed and tried to chase after them, but the billowing white mist seemed to make their progress even more difficult.
...So, the space necromancer's thought processes started running again...it seems their direct conflict didn't last long.
It's even quite possible that, as Tarasin stiffly felt the Pale Lord gripping him tightly, a grip that could even be described as restraining him, the Primarchs might not have actually been fighting at all.
Rarely, a scene appeared in the mind of the Necromancer: amidst the chaos of warp space, the Pale Lord rushed in, picked up the desperately fighting Corax, and ran away, leaving the two Alphas standing there in astonishment.
Arriving like the wind, departing like the wind, leaving behind a vast expanse of clouds and mist with a wave of its hand.
Could this be...? Tarachin wondered, is it too far off from the Mortalian personality model he had previously collected?
In his haste, Tarachin felt he needed to update the database.
For Corax, this might be the best-case scenario—even if he doesn't clearly understand how his brother appeared out of nowhere and how he took him away while he was injured.
But at least they seem to be able to survive.
Kolac silently coughed up a mouthful of blood. Mortalian's... wings were flapping slightly against the Raven Lord. Kolac looked at the stiff, seemingly still confused Sage Talassin and breathed a sigh of relief.
You'll be alright.
"I can't speak," Corax said weakly, his voice hoarse.
"Motalian's here, we'll be alright, trust me... brother."
Corax watched helplessly as Tarasin grew even stiffer.
The space necromancer remained silent, feeling Mortalian's razor-like gaze sweep over him as Corax spoke.
Kolacs has no idea that, for Tarasin, the most dangerous person right now is Mortarian.
+...What exactly are you?
The Pale Lord murmured as if to himself, having just witnessed the replacement of his own fate, but time did not allow him to react. The Pale Lord wanted to spit on them, wanted to rebuke them—but in the end, he had no time to say anything.
Mortarion's plan was to take Corax with him, then leave to meet up with the Khan.
However... a small incident occurred, which delayed him for a moment.
Motarian's men tightened their grip, and Tarasin, who had been quietly trying to struggle, became docile.
"...Don't even think about running away," Mortarian thought.
Mortarian sped along, bursting out of the narrow corridor and into a much wider hall.
+Ready. +
He reminded them again, and then Mortarion spread his wings.
"Ugh... Ahhhhhh!!!"
【vomit!】
This time it really took flight, Tarachin thought, swaying back and forth. If he were still a death-fearer, he would be vomiting right now.
It's over... I'm spitting out my soul...