Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 888: Using numerology to change your destiny and obtain your own Nurgle Great Demon isn't that difficult!
"Where are we going to finish your, uh, work?"

After shoving the gag into Steel Hand's mouth and then hanging it like a backpack—or some kind of cruel trophy—on the side of his armor disguised as Terminator armor, Ruth asked.

They had just planned to leave the steel hand there, but Mortarian warned them that it would be better to keep it with them, otherwise he couldn't be sure if the prisoner would still be solid when they returned.

"This is it."

The Pale King rose and opened the door to his cabin.

Standing outside the door was Kefal Morag, Primarch's servant, anxious but still silent.

When he saw them appear, he first looked up at Mortalian with a joyful gaze, while at the same time showing a look of deep sorrow and worry for the Primarch's bandaged skin.

His gaze then swept suspiciously and inquisitively over the two “death shrouds” standing behind the Primarch, before returning to his own Primarch.

Behind him stood five people in burial shrouds, each holding a long scythe.

"I have selected five men as you instructed, sir."

Morag said somewhat uneasily, "Because this has never happened before, it took me a while to calm them down. They hope to have the opportunity to be your guards' cones next time."

"Of course. Tell them they'll have a chance. And Kefa, you did a great job."

Motarian said that the calm confidence, pride and admiration in his words made Morag almost immediately dizzy.

"That's a bit of an exaggeration," Ruth said in the communications. "I don't recall the Death Guard having this genetic defect."

Imagine your dad has always told you since you were little that your family is poor, that everyone looks down on you, that you, as his child, have to suffer, endure hardship, have no hope, and fight against the whole world. Then suddenly he tells you, "It's okay, child. From now on, he'll handle everything, shoulder everything for you. Just listen to him and he'll tell you you're a good child."

"...That's terrifying. I understand. And the way you described it in such detail is also terrifying, Pallas."

【Thanks. 】

“Let’s go,” Dr. Mortalian interrupted the conversation between the two brothers inside their helmets. “We’re going to the apothecary’s deck.”

--------

The pharmacists on the End have a great deal of work space because the legion has additional weapon research and development needs.

Almost the entire deck belongs to the pharmacist department.

Now, the seven Death Shrouds remain on high alert aboard the Primarch's flagship, scythes in hand, their blades sweeping across the air in every path they traverse.

The temperature here was lower than on the other decks, and the white breath exhaled condensed on the surface of their breathing grids in the cold air.

But it is not quiet here.

On the contrary, there were many subtle, noisy sounds indicating that this was a very active department: the sound of liquid flowing through pipes, the working of various instrument servo motors, the alarm of timers, and the hissing of evaporating chemicals and toxic gases, etc.

However, the apothecaries were likely scattered in different areas at the moment, and they did not see any Legion apothecaries as they moved through the main passage.

"Their Terminator oracle shared that there was indeed an intruding object," Ruth said in her helmet, avoiding the channels used by the other five Death Shroud members. "But my wolfish instincts and experience tell me this thing isn't good. What do you guys think?"

“It’s quite obvious,” the Pale King spoke, his voice like the first chilly breeze blowing through pale yellow branches in early spring. “The situation here matches my calculations.”

"My lord?" Morag turned his gaze to the Primarch with a puzzled look. "Shouldn't we start the search from the front?"

“No need,” said the Pale King, his Silent Scythe hanging from the weapon rack on his back and his Lantern Pistol dangling at his waist. He looked relaxed and confident.

"Let's go straight there; that's the best place."

The Primarch's servant and his two brothers looked in the direction indicated by the Pale King and saw an armored adamantium gate with a large number of complex and sturdy locking mechanisms visible to the naked eye. The double helixes and warning symbols on it were even understandable to Leman Ruth.

"[A gene seed bank?]" The Wolf King whistled. "[This is absolutely crucial. Mortarian really trusts us to go in. True brothers.]"

"The intrusion into the gene bank is a very serious problem." Pallas's voice was tense. "Should we pre-charge the weapons? But aren't there too many things to consider when firing from inside?"

“No problem.” Mortalian spoke again, and Morag glanced worriedly at the Primarch, who seemed to be talking to himself.

“Open it,” he commanded, leaving no room for argument.

Following the Primarch's command, a group of Legion slaves, dressed in hazmat suits, carrying dynamic password generators and enormous electronic power keys, immediately rushed to the Primarch and began to perform a series of unlocking tasks, including inserting the keys.

"My lord, I implore you to stay a little longer."

A Space Marine, wearing a green Legion apothecary robe over bone-white armor, hurried out from the passage on the other side.

Morag didn't recognize him, and just as the other man seemed about to introduce himself, the Pale King seemed to smile.

"Pharmacist Pork?"

The apothecary seemed surprised that the Primarch recognized him, but even more so by his current appearance and charm. He bowed deeply, looking with admiration and relief at the invisible lightness and vitality emanating from beneath the hood and mask.

"Kerry Polk, Legion Pharmacist, at your service, sir."

"Since you're here to serve me, then open the door to the gene bank for me."

“This is probably not suitable, my lord.” Although these words immediately drew angry stares from the five Death Shroud servants and Primarch servants, who were as sharp as venomous ice blades, the apothecary’s duty and honor kept Porku standing still under the pressure.

"The seed vault is the future of the Legion; it must be absolutely sterile and uncontaminated. Opening it so hastily and carelessly greatly increases the chance of contamination. My lord, even if you intend to go in, you should at least make preparations beforehand..."

“Duty-bound. Look at Morag.” The Pale King’s voice was a mix of sigh and reflection. “My legion has never lacked such responsible men.”

“It is their duty, my lord,” the Primarch’s servant said, still somewhat displeased. “But this ship belongs to you, and so do we, and so do they. What he did was extremely disrespectful to the true master of this place.”

Dr. Mortalian appears to be smiling behind his breathing mask.

"Insolence? Kefa, you are a Barbarusian, and one of the first to follow me in rebelling against the overlord. Do you really think that being dutiful and aware of the consequences is less important than being disrespectful to your 'master'?"

The Primarch's servant blinked in confusion, trying desperately to understand what the Primarch meant, but the Pale King simply smiled and let it go, as there were more important matters to attend to first.

“We’re almost at Moro now,” Mortarian said. “Time is of the essence. Nobody here but me can catch this guy. I’ll need him later—show him the results on your oracles.”

A shroud then stepped forward and transmitted the scan alarm data to the pharmacist.

“Ah, I understand, sir.” After verifying the data, Porkur considered for a moment. “It is indeed a suspicious signal, how strange.” He paused. “Logically speaking, even we wouldn’t go in here for no reason, so how could something have infiltrated this place?”

"Enough talk," Mortarian said. "Open it now. Then you two stand guard at the door and don't come in unless I open it myself—you two come with me."

The pharmacist stepped forward and began operating the complex password generator and the hidden key insertion points or rotation sequences until the heavy, adamantite-sealed door opened.

In an instant, a biting cold wind carrying the smells of preservatives, acidity, culture medium, and biological tissue rushed towards me.

"Let me guide you through here, sir." The apothecary was practically burning twelve holes in his body with the gazes of Morag and the other people in the death shrouds, but he persisted because of honor and duty.

"According to regulations, only pharmacists are allowed to touch the items here; otherwise, we cannot guarantee sterility..."

Mortarian sighed.

"While one's work skills may not be top-notch, it is always the principled who are most likely to fall into the clutches of death, which is truly regrettable."

"grown ups?"

"Morag, have someone restrain him. You stay here and guard him. Don't let anyone in or open the door without permission—"

"My lord—I beg you—the future of the legion is contained within these walls! I beg you…" "Gag him!"

"Um..."

"Sir, then I'll settle him in and then I'll come with you..."

"Including yourself!"

The Primarch's servant almost showed a wronged expression because of the Pale King's strange behavior these past few days, but he held back and nodded.

[...It almost makes me feel guilty, like I'm abandoning my little wolf cub to guard the house.]

Don't talk nonsense, my old uncle. You see everyone as a wolf cub!

Ruth and Pallas, clad in bone-white armor trimmed with red and light brown, and wielding giant scythes, silently followed Dr. Mortalian through the gates of the Gene Seed Bank.

The adamantine gate slammed shut smoothly behind them.

--------

"Phew! This is my first time visiting a legion's gene seed bank."

After making sure the door was closed, Pallas breathed a sigh of relief and then curiously began to look around.

They were now standing at the entrance of a large, square hall, which was about 140 meters by 140 meters in size. The walls were lined with rows of cold storage rooms and freezers, which stored a large number of reagents, samples and seed collection glands.

The open space in the middle was artificially divided into channels by a large number of centrifuges or blowers.

On both sides of the passage, numerous panels flashing data runes indicate the analysis, inference, and purity testing of Mortalian's genetic material. Behind these panels are often rows of specialized amniotic fluid tanks containing various different differentiated organs or fertilized eggs.

Depending on the level and content of the cultivation, Pallas was certain that he saw a row of primitive tubes that were all beginning to differentiate into second hearts, and a row of things that were completely enlarged versions of ordinary ears connected to the strangely shaped cochlea and other nerves. Pallas realized that this was the entire unimplanted Lyman's Ear organ system.

As he politely turned his gaze away from the analysis of Mortalian's genetic fragments, he saw a row of specimen tanks filled with all sorts of eyeballs, some tissues that might become detection nerves in the future, and other things.

Don't touch anything.

Mortalian's voice drew his attention back, and Ruth reluctantly withdrew his hand from a glass dome that looked like an open and analyzed storage gland.

"He was right about one thing: this place is full of containers and cells that are easily contaminated."

"Then why did you choose this place?" Ruth asked. "Couldn't it be outside? You're doing such dangerous things here, and you told me not to touch them. Aren't you afraid of polluting the whole place?"

"You think I do?"

"Motalian replied, while staring into the deepest part of the seed bank," Mortarian answered.

—Who? Is it you?

"Who's speaking?" Pallas asked alertly, drawing his battle axe.

Ruth's hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword, but his two ears were turned in different directions, trying to discern the source of the abrupt sound.

—Is that you? Why do I feel like it is and yet it isn't?

“It’s me,” Dr. Mortalian replied, pulling his laptop from a pouch on his belt and connecting several data cables to a row of drains filled with fertilized morulae undergoing pretreatment.

The breathing light flashed, and the numerology program immediately began operating.

The fertilized eggs in the drain suddenly began to grow wildly—expanding terrifyingly, as if a super-accelerator had been pressed.

The undifferentiated stem cells rolled and churned, revealing primitive mouths that howled silently before being swallowed by the next eyeball that rolled up. The eyeball blinked, and what appeared in place was a mass of liver-like substance. As the program continued, more reagents were added to the tank, and they began to transform into clumps of flesh with parts of organs, facial features, large blood vessels, granulation tissue, and mixed with hair, teeth, and other things. The smell of ozone, acid, and ammonia filled the cold air.

"Knowing it's me, why don't you show yourself? My son, my life-devourer."

The Pale King whispered persuasively.

"Meat, I want meat. Not enough meat. No meat!"

"It will be available soon."

Dr. Mortalian promised, operating the keyboard with one hand and raising his Silent Scythe with the other, aiming it at the tank where the bizarrely divided chunks of flesh had grown wildly and swelled to the point of tumbling out of the water.

He was so focused, as if he were a researcher holding a microscopic extraction needle and aiming it at the membrane of an egg cell.

Suddenly, with a speed that was almost imperceptible to the eyes of Leman Ruth and Fogrem Pallas, Silent Scythe silently swung its blade.

The scythe severed the water tank and its contents, sending splattered blood and gore through the mutated flesh, turning the hall floor into a blood-red lake like a runaway fountain. Then came the sound of breaking, and the blood that had been splattered everywhere began to drip down from Mortalian's power armor, the surrounding equipment, and other objects, creating a fine, metallic rain.

"What is this...?" Pallas's voice suddenly stopped halfway through.

“The stench of demons.” Ruth twitched his nostrils, his sharp eyes fixed on a patch of air above the lake of blood in front of Mortarion.

As digital computation continues to output, the probability of possibilities is increasing, and something that was originally non-existent but is now forcibly proven to exist, seemingly stepping out from behind the veil into the Blood Lake.

Starting with the feet of a human figure, blood vessels, veins, bones, muscles...

The outline of a genetically engineered human began to take shape as it absorbed the blood and flesh fragments from the ground, but it was not a reconstructed human being, but a demon wearing the shell of something dead.

The organs inserted into the chest cavity merely resembled a heart, utterly unable to beat. The intestines and other contents, beneath the translucent bruises and yellow skin, appeared as rotting, dark brown flesh, as if the person had been dead for a long time. The face was sculpted to resemble a figure from the past, but this face, which once belonged to Ignatius Grugl, was deformed, stiff, and twisted. A thick, bright purple-red cylindrical tongue protruded from between the skinless, wide jaw and pale teeth, greedily licking the traces of fresh blood clinging to his body.

"I've come, my father!"

The unborn roared.

"The Life Eater virus killed me! And I was reforged by the Life Eater! I am the Life Eater! Call my name!"

“Excellent,” Mortarian said calmly.

"Then I will call you..."

"Kaleb Arin".

The monster let out a deafening scream, refusing to accept its forcibly altered name and fate.

"No!" The faces of Ignatius and Caleb alternated on the face that was constantly cycling between decay and rebirth. "I am Ignatius Grugel! And he cannot even be considered your son!"

"But his mathematical and astrological data is more suitable for me right now than yours."

Dr. Mortalian pushed up his non-existent glasses.

“You’re not the only one killed by the Life Eaters on the Eisenstein,” he said. “He also fits my calculation requirements.”

He pressed the Enter key.

The laptop's hard drive fan roared loudly.

Eventually, the face that had been decaying and growing gradually settled into the face of Nathaniel Garo's loyal servant.

A hint of doubt appeared on Caleb Arin's face, but he still walked toward Mortarian.

“Excellent. Look, we’re about to attack Moro,” Mortarian said. “We have just enough time now to have a short briefing.”

(End of this chapter)