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

Page 146

Nas wanted to bring the underground structures that bound the underworld to life, but green lightning tore everything apart.

The green impact also blasted away the Death Guards and Iron Warriors, sending them flying out of the Dark Domain.

Black, white, gray, and distorted images intertwine in the sky.

No living being with a soul can look him in the eye.

In the distance, the guardians of the faith, trembling, pointed towards the black city as they charged against the army of the undead lord.

Some people, disregarding the undead surrounding them, stopped their charge and began to kneel in worship.

That was something incomprehensible; their souls trembled!

Om Messiah!!!

High above the stars, in the Death Guard's fleet, King stared at the last frame of Hades' armor, his body stiff.

He is a god! I knew it!

The voice of the Kirkland sage roared from the logic engine.

Praise be to Om Messiah!!!

The abnormal data was received, and Peturabo, who was focused on the naval battle, glanced at it absentmindedly.

Is the sensor broken?

A huge black dot formed at the target point; it was pure black, without any impurities.

The paratroopers who had been sent out to launch the raid were mostly outside the target area, and a small number of them had lost contact with the signal, so Peturab assumed that they had been killed in action.

Although Peturabo was puzzled by the data on these paratroopers, most of whom were unconscious, the good news was that they could now bombard the target points.

The defensive structure at the target point has been destroyed by a Death Guard, and the Iron Warriors have just gained air superiority over the area.

Is there anything else to hesitate about?

Peturabo decisively issued the order for a large-scale bombardment; the Iron Warriors had enough ammunition to cover the entire area.

High in the sky, between the clouds and the yellow sand, the steel warriors began to unleash their ammunition.

Peturabo did not spend much time on this matter, and turned his attention back to the naval battle.

Compared to the minor skirmishes on the ground, his calculations are needed here more.

The author's note is limited to 500 words, so I had to drastically simplify the plot.

My parents drank the "Forget-Your-Child Milk" and got my university wrong, so they put me on the wrong bus to the wrong place. Because they trusted me, I didn't check the route.

Then I inexplicably got off the bus in the middle of nowhere, my phone about to run out of battery and shut down.

There were no taxis in the middle of nowhere, so I had to use the last bit of battery power to check bus routes and then try to get back.

Because it was so remote, I had to change buses six or seven times, which took about three and a half hours (including waiting for the bus). On the last bus, my phone finally ran out of battery and shut down, so I couldn't pay the bus fare.

In the end, a kind older sister lent me the money.

I finally got back to my dorm, but I didn't have the key, so I was locked out.

Exhausted, I could only sit outside my dorm room with my laptop and type away.

mmd

Chapter 164 Peturabo, you son of a bitch

On the steel-blooded path, the sound of resounding footsteps was rapid.

The toxic gas spread recklessly throughout the corridor, turning the originally metallic gray-white corridor into a faint yellowish-green hue.

The Lord of Death strode forward, his tattered, dark cloak fluttering behind him as he swept past the steel warrior standing at the edge of the corridor.

A hissing breath came from behind the mask, like the gasp of a dying man. Beneath the cloak, the Pale King's eyes were veiled by a sinister white veil.

A deathly oppressive silence hung over the entire corridor. The Lord of Death's wrath gripped everyone's throats; they held their breath as tightly as possible, afraid to utter a single sound, lest—

It will bring disaster.

Mortarian seemed like a seriously ill patient; his gait was very strange, like that of a walking corpse.

The door at the end of the corridor was tightly shut, its steel frame blocking his entry and silently testifying to his aversion to Mortalian.

The Lord of Steel did not extend an invitation to his "brother".

Even boarding this ship was a forceful act by Mortarion, who insisted that the vessel "dock" at the Steelblood dock.

Now, on the Steel Blood Dock of the Steel Warriors, there is a crater the size of a cruiser.

Yellow and black stripes stood on the door, as if mocking Mortalian's incompetence.

"I'm sorry, sir, the legion commander has ordered that no one is allowed to disturb us."

On either side of the doorway, two steel warriors raised their halberds, crossing them before Mortalian.

The Primarch tilted its head, as if a skull had fallen off a skeleton.

In the shadow of the hood, those eyes stared at the two pitiful creatures without revealing any emotion.

Mortarian extended his scythe of annihilation, the scythe easily deflecting the halberd, and with two clangs, the useless weapons fell to the ground.

Then Mortarion, holding his scythe in one hand, casually picked up one of his incense burners with the other.

He roughly ripped the incense burner, which was about the size of his hand, from the copper chain, and then, with the hand holding the incense burner, picked out a glass bottle from the bottles and jars tied to his armor.

The bottle was filled with an unidentified black solid. Mortarian crushed the bottle with force, and the glass shards mixed with the black solid squeezed into the vent of the incense burner.

Few people know that Mortarian is an expert in pharmacology.

Mortarian's fixed gaze returned to the gate.

Mortarian's mouth moved slightly beneath the breathing mask.

Then the Primarch raised his hand and hurled the incense burner away!

The incense burner sliced ​​through the air with a loud crash, smashing through the seemingly impregnable door!

Mortarian gripped his scythe, staring intently at the large hole in the gate.

Through the large hole that had been smashed open, bluish-white flames mixed with phosphate were burning fiercely, and hissing poisonous gas was emanating from the hole.

"boom!"

Peturabo angrily opened the door, and a toxic gas hundreds of times more potent than the one emitted by Mortarian's incense burner suddenly poured out of the room!

"What the hell are you doing?!"

The Lord of Steel's booming voice shattered the entire corridor.

Across from him, Mortarian gave a smile that looked more like a grimace, but because he was wearing a breathing mask, Perturabo could only see Mortarian wink at him.

"And what are you doing, Peturabo?"

Mortarion hissed as it spoke, as if Death itself were questioning him.

"That's a reasonable, calculated result! Why are you still clinging to the idea of ​​a necessary death?"

Perturabo shouted. Before this, he and Mortarian had already argued several times on the communications channel. Mortarian, who had been silent and absent-minded, suddenly became furious when he learned of the casualties of the 106th Ground Assault Team.

"So-called calculation means indiscriminately bombarding the area where the Death Guard is located?"

Motarian lowered his head and stared intently at Peturabo, his eyes unblinking.

"According to the data, there's only one Death Guard there! And the sensors on him indicate that he's already dead!"

Perhaps the Death Guard named "Hades" had left a deep and special impression on Perturabo before, but what does that have to do with Perturabo?

He is metal, he is steel.

Now, Peturabo faces his "brother".

"That's a corpse!"

"Don't tell me you still care about these things! Mortarian, that's a corpse!"

Perturabo glared defiantly at Mortarion, thinking, "Look at how fragile the Primarch is, enraged over a mere offspring."

Perturabo suddenly flashed a defiant smile. He remembered Mortarian's past mockery, and now he had struck at his opponent's sore spot.

"Lord of Death, is your title a self-deprecating joke?"

"If you care so much about casualties, can you really command an operation?"

Upon hearing Peturabo's words, Mortarian was taken aback, but then an even greater rage surged from his soul, burning fiercely within his thin and sickly body.

"I promise death."

Mortarian gritted his teeth and said, enunciating each word clearly.

"But not this kind of death."

"No, this kind of death!"

Mortarian swung his scythe and cleaved, but Perturabo, who had anticipated this, raised his warhammer in an attempt to block the heavy blow!

A sickening metallic scraping sound rang out, and bright sparks flew from where the two Primarchs clashed.

"Watch your behavior."

Perturabo continued, looking at Motarian with a half-smile.

"To launch a sudden attack outside of the duel cage, I think you know what that means."

Between legions, if there is a will, such hostile attacks can be quite "politically motivated".

Mortarian ignored him and exerted force downwards. The side blade of the giant scythe slashed past Perturabo, leaving a deep scratch on Perturabo's yellow and black shoulder armor.

Peturabo's eyes darkened, but he refused to engage in a pointless battle with this barbarian from the agricultural world.

He's right. Even if his brothers come to judge, he'll still be the ultimate winner.

A bombing raid that completely annihilated the enemy's main force, without any cost—

Don't tell Peturabo that he's insulting the corpses; in war, life is the cheapest statistic.

In past wars, there have been instances of "suicide squads" or "bait squads" to varying degrees.

Even if the entire air raiding squadron was in the area of ​​the bombing raids, Peturabo would only tell them to take cover, but he would still continue bombing.

Perturabo stared at Mortarian, the Lord of Death now resembling a raging beast trapped in place, pacing around in circles.

"He's not dead."

Motalian threatened in a low voice, whether he was arguing with Peturabo or stating what he believed to be a reality was unclear.

But Mortarian did stop his attack, although Perturabo noticed that Mortarian's hand holding the scythe was still trembling slightly, as if he was about to strike him with the scythe at any moment.

Peturabo blinked dismissively. Look at his so-called "brother," who was already delirious—how fragile and pathetic he was.

Perturabo, who prided himself on steel, knew he would never waste his energy on those foolish mortals like Mortarian did.

Peturabo retrieved his data from that time and projected it into the air.

"See that? Before I gave the order, this Death Guard's health points had already dropped to zero."

A straight line as still as water, devoid of any life's fluctuations.

He saw that number with his own eyes. In that instant, Mortarian felt as if he were standing on the deepest, darkest wasteland of Barbaros.

There was no one else but himself.

Hades and Karas are both gone.

In the end, he was all alone, abandoned in the cold universe, fraternizing with a group of tyrants and kings, forced to face war and the death of his offspring.

After he was forced to don the thorny cloak known as the "Primarch," no mortal ever tried to understand him again.

Each Primarch is a solitary being. Before being found, their unique qualities make it difficult for them to find kindred spirits or people who understand them.

After being found, the so-called father promised them "brothers".

"Brothers" means like-minded people, people of the same kind, or people of the same kind.

Saint Gilles and Horus, Magnus and Khan, Phorgrim and Fernus, Guilliman and Klax

But clearly, not all Primarchs are among these so-called "brothers" seeking to fill the void they once had.

Perhaps some lucky ones had already found their mortal friends before that; perhaps they were Johnny Killie's parents, or perhaps they were Ryan Al Johnson's Luther.