Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 885 A Small Attempt
"It was that iconic scene!!! I remember! I remember! It was Medusa who almost ended the Great Rebellion ahead of schedule!"

At the other end of time, Ramizam shouted and clapped his hands in surprise.

The observation crystal ball that the pigeon spat out to fulfill its wish had just pulled its observation view directly from the high orbit into the sky above the Resurrection Dome Hall of the Deville World Tomb District.

Peturabo BC, Magna, and Clarke have no memory of what happened in this long-destroyed world. The former was not traveling with the Warmaster and his two brothers at the time, and the latter two would be even less aware of the actions of the Rebellious Primarchs in some obscure world for a short period of time.

When the three Ironhand Flame Raptor gunships emerged from the darkness, among those present, only Ramizan Carlosini immediately recognized the scene.

"It actually happened here! I didn't even know until today! And Horus chose to bring Mortarion and Forgrim. Hmm... his judgment is pretty accurate. I guess the main reason he didn't bring Angron and Magnus is because they are uncontrollable."

Ramizan stared at the frozen burial site in the image, which had been completely transformed into a sea of ​​fire filled with charred corpses.

Perhaps because he knew that Medusa and the White Scars had ultimately failed, and that all three rebel Primarchs and key figures had survived, he didn't seem too worried about the safety of his companions—after all, their armory-made shields had proven their quality after being tested by so many events.

"...Without Perturabo, Koz, and Loga... Well, let's see what they say and what they do. This great demon in Horus's body has inherited the original problems of its host body quite well."

The pigeons started coughing, and the sheepdogs didn't seem very happy. The Lord of Dark Ravens tiptoed and patted his brother in the fearless seat, while also plucking his plump, soft feathers a few times.

The three Flame Raptors had clearly succeeded in their first strike, and they were now circling outside the dome, unleashing the maximum amount of ammunition in the shortest amount of time.

But in an instant, something, sparkling and radiant, spread outwards from a certain point. The mass reaction munitions that came into contact with it lost their original power, from enough to turn everything in the hall to dust to allow those inside to still have the ability to fight back.

Amidst the dazzling colors, a giant, snow-white serpent suddenly rose upright from the blazing ruins, which resembled a pyre of ashes. It had two horns and four arms, and milky-white blood was splattering from the wounds on its body, with hissing smoke rising from the surfaces of anything around it.

— Dr. Mortalian, who had successfully dodged most of the lethal attacks behind Forgrim based on his memory, realized that what was in front of him was Forgrim's white hair and his snow-white and pinkish body, which were covered in wounds and looked like the front half of a scaleless snake connected to the rear half of his jewel-like tail.

That strangely beautiful face was contorted with rage and venom as it stared at the three gunboats bearing the Iron Hand emblem. Its mouth was open to an angle no human could possibly open, like a venomous snake with its jaws agape, emitting a silent hiss towards the Flaming Raptor—

Fugrim stretched out his four claw-like arms towards the attacker and pressed them forcefully together—

Then, everyone inside and outside the crystal ball saw one of the three Raptors suddenly begin to twist and fold from head to tail, the steel, along with the remaining ammunition and the pilot, making a terrible shattering and exploding sound as it crashed into the black graveyard below.

"This warp power is quite strong, isn't it? Activating both shields and telekinesis at the same time? It's rare to see Vograim exert so much force," Ramizane commented aboard the Destiny Steel.

"Hmph." Peturabo BC let out an extremely dissatisfied sound.

"Alright, we all know that his promotion came at the cost of your power..." someone hurriedly reached out to soothe the black and white plush tyrant, "But will they still retaliate like before..."

--------

The Pale King quickly searched through his memories, and then, while Horus still seemed dizzy and buried in the ruins, he strode forward and grasped the Silent Scythe in his hand.

“Okay…” he whispered, so no one else could hear him, “Let me try and see if I can… pull off a little surprise right under his nose.”

Then, amidst the astonished gazes of the remaining two Flame Raptor pilots circling and continuing their attack, people saw the Death Guard Primarch let out a deep roar, like the thunder and lightning stirred up by an ancient beast from the earth, before leaping high into the air with a jump completely disproportionate to his size and weight, landing directly on the gunboat that was daring to approach them from behind and firing all six missiles at the upright serpentine body of Vorgrim.

As the piercing scream of the Slaanesh prince, who had just been dragged out of the ruins by his sons and witnessed this scene, echoed Horus's empathetic howl, the Death Guard's Primarch narrowed his eyes, crouched down, and met the pilot's eyes, which were gradually filled with fear, in the cockpit. In that instant, countless moments of death of the other person flashed before the Pale King's eyes across countless timelines.

"Your life ends here; may you find your own good fortune."

He whispered, then raised his arm and, with a sharp screech of breaking glass, smashed the hatch, roughly dragging the pilot out and tossing him straight into the darkness below. With a powerful push of his legs, he hurled his massive scythe at the last Raptor, which seemed to be contemplating whether to flee or run out of ammunition before leaving.

The entire building trembled. Beneath his feet, the second Raptor, pilot lost and spinning as it plummeted, crashed into the rocky foundation of the hall. The violent shockwave from the explosion subjected the people in the fiery ruins to another test of shock. Many of the dizzy, crawling corpses and Primarchs and their guards in the ruins lost their footing and fell. Abaddon's hair was almost completely burned off. He fired at the last gunboat, cursing, while Asimand continued to crawl toward Horus with all his might.

The Silent Scythe, like a giant claw, embedded itself deeply into the rear fuselage of the gunboat. Mortarian roared, coiled the chain at the end of the scythe, and hung himself on the gunboat. His weight caused the aircraft to lose its balance and wobbled precariously in the air as if it were drunk.

The last pilot finally gave up his attempt to continue attacking the remaining people in the hall, and the Flame Raptor, with the Death Guardian Primarch behind it, staggered and fled further away.

The Sons of Horus and the Death Guard, who were guarding the foot of the mountain, had gathered and begun to march here. When someone recognized the figure taken away by the fleeing gunboat, a terrible wail and rage erupted among the Death Guard.

--------

"Motalian saved all of us, and I will do everything in my power to help you find him."

The warlord, his body wrapped in bandages, dressings, and transplanted new skin, made this assurance to the Death Guards.

Right beneath his feet, the Sons of Horus and the Death Guard, now completely enraged, had razed the entire city of the Devel Mausoleum to the ground. The database of memories, meticulously preserved for thousands of years, had been trampled and crushed by boots and armored vehicles, turning into scorched earth in the flames of promethium.

Five days later, as the fleets led by the three Primarchs departed, the world of Deville was completely incinerated, and no one could ever know the tens of millions of great souls that once existed on its surface and the true memories contained within them.

—or so?

--------

"It seems my little experiment was a success."

Seated in the cabin of the End, after naturally receiving treatment from the Legion's apothecary, Mortarion dismissed everyone except for two Death Shroud members who had recently become inexplicably favored. As the airtight hatch closed with seven locking clicks, the two Death Shroud members removed their helmets.

Ruth's pale face and Pallas's furrowed brows appeared before Mortalian.

"What little attempt?"

Pallas asked, glancing at Russ, who seemed somewhat distracted, beside him.

“What’s wrong with him?” Dr. Mortalian asked.

"Uh, he almost pulled Dionysus' spear at Abaddon."

"Varied--"

“But that’s exactly when the gunboats launched their attack!” Pallas quickly said. “So afterwards we took advantage of the chaos to get away from the Council of the Four Kings and Gastalin. They must have noticed that Ruth’s actions were not right, but no one was able to come and question him now.”

“Then you’d better keep a close eye on him, Pallas,” said the Pale King. “Because since my little experiment has succeeded, we can’t afford any mistakes in where we’re going and what we’re going to do next.”

“I…” Ruth finally spoke, “For a moment I felt that temptation. It told me that I could salvage my regrets and build an unparalleled legacy in a matter of breaths, but I also knew something was wrong. The fate of my destiny couldn’t be changed so easily, but…”

“Witnessing the incarnation of the Slaanesh prince and smelling his fragrance is certainly not a good thing for someone with your keen senses,” Mortarion said. “He is the type that is very dominant to you and your offspring, and even to most of us. But fortunately, his attack power is not usually that strong, and as long as one has enough willpower, even a mortal can resist his invitation—even demons don’t always win.”

The Wolf King stared for a moment at the face that was still wearing the Mortarion breathing mask, but whose eyes were filled with a peaceful, pragmatic, and calmly prudent gaze.

"...Thank you, I never thought I'd have a chance to hear you comfort me in this lifetime. Maybe I should try to make some changes..."

"I'm glad to hear you say that. Although it may not be able to change your nature, at least you can understand yourself a little better, which is a good thing."

“Excellent,” Pallas said. “So, Forgrim wasn’t killed by the missile?”

"While I wanted to share some good news, unfortunately, the Sons of the Emperor have withdrawn to their flagship, and Fulgrim should be receiving treatment right now, just like us. How are you?"

“That’s good.” Pallas shrugged, a hint of regret still lingering in his eyes.

"Although the firepower of those three Flame Raptors was enough to blast us to pieces, apart from the warp energy, our individual shields worked properly, and the camouflage made us look like we were under attack. Apart from Abaddon and Asimand beside him, no one saw Russ's movements, and no one suspected us."

"Fortunately, Abaddon is not the type who likes to offer advice and whose advice is taken as a reference by others."

The Pale King muttered to himself, entering the information into his numerology software as parameters, "But let's make a record of it anyway."

"What exactly did you just tell us about your attempt?"

"this."

Dr. Mortarion reached into his cloak and, like a magic trick known in ancient Terra as a hat trick, pulled a "person" out of it.

Or it would be more appropriate to call it "pulling out a half-Astartes," because the broad, modified body clearly belonged to a Space Marine, but he only had the area above his chest and one hand. The other hand was covered with severed cables from the shoulder down, and the pipes and cables below his chest were hastily tied in knots or simply burned to temporarily stop the bleeding.

However, the person who did this clearly had some relevant knowledge, as the cutting and hemostasis were done quite accurately and cleanly.

“Oh, Medusa’s blood…” Pallas murmured. Ruth gave him a very strange look.

Astartes, who had been in a semi-comatose state for a long time and only had his upper body and spine remaining, seemed to regain some of his senses after hearing the word Medusa. He raised his face, which was covered in shards of glass, blood, and engine oil, and vaguely searched for something around him.

Then, both the mechanical eye and the naked eye focused on the face of the phoenix standing before them. The originally weak gaze, filled with hope and longing for the appearance of comrades and brothers, turned into a poisoned blade, cutting into Pallas's face like a knife.

“Murderer…!” he spat. “Traitor! Murderer! How dare you… You killed him! How dare you appear before the Son of Feralus!”

The stark, bloody, and fresh accusation struck Pallas as if from the void within his body, causing him to stagger back half a step in a daze. Ruth quickly helped him up, and the eyes of the Iron Hand inevitably widened when they noticed Ruth's face.

"Primarch above! How could it be you?! Have you betrayed us too?!"

“Oh, it seems he recognizes you, Ruth,” Dr. Mortalian assessed from behind them. “Judging from this model, he most likely participated in the Battle of Ulanor and the parade. If he’s also of Terran descent, that would be even better; statistically, it would be easier to persuade them.”

"But first," the Pale King said, donning gloves and holding a syringe, as he appeared before the Raptor pilot, whose eyes were darting wildly and who was trying to prop himself up with his only arm to get away from them, "let me give you a shot... and then let Pallas fix you up properly."

"No...no! What are you going to do! You disgusting traitor! Dream on! I won't let you and his filthy hands touch me..."

“…Don’t yell like a kid getting their first shot,” the Pale King said disapprovingly. “I still need you to contact Shadrak Meduson, so you better not die right now. Come on, behave yourself.”

"Do not--"

(End of this chapter)