Warhammer: I don't want to become a stinky can!

Page 385

He decided to give up describing it all.

The similar scene reminded him of the moment when he first met the Archangel Saint Gilles.

Guilliman stood there and saw a deity smiling as he slowly approached him, each of his wings shimmering with the faint light of shattered stars.

Guilliman stood there and saw Mortalian roll his eyes. Thank goodness, he still had normal eyes, instead of the compound eyes that came with his wings.

Huge, naturally formed wings drooped down from the back of the emaciated giant, dull and lifeless.

From the moment the two Primarchs entered the room, their entire attention was drawn to the pair of folded, enormous wings.

Its wings twitched.

Killieman felt a jolt run through his soul, a chill ran down his spine, and accompanied the movement of wings were the voices of their old friends.

Have you seen enough?

Angron silently looked away, which was difficult, but he was the Primarch, so he did it.

Apart from his wings, at first glance, Mortarion was still Mortarion, only without armor, and much thinner. At the same time, part of his body seemed to be made of white mist, and his body proportions were much longer and thinner, like a scarecrow propped up by a dead tree... or... some kind of insect.

Guilliman looked at Angron, who would become their savior. Guilliman was unfamiliar with psionics, so he refrained from speaking rashly to avoid any misunderstanding.

Looking at Angron and Gilliman standing guard at the gate, one in front of the other, watching him warily, Mortarian remained expressionless. He raised his hand, signaling his servants to bring over two chairs.

The chairs were brought over, and Anglon and Killieman slowly, hesitantly, walked to them and sat down.

Incidentally, Motalian was also sitting, sitting very upright with his back straight, completely different from his usual domineering and roguish posture, which seemed to require a sofa to support him.

The chair he was sitting on had its back brutally cut off, along with a portion of the back of the chair.

It was clear that Mortarian's seemingly flimsy wings made it difficult for him to sit down.

Killieman vaguely remembered that the archangel had once told him that he didn't have a bed.

Yes, Saint Gilles didn't have a bed, no bed where he could lay down his large pair of wings, so the clever angel made himself a nest-like bed so that he could sleep comfortably.

Then… Guilliman looked at Mortalian.

He shouldn't need to sleep, that's all.

While Guilliman was deep in thought, the brave, wise, and mind-reading Lord of Red Sand cautiously spoke.

My brother, are you alright?

Mortarian took a deep breath, and with each breath, the white mist in the room seemed to rise and fall with him.

[...This is very bad.]

Mortarian's deep dark circles and even thinner face proved his words.

Angron blinked, then spread his hands.

[We can tell—you look like this has really scared Guilliman and me. Is there anything we can do to help you?]

Motarian gave a dry laugh.

Your kindness is too weak; I don't need it.

Motalian said,

I think you mean you want me to explain all of this to you?

Angron straightened up, immediately changing his tone, and spoke seriously.

【Yes,】

He says,

But Mortarian, we truly act out of concern and goodwill—even though you and I sometimes know we are powerless, it is still an attempt to make you feel better.

Mortarian fell silent, looking conflicted and uneasy. Finally, his tone softened by perhaps a one in seven million.

Next time, you should point that out directly.

Mortarian spoke, and he stood up heavily, the mist shaking off his outstretched wings as he rose.

That's it.

He says,

I have a pair of wings.

Motalian sounded quite nonchalant, but the other two people present knew he was faking it.

[You can...analogize it to the wings of a mutant birdman...something like that.]

[Birdman?!]

Killieman almost shouted it out.

【Sanguielles?!】

Motalian frowned at him, seemingly confused, but Guilliman immediately and smoothly corrected himself.

You reminded me, my brother, they really do look alike.

Killieman and Anglon exchanged a glance, both seeing encouragement in each other's eyes.

Hold it in.

Mortarian slowly withdrew his questioning gaze. He looked anxious, but if you could see anxiety in a large, insect-like creature, he was probably about to explode.

Angron paused,

So you mean... this is something we could all...

He changed his wording.

[Can it fly?]

Angron wondered if Mortarian, like him, had regained his original abilities after some kind of "restriction" was lifted.

After the Butcher's Nail stopped spinning, Angron gradually regained his mind-reading ability. At the same time, the Lord of Red Sand vaguely sensed that his abilities might be more than that.

Of the eighteen Primarchs, only Magnus is proficient in psionic abilities, and the angel Saint Gilles can also use psionic abilities in a simple way. So, is it possible that among the remaining Primarchs, there are also those who can use psionic abilities in a simple way?

At least as of now, Angron has confirmed that his ability is a psionic technique.

As for Mortalian... Angron pondered, believing he was close to finding the answer.

Mortarian looked even worse.

[Can it fly?]

Mortarian repeated,

Would you like me to demonstrate it for you?

His wings suddenly spread out, and an eerie light instantly shone through. In the bright green that was completely out of character for Mortarion, a flowing skull stared menacingly at them.

Angron stood up in an instant and, with a stance in hand, slowly lowered the battle axe in his hand.

He burst into laughter.

Of course you can, but seriously, this is really something!

Angron stared at Mortarion's wings, clicking his tongue in amazement.

If Mortalian was like a rag just now, he's now a cool, glowing plus-sized rag.

Angron walked toward Mortarion, and after receiving Mortarion's tacit approval, the Lord of the Red Sand circled Mortarion once.

He had thought Mortarion would eventually be what he usually was—dull, unremarkable, weary… but after these wings were spread—this was the Primarch!

Angron wouldn't mind having a pair like that, but it would be best if they were a different color, and not... Angron laughed inwardly. The style shouldn't be insectoid either; if all else fails, birdoid would do too.

but--

Angron walked around to Mortalian's side and patted him hard on the shoulder.

[Great stuff! It's a perfect match for you!]

Motarian's mood improved slightly, and he smiled.

Angron believed he might be the first person to appear as a Quamortarian.

Gilliman, who had just stood up with Angron, also cautiously walked over.

[Perfect match.]

Killieman said,

But for me, this is still unimaginable.

Killieman laughed.

It seems I need to expand the limits of my imagination; I can only see so little, and I've always been poor at learning in this area.

Mortarian folded his wings, as if he was still not used to this big guy, flapping them a few times before putting them away.

Sometimes...that's a good thing, Guilliman, except in this case.

Mortarian stared at Killieman.

【I envy you.】

Guilliman's azure eyes gazed back at the new insectoid Mortalian; this was unlike anything the Mortalian would have said.

I envy you more.

Killieman spoke cautiously and concisely, one hand gripping the sword at his waist.

[In this matter, I apologize to you, Mortarian, Lord of Death. My own misjudgment led to your vulnerability, and I am deeply sorry.]

This was just a private, spontaneous thought; if you feel it's not enough—then we can hold a more formal ceremony.

Motalian stared at Killieman as if scrutinizing him, and finally, Motalian said slowly,

No need, this is...

He spoke with some pain in his eyes.

This is something I had to go through.

Killian was taken aback; he had expected Mortalian to at least say something sarcastic or sarcastic to him.

But Mortarian remained silent, then abruptly spoke.

That person didn't die.

Guilliman blinked in confusion.

Which person?

[The one everyone knows.]

Angron frowned and crossed his arms.

What, you can't mention him? Ha—um!

The rising white mist immediately covered his mouth and nose; the originally odorless mist instantly became pungent and unbearable.

I won't tell! I won't tell!

The white mist dissipated.

Anglon rubbed his nose; the scent was unforgettable.

So what exactly happened?

Mortarian remained silent, and he looked even more sorrowful.

This is actually quite easy to explain. Mortalian became the psyker he hated most—or some kind of warp being far beyond psykers—and in the process of transitioning to this state…

In order to survive, Mortarion summoned Hades, the god of the underworld, and used a part of himself as bait.

Mortalian's own destiny was already very close to Hades', and he further sacrificed a part of himself to Hades.

This resulted in his psychic powers being marked.

Hades might recognize Mortarion and try to brake, but Hades might not.

He attacks subspace creatures indiscriminately.

So who are the subspace beings now?

Who is it?