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

Chapter 879 [321.] Gratitude

The darkness is roaring.

Pluto seemed confused as to why this sudden attack came, but he continued to roll and roar in anger and pain. The dark and huge energy of the star gods expanded and contracted with the ups and downs of the gods' emotions.

The pale cavity was so conspicuous in the darkness, pale bit by bit, like a thick wood eaten by insects.

But it couldn't compare to the paler look on the original body's face.

Mortarion was holding his head high, and the sudden anger that had arisen had suddenly turned into an even paler and more powerless despair. The Primarch's thin, inhuman face showed an expression that was far more uncomfortable than that of a dead person.

The inhuman, worm-like Primarch raised his head and gazed up at the starry sky. His already white eyes reflected the dark underworld, and also faithfully reflected the white holes that were eaten by worms.

Beside the Primarch, Guilliman also had a frown on his face. The Emperor was staring at the sky, but not as focused as Mortarion. The small hills in the blond Primarch's eyebrows trembled from time to time, and then the Primarch glanced sideways imperceptibly, observing Mortarion with a secret gaze.

Guilliman admitted that he was worried about everything now, about the Empire, about humanity, about his warriors and the current situation. These worries and responsibilities outweighed his personal feelings towards the Emperor and Hades - of course he would feel sorry for Pluto's current situation, but there were too many things for the blond king to worry about, and he could not indulge his energy and thoughts on this.

But Mortarion didn't care.

He once again showed his flawed side as a Primarch, an Imperial general, and a Legion Commander. Ten thousand years of experience had made Mortarion qualified, but he still could not get full marks.

Mortarion just stared at the white dots in the sky, and no one knew what he was thinking in his cloudy eyes.

Although the huge, pale Primarch just stood there and said nothing, Guilliman was sure that the Pale Lord had lost his composure, because the psychic currents around the Pale Lord began to become unstable, and above the planet's orbit, more fragments of the Star God broke through the direction and fell towards them.

But now there is no need to fight against these Star God fragments anymore. Guilliman blinked, another kind of worry reflected in his blue eyes. He looked at the starry sky - and could only watch quietly.

One minute, two minutes... ten minutes, the darkness that occupied half of his vision seemed to have some signs of moving in a specific direction, and the lights that were chasing him behind him immediately pounced on him, trying to tear his flesh and energy from him.

Guilliman felt that Mortarion's mood beside him was getting even worse. The Primarch blinked and just leaned towards Mortarion silently, trying to comfort him in this insignificant way.

But Guilliman's attention was quickly drawn away.

The Primarch's eyes opened wide, his pupils trembling slightly as he looked towards the darkness hanging over the starry sky.

There, the guy who was "taking advantage of the power of the tiger" was falling towards here.

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

Pain…pain…

Can't win.

Can't win.

failure.

death.

die……

The lights in the restaurant swayed, like a room on a ship in a storm, the lights swayed along with the furniture, and then banged against the walls and ceiling.

The walls and ceiling were no longer the original warm off-white color, but had turned into a dirty black. White spots like some insect eggs were crowded on the black walls, making people feel even more uneasy and disgusted.

Pain...failure...

Large, crude characters covered every corner, and were once again covered by the chaotic glowing liquid flowing on the floor. Then the characters floated up again, like cubes of beef in thick soup, staring at Pluto together.

You failed.

they said.

These foods - these most important and steadfast existences that constituted his life and strength, were now shouting at him, telling him that he was about to fail, about to lose everything, and there would not even be room for recovery, because the calculations and logic were so reliable that his reason and subconsciousness, which had been operating all the time, had not found a chance to turn defeat into victory.

He could only watch himself go to his end.

Towards the end.

He felt indescribable despair and anger - the attack from behind finally broke the delicate balance, and the scale inevitably tilted to the other end, subsequently sentencing Him to death.

But somehow, He did not feel resentment.

This is not a topic that Pluto can think clearly about. Only Hades can think clearly, but now is not a good time to think. The storm outside the room is getting more and more violent. The aggressive energy rushes in here, roaring and tearing everything apart.

In the midst of the violent storm, he stood in the knee-deep sewage in a mess and daze, and slowly rolled his eyes.

Then He saw.

Somewhere far away, somewhere not too far away, a tiny light appeared, bringing with it a strange sense of familiarity.

His first reaction was to swallow.

Subsequently,

Jump on it!!!
....................................

"Hold on, Mortarion!!!"

[Herrera] roared, and [Mortarion] felt the saliva of the Great Daemon of Slaanesh, which had corrosive and other wonderful properties, sprayed on his face, but the Primarch did not speak, not because he did not want to, but because he could not do so now.

He was now standing at the side of the altar, releasing his spiritual energy like a huge fool, and trying his best to make it as "delicious", "tempting" and "appetizing" as described by the bald chanter.

I swear to God, Mortarion has lived for ten thousand years, and this is the first time he has seen an intelligent creature use this adjective to describe psychic power - or chaos psychic power.

In this comparison, Nurgle's description of the warmth and comfort of psionic power is just a piece of cake.

So here he stood, literally trying to make his psychic energy as "palatable" as possible.

The First Rebel [Mortarion] didn't quite understand what to do specifically, he could only try his best to imagine what a delicious meal looked like.

The First Rebel allowed his psychic energy to expand, and then colorful flames leaped above the black fire - the colors often aroused appetite, and then made the psychic energy look more lustrous, like dark gems in a cave.

But these were not as powerful as Angron. Now the Slaanesh believer was nailed to the ground with 636 long pillars piercing his flesh and holes, while the bald man who was chanting scriptures stood calmly beside the Slaanesh prince, ignoring the dull shouts and screams of the Slaanesh demon, and recited the spell in his mouth with a sacred look on his face.

The first rebel [Mortarion] believed that the psychic energy he was emitting now was just like a few pebbles, and the one that was truly effective was [Angron]. The souls of the believers of Slaanesh were like living pigs on skewers, and they were screaming one after another in the High Heaven.

Angron's emotional perception and amplification made his screams in the warp more easily transmitted, coupled with the strange and calm Lorgar chanting beside the Primarch.

Mortarion admitted that for a second he was completely overwhelmed with joy and gloating. Angron was a classic bastard, the kind of bastard who threatened the Primarchs by relying on his ability to "see through" their emotional states.

Angron could have stayed out of Guilliman's plan to corrupt Lorgar, but the great Slaanesh daemon joined out of a desire to harm his own brother.

Although it was Mortarion who initially connected Guilliman, Mortarion had his own legitimate reasons, while Angron did not. Later, Angron became increasingly dissatisfied with Guilliman's rule. This guy, whose mind was sometimes smart and sometimes chaotic, tried many times to harm Fulgrim who was sleeping, or tried to sneak into the bedroom of a certain unlucky brother in the semi-liquid.

Later, Angron intended to sneak into Mortarion's lounge again, but accidentally came across the Primarch's secret meeting with Kharas and Herrera.

Angron was not interested in Mortarion's conspiracy against Guilliman or the so-called grand plan, but he was more interested in how to threaten Mortarion with the secrets he had discovered.

……

Mortarion will never forget the favor that Herrera showed him when he stopped Angron.

Then their plan was mixed with a mess. Angron was keen to use this matter to tease the First Rebel from time to time, and Mortarion was surprised to find out from Angron that he was not the only Primarch who was dissatisfied with Guilliman.

Angron was able to sense the Primarchs' emotions and souls, and he had long since discovered the Primarchs' little emotions - but that was all. Those Primarchs knew very well that they could not overthrow Guilliman, and the only one who actually took action was Mortarion.

Angron used these little abilities to tease his brothers again and again. Mortarion was not sure whether any Primarch had really fallen victim to Angron's murder, and he did not really want to know.

As for [Mortarion]... I still say the same thing, thanks to [Herrera], having a friend working under Slaanesh at a time like this seems necessary and essential.

Thanks to [Herrera] for defending the bottom line of the Primarch.

Mortarion could not help but despise Angron once again in his heart - he was so annoyed with Angron that the joy he felt at seeing Angron suffer at this moment overshadowed the desolate and desperate reality of this scene.

In the last moment before his rationality focused on reality, the First Rebel once again glanced at Angron's suffering with reluctance. It looked like...

If Hades had described it to Mortarion before, Mortarion would probably think that this scene was very similar to a street stall selling kebabs.

For foodies, this kind of stall is too dangerous.

And Pluto happens to be a glutton.

So He rushed over—

Before anyone could react, the smile that was quietly rising at the corner of Mortarion's mouth had not yet faded.

Then, there was screaming.

Mortarion heard himself screaming with his ears.

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

gone.

he's gone.

The old man stared into the distance with a slightly cloudy gaze. Although his gaze was cloudy, it was still as sharp as an eagle. Malcador did not stay on Pluto who left in a hurry, but looked at the outside.

There, the huge ball of light remained in place in a somewhat confused manner - according to common sense, the Outsider should have pounced on it the moment Pluto left, but He did not do so.

This is obviously not the kindness of the outsiders.

Malcador's eyes were fixed on that space. In the old man's eyes, a kind of vague darkness like a veil shrouded it, but it was not as dead and absolute as the darkness of Hades.

But more noisy.

More confusing.

More uneasy.

More destined.

The Lord of Darkness.

Malcador felt the word stuck in his throat, making him unable to utter a single word. He looked at it in disbelief, the reality having dealt a heavy blow to the weathered old man. The Emperor had finally gone completely mad.

This also fully confirmed what Neos had said to Malcador.

"If necessary, I will sacrifice everything."

The black-haired middle-aged man spoke calmly and casually. He looked into Malcador's eyes, letting him know that this was no joke.

At the time, Malcador simply sneered at this.

all?

"all?"

He smiled, "Who isn't?"

Yeah, who isn’t?
At that time, Malcador naively thought that it was just a life, but then he realized that there are fates in this world that are far more terrible than death.

He fell to become the "Emperor", Sanguinius fell to become the Meteor, and the Emperor fell to become... the Dark Lord.

They all sacrificed completely, but some people had more from the beginning, so when they gave up everything, they seemed more majestic and glorious than others.

But they all sacrificed.

It's just a sacrifice...

Malcador murmured. Even in his wildest imagination, he had never thought of the Emperor taking the initiative to become the Dark Lord. But now it seems that this is not entirely the case.

Malcador frowned.

Although the darkness seemed to have a magical power that called upon Malcador to look over and bow to Him, there was still a strange sense of dislocation there, as if the chopsticks in his hand were always one long and one short, or perhaps the color of the sun was a little mottled. In short - fate was not so right.

This is the strength He borrows.

Machado is well aware of this.

Then he was speechless - in shock - Malcador had never imagined that the Emperor had exhausted his power in the Main Line so thoroughly that it was completely gone.

It's like pouring ink into a cup of water. The ink will dye the entire cup of water black. Then, the same volume of ink will be poured out of the cup and returned.

But now the Emperor's situation is like he originally had half a cup of water, and then the Emperor squandered it madly, resulting in only the bottom of the cup left in the end, or even more terrible - there is no water in the cup at all - although too little psychic energy will directly lead to death or collapse.

Then the ink was poured in.

Then pour the ink out.

Malcador felt himself speechless, and at the same time realized once again what a bastard the Emperor was.

(End of this chapter)