Chapter 430: The Emperor: You Four Truly Delight Me!
Life is just that marvelous.
Whenever you think the situation couldn't possibly get any worse, something will jump out and teach you the meaning of humility.
When his head was pressed onto the torrent of molten metal, facing the bone-scraping pain erupting from all over his body, Vashtorr the Arkifane would recall that distant era when he was shocked by the relics of the Old Ones during the Fall of the Eldar.
The world had changed.
This pain piercing into the marrow was truly terrible, making it hard for him to maintain his composure.
Corvus Corax, the true Lord of Shadows, an existence bred by the warp itself, wrapped in human skin by the Emperor. Compared to him, the likes of Be'lakor, kept as tools for amusement, working for who knows how long only to be played by the Four Gods, were like circus clowns.
Crack!
Knuckles embedded into the isolation belt beneath the torrent. Sensing his own weakness, Vashtorr roared.
"Ramesses—"
Before he could finish his sentence, he was pressed into the lava by Corax.
A long pause, a resentful struggle.
Corax remained expressionless, tearing at this secondary god with all his might.
'Next time, next time I will definitely...'
A strong sense of humiliation surged in his heart. The extremely intense emotion plated the surroundings with a layer of crimson.
Squelch!
Steel twisted. Claws that should be called hands gripped his spine. The flock of crows surrounding him scraped off layer after layer of metal skin from his body.
Ramesses concentrated on collecting fragments while frantically pressing the Emperor's call button, planning the rift route between his location and reality. He showed none of the cynical attitude that made people, especially opponents, angry at first sight, ignoring Vashtorr's venom.
Trash talk exists to achieve goals more efficiently. Now that the goal was achieved, and there were a lot of contingency plans to rush, he didn't have the energy to pose in front of a dead man like a big villain, wasting time.
Lessons of popping champagne at halftime were everywhere.
Vashtorr was a cunning fox, but there would be no next time.
"Faster."
Ramesses was like an employer urging a butcher to kill a pig, and complaining that the two of them were not killing fast enough, calling for outside help.
He was not far from Corax, collecting those scattered fragments, paying attention to the Emperor's movement while also looking at other areas with annoyance.
The warp wasn't just them.
Senses sweeping over the treacherous tides of the warp, Ramesses looked solemn. In those infinitely transforming times and spaces, chains covered in blood or rotten fungi extended in an almost infinite way.
At the same moment Vashtorr weakened with the attack, Khorne and Nurgle smelled it and came.
The chains were quite fast, but from a distance, they were almost motionless, seemingly violating all physical principles and common sense, recklessly mocking the original form of this space-time.
The massive shadows revealed with the swing made the wandering creatures around dodge in panic. Even though almost infinite areas of the warp were in a state of no man's land, it was undeniable that the Four Gods were the overlords within. Even malicious entities like Undivided daemons didn't want to become part of them in the collateral attacks of these gods.
It could be seen that Nurgle's things were not so easy to take.
"AHHH!!!"
Vashtorr screamed.
His left leg showed the color of decay, like those warships infected by Nurgle's Techno-virus. The surface metal began to fall off, exposing a large number of biological areas.
It contained angry emotions. It seemed that the burial of a Chosen was not so easily accepted by the benevolent Nurgle.
Such a conspiracy was not a threat to a secondary god originally. As long as he could break free from Corax's bondage, he could soon escape from this conspiracy.
However, everything had changed now.
'Can Vashtorr change his stupid habit of signing contracts with slave owners?'
Ramesses cursed inwardly, grabbing Vashtorr's head, controlling the most critical head first in a naked choke posture, not letting go even when whipped by chains.
"Don't let go yet, stall for a while."
With a dark face, tearing away the chains trying to wrap around him further, Ramesses continued to flip through the dense address book. The communication button had been smoking since the beginning of the battle.
There were many contacts in it.
Not that he had many connections in the warp.
They were all the Emperor's.
Corax's body blurred for a moment, his hand firmly gripping Vashtorr's steel spine. Khorne's chain passed through him, binding Vashtorr's body.
The crimson chain following closely bound Vashtorr's left arm, one up and one down with the rotten chain.
Crack~
Vashtorr's body straightened in an instant.
As two massive forces began to wrestle, the sound of breaking under overwhelming burden came from the areas between his left leg, left arm, body, and head.
"AH!"
The Creator let out a miserable wail. The despair contained in it made countless observing warp entities in the waves suffocate.
But at this moment, no one cared about the prey's opinion.
Clatter~ Clatter~
Chains oscillated, striking and shaking the warp tides.
Khorne and Nurgle continued to exert force. Their daemon armies were rushing along the thread left by the contract, like a pack of greedy hyenas, wanting to get a share of this raid.
Creak~ Creak~
Metal twisted, sounds of breaking and twisting were everywhere.
Ramesses didn't relax at all, like letting Vashtorr go this time and finding another chance to eat alone next time.
Joking, if he let him go this time, he wouldn't be able to catch him later. With Vashtorr's cowardly appearance, he might run to the Andromeda Galaxy.
Firmly gripping Vashtorr's skull, the heavy pressure making Vashtorr's searchlight-like eyes bulge, Ramesses continued to put pressure on the Emperor.
"Why hasn't Old Man Gold moved yet? Is he really demented?"
"If I intervene, with my greed, you won't be able to get this part of the malicious technology. My power allows me to tolerate your existence, so powerful as I am, I can reach a consensus when you face threats, while my greed and vigilance urge me to prevent you from gaining more power."
The 'Apprentice' suddenly said nonsensically again.
People around were used to it.
But this stalemate was not a solution.
The 'Apprentice' looked left and right. The submissive attitude of the people around made Him inexplicably unhappy. Finally, He found Lord Cypher among the crowd, who was analyzing prophecies.
Compared to being tortured almost to unconsciousness by voices in his head in the past, he was now bowing his head in thought, carefully considering the feasibility of the orders, emitting a rather dangerous smell all over.
"Lord Cypher."
Under the envious gazes of the Grey Knights, the 'Apprentice' came to Lord Cypher.
At some point, a sword appeared in her hand.
It was a broadsword full of Eastern Mediterranean style, kept in a leather-wrapped scabbard, appearing too huge for a human female.
"Hmm?"
Lord Cypher held the blade at his waist, casting a doubtful look.
"Ascalon."
The 'Apprentice' raised the blade to show, answering in her signature nonsensical way: "A treasure of a human, forged long ago, when this world was completely different from now."
Ascalon, the holy sword used by St. George to slay the dragon in ancient Terran mythology, the weapon forged when Grandpa Emperor shot down the Void Dragon on Mars with a stone in the Middle Ages and sealed it.
A series of information popped into Aglaia's head. Then she shook her head hurriedly, holding her head in pain, wanting to laugh but daring not to, shoulders twitching.
She felt her knowledge base had been completely polluted by Lord Ramesses.
And Lord Cypher found it difficult to move his gaze away from the blade.
Even though it hadn't revealed its form from the plain scabbard, he immediately felt the perfection of this sword.
Everything about it—size, shape, the black and gold ornate decoration extending from the guard to the tip—showed its transcendence.
Lord Cypher blinked, realizing he was staring at the black hilt, actually ignoring the 'Apprentice's' words.
"Damn it."
Lord Cypher cursed himself in a low voice. He had to try hard to suppress the urge to reach out and grab it.
This existence full of historical heritage and legends was really tempting.
"I have a sword already."
"This is not for you."
The 'Apprentice's' gaze never moved away from that focused figure on the high platform.
"..."
Lord Cypher fell silent.
Alright, he was flattering himself.
"I need you to give it to the person who needs it."
The 'Apprentice' pointed at Arthur on the high platform.
"Who says?"
"The Emperor."
"Why doesn't His Highness come personally?"
Taking the blade, grabbing the scabbard with both hands, trying hard not to touch the hilt, Lord Cypher swallowed hard and asked again.
Frankly speaking, such a weapon was a treasure for any warrior. Letting it pass through his hands was too torturous for him.
"..."
The 'Apprentice' was speechless.
He wanted to, but the problem was, could He get through on the phone?
Thinking of the pile of read-but-not-replied messages on someone, the 'Apprentice' couldn't help but sigh. Compared to the others, this made it impossible for Him to show kindness even if He tried.
But this was good too. If the call really got through one day, it would be big trouble.
"My lord."
Standing beside Vashtorr's realspace body which was starting to break, Arthur looked back at Lord Cypher climbing onto the high platform.
He handed over the blade in his arms.
"The Emperor asked me to give this to you."
"Thank you."
Brief doubt, Arthur picked it up casually.
He held the edge of the scabbard, grabbed the hilt, and drew the blade smoothly. Cypher felt a shudder emerge from his soul.
The metal was pitch-black as ink, reflecting almost no light. Light was completely absorbed by the surface. Strong spiritual perception allowed Lord Cypher to feel the resentment of an ancient life of the material universe within it.
But Arthur had no reaction, as if holding a most ordinary blade.
He frowned slightly.
Having spent most of the past thirty years in the military academy, he could clearly see that this was Necron, or rather C'tan technology, but functionally it was amplifying psychic power like the Eldar.
This sword had no bonus for him, inferior to Excalibur which gathered the wisdom and technology of multiple races.
Maybe more suitable for Ramesses.
"Got the stuff?"
A rift opened in front of Arthur. Ramesses's stifled voice came from inside, just like during the tug-of-war in university.
And his movement at this moment was indeed a bit comical. Squeezed together with Corax, one pulling Vashtorr's spine hard, the other hugging Vashtorr's head wrestling with the endless chains.
And Vashtorr was like a rag, his whole body torn to a near-broken state.
"Ah, Old Man Gold is really hopeless with his split personality. He has to pass his own stuff from left hand to right hand for several rounds before sending it out."
Lord Cypher lowered his head, not knowing what he was thinking.
"Need me to do anything?"
Arthur asked, gesturing with the blade.
"Help with a slash."
Ramesses turned his body with difficulty, revealing the part of Vashtorr dragged by Khorne and Nurgle.
Compared to the main body which still retained its characteristics, Vashtorr's left leg and left arm were completely eroded by the two Evil Gods. Above was rusted molten metal, below was rotten stinking shell.
And Vashtorr, caught between two huge forces, had an expression as broken as his thoughts at this moment.
Everything constituting the Creator was broken like his appearance at this moment. Both sides treated it as their trophy, tearing at everything they could touch.
Fortunately, Ramesses pretended when he should, and worked when he didn't pretend. At least now it was still in a tug-of-war state.
"Remember to put the sword in; I can't spare a hand."
Light burst away the entangled daemons, and he squeezed out another sentence.
"Okay."
Arthur nodded, swinging the blade coated with rich golden light.
Through the rift, Lord Cypher noticed that the moment the blade entered the warp, it established a connection with a greater existence. The surrounding warp entities watching from afar were stunned at first, then began to flee amidst the ashes of their companions burned to death by the cold sun.
The two colored chains trembled slightly.
Steadying the blade in his hand that wanted to escape control swayed by countless thoughts, Arthur ignored Vashtorr's nearly collapsed arm joints and slashed at the chains.
?
Actually not cutting the hand?
Of course, no need to cut the hand. That was the Emperor, the Emperor prayed to by all humanity for ten thousand years.
Nurgle and Khorne's chains stretched to the limit, dragging Corax and Ramesses into a stagger. The golden light sword fell, cutting the chains directly.
BOOM!
The angry emotions of Khorne and Nurgle set off a tsunami in the warp.
"Haha!"
The dragging force suddenly disappeared. Ramesses's body staggered and flew up. He laughed and gave the warp the middle finger, then fell out of the rift with Corax.
Taking Vashtorr's body with them.
Crash~
Two bodies fell to the ground.
"Wait—"
Arthur, quick with his eyes and hands, threw away Ascalon directly, ignored Vashtorr's plea for mercy, drew Excalibur, and cut off his head and the contaminated left hand and arm, then threw these body parts into separate small Blackstone arrays arranged early on.
Then he stopped paying attention to the trophies and quickly helped up his two companions.
"Are you okay?"
Arthur asked with concern, then thanked Corax who rushed from the warp to provide assistance:
"Sorry to trouble you, Corax."
"It's fine."
Corax replied moved, still holding half of Vashtorr's spine in his hand.
Arrogant but not impatient, bold but careful.
The 'Apprentice' looked at the scene above, smiled, and then her body fell to the ground as if suddenly losing bones.
The surrounding Grey Knights hurriedly gathered around.
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