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

Page 377

Motalian was jolted back to reality, and he struggled and screamed in the mud.

The Primarch's deafening scream startled the Nurgles that had been gathering around him, and they scurried back to hide under the leaves.

The desperate screams tore through the sky, almost ripped open the curtain of rain, and lingered for a long time.

After an unknown amount of time, the screaming giants fell back into a deep sleep. They poked their heads out and curiously looked at their new master who was about to arrive.

After the seven raindrops fell, the Nurgles tried to gather around Mortarion again.

They curiously poked the giant's pale, thin face, tried to lift his limp hand, and scribbled on his armor with pus.

You need to... reaccept yourself.

All of this... armor, weapons, body, language, customs, likes and dislikes... all of this binds you, imprisons your existence.

【Motalian】, this is the name given to him by his alien adoptive father. In Barbarus, it means "son of death".

The emperor once told him that he would have had a better name.

He refused.

Mortarian refused.

Collapsed in the torrential rain, Mortarian's hand twitched twice.

The Nurgle beside him let out a scream, but seeing that the giant had no other reaction, it boldly approached again.

...This is the planet He prepared for you, Mortalian.

...He...

Who is He?

Mortarian breathed softly, the last thing separating him from the corpse. Mortarian… remember…

In his delirious hallucination, he began to run—no, to spread, he ran toward that place, and he saw a corner of the garden.

Mortarian staggered to his feet, but his eyes were lifeless, and his soul seemed to be in another world.

An ominous gray-white smoke billowed from the gaps in his armor as Mortarion panted, his head bowed, exhaling smoke and dust.

A scream came from his hand as a Nurgle that had been playing with his palm was caught, its short arms flailing as it tried to pry Mortarion's hand off.

Mortarian saw the garden, which was not as lush as it had been before.

A few new shoots sprouted on the barren land. The freshly plowed soil was soft, and within it lay dormant, breathing seeds.

At the edge of the garden, a dark place slumbers.

This is the Garden of Grudges.

Part of it has withered and been lost—that being is trying to reassemble them, which makes it vulnerable.

And that's exactly what Mortarion wanted.

In his final moments of sanity, Mortarian was even able to discern who had done it.

He chuckled softly at the end, tears streaming down his face.

These are the gods they will face and fight against.

Humans cannot defeat gods... unless...

Remember me... Mortarion...

Mortarion unconsciously raised his hand, the Nurgle spirit in his grasp struggling, and the Lord of Darkness opened his mouth—

All the Nurgles around the giant stopped in shock, staring incredulously at the monster whose mouth was overflowing with pus and bursting with fluid.

...He remembered.

[Accumulating filth]

+Nurgle!! +

Mortarian roared, and his body, which had been propped up in the dense forest, began to crumble layer by layer like a skeleton.

If you want to regain everything from the past, you must abandon what you have now.

Even if it anchors you in this beautiful world, in this physical world where your comrades, your legion, and your laboratory exist.

Layers of grayish-white mist rose up, instantly engulfing everything and spreading outwards, devouring all that was there.

Mortarian roared, his mouth splitting open to reveal stark white bones.

+—You're not the only one!!! +

This is the planet Nurgle gave him—it is his planet, even though it is tainted with Nurgle's psionic energy, even though they want to pull him into the garden—but he owns it.

Dark clouds rose in a corner of the garden, and he heard that angry roar coming from there—now Mortarion knew why He had chosen him; their compatibility was indeed excellent.

The mist greedily devoured a corner of the garden that had just been plundered; He had come—Motalian felt himself rotting, but then—

He shouted towards that existence that made him tremble, and the clouds churned, calling out to the being that filled him with deep fear at just a glance.

It was a greedy black monster, writhing and thrashing, relentlessly pursuing Mortarion's gray cloud like a beast driven by hunger.

what……

He needed to sacrifice a part of himself, but he still needed power. Mortarion threw away what he had accumulated in the world—leaving behind only the part he needed to keep.

Throw it out, toss it into the garden.

Darkness and life became intertwined, but the tide of darkness was rapidly receding; Mortarian had obtained what he desired, and the mist was beginning to dissipate.

The small corner of the garden finally disappeared, and the soil that buried the seeds faded away with the mist, as if it had been shrouded in mist itself.

Beneath the dark clouds, the desolate land lay silent.

Motarian suddenly released his grip.

The Nurgle Remnant in his hand exploded on the ground with a thud, like a ripe fruit.

He began to collapse; the body could no longer hold him. Dark clouds surged forth, his armor creaked, and he fell downwards.

Rain Father screamed, but the gray clouds had already risen, greedily devouring their mist.

This planet belongs to Mortarion.

Dark clouds loomed over everything.

Everything that was once vibrant with life fell silent. Billions of creatures remained still in the fog. They still existed, but... but...

Nothing knows what happened.

Except for that steady breathing.

That's all, great!

Chapter 445 Good Friday of Calathephon

“We need to find him quickly—even if time in the present world has no meaning, an attempt before the anchor point is still meaningful.”

Makado's anxious voice rang out, the heavy protective suit making his words sound heavy and viscous.

Imperial Regent Macardo stood atop the hospital ruins, like a watery egg filled with viscous liquid bursting open in the very center of the hospital, sticky and emitting a foul stench.

The elderly man in the yellow protective suit lifted his foot without hesitation and walked towards the center of the hospital. In his hand was a scepter covered by a shell, the flame of which was difficult to discern.

Do you have any suggestions? We will do everything we can to help you.

"Angron said somberly, the Primarch wearing only a gas mask, following beside Macado."

Robert Killman was not there. He was greatly shocked this time, and what was even more unacceptable to Killman was that, to some extent, his dereliction of duty led to the disappearance of the Lord of Death.

After a brief rest, Guilliman, who had not yet fully recovered, threw himself back into government affairs—clearly, the Lord of Macragge was about to undertake a sweeping reform.

Guilliman's promise to Macardo was that once they found Mortalian's location, the Ultramarines would do everything in their power to help them retrieve the Lord of Death.

Makado coughed, then scribbled the end of his scepter on the ground, brushing away the slime to reveal the traces beneath—

Some seven-pointed altars were drawn on the ground using a mixture of blood and vomit.

Macardo frowned.

"Teleportation array."

The flames on the scepter in Macardo's hand suddenly ignited, the golden flames blazing, and after a moment of brilliance, the golden light dimmed again.

"..."

Makado remained silent for a long time before speaking.

“Come here, a Death Guard. I only want Barbaross-born ones.”

Vox, who was standing next to the old man, immediately took a step forward. In the heavily polluted hospital ruins, the Death Guards were still dressed in their usual wartime attire.

The old man gestured for Vox to raise his hand, and the wizard shakily led the Death Guard to the very center of the altar. Then, Macado extended his hand, gesturing for Vox to hand him the dagger at his waist.

Vox handed the dagger to Macado, who placed the scepter on the ground, raised the dagger with one hand, and grasped Vox's hand with the other.

The dagger flashed coldly, and blood spilled from Vox's hand.

The wound was exposed to the stench-filled environment, and Angron watched helplessly as the purulent green quickly crept up the scar, but Vox continued to breathe calmly, as if it were not his wound.

A rapid whisper escaped from Makado's mouth, and golden flames ignited between them. Blood dripped down, only to be quickly evaporated by the flames.

The firelight flickered, and Macado stared intently at the flames. In a daze, Angron seemed to see a vibrant world through a gap in the flames.

The flames grew fiercer, and the sorcerer spoke faster and faster—

Macado abruptly released his grip, and Vox, who had been silent until now, collapsed like a dazed puppet. Angron stepped forward and steadied the Death Guard. Vox seemed to want to thank Angron, but after struggling for a while, he couldn't utter a word.

"He's fine,"

Makado spoke calmly.

“...That’s not enough. I need someone closer to Mortalian—their fates must be intertwined closely enough.”

Vox regained his footing and stared at the old man before him.

“I know who is suitable for this, please wait a moment.”

Karas Typhon.

--------

Callas Typhon swore this was absolutely the worst time he'd ever gotten up.

Even after being buried in the Fearless, he only woke up twice, and Karas thought his last conversation with Mortarian had been bad enough.

He silently followed the casting minions in front of him, while the death guard named "Pasteur" hurriedly led him into the transport ship and then to Macragge.

Just like last time, I don't know what happened, why I woke him up, or what he should do.

Standing inside the transport plane, listening to the mechanical ticking of the Hades brat beside him, Karas momentarily considered just self-destructing right there.

But for some reason, he eventually stopped doing this and instead began to observe Pasteur out of boredom.

"Hey,"

Karas said,

"Where are we going?"

Pasteur paused.

"Company Commander Vox ordered us to proceed immediately to Sector D3 of Macurag."

"and then?"

Pasteur shook his head, and Typhon let out a loud, strange sound of displeasure.

“Vox—” he said in a strange tone, “that little brat used to be the one following Hades around all the time, still wet behind the ears, and now he’s a company commander.”

"Please respect Commander Hades and Company Commander Vox."

Pasteur said, "You are part of the Deathguard, and even if you have betrayed the Deathguard, you should still value the Deathguard's reputation."

"I don't!"

Typhon roared, and the fearless engine roared deafeningly.

"I haven't betrayed you; you have no idea—"

But in an instant, his tone became humorous and indifferent.