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

Chapter 861 [303.] God, nothing special

As Mortarion moved, the slightly pale rope shook.

Guilliman felt his frightened heart tremble along with the rope.

What did the Lord of Mankind give Guilliman? He gave him treasures that were heavy enough and abundant enough—but Robouti Guilliman had never seen those treasures with his own eyes before.

Now he sees it.

Guilliman subconsciously looked along the thicker rope thread, and billions of bright and dim flames lit up in his eyes that gleamed with brilliant golden light. He looked at those souls, and as he was immersed in the wonder in his eyes, those souls seemed to rise and fall with the breathing of the Lord of the Empire.

He sees everyone's greed and desire, everyone's ability, the values ​​that are clearly marked, the objects that can be contracted, and the tools that can be controlled.

As long as he wanted, he could sign a contract with any human being loyal to the empire - and dominate them.

At the same time, among the billions of flames, several large fires burned vaguely, with different lusters. That was the glory of Guilliman's brothers, the Primarchs.

Guilliman felt his brain tremble.

He truly and honestly realized what the treaty that he had forced the Emperor to sign had brought him. The Lord of the Empire initially thought it was extremely convenient to require others to fulfill their obligations and responsibilities in accordance with the contract, but now he realized that the contract itself might not be fair and just because he was born with the right to dominate.

Such was the nature of Roboute Guilliman's psychic powers - he had previously squandered these gifts on his desk, holding every official accountable, reading the hearts and needs of every man who wrote a decree.

But now, Guilliman realized his essence, which was colder, more cruel, and more domineering. It was not a direct attack power, nor a sickle that could be placed on the neck of the enemy, nor a fang that could be bared when he opened his mouth. Instead, it was a more advanced and civilized ability. His ability was based on civilization and race, and on class and domination.

Guilliman swallowed and looked in a trance at Mortarion who was holding a scythe in front of him. His brother seemed to want to ask Guilliman about the situation, but he didn't know that Guilliman was staring at the rope that symbolized "domination" with horror in his heart.

Deep down, Guilliman still resisted the idea of ​​"dominating" his friends, his brothers, the people he trusted.

【How about it? 】

Mortarion raised his head, his eyes calm.
[Try to release your psychic energy, Guilliman, and infuse your power into the altar. This does not require you to manifest your psychic energy in a more specific form - this is too difficult for you.]

Is it really difficult?

Guilliman stared at the non-existent rope and pondered. He wanted to touch the rope, but he held back - at least for now, he would not use force on his brothers. Perhaps he could try it on others.

He didn't dare, nor did he want to tell Mortarion what he had awakened. Guilliman didn't think this could ease the relationship between the Primarchs, and it was not appropriate to bring up this matter now. If any of the Primarchs knew that they were tied to a rope like dogs, and Guilliman was on the other end of the rope... everyone would be unhappy.

Guilliman simply nodded silently, attempting to release his psychic energy as Mortarion had instructed.

Dazzling golden light lit up under Guilliman's azure helmet and boots, and then quickly climbed towards the threads written in blood. The blood-colored net was rendered golden from the center, and the shining gold quickly spread outwards, reaching the edge of the altar in an instant and began to climb towards the Blackrock Tower.

On top of the thirteen main towers, layers of golden runes lit up. Outside the runes on the surface of the black tower, twelve more runes lit up in the air. Countless numbers and distorted words squirmed and echoed with each other. In an instant, half of the planet became magnificent, like a paradise sprinkled with holy light.

The templates for these runes were all provided by the master of numerology, Mortarion. If Magnus were here, he might have exclaimed in amazement that such powerful and beautiful magic arrays were created by Mortarion. These magic arrays were much more pleasing to the eye than the Primarchs themselves.

Guilliman breathed calmly. He had thought that releasing his psychic energy would make him tired, but on the contrary, as the psychic energy was released, he felt a kind of relief, just like a person who had been holding his breath and suddenly learned how to breathe.

Through layer upon layer of psychic resonance, Guilliman could hear the deepest desires of each person. Some desired glory, some desired survival. The heavy whispers echoed and were heard by the Lord of the Empire.

The sacred golden light enveloped his increasingly tall figure. Guilliman subconsciously raised his hand to respond to those souls. The flames seemed to appear in front of him in an instant. His fingers gently teased the flames, and the soul fire became more excited, brighter, and more powerful.

Seeing those sparks growing stronger and stronger, Guilliman felt a faint sense of relief in his heart. He shook his head and looked at Mortarion in front of him again.

Now he must have entered the so-called "psychic perspective". Guilliman saw a pale, skinny, towering scarecrow made of bone-textured insect helmets in a rice field.

Guilliman opened his mouth.

+Leave it to me.+
He said, his tone more firm and unquestionable than usual. Mortarion, who was holding a scythe in front of him, glanced at him, his eyes full of deep meaning that Guilliman could not understand, and then the Pale Lord nodded without any reluctance.

[The main battlefield is for you,]

He said, raising his chin again and nodding at the troops and souls behind Guilliman.

[When necessary, I think you can use the power in your hands - these are what you deserve for doing your job conscientiously. ]

The implicit meaning of this sentence made Guilliman shudder. He stared at Mortarion in disbelief, only to see that Mortarion was still the same as usual. The Pale Lord was ready to sacrifice everything and burn everything at the beginning of the story. After all, he had nothing at the beginning, and the worst case scenario was that he would return to the beginning.

Mortarion turned around and waved his hand. As a white mist rose in front of Guilliman, the tall and thin Primarch disappeared on the battlefield.

....................................

【Then it's you.】

Mortarion said calmly, he glanced up at his defeated opponent, the First Rebel was standing inside the altar, arms outstretched, as if to show Mortarion that he was no longer afraid of anything.

Compared to the huge crowds on Guilliman's side, the First Rebel's side was deserted, with only the altar runes like chains binding him here. Fourteen Black Stone Towers stood in the distance, and their height and the refinement of the runes on them seemed to be one point less than Guilliman's.

[Guard this place, I know.]
The First Rebel said, staring at Mortarion intently, as if he wanted to see a hole through him.

[Don't worry, I won't be lazy.]
[After all, my ultimate goal is not to destroy everything,]
The chief rebel spoke word by word while gritting his teeth, the fire in his eyes ignited again. His backup was with Herrera. Before that, how could he let everything be destroyed in the hands of the outsiders?
The chief rebel went through untold hardships and traveled through mountains and rivers just to tell a story that was not very brilliant but full of pain and loss. How could he be willing to have everything destroyed by an external force at the end of the story?
[It is a pity, however, that I could not use my own power to kill Guilliman—or you.]
【Ah. 】

Mortarion sneered, without slowing down his movements. Fourteen daggers were inserted into the body of the rebel, with black chains connected to the altar at the ends. The dark blood flowed down along the sharp blades like a thin black line.

The dark and chaotic color spread across the earth, like a blooming flower of sin.

【alright. 】

Mortarion clapped his hands, as if he was shaking off the non-existent dirt on his hands. He was not polite at all towards the First Rebel. On the one hand, this person was still an "enemy", and on the other hand, Mortarion knew that he would not give up because of such a small difference in treatment.

【Change form.】

He said that the First Traitor gave him a glare, and the two Mortarions stared at each other with stern faces for a moment, and then the black flame burned. Mortarion laughed dryly.

The flames were blazing, supporting the tall and thin armors. The chaotic and dirty three-color flames leaped in the dark fireballs, just like veins, continuously supplying power to this huge monster.

[You guys...are using chaos like this...]

Mortarion's meaningful words disappeared in the wind. The giant beast stabbed by fourteen daggers was staring at him angrily, not concealing the malice in his soul at all.

The pitch-black fireball burned fiercely above the previously dripping black blood. In an instant, the entire continent where the altar was located seemed to have fallen into hell on earth, swaying in the howling black fire.

【gone. 】

Mortarion waved his hand. After seeing the altar being activated, he was too lazy to say any more words to this rubbish. He left in the white mist.

In a flash, the smoke and dust descended on the high-raised, dancing sickle.

Karas, holding the mistletoe high, said nothing. He silently moved a step to the side with his hands holding the sickle that was too big for him. In the center of the altar beside him, white mist rose and pale helmet boots stepped out from it.

【Finally... it's here. 】

Mortarion muttered to himself without a word of nonsense. Karas beside him began to chant a spell, and Mortarion's figure began to swell. White mist gushed out like a gurgling spring, extending outward along the veins of the altar, and then climbed up the fourteen high towers on the edge of the altar. Wisps of white mist dissipated from the surface of the Black Stone Tower, like a weeping sky.

Seeing that the last black stone tower was shrouded in white mist, Karas decisively stopped the spell. Beside him, the pale monster was breathing softly, and the sound was like a hissing.

+It's weird, Karas,+
Mortarion said softly,

+I calmed down instead, not as panicked as before, was it because this time I was finally standing at the front line while he was at the rear? Or was it because no matter what, the ending couldn't get any worse? +
"..."

"You're just tired."

Karas said gloomily, he raised his head and looked at the starry sky that was as bright as a rainbow during the day.

"I'm just tired. I've lived for so long... I've seen all kinds of storms."

+You want me to let you go? +
"That's what I've always thought."

Karas took a deep breath.

"Among my peers, only you, me, and Hades are left... Vorx has become even more taciturn in your psychic domain. Death, let me go after this battle. You really don't need me anymore. Give the new generation a chance."

+……+
"Still unwilling to promise? It is no problem, at least it is better than a lie, but sometimes you do judge me too harshly, Mortarion... I am only a mortal."

Mortarion turned his head suddenly, as if he had heard something extraordinary. His face, twisted like a ghost, still showed astonishment. He admitted that he was a "mortal", but these words were actually said by the most stubborn one among them.

Karas spread his hands and sneered.

"Your perception of time has become strange since your ascension, Mortarion. Think about it carefully."

+…I will. +
Uncertain voices floated in the air, and then they fell silent.

Looking at the rolling mountains in the distance, Mortarion suddenly spoke again.
+You...you can talk to Hades about this. +
"You're still indecisive."

Karas laughed. Ten thousand years later, Mortarion was regarded as a living devil by others, but Karas knew that this guy was still the same as before, nepotism.

+Yes, I am.+
Mortarion admitted this without any psychological burden, and then, when a corner of the starry sky above their heads was torn apart by the huge force, they all tacitly stopped talking about this and held the scythe tightly.

....................................

pain.

pain.

nothingness.

Trazyn thought it would gain a lot of power all of a sudden, and then expand, so that it could send out shock waves with a wave of its hand like some strange creature, or simply become very large, so big that it could kick planets like balls.

But this is not the case. The Necrontyr feels an indescribable confusion, as if confused about why he is a Necrontyr - a tiny individual of a tiny race.

It raised its eyes and saw billions of cosmic dimensions, and the countless stars and lights in between. Those intelligent creatures were so tiny, so... insignificant.

The brilliance of the entire Milky Way blossomed before its eyes, like a blooming lotus on a mirror. It saw that the world was so diverse and complicated that its previous troubles were nothing more than a speck of dust. In the face of the beautiful music of the Milky Way, everything was just in vain.

At this moment, with great relief, Trazyn remembered why Orrickan thought he was a higher being and gave up the Necrontyr and chose to become a Star Slayer.

It subconsciously turned its head and saw the equally gorgeous Star Controller. The fate of countless stars was measured before the blinded god and then placed in the appropriate positions. The threads under its feet were like water, and every thread and wisp reflected the splendor of the world of Epiphyllum.

It could have taken a more ambitious path.

+Now you finally see, after wasting so much treasure and energy,+
Orikan's voice was clearer than ever.

+Now do you understand my choice? Trazyn, look at this real galaxy, this real destiny. The Necrontyr is nothing but nothingness, just the soil we nurture. After all, we are the gods above the stars. The Necrontyr should not stand in the way of our progress. +
+……+
Trazyn was in tears—it was sure it was crying, no matter what ghost form it was in, seeing the real world made it tremble, as if it had just acquired real vocal cords.

+Haha, huh? +
It heard itself say in its usual untuned voice,

+Why do I only see artifacts waiting for me to collect? Oerlikon, what are you talking about? +
Before Orikan's angry roar arrived, Trazyn had already turned around resolutely and rushed towards the path he had chosen, which might be a bad one.

+All troops listen to orders!!! +
Trazyn shouted,

+When the race is in danger, when life and death are at stake, the final battle of fate has come! Everything belongs to the necromancers - we despise death! We defeat death!!! Follow me!!! +
(End of this chapter)