Warhammer 40: My Fiancée Fulgrim

Seeing that the usually boisterous Casca had fallen silent, Melusin also felt rather uneasy.

Was what I just said a bit too hurtful to him?

Looking at the medical examination data, there were dense calluses from the fractures near his pelvis.

These are all signs of the repeated shattering and devastation his pelvis had suffered at the hands of Fugrim.

It's not easy.

Besides, although he is indeed a bit too impulsive now, it's because his mindset is forever stuck in his teenage years, which isn't his fault.

A feeling of pity and guilt welled up inside Melusin.

“Merusin, I never expected that... there really is no one in the Third Legion willing to acknowledge me as their father.”

"I thought that the one-day holiday I secured for you all in Chemos had allowed us to trust each other."

Casca's gaze softened considerably.

It's like an elderly father speaking his last words to his rebellious daughter.

After all, when a person is about to change, their words tend to be good.

"That's all."

“If you really can’t bring yourself to call me ‘father,’ you can call me—”

“☆Mother☆Fucker☆”

Bang!

A louder, deeper hammer blow came from the operating table.

"Ouch! Uh—ah!"

With a single, heavy blow, the final anesthetic measures were completed.

Physical anesthesia is also a type of anesthesia.

Ugh.

Casgar, you bastard

Whenever I try to show you some respect, you speak.

Melusin thought to herself, annoyed.

"Surgery begins."

The Imperial Dream has safely docked in a starport in the solar system.

"The initial conversion training for this batch of new Chemos recruits has been completed."

"As for Casgar, his situation is rather special; he is currently still dormant in the static field."

"The next phase of the renovation will need to be completed in the deep laboratory within the Imperial Palace."

Fugrim calmly directed the two people in front of him.

"Even including new recruits, the Emperor's Son currently only has a little over five hundred men, so it's too early to officially deploy them in military operations."

"You will be in charge of the Third Army Corps' recruit training and cultural exchange for the next three months or so."

Phoenix's eldest daughter, the swordswoman Aqua, and the sage Rellano.

They were all highly respected elders among the emperor's sons.

"Yes."

The two knelt on one knee and gently pounded their breastplates with their hands.

"My lord, where are you going?"

Aqua looked up and asked.

Transporting a person doesn't necessarily take three months.

"Go get something."

A hint of a smile flashed in her eyes as she pointed to the large foundry at the foot of the sacred Terra Ural Mountains.

"It's time to prepare a small gift for that sleepy little guy."

Chapter 30 The Birth of Fire

That was when he was young, only two or three hundred years old.

In a mountain cave, he wielded a piece of charred charcoal, using it as a brush to paint on the stone wall.

His pen strokes are lively and melodious.

The painting depicts many creatures: domesticated cattle and sheep, wild beasts, lush vegetation, and strange and mischievous spirits.

There are people too.

People he knows well, like Uncle Or, the shepherd next door; and many other people he doesn't know very well yet.

At the very center of this mural is a magnificent throne.

He sat upright in the middle, a smile on his face.

This is not art or decoration, but a commemoration.

A commemoration of the future.

This came from what he sensed, the revelation from the lively spirits beyond the known universe.

Just as he originated from the essence of countless shamanic souls, these harmonious and benevolent spirits are inhabitants of a deeper spiritual world.

There, they taught him magic and the power of prophecy, allowing him to glimpse a bright future.

With beautiful visions for the future, they danced and sang together.

Click.

A short click came from his hand.

The charcoal in his hand broke at that moment.

Beautiful murals, and hypocritical friendship.

That's the end of it.

In his horrified eyes, the demons tore off their elven disguises, revealing their true forms, adorned with fangs.

They laughed wildly, devouring the future he had envisioned.

Countless dewdrops seeped from the dry stone wall, staining his painting into a dark, dull charcoal stain.

Animals, plants, and people were all blurred into a mass of pitch-black ink.

There is no other color besides that.

And he, sitting on the throne, gradually merged with the throne behind him.

In the mural, his eyes are stained with dew, and black tears are streaming down his face.

The future depicted in the painting has been destroyed.

He was torn to shreds by those elves he had previously considered benevolent, who grinned maliciously.

He was wrong.

It was wrong from the start.

Spirits from beyond the world are never benevolent.

They simply concealed their venomous fangs, waiting for the other party's trust, waiting for the best opportunity to bite.

And once the time is ripe, they will reveal their true intentions in this way: to devour and enslave the souls and spirits of humanity, squeezing out their last drop of blood and their last breath.

Humanity's future, and his future, will be like this painting, forever shrouded in boundless darkness.

forever.

He rested his chin on his hand, sitting cross-legged beneath the damaged mural.

Under the woven fabric of sympathetic magic, he saw the three largest and most dangerous terrifying beings.

Like three towering, insurmountable mountains, they cast an overwhelming shadow, shrouding humanity's future in darkness.

There will likely be more in the future.

Four, five. No.

Eight.

Eight demons, in eight directions.

Countless, endless, and immortal enemies.

The torchlight flickered, illuminating his sorrowful face.

What will the future hold?

He shed a single hot tear.

Perhaps it was for his own sake.

Perhaps it was for those he deeply loved.

You saw his hesitation and confusion.

You decide to help him.

He is extremely wary of you.

Having been betrayed once before, he would never trust anyone from the other side of the soul again.

You saw the doubt and distrust in his eyes.

But you believe he will recognize your sincerity.

You gave him the ball of golden-red flame in your hand.

The flames flickered, dispelling the darkness, burning away the ink stains on the stone wall, and scorching the demons into a frenzy.

The painting, which symbolized the future, took a turn for the better from that point on.

You saw the surprise and joy in his eyes.

You inform him:

Your people, like him, were once troubled by these demons.

But as long as this flame can be raised high, no evil spirit or demon will be able to hide.

At your urging, he cautiously and carefully picked up the flame and gently protected it.

On this day, he came to realize the reality of the subspace.

Then, he obtained [Fire].

"Hoohoo!"

Casca felt as if he were in a cold body of water, struggling to swim to the surface.

He sat up abruptly and looked around.

The walls inside the room were pure white, and the medical operatives moved slowly along the rollers.

Apart from the operating table, Melusin was also in the room with her power armor and her signature surgical tool backpack, her back to him.

"woke up?"

She asked Casca with her back to her.

".Um."

"Where am I? What time is it?"

Cold sweat soaked his back.

Everything in the world became clearer and slower in his eyes.

It's as if they've been equipped with a high-definition camera, capturing every detail of the world.