Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 678: It seems like an old friend is coming, but never more-
"I didn't say anything."

Magna Dorn flashed a line of words.

Everyone in the room was still staring at him.

"I didn't say anything."

He glanced helplessly at the timer on his mechanical retina, then spoke a precious sentence in his own electronic synthesized voice.

indeed.

At first glance, Magna Dorn's electronic synthesized voice is almost identical to the voice of the original template from which his personality was extracted. Perturabo's exquisite craftsmanship and programming design, as well as those lifelike synthesizers, allow his voice to pass 80% of voiceprint detection.

But those present were Rogal Dorn's "real" two brothers and genetic father, and they could hear the superficiality behind the voice.

What's more, the voice of the Primarch just now was not that of the Terran Guard. They all felt that it was very familiar, but they couldn't put their finger on it for a while.

Something seemed to pass through the room.

“Gugugugu…?”

"what is that?"

Fulgrim Pallas gripped his weapon tightly and subconsciously moved closer to the Chancellor of the Royal Court, forming a defensive posture with the ancient warrior, while Leman Russ tensed the muscles on the back of his neck and back and turned his back towards the direction of the white dove.

There was a reason why everyone in the room was so nervous.

The bodies of the Primarchs were forged by lost bio-alchemy and genetic engineering; flesh and blood were their home, their confinement, their manifestation, and also their most original and powerful weapon. But now none of them could see clearly what they had just passed by.

Considering that Russ was still in his original young and strong body, it was quite serious that his wolf eyes couldn't see what it was.

"Rilano?"

"Father." Although the Royal Court Steward was actually old enough to be Pallas's great-great-great-grandfather, the Contemptor Fearless called him father lovingly and reservedly. The charging sounds of the power fists and melta weapons sounded very reassuring at the moment. "Please feel free to lean on me as a wall."

But the pigeon spoke again in their minds with psychic power, "Kraks?"

"Clarks? My little brother, is that you? If it is you, show yourself quickly!"

"That voice just now sounded more like one of our brothers imitating Rogue deliberately," Pallas glanced around, "Alpharius?"

"Uh." Magna flashed a line of text, "It won't be Alpharius anyway."

"How can you be so sure?"

"For I have slain him."

This short sentence plunged the room into an extremely terrifying silence.

Fulgrim Pallas's eyes instantly became extremely panicked, sad, unbelievable, and seemed to have a hint of extremely hidden complex emotions. The way he looked at Magnar Dorn was simply heartbreaking, like the moment when a child first learned that Santa Claus was just a legend.

"When?!" he cried sadly, "Why? ... Why was it you? Oh, God, I know, I know...!"

The horrific memories of the beginning of the fall of the Phoenix Lord, which had been covered up by the alluvial layers of memory including laughter, study and work, suddenly flooded his brain like a broken dam, causing him to kneel down under the heavy burden. Like a golden eagle, Rilano raised all his defenses to guard the young Phoenix.

On this side, cold and darkness filled the air around Leman Russ, who was still sitting there without moving. From his chair to the ground under his feet, white frost silently formed on the ground.

The wolf king's body seemed barely able to contain the frost storm roaring inside him, and his heavier breathing and the long fangs in his subconsciously curled thin lips showed that his upbringing on Fenris had left him with an indelible and irreversible mark. Even without disguise, Russ would always be Russ of the Leman race.

"Ah," Russ said at last, the words whistling out like letters from the mountain cliffs formed by the intersection of his sharp teeth. "So, in the end, it happened, didn't it? Once the murder started, it wouldn't stop. I had expected that if I had done it..."

He paused, his shadow cast on the frost and snow, reflecting the curved edge of a huge black shadow. "So it is, it is still like this, repeating the same mistakes, without restraint. In the end, everyone has the blood of their brothers on their hands."

The wolf king's blue eyes suddenly turned to the white dove, full of unwilling anger and accusations, "Why is it like this?! I couldn't ask this question before, can you give me a satisfactory answer now?!"

"I can't." The pigeon sighed through its nostrils, "Because whatever I say now will sound like an excuse. If I completely deny what my original body that stayed in the palace has done, it will also be a self-deception and betrayal. There is nothing we can do except face it, Russ."

The wolf king did not answer immediately, but the area of ​​the flying snowflakes did not continue to increase.

"… Although your sudden sensibleness does make me want to show up, it is still absurd and weird for a pigeon the size of a human to speak in its voice. The Destiny Steel is a place that surprises me every time I come back. Even if its master is not here."

From the shadows around the overhead light, the shadow of a form emerged gracefully like ink dropped into white water of light.

At first they all thought it was Clarks, and the increasingly familiar aura also proved this point, but in the end, when the man raised his head, the pale face revealed from under the black hair was a face they had never seen before.

"...Son of Clarks? No, that's not right..."

Pigeon was the first to recognize it, "Clarks?! Why are you in here?!"

"Isn't this all because of you, old...father?" The other party's purple eyes looked very sincere, but seemed to carry a hint of helplessness. "Now if I want to appear at will, I still have to rely on this statistical body contributed by my descendants. After all, as I said, Clarks will never come back."

"What about your eyes? Have you been caught by him? He didn't do anything to you, did he?"

"Of course not. I respectfully refuse to be associated with him. The purple eyes are caused by this body being irradiated for too long in the Eye of Terror," the newcomer shrugged with the body of an ordinary Space Marine, "This body type is actually much more flexible and convenient at work than the conspicuous Primarch's body. I would suggest that you each find a way to find yourself such a convenient body without losing the other. Brothers, you will definitely fall in love with this completely different feeling, believe me." "Nice to see you, Clarks, but let's not talk about this for now. There are more important things at the moment."

Magnar flashed, the golden-armored Ironblood controller had moved to the anxious Rilano's side, two huge metal walkers covering Fulgrim on the ground tightly, "Should we summon Honsou again?"

"What's up?" Clarks, in the guise of his progeny, walked over. "Oh, dear, I dare say this sight of you all gathered around him gives me a strange sense of déjà vu."

"Pallas' mental condition is not good, he has suffered a terrible memory shock." Magna said concisely, and the golden armored machine soul slightly moved to the side to make way, revealing the young phoenix's confused and wide-open eyes. Those light lavender eyes were out of focus, as if they were looking at an irreversible scene outside of some time and space. His whole body was trembling, like a butterfly frozen in the amber of time, enduring eternal torture.

Phoenix's fingers clenched the screwdriver in his hand convulsively, as if it were the hilt of a long sword, and his beautiful lips moved to call out what he thought was the loudest rejection: Don't - don't kill him - don't kill him -

"It's about this incident again - even if we let Hong Suo come... well, our brother's son is indeed now the only master of potions at this moment, but this is our family matter. I think we should try some family remedies first. If it doesn't work, we can summon Hong Suo in. To be honest, it may not be a good thing for you to let him know too much."

The Raven Guard's Primarch showed a trace of mature fatigue on his offspring's face. "The mortality rate of the most skilled imperial physicians in every palace is always high."

"What should we do?" the chief steward of the royal court said angrily, "My father! My lord! Please forgive me for not being able to just sit there and wait! Please do something!"

"What I mean is," Clarks said, "in this case, we usually try the 'shock' therapy first."

He skillfully pulled over a crowned white pigeon as tall as a man, and pointed the giant pigeon's face at Pallas who was having an attack, "Come on! I'll lead the way! Hurry up!"

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Thousands of flames formed glittering red flowers, the burning sparks of dead warriors looked like dancing fireflies, the corpses of the dead formed decorations and shrubs in the garden, and the fresh, sparkling blood of brothers flowed into seemingly peaceful lakes.

Pallas put one foot down.

The blood created ripples and flowed outwards.

Everywhere there is an ecstasy of betrayal and murder, a morbid heat, and the steaming of desire that makes one breathless.

He found that his foot was wrapped in luxurious gold and royal purple armor, the style was classical and elegant, the metal power armor was forged to be light and close-fitting, flexible and smooth, and the reactor on the back provided sufficient power to drive the armor to match its owner's light and agile fighting style.

This is……

Pain crept up his brow, here it comes again, here it is again. No matter how many times he has seen it, this scene in his memory is definitely one of the top three that Pallas does not want to relive.

And he didn't know how many times he had been trapped here.

The panic that was out of control at that moment, the trembling of not being able to catch the falling blade, the unyielding eyes of Ferrus, the neck and shoulders that surrounded his headless head, like the bright scarlet of a shroud...

He had to repeatedly emphasize his own existence to himself and hide this newly cultivated and tender spiritual seedling deep in the solid and hidden corner of the spiritual soil, so that he could survive every tsunami-like purple wave that washed over and tried to find him.

But why did he stay like this? He had observed the time when each of the poisonous events occurred on Isstvan, and then tried to find a way out of this endless maze of hell in that limited window of time, but he didn't expect that in addition to the snake-like existence in Fulgrim's body that had been waiting for him to appear, intending to eat him from head to toe like a gluttonous delicacy, even the lost souls of the dead of the Iron Hands who were killed, and their strong anger and obsession for revenge, had also turned into ghosts with claws. His mental spectrum came from Fulgrim himself. The ghosts didn't understand his explanation and had no intention of letting him go.

There was nowhere to escape, in heaven or on earth, so he could only hide himself as best he could - hope was not lost.

He clearly remembered his good friend and sworn brother, as well as the good times on his friend's ship and in the port. Those things were so trivial and fragile, but so real and precious - this was the life experience that belonged only to Fulgrim Pallas, his greatest reliance on maintaining his existence, and a thread of Aladene for him to seek hope - if he could not escape, he had to hold on and wait for help, because Magnar Dorn would never sit idly by and watch him fall into such a situation, he firmly believed so.

Is that really the case? Pallas vaguely found himself facing a strong and powerful black-armored body. On that rock-like face, silver eyes shone unyieldingly, overflowing with anger and coldness. The soft silver metallic tone outlined every taut muscle line on his strong arms, as perfect as a Hercules statue.

Those beautiful arms wielded a flaming sword, a perfectly balanced weapon wielded by my own hands.

At this moment, I suddenly realized where my shortcomings were.

The Furnace Breaker slipped from my hands, and I could still feel the warmth of the hammer handle.

My palms were empty, my chest and abdomen ached, and I was about to be killed.

The pain from the wound cut by the sword was turning into numbness, and the pleasure was winding up my spine like a snake, almost bursting out of my body. The strange feeling made me unable to help but pull the muscles on my face - no, that's not right, this is not me, my body has never been injured in this place! This is not me!
This is you.

Alas, the unripe fruit...it really has a unique flavor and is worth the risk.

The sound of a mirror shattering came from a distance, and nails scratched my back lightly, like scales sliding across my skin, giving me goose bumps. Was it pleasure or fear, or both?
Something was laughing softly beside my ear, and I was aware that a mercury-like lightning blade had appeared in my palm. It somehow moved my aching muscles and I held the flaming sword aside. Its blade was so thin and light, as if it were nothing, but it broke through the thick black steel armor of my brother in front of me like breaking through the most heartbreaking dream, and it cut through his neck and my soul. No - don't - don't kill him -

"That's enough, NEVER. I say, never more."

There was the sound of flapping wings, and sharp beaks and claws pierced into my spine and arms. They were so sharp and hard that they almost tore me apart from the inside, but the sharp pain and the equally intense pleasure were at odds with each other. I raised my hazy eyes to look at my brother's face. Did he survive?

"Hey. It's time for you to wake up." Where the head of Ferrus Manus should have been, a white dove head with a laurel wreath opened and closed its beak and spoke helplessly, and the tone of its speech was exactly the same as the voice from the throne of Terra.

“Aaaaaaaa————————what——————?!!!!!!”

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“Aa ...

Pallas screamed and jumped up, punching the pigeon that was leaning over to check on him, "Ishtar, ahhhhhhh, this is terrible, Ferrus has turned into Pigeon Olden, ahh ...

"See." Clarks breathed a sigh of relief. "I told you this shock would work."

(End of this chapter)