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

Beside him, the two original beings were shocked, and they all cursed the bald monk in their minds for being so easily startled.

..............................

Launch!

The powerful command seemed to still echo in the air, weaving through the cannons as tens of thousands of golden rays drew arcs in the sky, shooting towards the Black King.

The heavens and earth trembled at the thunderous volley, shaking visibly, but in the next instant, an even larger and sharper entity tore them apart.

A crimson rainbow pierced the sky! The eternally shrill, blood-stained spear roared out from the other side of the sky, like a long dragon dancing in the air, instantly rushing towards this side of the sky, the half of the sky filled with darkness and shimmering gold.

The Blood Bird flapped its wings at the far end of the sky, its enormous wings supporting it in mid-air where it had no support. Drops of blood flowed from the arm from which it had thrown the spear, and the muscles trembled uncontrollably.

This spear carries boundless power and a voice, questioning and bewilderment, a thousand questions posed through countless nights, yet nothing is spoken, nor need it be spoken; simply sever His head, and His heart's affliction will be resolved.

And in this world, he was not the only one who hated the emperor as much as he did; he might not even be the one who hated him the most.

On the horizon, a long scythe formed from gathered lightning meandered, roaring in a manner never before seen by Mortarion.

His voice was hoarse and strained, every word dripping with blood.

The Primarch remained silent, but the weapons he threw were far more clamorous than those of the Dark Lord, roaring out his thoughts and feelings in place of the Primarch.

The bright yellow lightning dragon flickered and shimmered, tracking its true enemy across endless dimensions and destiny.

The Pale King was hidden in the dust and mist, his figure dim. The lightning that had been there had gone with his scythe, making Mortarion appear even more ethereal. Wisps of dust drifted down from his bone helmet, as if he would turn into dust at any moment.

Ashes fell in a flurry, scattering across the earth. There, the king's sword, raised high, remained unfallen; the golden-haired Primarch still pointed his blade at the Dark Lord.

A sharp silver light flashed from the tip of the sword, and the first point of the barrage of fire landed precisely on the tip of Guilliman's sword, between the brows of the Dark King.

boom!

The dust and mist exploded, amounting to nothing more than a speck of dust on that colossal object, but in an instant, two long rainbows pierced through the space and arrived!

Sizzle!! Boom!!

Like a crimson spear from another dimension and a thunderous scythe, they struck the colossal creature together. One represented the throne that had not been ascended for a thousand years, and the other represented the divine power stolen from a foreign race. The highest heavens trembled, and the Dark King, who had just ascended the throne, roared.

His form suddenly expanded again, as if piercing into the depths of the galaxy, as if piercing through the entirety of human civilization. The wounds from the attack enraged the monster, and massive arcs of crimson and bright yellow psionic energy crackled at his wounds.

But the sword the king had raised high did not fall.

The next moment, after the first drop of rain, the barrage of artillery fire finally fell, boom—boom boom boom boom!!! Each explosion unleashed a dazzling display of light and shadow, and behind each reloading and each firing was a burning, multicolored soul. Thus, each artillery barrage was tinged with different colors, but the overall color was still radiant gold.

The Lord of Darkness roared, and inexplicable movement and cataclysm occurred. No one could say what it was, but they knew they were gradually weakening, their legs were going weak, their vision was going black, and the gap between the sky and the earth seemed to be shrinking.

The bird soaring high in the sky seemed to plummet suddenly, but then struggled to rise again, dragging its heavy, blood-soaked wings. As it rose, a sudden gust of wind brushed against its cheek. Saint Gilles was ready.

On the other end, the tall, thin ghostly figure remained obscured in the fog. Mortarian was always like this, but he was prepared; in fact, he had always been prepared.

On the earth, the king standing among his legions and his warriors still did not lower his sword, which he had raised high. Even as a tremendous pressure shook down and the originally silvery-white sword was instantly covered with a layer of hazy black grime, he still did not lower his sword.

Countless jet-black and gleaming golden meteorites crashed down from the halo high in the sky, striking the vehicles that were marching across the muddy, blood-soaked plains. Crack! Crack! The screams of metal being crushed and deformed by the immense force echoed among the figures of those who were devoutly worshipping.

Robert Killman simply said,

Launch!

emission!!!

Fire! Fire at their most hated enemy, humanity's greatest foe, humanity's greatest benefactor, their father. Fire at the Emperor of Mankind!

Launch!

Hot tears streamed down Guilliman's cheeks at some unknown time, his face contorted with rage as he exerted himself, darkness staining his blue helmet along with the sword, but the golden light in his eyes never faded.

He stared intently at the colossal being, the King of Darkness.

It seems like they've figured something out.

The Lord of Darkness has always been there. He is the Emperor, and the Emperor is Him. He is the inherent weakness of all humanity. He is the darkness that has been deliberately ignored during the rapid development of human civilization. He is the tower built after the regression of all civilizations. He is humanity, and humanity is evil.

The Emperor is the Lord of Darkness, he always has been, the Lord of Darkness is the Emperor, He always has been.

Humans have always been humans.

The noblest giants and the most despicable scoundrels coexist within this race; the purest qualities and the most base morals can coexist in the same person; good gives birth to evil; good and evil share the same origin, they are merely different shadows of the same person.

If you want humanity to survive, exist, and prosper forever.

You cannot only want the noblest elder, the wisest sage, the bravest warrior; you cannot only want the good and the virtuous, just as the perfect victim does not exist. You must allow for flaws, allow for mistakes, allow for darkness and shadows.

People blindly pursue a perfect emperor, but they don't realize that emperors are born impure. They only seek holiness, but the impurity and filth still exist, and are far greater and more hidden than they imagine.

Only a human who has received education and enlightenment will suddenly realize the virtues of sacrifice and frugality, while a human who grows up in the wilderness will only be like a beast. Humans are beasts, and the King of Darkness is that beast. Beneath humanity lies an even greater chaos.

But emperors are human beings.

A human being.

Humans distinguish themselves from the beasts and call themselves the crown of creation because they understand sacrifice, frugality, prioritizing the world, and the importance of providing shelter for the poor. This is the biggest difference between an emperor and a dark king. Even if Neos is inhuman and negligent, he knows restraint, prioritizes others, and does not act selfishly.

The biggest difference between humans and animals is probably the distinction between altruism and selfishness, and the struggle between desire and ideals.

It turned out to be the case.

Guilliman was in tears, not from being moved, but from being overwhelmed by the Dark Lord's spiritual pressure and from the Dark Lord's ugliness. He gazed at the individual and knew that He was completely obsessed with becoming stronger and securing His Godhood.

He became the true god of the entire human race, and also a true beast.

As for Neos—the children raised by the Emperor, who can be considered human for the time being, they are now doing everything in their power to stop Him, even at the cost of everything, including themselves.

The thought of dying beside the Emperor might have been unsettling for them, but it didn't slow down Saint Gilles and Mortarion's flight. Like birds skimming across a still lake, they raced towards their predetermined fate on either side of Guilliman's sword. They were both aware of each other's thoughts. A spectacular psionic self-destruction utterly crippled the Dark Lord—

They entrusted their last hope and the final blow to Guilliman once again, just like the Terra incident a century ago. Guilliman completely won their respect and trust.

What strategy, what wave counter, what Euler Euler, Muda Muda, what sword fighting—

Better to self-destruct.

The simplest way is to strike first to create an opening for getting close, then use potions to max out your buffs and charge in to self-destruct.

Self-destruction is a desperate act that compresses the power and life force accumulated over many years to the maximum in an extremely short time, and then explodes, putting one's life and everything on this one move.

The moment they stood together, the moment the three Primarchs assumed their positions and faced the Dark Lord, the moment the "Start the Match" button was pressed, they had already prepared their tactics and their outcome.

They were too lazy to say or think any more.

They charged toward the Dark Lord, shining brighter as they drew nearer, as if a thousand flashes were focused on them, making them shine like dazzling, rising stars.

But in Guilliman's eyes, in his teary-eyed eyes (still not moved, but overwhelmed by spiritual pressure, the Dark Lord was too powerful), his two brothers were withering away as if they had contracted a disease, darkness engulfing them, tainted by chaos and the High Heavens.

Facing the Lord of Darkness, perhaps apart from Hades, they still have no better way to deal with him. They can only resort to the ancient method of self-destruction to severely damage the Lord of Darkness. Fortunately, self-destruction has always been useful and effective throughout history. For humanity, it seems that nothing is more desperate and more intimidating than "self-destruction." From those ignorant religious wars to our broadcasting of our location to the entire universe, this has always been the case.

Time was too short for them to even think about anything, nor did they need to. The end was near, and they didn't need to think about anything either; they could simply follow their nature.

With flapping wings, the two winged psionic primitives plummeted into the dark and golden realm like mortar shells. They were originally members of the Warp, but ten thousand years ago, some stupid primitive man took them away from the High Heavens, gave them bodies and intelligence, and after a brief visit to the human world, they even believed the lie that they were human.

But now, it's just a minor matter of life and death.

Saint Gilles felt himself becoming increasingly radiant and intense, radiating light and darkness from within. One of his eyes flashed with golden light, while the other shed tears of blood. From the perspective of the highest heaven, behind the archangel, the two sides of the sky, one of light and the other of blood, advanced rapidly together with the flapping of bird feathers, before crashing into the merciless, insensitive, and ignorant holy realm, plunging the warp into chaos.

On the other side, the subspace was equally chaotic. The sea of ​​mist rolled toward the divine realm, and in the misty atmosphere, it seemed as if the human figures worshipping in the temples had truly entered the heavenly divine realm. However, this sea of ​​mist was a scythe of death. Before the foolish prayers could be finished, they disappeared with a soft snap in this surging sea.

Mortarian still had some regrets.

He regretted that his final fate was still inextricably linked to the Emperor, rather than falling into the Underworld—he had sworn ten thousand years ago that if he were to truly face death and fall into chaos, he would call upon Hades and the King of the Underworld before he died, so that his soul could find true peace.

But he can't do that now.

Now, none of those present can call upon that person, sing his praises, or even think of him. Hades has more important matters to attend to, and they are unwilling to believe that Hades, by helping them, is one step closer to the complete destruction of the world.

Hades cannot devour the Lord of Darkness as well; that would be far too many.

Now, in order to completely disrupt the warp, to severely damage the Emperor, and to harm the Dark Lord at all costs, Mortarion absolutely cannot utter that name. He needs to clench all the psionic energy he has stored and grown over ten thousand years into a fist and strike the Dark Lord with all his might, without any hesitation or mishap.

Previously, Mortalian liked to directly summon Hades when fighting—he didn't think this method of attacking from outer space was shameful; on the contrary, the Primarch was quite proud of it. Look, Hades responds to him, unlike you guys who don't get a response from Hades!

But now, for the last time, and only the last time, he absolutely cannot do this.

If Mortarion were to have to relinquish his power by summoning Hades, he would likely regret it forever—the Primarch wanted to strike the Dark Lord decisively, and he wanted the scythe he wielded against the Emperor's neck to be absolutely sharp; he would not allow any mishaps.

Therefore, in the end he did not think about Hades, and in order to avoid letting his thoughts touch on that place as much as possible, he also did not think about Barbaros or Death Guard. Mortarion simply focused on thinking about when that old geezer, the Emperor, would die.

The distance was close enough that Mortarion could clearly see the crevices on the Dark Lord's fleshy, bloated body. Then he sensed the psionic energy of Saint Gilles, a feather-like energy brushing across his cheek, which had been blackened by the Dark Lord's corruption—Saint Gilles had arrived as well. Mortarion breathed a sigh of relief.

Through meticulous numerological calculations, Mortarion and Sangilius chose the Dark Lord's most vulnerable point in the warp, and they would launch a self-destruction attack on him from two different dimensions.

Three, two, one.

Mortarian murmured to himself.

Finally, he wondered, when will that old emperor die?

—!! Woof!! —

There was no deafening explosion, but a long, melodious cry, like that of a whale, echoed in everyone's soul. Crimson and pale waves surged up together, almost flattening half of Terra from beneath the earth's crust.

The king's sword, held high, remained suspended.

Launch!

Guilliman shouted hoarsely, the golden tears on his cheeks being blown away by the gale. Amidst the howling hurricane, the Primarch struggled to stand still, his figure growing ever taller.

In the distance, the turbulent warp obscured most of the Dark Lord's massive form, and Guilliman strained his eyes to see the towering mountain begin to crumble—

From the mountainside.

He was cut in half at the waist.

Within the subspace, a storm suddenly erupts!

....................................

All of you, come here!!!

The rebellious believer roared, and amidst the torrential rain and howling wind, Luo Jia slammed his scepter into the ground. The massive magic circle instantly began to operate, and at the center of the circle, [Angron] let out a deafening roar.

A vibrant pinkish-purple light almost instantly illuminated half of Caliban's sky—and in the abyss beside Luo Jia and the others, at an entrance to a net tunnel, and on another altar, the altar before Leon Johnson burst into flames! A brilliant blue light erupted!

Tzeentch and Slaanesh burst through the altar almost simultaneously, inevitably falling towards Caliban along with fate and reality. And like a long, piercing dog whistle, even with such dazzling light illuminating Caliban, the sky above Caliban remains pitch black and starless.

It's not because it's still night.

It's because Pluto is getting closer.

Chapter 886 [328] One or Two? One?

(Warning: There is no official setting for Chaos-related details that can be found; there are mountains of personal interpretations.)

【past】

Subspace

Amidst the raging waves and flickering lights, this small world resembles a lone boat adrift on a giant wave, helpless and forlorn.

Even though two gamblers at the level of Chaos Gods are sitting on it right now.

No, it should be said that amidst such chaos and loss of control, in the rapidly reorganizing subspace, it is even more astonishing that this subspace can still maintain basic objects—everything except this one place has been swept up in the turbulence, rising and falling with the games on the gambling table.

The pale light illuminated the small, square table.

With a clatter, the Lord of Mankind—or perhaps the King of Darkness—made the first move. That inhuman, ghostly, neither-gold-nor-black fellow shoved the mountain of chips piled up in front of him. Those glittering, gold-coin-like chips crashed onto the table, gleaming brightly under the light, dazzling a thousand eyes.

On the other side of the gambling table, another greedy hand reached out, trying to touch those glittering little golden things. That hand was thin and bony, and its ever-changing blue feathers shimmered with a thousand different lights under the lamplight—

Suddenly, flames ignited on the greedy arm. The Dark Lord/Lord of Man/Nyos raised an eyebrow disapprovingly, and Tzeentch immediately withdrew his hand. The Lord of Changes, hidden in the shadows outside the light, had a piercing gaze.

I'm betting everything.

"The Lord of Mankind/The Lord of Darkness said, his jet-black eyes almost completely filling the whites of his eyes,"

+Self, Primarch, Empire, Race.

He muttered to himself, the edge of the golden chips flashing with a sharp golden light.

Show your sincerity.

+Pfft. +

The blue guy withdrew his hand, then suddenly threw a bunch of things onto the table with a clattering sound. Among them were shimmering colors: purple, red, and green, but only a little bit of blue.

The Lord of Darkness scoffed and laughed out loud.

+Insufficient sincerity.