The Creators: From Night City

Page 502

Even though his plague behemoth, the 'End', was once the most powerful warship in the Death Guard Plague Fleet, the difference in strength between the two sides was still enormous.

So from the very beginning he followed the classic human Empire tactic he had learned while on the Death Guard—decapitation.

Once the enemy's key figures are eliminated, no matter how many enemies there are in a leaderless state, they will only become nourishment for corruption and reincarnation.

The demise of the demons and the massive deaths of the Chaos Astartes did not shake him in the slightest. Beneath these seemingly main offensive forces lay a tiny, inconspicuous, but always corrupt, swarm of mosquitoes and flies, quietly spreading throughout the complex mechanical ark.

Countless mosquitoes and flies were wiped out, burned, roasted, and evaporated throughout the ark...

But their corpses and deaths formed a living map in the eyes of this demon prince who was transformed from a human.

“Important moments are always accompanied by the most stringent defenses, and the places where death gathers are the paths that our loving father has shown us.”

Seven plague servants formed a magic circle, chanting obscure incantations seven times, proclaiming the title of this demon prince—Lord of Flies!

Guided by the power of corruption and carried by countless flies, Karas Typhon, along with his Plague Terminator Guard, was instantly teleported aboard the Starforger, deep into the enemy's heartland.

The frantic shouts, the agonizing cries, the echoes of death brought Typhon back to life in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.

He had been inside the Eye of Fear for too long and had somewhat forgotten the beauty of reality.

He casually swung his deformed staff, filth and plague-ridden, its sharp, slender tip piercing a brave and unyielding rebel.

This is a member of the ship's guard, a mortal body equipped with a set of fine armor, but the armor, which is enough to protect against bullets, is easily melted by the breath of this demon prince.

The pale green mouthparts were like the purest strong acid, turning the opponent's screams and skull into a pool of green viscous liquid that flowed down the stiff body.

This demon prince was so powerful that his breath alone was enough to kill an entire city of mortals. Countless Nurgle demons roamed within his ripped chest cavity, and swarms of flies, like a carpet of fungus, flew out of his enormous mouth, hovering around him and flattering their king.

The Plague Terminators advanced savagely, and the Terminator armor, which was intertwined with their flesh and blood, seemed to possess the characteristics of flesh and blood as well.

The hit parts will continuously wriggle and automatically repair themselves, and attacks that can cause injury are too rare. Only heavy bomb guns or plasma cannons can penetrate the Terminator's already strong armor and damage these human tanks.

Such heavy equipment is often bulky, slow-moving, or can only be deployed in fixed positions.

But the spore cannon in the hands of the Plague Terminator is the ultimate nightmare for all living beings.

Not to mention the pus it spews that can melt terracotta, its unparalleled toxicity alone is enough to kill a fragile mortal instantly if these liquids come into contact with even a trace of skin, and then be transformed into a bloated living corpse by the power of the Lord of Flies.

Typhon's army grew larger and larger like a snowball.

As he dragged his enormous body through nine compartments, he suddenly found himself facing a choice.

Two roads lay before him, one to the left and one to the right, seemingly indistinguishable.

However, Typhon, as a master of psychic powers, vaguely sensed some mysterious premonitions about the future.

His soul warned its master again, as powerful psychic energy 'coincidentally' retrieved some fragments from the vast river of time in the subspace.

The vibrant world is divided into two poles in the 'one-eyed eye' of this demon prince.

The calm, pale color on the left involuntarily reminded him of Mortarion, the Primarch who revered 'death'.

On the right, however, lies a precise void, empty and desolate, yet with a strange, unsettling buzzing sound emanating from within.

He needs to make a choice, after all, the bridge is right in front of both.

He had to make a choice, after all, once he accepted Mortarion's summons and took on the 'mission,' there was no turning back.

He had no choice but to intercept the 'target' in the cold subspace at this moment and in this place.

After all, the two had signed an "agreement" when Mortalian pardoned Typhon's "crimes" and allowed him to create the value he wanted.

At this moment, this 'agreement' is shining brightly in the depths of his soul.

Ultimately, the desire for freedom triumphed over everything.

He made his choice.

In the deepest part of the highest heavens.

The great being residing in the crystal labyrinth stopped manipulating magic and cast its gaze upon the magic well that seemed to hold the secrets of a lifetime's destiny.

A shrill laugh rang out, prompting countless demons on the outskirts of the labyrinth to concoct countless schemes.

At that moment, fate 'coincidentally' veered to the left.

As Typhon moved forward, a faint chill crept over him, like the thin mist of early spring, quietly dampening his clothes and making him restless, so much so that even the flies and insects surrounding him became agitated.

He was like a jackal entering a tiger's territory; his pheromones told him this was no safe place.

Finally, he arrived at his destination.

With Typhon's extensive knowledge, he could easily tell that the cabin in front of him belonged to the living area and was located near the bridge, indicating that the user of this cabin was of a very special and noble status.

But there were no guards here, only a vast expanse of white bones forming an eerie bone forest, connecting all the enemies who wandered here.

Chaos Astartes, Nurgle, Plague Zombies, Plaguebringers, and the enormous Nurgle beasts—all beings that attempted to break through this place died mysteriously, 'completely wiped out'.

Bone-like branches grew and spread from their bodies, piercing their shells and devouring their souls.

The scene was eerily peaceful, even somewhat serene.

Chapter 1021 Father Beats Son

"You should have died long ago."

Rasmar, the patriarch of necromancers, walked out of the cabin, leaning on his staff.

"The cycle of life and death should be a balance among all things, but the master behind you obviously doesn't think so."

His hair, white as a waterfall, cascaded down his shoulders as Rasmar removed his hood, blending perfectly with the surrounding forest of bones.

“He explicitly rejected death, yet he allowed you living corpses to rot over time, becoming neither human nor ghost.”

Typhon was not angry.

A chilling darkness was constantly emanating from beneath the small mortal body opposite him, and the Lord of Flies felt fear for the first time in a long time.

A plague terminator, at his behest, launched an attack.

The spore cannon spewed out deadly sludge blobs, and the Chaos Warrior's massive body, like a steel giant, relentlessly advanced forward.

A single glance.

Rasmar's beautiful eyes, inherited from both angels and demons, were only on the 'pawn' that had been thrown out for testing for less than a second when the opponent's unparalleled momentum slowed down at a visible speed and gradually came to a stop.

Aging, life drain, withering, disability, vulnerability, energy depletion, broken armor, slowness...

Dozens of powerful curses were dumped onto the opponent's soul like they were being sold in bulk, instantly turning a Chaos Warrior capable of slaughtering cities and destroying nations into a spineless coward.

He knelt on the ground in vain, struggling even to breathe normally, his limbs moving slowly like an old man on his deathbed.

"Life and death are an endless cycle. Intruder, I think I can help you."

A swarm of flies formed a thick, dark cloud, buzzing as it enveloped the unknown enemy.

All the remaining Plague Terminators instantly launched a charge, clearing a path with explosives.

Clumps of emerald green mist exploded, scattering into deadly plague zones.

The strange psionicist stood there, but Typhon found himself suddenly unable to feel those scorching, warm 'little guys'.

"Plagues, diseases, I must admit there are so many kinds here."

Rasma praised.

"However, it is clear that the quality of these plagues is still lacking."

As the progenitor of necromancers, Rathma was proficient in curses, plagues and diseases, bone manipulation, and flesh manipulation. At the same time, as the first Nephalem, he was born with a powerful ability to control souls.

With a slight tap of the charred wooden staff, several massive Terminators were instantly enveloped in invisible magic and manipulated. Their bodily fluids, mixed with thick mucus and pus, began to suddenly escape from their bodies as these powerful warriors rapidly dehydrated.

Necromancers often command the undead and manipulate corpses, mainly because the flesh and blood of living beings are permeated with their own souls, making it difficult for external forces to penetrate them.

Controlling these beings, who already have owners, is an exceptionally difficult task.

However, as undead, these plague warriors had far less control over their deformed flesh and blood than mortals. They were like corpses, completely powerless against the magic of necromancers.

Even if they survived, they could not resist Rasmar's power.

The deformed flesh began to writhe wildly on its own, and the sluggish plague warriors screamed in alarm.

Under the skillful manipulation of magic, these festering, rotten flesh, riddled with pustules and deformed growths, transformed into rippling water, detaching from their original owner's body and quickly gathering in Rasmar's palm, becoming a mass of dark green flesh and blood essence.

The essence mixed with the souls was stripped away cleanly, and the seven plague terminators instantly turned into seven clean and neat skeleton specimens, standing silently in the forest of bones.

The flies launched a frenzied attack, their sheer numbers forming a fleshy tornado that surrounded Rasma, relentlessly trying to get closer and spread the deadly plague they carried with their monstrous mouthparts.

However, the barren spiritual energy circulated around this Nephalem, forming a deathly realm.

Anyone who dares to approach will instantly transform into tiny tidal waves of flesh and blood, which will also converge into Rasma's hands.

Typhon raised his twisted staff and began chanting rapidly. Only a few lines of the filthy incantation were revealed when endless rotting microorganisms and miasma began to spread throughout the cabin.

Vast spiritual energy surged within his decaying body, and blasphemous and malevolent witchcraft was rapidly taking shape.

But the Nurgle demons residing in his abdomen began to stir wildly, leaping and howling, warning their host of danger.

Danger! Danger!!

An arm suddenly landed on Typhon's shoulder, the icy touch freezing him and every living thing in his body.

Before he could react, the hand forcibly pulled him out of the blessed, powerful body.

Like passing through a calm body of water, all living things fall silent instantly, and everything fades and loses its color.

Tiny Typhon couldn't help but fall to the dark earth, and deformity and emaciation returned to his doorstep once more.

"Welcome to the realm of the dead." In the boundless darkness, Rasmar quietly emerged from nothingness.

'Soul and Body Separation' is the supreme skill that every Rasmar priest longs to master.

It is not merely a magic that allows necromancers to summon their spirits from the realm of the dead in the mortal world, but rather an ability that allows the souls of Rasmar priests to freely travel between the real world and the 'spirit world' and communicate with the dead.

As the birthplace of this skill, this was Rasma's 'talent'.

He can not only freely travel between the 'spirit world' anytime and anywhere, but he can also smuggle people across.

Karas Typhon, the powerful demon prince, had his soul torn from his body in a single encounter.

"At someone's behest, I need to preserve your decaying body so that I can study solutions to deal with these 'spiritual plagues'."

Leading people through the dimension of the dead was no big deal for Rasmar. He was calm and collected, and even had the leisure to chat with the enemy in front of him.

The powerful demon prince stared in disbelief at his mortal body, its deformed and emaciated form reminding him of himself atop Barbaros.

That weak, twisted, and helpless self.

But he was, after all, a Nurgle Ascended, a powerful demon prince, and he quickly figured out the 'rules' of this dimension.

Here, the body is the embodiment of the mind and spirit.

Karas Typhon resolutely embraced his father's 'blessing' once again. In this world, the power of the four Chaos Gods was enough to radiate throughout the entire warp and also influence the realm of the dead.

His originally frail body rapidly swelled up like an inflating balloon, and in the blink of an eye, Typhon transformed from that weakling of Barbaros into the vanguard of Nurgle, wreaking havoc across the galaxy.

The Lord of Flies solemnly declared: "Your cunning tricks cannot defeat me, wizard. The benevolent father watches over me, and corruption will ultimately engulf you!"

Its massive body cast a large shadow, completely obscuring Rasma.

"Should we kill him?"

The rough voice was like the sand and gravel on the summit of Mount Arreat, and a powerful spirit emerged from the darkness between the two.

“He is yours, Bul-Kathos.” Rasma turned around and said to the 'Stand' she had specially brought with her before setting off.

Chapter 1022 is all scheming.

Nagou was so anxious that he almost dropped the soup spoon on the ground.

However, Typhon had someone protecting him, and so did the Starforger.

The pale psionic energy brazenly blocked the entrance to His garden, as if to say, "Go ahead and come out, but if you're not here, I'll be ready to kill demons and set fires."

With the other three gods (each with their own little schemes) watching coldly, the bloated, benevolent father could only grumble and return to the cauldron.

Inside the 'Secret Room', the members of the Saving Private Guilliman team gathered together to admire an 'exhibit' in a glass case.

A condensed silver-white light filled the area around the display case. This was an anti-theft device contributed by the great sage, a field of instantaneous annihilation, a cutting-edge technology of the Golden Age, capable of evaporating objects within it at the atomic level.

It's said that this stuff was used to dispose of hazardous waste during the Golden Age, but it's obviously quite suitable for disposing of Typhon, this "big shit bag," now.

The soulless demon prince stood frozen in place like a puppet, while mountains of mechanical equipment flew up and down. These were Kaul's 'research assistants' extracting precious 'knowledge' from this 'blessed one'.