Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 52 Macurag Specialty Snacks
It would be foolish not to use a cheat code. Mordred only saw his own hard work and sweat, which he believed he deserved. He had long since stopped being human.

Even so, Master Mo was not ambiguous when it came to important matters. With his professional spirit, he led his die-hard fans to the laboratory to see what was going on.

After all, his own body didn't have an instruction manual; it couldn't just pull up a data panel and tell him that he would be wiped out if he didn't complete the mission. He could only go to the laboratory to study himself.

Because he distrusted the Emperor, Mordred spent a fortune to build a giant laboratory on the Abomination, codenamed Hive Research Institute II. Together with the laboratories on the Cataclysm and Tranquility, it formed Hive III, continuously providing the Legion with advanced technologies.

Thanks to Atlas's frequent manipulation of demons, the heretics of the Second Legion possessed an immense amount of knowledge, especially regarding how to cultivate warp entities. Those demons devoured by Atlas were the most qualified to speak on this subject.

Soon, the Son of God’s followers, led by Chiarand, were gathered in the square and began to pray fervently at Mordred’s command.

Around them were candles and incense, and all sorts of bizarre magic circles and rituals were performed. Brian even went to the kitchen and brought out several Tyrannosaurus Rex to slaughter on the spot, and then used their heads to perform a shamanistic ritual.

Although it may seem a bit far-fetched, don't delve too deeply into things related to the warp. Machine spirits can even steal ammunition in the warp, that's science!
To ensure the accuracy of the experiment, Mordred even had a large statue of himself made and placed it in front of his followers, while he lay prone on the statue's head to guarantee the accuracy of the faith's target.

As time passed, under the hypnotic voice that sounded like a math teacher, Mordred, whose mind was gradually emptying, fell asleep at lightning speed.

In the dream, a vague feeling arose in Mordred's mind. He seemed to see some dim points of light around him, swaying up and down foolishly.

Unfortunately, Mordred lacked psychic abilities and could only reach out to touch it based on instinct.

With a thought, a slender tentacle hooked onto the ball of light, wriggling and licking it repeatedly, as if savoring something delicious.

Once the ball of light was entangled, it seemed to suddenly awaken, and as if seeing some bizarre and grotesque genie that was driving people crazy, it began to struggle frantically, emitting embarrassing and strange cries.

"Wait a minute! Why are they tentacles? Where did my arm go?"

In his hazy state, Mordred's first thought wasn't about his ability to taste souls, but rather why he had no hands. He desperately wanted to see what he looked like now.

Just as a person cannot see their own face, without the help of a mirror, Mordred could only see the tentacles extending from her body waving aimlessly in front of her.

But the more this happened, the more curious Mordred became. In her excitement, the ball of light bound by the tentacles was pierced by them, emitting a painful howl.

Then, Mordred's perspective shifted, and he saw a grotesque ball of flesh formed by intertwined tentacles, with countless organs arranged haphazardly on it, like a living garbage dump made of various wastes and scraps, floating silently in the void.

And he himself was being bound by a tentacle and swaying up and down.

???

"I'm terrified! Is that me?"

To be honest, Mordred found it disgusting. He does have some weird taste, but it doesn't have to be this weird!
How could someone as handsome as himself look so pathetic? But before he could even start to deceive himself, a burst of noise made him quickly open his eyes and meet the incredibly enthusiastic gazes of the crowd below the stage.

Mordred knew that look all too well; it was filled with a clear and simple stupidity that could be found on any Oglin.

But unlike Oglin's dull-wittedness, these bean sprouts had a strange sense of relief in their eyes, like the final fantasy of someone who has lost everything investing in A-shares and is about to jump off a building. "Your Highness, Neos is dead!"

"What? The weasel is dead? Then I'll have to have a good drink."

One of the emperors, overwhelmed by the filial piety shown to him, almost crushed the data panel in his hand. Guilliman, bewildered, thought that his father, who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, was dissatisfied with his hospitality.

“Father, is this meal not to your liking? If you don’t like it, you can try this.” Guilliman pushed a plate of fried food wrapped in a crispy crust in front of the Emperor.

Before the banquet, Guilliman had heard from the guards that his father loved fried food, and this dessert would surely please the emperor.

"It's not your fault, it's just that one of your brothers is asking for a beating again. Uh, what's this food? It tastes pretty good!"

Seeing that the Emperor was very satisfied with the dessert, Guilliman said with a proud expression:

"This is a specialty snack from Macurag, made with coconut meat from Koster, called Coconut Core Boba. Father, do you like it?"

Looking at Number Thirteen with his little blond hair, if the Emperor hadn't known he wasn't Mordred, he would have thought the man was mocking him. Now he wanted to beat that unfilial son even more.

On the other hand, Mordred was disappointed after learning that the dead person was just a bean sprout named Neos. He had thought he would get a lot of gold coins from the old man.

But in Bean Sprout's eyes, Mordred at this moment, let alone getting everyone to attack the Emperor's ASS, would still have to fight for the spots.

The root cause of this fanaticism was that his compatriot named Neos died, and died a horrific death, leaving only a living corpse, without a trace of his soul.

It sounds incredible, but it's true.

In this dark galaxy, death itself is not terrifying; what is terrifying is the eternal torment after death, being forced to swim in a sea of ​​excrement in the warp, and being captured by warp demons to be enslaved as planetary slaves!

Not to mention that the Slaanesh, raised by the Eldar themselves, are born as Eldar gods. The souls of each Slaanesh do not dissipate after death; they go directly to the Silver Palace in the Sixth Ring, where even in death they are not at peace.

Don't assume that Eldar are all good and virtuous. They are very practical. A large number of people joined the cult because of the eggs distributed by Chiaran.

Now that they know they can die peacefully, these little sprouts are treating Mordred like their own mother. It's true that outsiders are the best at chanting sutras. The Eldar gods are no good at all. I must start praying immediately!
Then, the group of worshippers who had surrounded Mordred began to vomit and have diarrhea, convulsing on the ground with their mouths crooked and eyes distorted. The smell was comparable to that of Nurgle Garden.

Seeing this horrific sight, Atlas, fearing he would be tainted, stopped his shamanistic ritual and fled frantically toward the door. Only Mordred was caught off guard and grabbed by the legs of the mad, swarming maggots.

The slightly sticky paste stained his trouser legs, and for the first time, Mordred hated his powerful sense of smell as a Primarch. He could even tell what the person across the table had for dinner from this filth.

"Quack—shit! Get out of my way!"

(End of this chapter)