Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 867 This sense of déjà vu is...
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Warren Challaka met again in the officers' mess hall with a partially recovered Malakin Foros.

The Supreme Commander of the Lamenters was not wearing power armor, but rather a patient gown issued by the Pharmacist's Infirmary of the Destiny Steel.

His long blond hair was tied into a low ponytail at the back of his head, and Malakin, wearing slippers, sat quietly in a window seat with a view.

The dazzling light from the net illuminated his face, displaying a kaleidoscope of colors. He appeared calm, and aside from being pale and slightly haggard, he looked quite well.

"Hi. Malakin?"

The man tearing the flesh cautiously approached the wailing man, seemingly at a loss for what to do.

"Warren? Good day. Sit down."

They remained silent for a while before Warren finally spoke.

"Are you ok?"

“I’m not bad.” Malakin smiled, like a phantom. “Perhaps it looks a little bad now, but Master Hunsso said it’s normal—at least I have enough left to start rebuilding myself.”

“What did he say? I mean… a miracle. Before, I only knew of one person, Mephisto, who accomplished this feat, but Gabriel has been telling us privately that the thing that returned from Black Fury is a monster even more monstrous than Astorius… Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it, I…”

"Perhaps. But Master Honso showed me my test results. I didn't even need any imaging knowledge; he pointed out a scan comparing it to the brain images recorded during my last treatment in the medical room, and my brain had undergone significant changes. Physical changes, that's what the Black Fury of the past few days has brought me, Warren. Perhaps Gabriel wasn't wrong in some way."

"Physical changes? Brain?"

Malakin nodded slowly. "Because the same equipment was used in both scans, these comparisons are very convincing. My brain volume shrank by five percent in just a few days, mainly due to the loss of gray matter in the prefrontal cortex and the damage to the integrity of the fiber bundles in the white matter... There were obvious abnormalities in the connection pathway between the corpus callosum and the prefrontal cortex, and the hippocampus also shrank by more than eight percent in just a few days."

“I’m not a Blood Priest… but I know this sounds ominous. What does it mean, Malakin?”

The grieving man put on a comforting expression. “I have decreased self-control, more dangerous and reckless behavior, impaired judgment, irritability, and cognitive and memory decline. The loss of short-term memory is particularly noticeable. Fortunately, Master Hunsuo takes time every day to re-input my most recent memories and activate neurons, which is why I didn’t fail to recognize you when you came over, Brother Warren.”

"...I don't understand. If such obvious problems can be discovered simply by conducting this kind of examination and comparison, why haven't the Holy Blood Priests made any progress in their research over the years?"

Malakin reached out and stroked a warm coconut ricotta latte on the table in front of him, and said softly, "...Perhaps they are helpless even if they discover the problem."

Warren frowned.

“Speaking of which,” Malakin raised his eyes, “when I was working with Master Honso on brain recovery experiments, he casually mentioned some experimental projects that could save the Flesh-Tearers, perhaps you and your wounded…”

“The Flesh-Tearers don’t need anyone’s salvation!” Warren crossed his arms, his face darkening. “We are fine, we have no problems that need saving. Malakin, although I know you mean well, we will decide our own future, just as Nasir Amit first landed on our home planet Coretasia eight thousand years ago. We will fight to the end, and if we know the final outcome, then we will choose the best final battle for ourselves.”

There was a brief silence between them.

Then Malakin spoke up, "If you really think that way, then why did you disobey orders and escape from your home planet with your people and ship?"

"The enemy launched a surprise attack on us, and we have too few people left behind. I must retreat temporarily to preserve the precious gene seeds and take them to Balthus to find him and let him make a decision..."

"If what you're really thinking is exactly what you just said, then why are you here, Warren? When your home planet was under an insurmountable attack, you could have easily chosen to lure the enemy deep into the Bastion Monastery and then blow yourself, the enemy, and all the gene seeds and recruits to smithereens with explosives or an overloaded core reactor, wouldn't you?"

"..." Warren's face, inherited from the Coretasia tribe, fell silent. The tenth company commander, who was in charge of selecting and training new recruits, grinned, revealing his canine teeth.

Malakin even noticed with some relief that although his canines were still long and sharp, his eyes were clear and sharp, with a sharpness completely different from when he first met him.

He reached out, grasped the other person's glove, and made the suggestion again.

"How about we have a coconut racha coffee together, and then I'll take you to visit Master Hongsuo?"

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However, after chatting amicably for a while, soothing their parched throats with warm, sweet coconut ricotta coffee, and leaving the officers' mess hall for the pharmacist's laboratory, they were told by the mech guards at the door that the master pharmacist was not there.

No, he's just a mech pilot. He doesn't know where Master Hongsuo went or when he'll return. His laboratory is currently closed, and no unauthorized personnel are allowed to enter.

So Malakin and Warren had no choice but to leave regretfully, planning to visit later.

As for the actual whereabouts of the alchemy master...

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"Sometimes I really wonder if that vicious and disgusting pervert Fabius Bayer shoved something that shouldn't have been into your genetic seed. Honso. Are you an Alpha? Or did that spider in the sewers transplant a piece of Eldar clown's brain tissue into your brain?"

The first thing Peturabo BC said made Hunsso's eyes widen.

“Father… my Lord! I can submit my genetic testing report and brain scan report to you immediately! I…”

“Yes. But you manipulated and wrote your own genetic testing report.” The black-and-white plush lord revealed his devilish nature. “Don’t think I don’t know how many thoughts you had and how many tricks you played while writing the report. Honso, do you misunderstand my ability to peel you out of your body and hang only your brain and nerves on the bridge to endure eternal skinning and bone-scraping pain? — Let me tell you, my anatomical knowledge is no less than Conrad Coates’! You will stay there alive until I am satisfied!”

The master pharmacist seemed completely unfazed by the intimidation. He immediately knelt down on one knee, his eyes fixed firmly on the two fathers of genes (?) behind the desk, and spoke with intense emotion.

“I have no illusions about this, my lord! If this pleases you, then please do it! I can only be your son! I only wish to be your son! If anyone objects to this or even strips me of my status as your son, I would rather be tortured to death in agony far worse than being burned alive—that would be better than enduring even a second of that soul-crushing pain of your doubtful gaze!” “I thought a shameless fellow like you had already sold your soul to Chaos,” Diocletian couldn’t help but say, his black-and-white plush tyrant’s oracle helmet immediately turning to glare at him. “You get your ass to the canteen and get to work! They’re peeling potatoes today!”

"To make a noble and honorable Imperial Guard Tribunal peel potatoes?! My lord! This is an insult! An insult! A complete insult! I was created and trained as the finest warriors, commanders, philosophers, and scientists, not to do this kind of work that even the lowest servant can do!"

"Your master's command is for you to obey my commands—"

Before Peturabo BC's roar had ended, Ramizan, who had been sitting in the center reading a book (quotes reversed here), closed his book and spoke with a deep expression.

"I haven't seen any signs of being a commander, philosopher, or scientist yet. But Diocletian Cross, have you forgotten whose son you are? You know your mother died of hunger and disease before you were taken away, and you haven't forgotten that, yet you only tell others about it as a record. What terrible brainwashing training! Such a creation is destined to produce more tragedies. Diocletian! You are the son of a powerful and brutal defeated chieftain, and the son of a nameless female slave who was captured! Your father was defeated and killed; surely such a man has other sons? What do you think you were sent to the Emperor's court for? I don't think it was as some damned hero or real warrior! I have seen real heroes and real warriors! Real warriors are not playthings like you, created according to a whim! Now! Immediately! Get to the mess hall and peel potatoes!"

The office was silent for a long time. Even Hong Su, who had been excited just moments before, opened his mouth wide in surprise.

It was as if they were stunned by the sudden outburst from this ever-gentle, smiling, and amiable and even polite person to everyone—a person whose behavior, which made the royal guards living in the Terra court feel more than once in private, was "too servile" to the point of being "not noble enough."

Diocletian even subconsciously tried to speak up in defense.

"The victor is king, the loser is villain—that's the law of destiny. Situations like my family's were happening all the time back then. I will always be grateful to have been sent to my master; it was His Majesty who gave me a new life. I don't see it as a tragedy..."

"It is precisely because you don't see it as a tragedy that it becomes a tragedy."

Ramizan raised his eyes and looked at Diocletian.

The Imperial Guard was instantly drawn to something deep within those icy blue eyes. He couldn't describe the feeling in words, but he trembled at the sight of the Milky Way formed from the dust of history.

"Why aren't you reporting to the cafeteria yet?"

Perturabo BC, however, calmed down and ordered the mechs to open the office door. The distraught Diocletian was then "invited" out of the office.

“And you.” The Defiant’s fearless helmeted face turned to Hunsso.

"Tell me honestly, what is the connection between your 'Research and Comparative Analysis of the Critical Point of Brain Resection in Controllable Autonomous Combat Creatures and Machine Servants' and the bizarre situation of Malakin Forros?"

“I don’t understand what you’re saying, my lord.” The apothecary’s face immediately showed confusion and a hint of well-hidden grievance. “This experimental project has been halted on the spot by you. As for Malakin Forross’s recovery, it’s progressing well. You can check all the rehabilitation surgeries and medications in my daily reports…”

"Is that so? Then you tell him why he was summoned here."

As Peturabo BC spoke, the side door opened, and another Space Marine who had been waiting for a long time appeared.

The Grey Knight paladin, and also the chief prophet of the Fourth Brotherhood, Hyperion, appeared with a smile.

"Good day, cousin. My name is Hyperion. I have long admired your name and read about your outstanding performances in the Extreme Starfield, the Great Vortex, and other places... However, this is the first time we have met so formally."

Hong Suo responded to the other party's formulaic smile with a forced, polite but insincere one.

"Hong Suo. Primarch Chief Pharmacist, Ironblood... Master of the Pharmacist Laboratory on the Destiny Steel."

For a moment, the air seemed to be filled with the smell of ozone after a thunderstorm.

“This is what happened,” Hyperion said, “About two standard hours ago, Lord Mephisto came to see me…”

Then everyone in the office—except for Honsau—had to listen again to how they had gone from the Silver Skull Chapter to the Grey Knights Chapter within the Blood Angels.

"I...I admit that part of it was to make the experimental surgery more effective, so I deliberately let Malakin see the interface I created to leak false information...But, but...but...how did he arrive at that conclusion?!"

"I really just wanted to weaken his hostility while experimenting with the effects of suggestive memory implantation during the reconstruction of the cerebral cortex and synaptic and neuronal connections," Honsor said incredulously.

"Why did you have to choose Malakin of all people..." Ramizam said, both amused and exasperated. "It seems the luck of the Weeping Ones, which always seems to make things go in the opposite direction, still exists, doesn't it?"

“Warren Charaka used to make me a little uncomfortable, and I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to maintain a fair experimental mindset when I was doing experiments…” Hunsso explained in a low voice.

"Now look what's happened! If we were to overturn this conclusion, we'd need a much stronger explanation to resolve the issues with Baal... For now, it seems better to stick to this conclusion. If that guy could come out in person, we wouldn't need all this trouble!"

"What is 'Jiu, Jiupo Xia Lü'? My lord?"

“It’s a donkey! A species of ancient Terratic odd-toed ungulate, family Equidae, genus Equus,” Peturabobc replied impatiently.

"Who is that guy?"

"Well, a highly respected figure with deep ties to the Blood Angels, but he's currently unable to appear. His influence on Dante far surpasses our efforts through Mephisto... so we were originally invited to Baal to meet Dante there, after which the Blood Angels would become our powerful allies in the Empire..."

"Wait, wait." Lamizain rubbed his forehead. "Let me process this... From what you're saying... could it be...?"

“We are not on the side of the Empire,” Peturabo said in a very matter-of-fact tone. “We have a territory under our control, and we have an old man in our hands. At this point, we can only develop in peace if the Empire has our people everywhere.”

...It seems to make a lot of sense, but why does it feel so familiar?
(End of this chapter)