I'm in Warhammer, please don't praise Doraemon

Chapter 709 Forgrim
powerless

A profound sense of powerlessness swept over Fugen.

His memory was hazy, his senses somewhat muddled; he only remembered charging towards Forgrim, and Forgrim charging towards him in return.

It's like a boulder rolling down a mountain, and the people pushing it from below rushing towards it once more.

Then, everything around me seemed to blur, and the whole world vanished.

He and Fugrim melted and reformed, converged and separated, becoming indistinguishable from one another.
They seemed to have been disintegrated; the molecular bonds within their bodies collapsed, the barriers between matter disappeared, and their entire bodies formed a larger whole. At the same time, Fugen and Fugrim merged into a similar whole.
He bathed in the sea, a mix of purple and gold, the seawater flowing down his handsome, unarmored body, seeping into his skin, or rather, merging into the seawater.
It was as if he was born in this sea, as if this sea were the amniotic fluid that nurtured him alone, the primordial womb where he was born.
In a daze, Fugen realized that this sea was the infinite yearning for perfection by all living beings of the past, present, and future.
He also understood why Primarchs must have a mother; the key lies in the inclination to be born, to imbue those unborn Warp beings with the desire to be born. What Erdalda truly contributed was not her extraordinary genes, but the faith that had been gathered upon her when she was worshipped as a goddess of human fertility, reproduction, and abundance—the desire of countless humans for birth.
It was Erda who gave them the desire to be born, which led to their birth into the world.

Normally, Fugen might have been interested in this secret, but at this moment he had almost lost all impulse, leaving only a strong desire and urge.
He wanted to kill Forgrim; he wanted to devour Forgrim.
Fulgrim was submerged in the sea, not wearing power armor, but still in that twisted and ugly posture. He lay there, languid, powerless, and颓废 (颓废 is a difficult word to translate directly, but it conveys a sense of listlessness, decadence, and apathy).
It's very much like the emotion one feels after realizing the destiny that perfection can never be reached.

Fugen rushed towards him, like a traveler just beginning his pursuit of perfection, stepping into the sea, full of hope and vitality.
He swung the Brokensmith's Warhammer at Forgrim, the heavy hammer rolling down like a massive boulder from the mountaintop, crashing down upon Forgrim.
Forgrim merely swung his flaming sword lazily to defend himself, but Fugen's hammer easily deflected the sword and struck Forgrim on the head.

Fulgrim shattered like a languid cloud, and a pinkish-purple mist drifted from beneath the hammerhead.

After Fugan raised his hammer, Fugorim's form solidified once more.
But Fugen also noticed that Fugorim's aura had clearly weakened, and the Weakness Attack was still effective against him.

Realizing this, Fuggen began swinging his warhammer rapidly, smashing it against Fuggen's body again and again.
Fugrim merely symbolically and listlessly parried Fuggen's attacks.
Fulgrim's body repeatedly broke apart and reformed, growing weaker with each passing moment. Many times, Fulgrim felt he was about to dissipate, but he never did.
Fugen continued to swing his warhammer, again and again, so many times that he seemed to have forgotten how.

He felt like he was pushing a heavy boulder, and every time he thought he was about to reach the summit, the boulder would fall back down, and Fugen had to repeat this process again and again.

He swung until his arm stiffened, until his arm ached, until waving became an instinctive action, until time slowly slipped away.
Fugrim raised his flaming sword, effortlessly deflecting the attack, and slowly rose from the purple and gold liquid.
He looked at Fugen with a gaze that was a mixture of pity and self-mockery.

"You're saying we're two different choices for perfection, rather than the beginning and the end of the path to perfection?"

"No, you're wrong. We are both two perfect different choices and a perfect beginning and end."

A mocking smile played on Forgrim's lips:
"When everyone wants to do something, they always fantasize that they will do it perfectly. After all, who hasn't had a false sense of confidence? Just like the dreams of a child when they are young and ignorant, they are illusory and fragile. You, or rather, I was once a reflection of that fantasy."

"Most mediocre people will soon realize that they have to give their all, let alone achieve perfection."

“Some talented people can go further and reach a level where they can look down on the masses, but the further they go, the more they realize how far they are from perfection and how difficult every step they take is.”

"Repeating time and time again, honing skills step by step, but the progress in skills is minimal, the improvement in performance is barely perceptible, and even declines with age and loss of talent. How desperate it is."

"But that's not the most desperate thing. The most desperate thing is when you seem to have reached perfection, when you seem to have reached a state where you can't go any further, when you forge a flawless, one-piece wooden bottle, when you have gone through countless hardships to learn the art of dragon slaying, when you have been tempered and become an excellent knight."

"But you discover that the works you are so proud of are nothing more than readily available, and that there have never been dragons in this world, and that there are only windmills rolling on the horizon, but no knights."

"Life is like this, like being punished by the gods and by fate to push a huge boulder. No matter how hard you try, you can't push it to the top of the mountain. It rolls down again and again, repeating itself, all in vain."

"Then you only have two choices."

"One type is like me, who realizes that all of this is meaningless, that the feeling in the process is everything, and embraces pleasure, joy, and more extreme senses."

"The other type is you, who knows it's all meaningless, yet keeps pushing that stone over and over again, deceiving yourself by assuming you're happy, telling yourself you have to imagine yourself as happy, and then continuing the meaningless repetition."

"But your repetition will eventually come to an end, either by dying or realizing the futility of it all and making the same choice as me."

Fugram leaned closer to Fugen and chuckled:

"Do you understand? So you can never kill me. You can only die like this, or become me."

"The master of that malevolent art also knows this; he understands that you, or rather I, have never had the chance to be reborn from the ashes."

"Now, death or pleasure, which would you choose?"

Fugen gripped the hammer tightly.
"Hedonism? In my opinion, it's nothing but cowardice," he said in a low voice.

“The second option is nothing more than recklessness and self-deception.” Forgrim slightly distanced himself from Fugen.

"Recklessness is closer to courage than cowardice, and death is closer to perfection than depravity."

Fugen's violet eyes were calm:

"And you're wrong. Perhaps when I repeat this in vain time and time again, I need to assume that I am happy."

"When I lift up a boulder and smash it against the gods and fate that punish me, against the perfection that can never be reached, I do not need to assume that I am happy."

“Then, you will die,” Fugram said, staring at Fuggen.

“Yes,” Fugen nodded in agreement, “How wonderful.”

Tears streamed down Thor's face.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Fugen fell, his body pierced through by Fugrim's flaming sword. His body slumped to the ground like a dried-out husk.

Forgrim gently reached out his arm and caught Forgrim's falling body. Forgrim seemed to melt and merge into Forgrim's body.

"..." Forgrim turned his head and stared at Thor.

Although it was only for a fleeting moment, Thor seemed to see a figure, a purple and a gold figure.

It wasn't Fugen, it was Forgrim, the Forgrim of the past, but only for a moment. Forgrim reverted to that ugly, twisted, and depraved form.
But his face no longer held its previous madness; the pastel paint had peeled off his face from the battle, exposing his pale face to the air, his expression complex and contradictory.
He killed Fugen, but he didn't make Fugen become him.
Fugen was undoubtedly dead, but what he symbolized still existed within Fugrim, causing Fugrim a strong sense of separation.

"My son." Forgrim looked at Thor and slowly approached him.

He waved his hand, signaling Marius to get out of the way.

"Sol Taviz, it seems you've made the wrong choice again, siding with the losers."

“But I have always been tolerant. I will give you a choice: you can serve me, be my chosen one, and return to my embrace.”

“Thor, I hope you won’t be as boring as Taviz.” Forgrim spoke softly, slowly bringing his face closer to Thor.

"Did he hurt you? Did he make you suffer?" Thor looked up and stared at Forgrim, asking, "Did he teach you a lesson you'll never forget?"

Fogrim's expression twitched slightly.
"Yes." But he still admitted, "The other me caused me a lot of trouble."

"Very well." Thor let out a slight breath. "Kill me, you traitor."

“But I consider you my son.” Forgrim slightly raised his flaming sword, gazing at the blade in his hand and letting out a soft sigh. “You now have only me as your father, why be as inflexible as Taviz?”

"My father only had a purple phoenix, but now the purple phoenix is ​​dead."

“Then I am the son of Roger Dorn.”

Thor responded by raising the Phase Palace sword in his hand.

It was pointless; Thor didn't even have a chance to swing his sword against Forgrim.

The flaming sword sent him flying, the scorching blade slicing through his body from his forehead to his abdomen, his internal organs spilling out from the burn marks. His body traced an arc through the air before landing.

“My lord,” Marius, the former third company commander of the Emperor’s Son standing to the side, said softly, “he seems to still be alive.”

“I know!” Forgrim’s face twisted as he growled, “Go and kill him.”

Marius quickly shut his mouth, bowed his head to show his respect for the Primarch, and then walked toward Thor.

Fugen, however, looked at Alkenes.

"Get out of the way, Edoron." Forgrim gestured for Edoron, who was suppressing Alkenes, to move aside.

Aidoron's expression twisted; he was reluctant to give up his prey, but he also dared not disobey the Primarch.

“Alkenes, my son, my chief of the Phoenix Guard.”

Fogrem pursed his lips and gave a smile:
"You've trained a new Phoenix Guard for me; that's so thoughtful of you."

“They are not ‘your’ Phoenix Guard.” Alkenes lowered his sword slightly to show respect to the Primarch, but his words did not yield: “My lord, they are the Phoenix Guard, the Phoenix’s Guard.”

"What are you holding on to?" Fugrim raised his voice: "I am Arkenes who drift with the tide, Arkenes who has no opinions of my own, Arkenes who is blind, how dare you defy me?"

"Who do you think you are? Do you think you're Sol Taviz? Or Rellano? You were a traitor too! You were part of the massacre!"

“I chose you as the commander of my Phoenix Guard only because you are so cowardly and so easily manipulated, and now you dare to contradict me.”

"Haven't you always been unable to find your place? I'm giving you one now, why are you refusing me?"

“My lord,” Alkenes said in his still humble voice, “you are right, I am indeed hesitant, incompetent, and indecisive.”

“I am neither loyal enough to keep my oath to the Emperor, nor depraved enough to follow your bizarre and absurd ways.”

"I am not brave enough to die with the Phoenix Guard, but I am not indulgent enough to indulge in pleasure like the others in the Legion."

"But I have now found my Primarch, my place, my phoenix."

“He is dead.” Forgrim’s voice turned cold.

"Was his death noble?" Alkenes asked.

Forgrim couldn't lie, so he simply nodded.

"As his offspring and his protector, I am not noble enough, but fortunately, I am not shameless enough either."

The court sword thrust straight for Forgrim's throat, moving with speed almost exceeding the limits of an Astartes.

Alkenes was not a particularly outstanding warrior; his swordsmanship was far inferior to Thor, Taviz, and Lucius, let alone Akulduna.
Not long ago, the Cursed Legion roamed the mortal realm. Akulduna, whose soul had returned to the Golden Throne, taught the Phoenix Sons. Thor managed to learn some of Akulduna's swordsmanship, but Alkenes did not learn it at the time. Akulduna said that he was thinking too much and his mind was too chaotic.

But now, for some reason, Alkenes' mind is clearer than ever before, and the blade in his hand is thrusting out at a speed he has never seen before.

“It’s pointless.” Alkenes was slapped away by Fugen and sent flying, crashing heavily to the ground.

"You??" Just then, a startled shout rang out from the side.

Marius retreated in terror, the dagger piercing his throat. Saul, struck by Fuggen's sword and with his internal organs spilling out, somehow managed to struggle to his feet.

The burns left on his body by the flaming sword were so clear and scorching, it was as if they were about to reignite. No, they were indeed burning.
Flames engulfed Thor's entire body, scorching and burning, swirling into a ring of fire behind his head. At this moment, Thor seemed to be dead, descending here in a cursed form.

“Tavitz.” Forgrim quickly realized whose spirit had descended upon Thor.

Thor walked step by step toward the spot where Fugen had just fallen.
There, the Forgebreaker Warhammer stood like a metal monument, reflecting the light of furnace fire.

"No!" Forgrim roared, brandishing his flaming sword to kill Thor.

But in the instant his attention was drawn to Thor, Arkenes' court sword pierced Fogrem's left shoulder.

Arkenes felt as if his entire body was on fire; the swing of his sword caused a tearing pain in his muscles.
But it was worth it, as it slowed down Fogrem's movements.

Thor seized the opportunity and grabbed the Forgebreaker's Warhammer.
The scorching fire surged violently from the warhammer, instantly engulfing Thor. A pair of hands, gleaming with silver light, emerged from the fire, circled Thor's body, and grasped the Broken Forge Warhammer.

(End of this chapter)