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

"Hades, Nurgle, what are you?"

The vicious words burned his vocal cords.

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Chapter 81 Confess and you'll be treated leniently; resist and you'll be punished severely (Part 2)

The white light shone down, illuminating everything. The gleaming tabletop, polished by the machine operator, shone brightly.

Through the gas mask, hoarse breathing could be heard slowly.

The floor seemed to vibrate slightly; no, that might just be Hades's imagination.

Mortalian's soul is currently still sacred white.

Words, these beautiful syllables produced by the vibration of the vocal cords, possess their most primal power.

Specific people, specific times, specific words, capturing specific psionic flows in the subspace.

There are many prerequisites for the warp to interfere with the physical universe. Apart from the weak points in the barrier between the warp and the physical world, such as the Eye of Terror, in other places, if the power of the warp wants to interfere with the physical world, the beings of the physical world need to actively open a channel for them.

For example, a psychic who has gone mad uses the connection between his soul and body to open a gateway to the physical world for warp creatures.

Or it could be a ritual, a religious ceremony, a large-scale event with strong, specific emotional fluctuations, coupled with incantations with specific meanings, summoning the power of the subspace.

Just now, Hades directly pronounced his name, a word with meaning and significance, especially in front of His favorite toy.

The power of the subspace arrived suddenly, but because it was in the physical universe, it only presented an illusion in the mind, and these illusions were quickly severed by Hades.

However, if Mortarian himself gets caught up in his own emotions...

Hades swallowed hard, mentally rehearsing his words beforehand; he didn't want to repeat the scene from before.

"Therefore, He is a powerful subspace being, composed of specific concepts and ideas."

Hades dared not use the word "god" directly this time.

"You can get a glimpse into the concept of these subspace creatures from the demons we just fought."

"Rottenness, death, despair, and entropy."

Mortarian fell silent, then, having experienced everything that had just happened, he slowly spoke.

"In other words, there are other kinds of these organisms besides the ones that represent this category."

Hades nodded.

"There are indeed other types of subspace creatures, but I haven't encountered them yet."

He dares to utter the names of other gods again?

Furthermore, if we keep talking, Mortarion will become the chosen one of the four gods.

"Furthermore, I am also unable to determine the relationships between different races of subspace creatures."

Hades quickly seized the opportunity.

Motarian said hesitantly,

"So... I'm being targeted by a powerful warp-space creature?"

? !

Hades was busy, constantly monitoring Mortalian's condition.

Thankfully, everything is fine for now.

Although contemplating the affairs of the gods would draw attention, as a Primarch, Mortarion was likely always being watched.

Mortarian fell silent again.

Was he being watched?

The garden was whispering, murmuring softly.

Is this...is this really not some kind of mind-altering witchcraft?

Witchcraft, bizarre witchcraft, he thought his adoptive father Nacre was the most vile example he could imagine.

Evil psionic energy, a power that surges from the warp, a power that evokes disgust even from afar.

But now, Hades tells him that there are things in the warp that are a thousand times more corrupt than this.

How could that be?

The rotting flies were singing, buzzing.

He instinctively wanted to deny it, to refute it, but at that moment, at that moment he "saw" it, he "saw" the "demon" Hades spoke of.

I saw them. Those beings that were like gods.

I also saw myself struggling.

That's an illusion, right? Right?

This is a hallucination caused by witchcraft, Mortarian silently told himself. He knew this all too well; his foster father, Nacre, used to subject Mortarian to painful hallucinations every night.

But... is such a vivid illusion possible?

The pungent stench, the festering flesh, the unfamiliar sensation coming from my shoulder.

Was that him?

Is that his future?

Despair and illusion slowly crept into Mortalian's heart.

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Chapter 82 The Suffocating Moment

The Endurance, interrogation room.

just now.

.

The interrogation room was small yet spacious, with bright lights scrutinizing everything. The dazzling white light, however intense, still concealed darkness.

It is not that people are exploring knowledge, but rather that knowledge is chasing after humanity and devouring those who know it.

The Primarch sat at the cold interrogation table, chewing over everything.

Heavy breathing, the sound of suffocation, intermittent, the gas mask working hard.

Mortarian looked like a corpse, his hood completely obscuring his remaining eyes that looked out into the world.

Despair and fear were his cage and chains.

Confused, terrified, terrified, terrified, he was nailed to the sharpest cliff in Barbarossa, where pustular eagles pecked at his flesh.

The consciousness of the Highest Heaven has never looked away from Him; He is the chosen unfortunate one, and He is the beloved blessed one.

The garden's owner loved his toys.

He. He is His no, no, no, no!!

He is Mortarion, he is the liberator of Barbaros, he is the leader of the Fourteenth Legion, he is not one of those beings. He is not one of those beings!

He's a human being!

Mortarian clung tightly to his location; he was still here, nothing had happened yet, he hadn't been taken away—

He liked the feeling of despair.

He blinked.

Mortarian stood still, the dim lights of the Endurance slowly illuminating the corpses at his feet. Rustling sounds filled the air as bacteria grew and viruses raged.

Not a single Space Marine remained at their post; disease afflicted them, and countless festering sores proliferated within their bodies.

His swollen body was tightly bound in his power armor, with pus seeping from the gaps and his body twitching meaninglessly. Mortalian didn't know if it was a pathological spasm or a struggle to grasp his own destiny.

"Father."

Father!

The towering Primarch bent over, in pain and powerlessness, as the plague eroded everything around him.

"Father, kill me, please kill me!"

He gently reached out, removed the gloves from his power armor, and placed his pale, skeletal hand softly on his offspring's neck.

"Feel sorry."

Death was Mortarion's final act of mercy.

However, the power of death has been stolen.

He never truly understood death.

His neck was twisted into an abnormal arc. There was no blood, but some cloudy mucus seeped out. He was not dead. No, he was already a corpse. He was trapped inside his own body.

He struggled to look at him, his hazy white pupils fixed on the original, a coughing hiss coming from his throat.

No, no! Don't, don't look at me like that!

Mortarian got up and practically fled.

He was a coward; he abandoned his children, he abandoned his warriors, he could do nothing.

The endless torment lasted a very long time; it was eternal.

He gave up, surrendered, knelt down, and gave his descendants a tomorrow.

Mortarian stood there, gasping for breath, a black cloak of despair draped over him. He was merely alive, utterly hopeless.

No, no, Father, don't kneel, don't kneel!

Don't kneel! You promised us you'd liberate everything!

Father, Father, Father!

Mortarion!

The intense burning sensation returned.

The Primarch opened his eyes, the blinding white light piercing them. Mortarion blinked blankly.

Is this an illusion? Or the future? Or reality?

Hades looked at him.

"Are you alright, Mortarian?"

Mortarion ignored him, and the Primarch stood up as if sleepwalking, the chair screaming on the ground.

Father, Father, Father!!!

Motarian shook his head and walked blankly toward the door.

Hades quickly followed, and he quietly touched Mortarion. Fortunately, Mortarion's soul remained dazzlingly white.

But why did he suddenly stand up? What had Mortarian just seen?

The moment Hades followed Mortarion out the door, Hades already knew the answer to his question.

The long, narrow corridor connecting the interrogation room was now a sea of ​​white and green.

People, they are all people.

The person kneeling.

The Barbarians kneeling.

Those who caught a glimpse of the truth.

"No kneeling allowed."

Mortarian's hoarse voice rang out, echoing in the narrow corridor and creating ripples.

But no one paid any attention to him.

Countless Death Guards, clad in full armor, knelt on one knee, their explosive guns, molten weapons, and chainsaws breathing silently.