Warhammer 40: Doom

Chapter 171 Primarch Competition
Two Primarchs, demigods on earth, the strongest beings in the physical universe.

Their speed is lightning fast, reaching the limits of the physical universe, and even transcending those limits.

At the moment the originals collided, the phantom remained in place.

Only when the shadows disappeared did the mortals realize with astonishment that what they had seen was merely a remnant of time.

This was true for mortals, but not much stronger for Space Marines. To the superhuman warriors, they only saw two dark phantoms, unable to discern the Primarch's specific movements.

Of the countless spectators present, only four could clearly see the two men's movements.

Emperor, Macado, Ferrus, Waldo.

The Emperor's power was beyond imagination. As the strongest individual in the physical universe, his powerful gaze could see through reality, and he took in the actions of the two of them.

Feralus was the Primarch, and his gaze was incredibly perceptive; he could clearly see the clash of the two brothers' swords.

Makado used his psychic powers to cover his eyes and consciousness, striving to see clearly the powerful clashes between the imperial offspring.

Even this powerful immortal being could only barely make out the movements.

Without any preparation, rashly engaging in battle with the Primarch will result in the fight being over before the psionic preparations are complete.

Waldo, the weakest of the four, could still clearly see the two attacking each other if he concentrated his eyes and strained his vision.

Constantine Waldo, commander of the Imperial Guard and a loyal servant of the Lord of Mankind, felt somewhat powerless at this moment.

The superhuman physiques of the Imperial Guards could never compare to the inexplicable power of the demigods of the Warp.

With his white hair flowing like a waterfall and his steps swift, Fugrim's movements were graceful and agile, his ritual longsword swirling in the wind.

Forgrim's swordsmanship, just like himself, is extremely gorgeous and exquisite, with each swing full of dazzling beauty.

Doom responded calmly, his longsword flashing in his hand. His royal swordsmanship was disciplined and unconventional, not relying on sharpness to intimidate, but rather embracing a wide range of styles.

The two longswords clashed, producing a clear, ringing sound as the Primarch's swordsmanship, imbued with their will, drove the swords together.

The beauty of magnificence and the balance of moderation are interpreted in a brief exchange, showcasing a clash between two different styles.

Doom remained calm and composed, steadily and methodically responding to every attack from Fogrem.

Fugrim's swordsmanship was extremely agile, seeking opportunities to defeat his enemies amidst the flying sword flashes.

In less than ten seconds, the two demigods clashed thousands of times, their blades glowing red from the intense heat of the impact.

The Space Marines closed their eyes, abandoning visual observation because they could not see the Primarch's movements.

Instead, they pricked up their ears and used their keen hearing to perceive the subtlety of the Primal Sword Technique the moment the swords clashed.

The Imperial Guards who rushed to watch were too overwhelmed by the sights of the golden-armored warriors to make out the movements of the Gene Primarch.

The mighty Custodians, faced with the Primarch's power, were not much different from the Space Marines.

They faced the Primarch simultaneously; the Space Marines died before they could react, while the Custodians died after they had.

Their bodily functions are too different, so there is not much difference between the two.

The outcome is the same for a one-year-old child and a three-year-old child when facing a physically strong adult.

"Excellent swordsmanship!" Fugrim's lips curled into a perfect smile as he praised his brother's superb swordsmanship.

Despite his words, his attacks continued unabated, relentlessly probing Doom's sword techniques.

"Your swordsmanship is very sharp." Doom praised sincerely. He had never seen such sharp and beautiful swordsmanship before.

The speed was extremely fast, and every attack angle was incredibly precise, leaving no room for error.

This level of intensity was something Doom had never encountered before, and it was unlikely to be seen again.

As time passed and the initial passion faded, the confident expression on Fugrim's stunningly beautiful face gradually disappeared.

He discovered a terrible problem: no matter how he attacked, his longsword could always be blocked by Doom.

The clash of blades rang out, and Fulgrim's longsword, like a phantom, aimed directly at Doom's vital points.

Even without taking a life, Fugrim must maintain his strength, increasing the ferocity of his swordplay and the aggressiveness of his attacks.

He must be more aggressive, more ferocious in his swordsmanship, and go all out.

Doom noticed the subtle change, but his expression remained unchanged. He deflected the thrusting sword with his backhand, and his longsword was parried away again, perfectly anticipating the next attack.

Fugrim sheathed his sword again, and in the next instant, he swirled the sword light into a silver fan, gathering his sword momentum to strike again, like a raging storm.

His purple eyes were as cold as ice, and his surging, murderous aura was palpable; he was clearly enraged.

He launched a relentless attack, using his sword techniques to find a route of attack.

He was incredibly frustrated. No matter what moves he used, Doom could parry them all, but he couldn't budge his brother in the slightest. That extremely cunning thrust, a technique that could be described as perfect, was now completely ineffective.

The brother, relying solely on defense and in a passive position, still managed to withstand the swordsmanship skills that the brother was so proud of.

All offensives seemed to have vanished without a trace, failing to create any ripples.

After a thousand moves of sparring, Fugrim gained nothing but frustration.

It was as if a child, having exerted all his strength, was being indulged and played with by a sword master, feeling utterly stifled.

Faced with the onslaught of sword light, Doom remained calm, his eyes showing no emotion.

Sword spines pressed together, the two swords joined, and Doom once again deflected his brother's sword strike.

In this battle, he never launched an attack, allowing his brothers to unleash their full offensive power.

ding~~
Once again, the longsword rang out, and Fugrim jumped back, announcing the end of the contest.

He leaped backward and landed lightly, his purple robes flowing, his long hair dancing in the wind, his fair skin reflecting the sunlight, his original form still as graceful as ever.

Primarch possessed extraordinary physical strength. After standing still, Vograim took a deep breath, dispelling all the fatigue in his body.

But compared to physical exhaustion, mental frustration is the most shameful.

From Chemos to now, no matter what difficulties he has faced, he has never felt so helpless and frustrated.

Fugrim looked up at his brother, whose posture remained upright and whose breathing was not rapid at all.

His expression never changed; his seemingly simple stance was like an insurmountable peak.

Doom stood still, his longsword twirling in a flourish, and gave Forgrim a bright smile.

Forgrim was startled, as if he had seen a raging flood, and instinctively drew his sword to fight back.

Then he shuddered again, furious at his own loss of composure!
The pursuit of perfection caused a wavering within me, a crack known as "lack of self-confidence."

More terrifying than failure is the self-doubt that arises, like a bottomless abyss, slowly devouring a proud heart.

Fugrim's expression changed drastically; his fair, jade-like skin instantly lost its luster and turned as pale as paper.

The changes on the field caused the four people in the audience to frown.

The emperor's eyes were sharp, and he took in everything that was happening on the field.

Fugrim's sword strikes were like a raging storm, yet he couldn't budge Doom in the slightest. His once-proud, perfect skills now seemed as powerless as a child's play.

Pain crept up his cheeks, as if an invisible crack was slowly devouring his pride.

"Fuggen has been utterly defeated." The Emperor's voice echoed in the three men's minds, calm and indifferent: "I knew he would lose this match, but I never expected that he would lose to Doom and also to himself."

Makado shook his head, his psychic energy conveying a deep sense of regret: "Proud people are strong yet fragile."

“Forgione can always be proud in the face of the weak or the equally strong; he has the right to be.”

"When faced with a true powerhouse, the pride that stems from strength is shattered by an even stronger force, leading to self-doubt."

Ferrus remained silent, letting out a long breath with his nostrils slightly flared.

He had a premonition that the upcoming battle might not be a simple contest, but would veer into an uncontrollable situation.

Glancing sideways at the Emperor's face, his father's glorious and holy face was expressionless, his eyes fixed on the arena, seemingly without any thought.

"Should we stop them?" Waldo gripped his spear, asking in his mind, ready to halt the competition at any moment.

There is no benefit for either side to continue fighting.

"There's no need to stop the competition; let it land naturally." Macado shook his head, believing that letting things develop freely on the field was the best outcome.

"It's better for Fogrem to lose fair and square than to hold a grudge."

Waldo nodded, released the Spear of Apollo, and gave up trying to stop the contest between the two Primarchs.

Let them fight; they'll stop once a winner is decided.

The Primarch's subtle trembling was naturally noticed by the audience, all of whom were extraordinary individuals.

The arena was completely silent; no one dared to utter a sound.

“Brother…” Doom sensed the heavy atmosphere and walked towards Forgrim, intending to end the match.

“Brother!” Forgrim raised his hand, interrupting his brother’s speech and stopping him from walking towards him.

(End of this chapter)