Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 581: Unspeakable Loyalty, Eternal God’s Choice
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"What did you do to Guilliman?! And why are you still alive?! Why are you here?!"

Rage - not a metaphor - the flames of psychic energy burst out of Malcador's eyes as if they were real, and even an experienced arena champion like Ivrene could not help but step back and stare sideways - it seems that the Supreme Prophet has always shown extraordinary tolerance for the weirdness of this young man dressed like an old man, and it is not entirely because of the prophecy.

But what she was more curious about at the moment was, who was this being that Malcador had not revealed his name even in such a rage?
First of all, he must not be the same as the other "monkeys". This is because Malcador's conversation with this suddenly appeared powerful individual did not avoid other people. They all mentioned "what happened to Guilliman", which obviously meant that Robert Guilliman was still in his shrine or coffin. This made her secretly relieved. After all, it was only a square away. If she used her strength to run here and then ran as fast as she could... No, there was also the man carrying the important mechanical automatic holy box and its contents...

As far as Ivrenee knew, even among the "monkeys" there had been some special individuals over the years who were comparable to the Eldar, such as the human emperor and his children, but he was definitely not one of them - probably not the prince they came to save this time - Robert Guilliman should still be pale and lifeless, frozen in the moment when he exhaled his last breath before his death, his death moment turned into a statue of his own death moment that was eternally exhibited for his descendants and the mortals of the empire to worship and admire with excitement for many generations.

Ivreni couldn't help but think again, if this practice had continued in the monkey empire for nine thousand years, it would not be surprising that humans would spread the glorification and belief in their own death and to some extent worship the appearance of corpses as the highest living gods...

So who could this person be?

She had never heard of any of the Imperium of Man's princes - or, as they called it, primarchs - having returned openly.

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After taking a look at the innocent murals and vines above the marble archway that were scorched by the surging psychic flames, Malcador gritted his teeth and regained control of his facial muscles. He grabbed his staff and shook it precariously - or perhaps he was just trying to control himself from throwing a few meteors at the forehead of this "son" of someone who had always been a headache.

The Primarch opposite him, who had already been confirmed dead in the official history of the Empire, shrugged his shoulders very indifferently and even showed concern for the other party for the first time.

"Don't worry... Malcador, oh, our father will be surprised to see the Prime Minister in such a rare state. Do you want me to push you in the anti-gravity wheelchair that just arrived? It has the brand of your store. It is very useful and is very popular in the Ultramar sector."

The former Imperial Regent glared at the seemingly overjoyed former skinning enthusiast, the most troublesome and excellent prey, the Eighth Primarch who ten thousand years ago had perfectly used the tattered criminal legions to drag away the First Army that the Emperor had once deemed worthy of being entrusted with the task and given the most relic technology and other resources.

His civilian robes fluttered in the wind as his chest and psychic energy rose and fell dramatically - to be honest, if there were a few cracks on his skin, Malcador would look like he was about to explode and die at any moment due to his psychic energy and blood pressure, but this only seemed to make Conrad Curze happier.

The long blade on the power fist that tore "Sikalius" apart pointed around as he spoke a sentence that would have made all the Night Lords ten thousand years ago feel like they had taken the Emperor's Children's hallucinogen. Only then did the old man notice some unusual signs.

"This weapon is 'not present'?"

"Yes. It doesn't exist." The long blade on the boxing glove changed from being bloodless to being covered with smelly, blackened flesh and blood, and then turned into a phantom of the past and dissipated into the air.

"The existence you and I both know has added an extra layer of power to Sicarius' concept of the knot, cleverly enhancing his original characteristics. None of you are qualified to untie it, and those who are qualified are neither alive nor dead. It is really a very exquisite knot. However, I don't exist. This is thanks to your strict maintenance of the line you pulled before. According to the fate laid here by this line, today, Conrad Curze has indeed lost his head and is dead and can't appear here. So it's best for me to break this "unsolvable knot" so that no one will become the next target of the curse blessing of this passing the parcel."

A certain combination of words touched the sensitive nerves of the former imperial regent again, and he looked at the other party sternly.

"Gordius? This is not something you should break open!"

Curze's pale face was grinning, almost to the corners of his mouth - even so, he still had a kind of beauty that was weird and dangerous to ordinary people, but sharp enough to cut open people's hearts - Neos! Look at what kind of monster you have become as a result of not listening to advice!

"Yes." The pure black eyes that were unique to the Nostramo were full of joy. "But don't worry, I have no interest in becoming any king. I think even my current job is enough, more than enough. Well, now that the 'knot' has been resolved. You should hurry over, don't let me down, everyone."

The pale young man in the dark blue toga saluted exaggeratedly, and his body had returned to the size of a mortal at some point. As "Sikalius" shattered and his body recovered, suddenly, from the Temple of Rectification at the other end of the square, there came the sound of fierce bombardments, the sound of weapons cutting into flesh and armor, the sound of chainsaw sword motors, war cries and roars. All the noisy movements suddenly flooded into the senses of everyone here as if they were resurrected.

They were awakened by the sharp whistling of the second group of terror claws that began to break into the atmosphere overhead.

Everyone started running as fast as they could.

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Varro Diglis gasped like a man who had just pulled his face out of a basin of water after holding his breath for a very long time, and was finally able to pull it out at the last moment before drowning. Then he blinked his eyes, which had become wet and sore for some reason, and frost that had just turned into dew hung on his eyelashes, but the exposed skin of his face told him that the temperature around him was not that low.

He vaguely remembered that someone had whispered an apology in his ear, but the tail sound had already flashed across the edge of his psychic hood like the tip of a butterfly's wing, as light and thin as a soap bubble in the sun, and as the breeze of reason began to blow through his great mind, the impression of it also dissipated without a trace.

He clenched his palms. The staff in his palms felt cool and warm like jade through the power armor gloves. The ancient psychic circuits quickly guided his thoughts and strength to flow faster.

This is - how - what situation -

Yes, the architecture and decoration of this place, this is in the Temple of Rectification, near the Primarch's shrine - the original shrine - what original? - He received a mission - what is his mission? Why is he here? What was he going to do just now?

A familiar roar pulled the Chief Librarian's thoughts out of the chaos in his mind, and he immediately realized that it was the roar from Calgar, his chapter leader, his master, and his old friend during the battle.

Digris looked up and was immediately shocked by the blood, evil and chaos that filled the Temple of Rectification.

Just two steps away from him, the Chapter Master's power fist was smashing the mandible of a black-armored, gold-rimmed Terminator with an uppercut with more than ten tons of force, and the remaining part was thrown into the air along with the cervical vertebrae. Dots of black and red blood were sprinkled from all directions like flowers scattered by a fairy, forming a new source of bloody smell. "Don't stand there, Digris!" The shout was followed by the continuous sound of the explosive bomb in Calgar's hand, "Watch out behind you!"

The Chief Librarian subconsciously raised his staff, and the psychic protection field made an ancient power hammer that was hitting him "slide" off his armor. Then Kalgar stepped forward, his power gloves crackling, and with another punch, the attacker behind him was blasted several feet away and embedded into the marble pedestal covered with the names of the deceased, smashing all the memorials to pieces.

Now was not the time to ask Calgar what was going on, Digris realized, and he swung his staff. A blazing, bright psychic explosion fireball was launched as the staff was swung, burning away the attacking Chaos wizards and warriors along all the routes it passed, creating a series of blank spaces filled with steaming ceramic steel and flesh.

When he turned halfway, Diglis' eyes saw the familiar stasis shrine of the Father of Genes and the marble throne supporting it.

The Primarch sat there, on the throne he had sat on for nine thousand years, with his eyes lowered, like a holy statue in the flesh. Except for a handful of blood from someone unknown splattered on the corner of his pale mouth, which made it look shocking and unexpected, he sat there as always.

as always.

The mission objectives left in Diglis' mind gradually overlapped with the scene in front of him. He suddenly had a premonition of what had happened and what was about to happen. A chill and shiver crept up his spine, making his slightly confused mind immediately clear as if it were soaked in ice water.

"Yes..." he muttered, while continuing to guard under the throne, using his psychic power to clear a path for the group rushing in through the gate.

"What's going on?! Who are they?!" Maneus Calgar was seriously injured, his body was covered in blood, and there were several deep cracks on the vital parts of his power armor, as if he was almost ripped open by some giant beast. Digris looked at him with complicated eyes, guessing who had seriously injured him, but considering the old grudges and the reputation of that person, he actually spared the life of the chapter leader. It seems that he still has a place in the future, and that person is more rational in doing things. As for why I have been anxious and uneasy before, and have repeatedly seen strange prophecies... Well, this is all explained. I hope that after today, everything will return to... normal.

He didn't like having his memories blocked at will, but this time, considering that it was a matter related to the Father of Genes, he would not pursue it for the time being.

"They are... the ones who 'will resurrect our father', Calgar." The Chief Librarian raised his staff high and fired a series of sharp energy shocks to clear a path for the group of uninvited guests who were besieged while dragging the automatic holy box. However, a ball of nova-like energy immediately erupted among them, vaporizing all the surrounding attackers into smoke before exploding.

"What? Digris! What's going on?! Didn't our father already..." Calgar's eyes froze for a moment as he swept across the empty throne. "How... I... what's going on?! In the name of the Emperor! Is this a miracle?! Or is it a conspiracy?"

"None of them." The Chief Librarian sighed, holding onto Calgar's body, and drove away all the Chaos cousins ​​who were besieging and trying to take advantage of the opportunity to gain the credit for the Chapter Master's skull, just like fire driving away shadows. "I already understand everything. Although this is a last resort to replace the original with the fake. - But I swear that after this incident, there will be someone who will be held responsible for all the chaos caused by this!"

As they were talking, the Archmagus Commanding, the Living Saint, and Ivrenee, who were carrying the mechanical holy sarcophagus, had already rushed to Guilliman's throne. The holy sarcophagus was hurriedly but accurately pushed into a stasis position by the Archmagus's mechanical tentacles. The sound of machinery, the sound of bone drills, the hum of motors and other sounds reached everyone's ears. The mechanical structure swallowed the motionless Primarch on the throne like a giant carnivorous flower swallowing a hamster, plunging it into the depths of the layers of metal cables and limbs.

A sigh was heard as the golden hair and laurel wreath were swallowed up by the ruthless and cold machine, and then drifted away under the throne.

Ten terrifying claws smashed into the floor of the dilapidated hall, and from them emerged one hundred Chaos Terminators with the most combat experience and the strongest blessings from the Four Gods. They were the embodiment of violence and chaos. At this moment, in this place, the attention of the gods had never been so focused. Every Chaos Warrior was filled with unprecedented power, driving them to kill, destroy, and destroy any embodiment of order, hope, and civilization they saw before their eyes.

Their overwhelming attack was so fierce, like a divine punishment. The bombs, molten metal, plasma and even whirlpool attacks tried to engulf the defenders in the temple. The spells cast by the former imperial regent who was mixed in the team were dissolved by the halos of various colors.

"Damn it! They took advantage of me at this time..." The old man frowned, and the light of his psychic energy began to shine on every friendly soldier present. Every soldier felt that his end was approaching, and fought bravely, determined to take away as many of his former cousins ​​who had become Chaos as possible before disappearing.

With a joyful cry from the Great Sage, the mechanical device of the automatic holy box began to fade away automatically, and in the hissing mist, a glorious object began to appear in front of everyone.

——?

His presence is unparalleled.

The glory of his people is glorified by the gods.

The demigod's body that had just appeared on the throne seemed to have an eight-pointed platinum halo shining behind his head, and a wreath of psychic thorns appeared on his forehead. He was wearing a magnificent and mysterious armor forged on Mars by Belisarius Cawl, holding the Book of the Holy Word in one hand and a divine sword burning with an eternal platinum flame in the other.

He opened his eyes, and his molten eyes seemed to be able to shine into the depths of everyone's soul through them.

Everyone present fell into a spell-like silence.

Until a scream of joy broke the silence.

"The Chosen One is born!"

The Chaos wizard screamed, laughed wildly and began to offer his blood from his neck to the lips of the New Chosen.

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Outside the temple door, the Midnight King smiled truly.

(End of this chapter)