Warhammer: I don't want to become a stinky can!

[Imperial Dream]

"Sir, an Omega-level interference distortion has appeared in the subspace sector near us. It is expected that subspace jumps will become difficult within six sidereal months."

“Except for the jump to a subspace in a specific direction, the subspace in that direction is quite stable.”

.

This is an invitation, this is an explicit statement.

This is a transaction.

Its golden eyes, brimming with the wisdom of humankind from ancient times to the present, are now radiant with brilliance.

caveat:

The following pictures are of knives, knives, knives!

Readers who can't stand it are advised to skip directly to chapter 29 and avoid these chapters!

Readers who enjoy a brutal art style can read directly.

Believe in the Father, and you will receive eternal life!

Look at this author, he not only believed in Nurgle, but also in Khorne, and he also really liked Tzeentch.

But I don't like Slaanesh.

I'm coming clean: I'm a Chaos Party member. (Of course, the protagonist is from the Empire.)

Chapter 23 A Barbarosian Story

Warning: These chapters are angst-inducing! If you can't handle it, please skip to chapter 29. The author really doesn't know how to revise these chapters, so readers who can't stand it should skip ahead.

I've already issued three warnings! I've tried my best (_).

Barbarossa.

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Herrera is an ordinary Barbarosian woman.

Her early life is a microcosm of the lives of millions of ordinary Barbarossa girls.

Herrera was born in an unnamed village near the Nacre territory. From the time she could remember, her world consisted of murky poison gas and endless fear.

She stayed obliviously in the room made of piled-up earthen walls, eagerly awaiting her parents' return.

When her mother came home, she would touch her cheeks with her chapped hands, smile at her, and then turn around to cook porridge and other dishes.

When she got a little older, she would hold her younger sister's hand and wade through the muddy paths of the village, standing at the village entrance gazing into the distance, waiting for her parents to return from farming.

In the distance are mountains shrouded in poisonous gas, their hazy peaks hidden in the shadows of mist. My parents once said that the true masters of this planet live there.

Herrera was young then, and she didn't understand why those lords could withstand such deadly poison gas.

When she was old enough to pick up a hoe, her parents took her to cultivate their fields. She picked up the hoe and dug through the bitter clods of earth, stroke by stroke.

Her sister stood at the village entrance, continuing to gaze at her and her parents, waiting for their return.

The village alarm bell rang, and night was falling. She was both scared and excited as she ran back to her home with her parents.

Her life slipped away day by day in the toil of farming, and every second she breathed in poisonous fumes.

She once ventured boldly and curiously to the edge of the field, where the thick poisonous gas formed a solid wall, imprisoning the humans within.

Herrera raised a hand and carefully touched the seemingly living poisonous gas with her fingertips. The gas gently corroded her fingertips. Herrera gasped and quickly withdrew her fingers, revealing pale, corrosive marks.

Herrera couldn't understand whether life truly existed atop that high mountain, where the poisonous gas was tens of thousands of times denser and more intense than here.

However, she found out that very night.

As the gray night fell, the yellowish air slowly crept up the city walls—

The puppets of the slave-catching team tore through the seemingly impenetrable walls in Herrera's eyes as easily as tearing paper. Those creatures that defied the laws of physics, those monsters forcibly created by witchcraft, stood at the doorway, their stitched-up eyes fixed on her and her family.

The puppet, which was about 2.5 meters tall, looked like it had been haphazardly sewn together from pieces of corpse. Coarse black hemp thread was exposed to the air, with the ends of the knots penetrating the skin. Yellowish pus oozed from the flesh, and the liquid climbed up the knots, forming yellow scabs in the air.

It used its bulky body to block the door, its murky eyes staring maliciously at Herrera.

Her parents were nearly fainting from fear, but they still clung tightly to her and her sister, trembling all over.

It didn't work.

She was pulled out of her warm but fragile nest like a chick, judged, and then put down again—

She was too thin and frail; she did not meet the lord's standard of being strong enough for his experimental subjects.

The parents and younger sister were lifted up one by one for assessment. The father was put down, and then the younger sister was put down as well.

Mom was arrested.

The mother stared at Herrera in despair and collapse. She was completely broken. Her tired eyes were now brimming with tears. The mother looked at them as if hoping that they would continue to live well, or as if hoping that they would come to save her.

However, Herrera, her father, and her sister were all completely overwhelmed by fear.

There is no hope.

Threatened with death, the mother began to struggle violently in the puppet's hands, wildly flailing her limbs and futilely striking the giant hand that held her.

As if it had seen something interesting, the puppet's ugly face twisted open, revealing a strange and cruel smile.

Its other hand, covered in slime, easily and casually reached out and twisted off the four limbs of the lower layer one by one.

Blood, flesh scraps, red blood, white bone spurs protruding, those little red dots falling in the dark gloom, instantly turning gray and deteriorating under the caress of the mist.

Mom is screaming.

It's convulsing.

Herrera fainted.

When she woke up, there were only three people left in her house.

Life must go on.

After that, Herrera would take her farm tools and go out to work in the fields with her father every morning, and then run home every evening to the sound of the bells.

The walls she had once thought would protect their village were utterly useless; the village was just as dangerous as the wilderness. Yet, she would still run back with the others when the bells rang.

Already used to it.

She returned home, touched her sister's face with her chapped hands, smiled at her, and then went to cook porridge and other meals.

Her mother hadn't taught her how to cook, and her father was just a vague and silent figure in her life.

The first batch of porridge she cooked boiled over, scalding her hand.

it's OK.

She will die.

I will die like my mother.

It's okay, everyone's like this.

It really doesn't matter.

When the screams rang out again in the evening, Herrera hugged her sister tightly and huddled in the closet at home.

Her father went insane when the screams started.

Perhaps recalling the tragic state of his mother before her death, the father broke down. This man in his twenties with graying hair frantically opened the door and ran out of the house.

He wanted to escape, but that would only lead to his death.

Herrera wants to save her father, but she can't.

There is only death.

The barking, pustular hounds on the village road pounced swiftly, splattering blood and flesh everywhere.

It's okay, everyone has to die eventually.

She hugged her younger sister tightly.

But Herrera wanted her sister to live just a little longer; she wanted her to cross the poisonous fog and see the world beyond the village, even if it was a desolate wasteland.

Herrera gently patted her sister's head. Her sister's hair, like hers, was dry and messy from the corrosive effects of the poisonous gas.

"Shh, your sister is going to find Dad. You stay here and don't move."

The younger sister was crying, and she was holding onto Herrera.

"Don't go, okay? Let's go together, sister."

Herrera pulled her sister's hand away.

"Be good, and live well."

Then Herrera started running, without looking back.

She started running, her calves were shaking, her heart was pounding, her lungs were spasming—she was about to die.

She ran desperately onto the main road. The pustular hounds that were tearing apart her father's corpse saw her. Her father's flesh and blood, mixed with the hounds' saliva, dripped from her lips covered by fleshy skin.

Those fangs were aimed at her.

Herrera wanted to scream, to shout something, to tell them she wasn't afraid to die.

But she was completely gripped by fear, which slowly ground against her bones and tore through her flesh.

She couldn't control herself anymore. She stopped, trembling all over, and couldn't take another step.

No, I was brave. I gave myself to save my sister's life.

I am brave.

Herrera thought desperately, but as if piercing through all her courage and pride, the hounds drooled and looked up—

They ran towards their house.

Do not! ! !

Her sister!!! Lysa!!! No!!!

Herrera wanted to run; she had to save her sister! She had to save her sister!!!

She wanted to save her younger sister. She wanted to save her younger sister. She wanted to save her younger sister. She wanted to save her younger sister. She wanted to save her younger sister. She wanted to save her younger sister. She wanted to save her mother. She wanted to save her younger sister. She wanted to save her younger sister. She wanted to save her younger sister. She wanted to save her younger sister. She wanted to save her younger sister. She wanted to save her younger sister. She wanted to save her younger sister. She wanted to save her younger sister.

She can't save anyone.

She had lost everything she could rely on; she had no reason to live anymore. Her life was a meaningless grayness. She had never accomplished anything; she had never achieved anything. She simply lived and then died meaninglessly and worthlessly.

It's okay, Herrera, everyone will die.

it's OK.

Tears and snot streamed down her face. Herrera felt herself collapsing, that she had gone mad. She knelt down in despair, clutching her face with her hands, her vision obscured by her tears.

Nothing is of any use anymore.

She no longer cares about any of this.

Come and eat me, come and tear me apart.

I'm just a useless piece of trash; I don't even have the courage to protect my sister.

She is tired.

She gave up.

However, she did not hear her sister's screams.

The sound of blades slicing through flesh was deafening, and the pustular hound howled pitifully, followed by a muffled thud—

Herrera was no longer able to comprehend any of this; she continued to wail desperately, following the momentum.

"Don't cry."

A hand reached out, gently removed her hand, and carefully wiped away her tears and snot from her face.

"Your sister isn't dead, you should comfort her."

"Don't cry, you two. We've already killed those hounds."

Herrera was still sobbing uncontrollably from crying so hard.