The Creators: From Night City

Page 536

The Emperor Sword was raised high, the sword moving with the man, every inch of his body exerting force. The immense power, the heavy armor, and the forward momentum were all perfectly integrated into the slashing motion, infused into this demon-slaying divine weapon.

The clanging armor forcefully pushed aside the white mist, and the chilling killing intent diluted the overflowing coldness.

Like thunder roaring from the heavens, like the drums of a celestial being beating.

The immense force slammed into Mortarian's hastily raised scythe with the force of splitting a mountain. The powerful impact shattered the opponent's defensive stance like dry weeds, causing the scythe to crash heavily into the opponent's decaying armor.

An even more terrifying shockwave swept away the white mist within a radius of tens of meters, and the dirty ground exploded like a supernova.

The foul-smelling mud and blood were thrown tens of meters into the air.

With a slight tremor of its drooping wings, Mortarian used the impact to fly backward, smashing a bone sculpture behind him to pieces before finally landing with difficulty and regaining its footing.

"Curse magic"

His already inhuman face was filled with a dark, spiritual light, and thousands of ominous curses coiled around Mortarion's deformed body, rising and falling, diminishing the power of this great demon.

"Guilliman, I never thought even the most stubborn person like you... would change~"

His response was a violent slash; Guilliman, like an armored tank, pinned the weakened Mortarian to the ground.

The deformed body transformed into scattered moths, barely escaping the hammer blows of the ruling hand that followed.

The floor rippled like waves, and the metal was twisted and distorted by Guilliman's furious attacks.

The meeting ended in the blink of an eye.

“This is my responsibility, Mortarian, and for that, I will certainly change.”

“Responsibility, ha ha…” A low, wet laugh came from behind the mask, like the murmur of a drowning man.

Mortarion used his scythe to support himself as he stood up. His drooping moth wings finally unfurled, and wisps of green light rose from his body, surging and fighting against the vicious curse that clung to him like a bone-deep wound.

“This is a vicious curse, such heavy shackles. My father used these shackles to bind us, like binding cold tools. Look at you now, aren’t you still his tool? A brighter, smarter tool. But I, I have broken free.”

Guilliman raised his sword, stepped forward, and charged forward like a comet striking the moon, launching a sudden, direct thrust.

Mortarion unleashed a thick cloud of plague mist, obscuring his form. His vicious scythe attempted to retaliate while dodging, but was directly smashed back by the Hand of Domination.

Both sides called out their positions within a single breath.

The second phase has ended.

"Stop deceiving yourself, Mortalian," Guilliman's eyes shone like stars, piercing through people's hearts.

“You hate your father, you hate yourself, so you distill that hatred into poison, refine it into a plague, and spray it across the entire galaxy! I will not ‘join’ you, nor will I waver, Mortarian. I have come here only to correct the mistakes.”

The ominous, dark green aura suddenly surged as Mortarion unleashed his full power, completely releasing his warp nature and drawing upon all of the Father's blessings to elevate himself to the highest level, displaying the majesty befitting a Nurgle demon prince.

The Emperor's Sword pointed forward, radiating light and dispelling the domain of Nurgle's power. The laurel wreath above his head shimmered with brilliance, making Guilliman, whose eyes shone with blue light, appear as if he were a god forged from light.

The two 'demigods', who had awakened their respective warp natures in various ways, unleashed their full power to date.

The scythe and the longsword clashed in an instant, and the deformed and murky eyes stared at Guilliman's bright eyes at close range, flashing with a fierce confrontation.

A terrifying psionic storm suddenly erupted, and the surging psionic energy instantly destroyed the "Rotten Throne".

The walls shattered instantly, as if struck by a Category 18 hurricane. All the troops fighting outside the "Rotten Throne" suffered a severe impact and were thrown into chaos.

The foul-smelling blood trickled down Mortarian's body, and a horrific wound pierced through his armor.

Due to the combined effect of various factors, he was at a complete disadvantage in the previous battle.

The Plague Prince, the Lord of Death, stood up nonchalantly, as if the pain he was in didn't exist.

He raised the scythe 'Silence' once again.

The three-way transition has ended.

"Correct the error?"

"Robert, my dear brother, you may temporarily repel me, destroy me, kill me, but the festering wounds will return, and death will prevail. Can your corrections truly rectify that bleak future?"

The sounds of gunfire, intense fighting, and calls for reinforcements from all directions reached Guilliman's ears, making him realize that he needed to end the battle quickly.

"You have too much faith in your own prophecies. You've done too many foolish things like throwing the baby out with the bathwater. I don't want to argue with you."

"I just want to do the right thing, Mortarian."

"Correct?" The Great Demon Nurgle let out a series of sarcastic, low laughs, as if mocking the other party's naiveté, or perhaps the words themselves.

The ever-growing curse weakened Mortarion, and the merciful Father, residing in the highest heavens, stood in a ravaged garden, attempting to bestow His blessing upon his demon prince, cleansing him of the curse and granting him new power, but was firmly stopped by the Emperor.

The ever-changing Tzeentch, who has insight into the past and future, should logically be involved, in whatever way he does. However, he has not shown himself, but instead remains unusually silent in his ever-changing demon palace, secretly manipulating something.

"Blindly pursuing what is right is a mistake in itself, my brother."

"After all, how do you know that what you are pursuing is truly 'right'?"

Guilliman, who was being questioned, was now so dazzling that it was hard to look directly at him. During this period, the regent of the empire had read through all the information and materials he could find about the past ten thousand years. His powerful data processing ability had made him think about related issues countless times.

"Fight, Mortarian, words cannot sway my resolve."

As the rain fell, the light shone brilliantly, a vibrant green glow.

A battle beyond the comprehension of mortals is taking place, unfolding, and evolving within the realm of light, racing toward a predetermined future.

Finally, at some point, the Emperor in the Warp lowered his head and, together with Nurgle, turned his gaze toward the River of Fate.

In the present world, the Emperor's Sword ultimately pierced the chest of the traitorous Primarch, pinning him to the Nurgle's emblem, composed of pus and diseased tissue.

At this point, Guilliman finally stopped his life-or-death struggle with his brother.

Countless runes emerged from the sword that Jiang Bing had secretly modified, and wisps of golden flames seeped into the body of the great demon, gradually igniting it.

“You have failed, Mortalian,” Guilliman said, his face calm and expressionless.

Flames erupted from this filthy body, yet Mortarian remained remarkably calm in the final moments.

"Perhaps," he gave his final answer.

Chapter 1087 The Deal with the Space Necromancer

Mortarian finally died; the golden flames consumed everything he had, reducing all his sins to nothingness.

The leaderless plague fleet embarked on a path of defeat and demise, hurtling rapidly toward its doom.

This process was accelerated several times over with the arrival of the first solar fleet responsible for support, and the continuous influx of subsequent troops.

In the war on plague, Robert Guilliman won the final victory.

But setting aside macro-level factors such as politics, war itself never has a winner.

Guilliman, who had won a great victory, could finally catch his breath, but the Ultramarines and the main force of the Combined Fleet still needed to chase after the fleeing Plague Fleet and continue to annihilate the remnants of the defeated army.

However, all of this had nothing to do with Alarius anymore.

As a fortress world, it paid a heavy price for this war.

To describe this planet as utterly devastated would be an understatement; desolation, ecological destruction, and near-extinction of its population are the true descriptions.

However, this did not prevent a grand victory parade from taking place on the ground.

Beside the Century Bridge, hundreds of workers are busy cleaning up the trash on the bridge surface to facilitate the upcoming march and to make it easier for the Mechanical Education Corps to repair it later.

Grealish was an ordinary assembly line worker, the kind who specialized in tightening screws.

However, the war completely destroyed the factory he worked for, and this little screw-tightening prince could only be reduced to the most basic manual labor position.

As he pushed a cart full of supplies onto the bridge, he inadvertently noticed that two people were standing on the top of the damaged giant imperial sculpture on one side of the mountain wall, looking up at him.

What he didn't know was that it was Jiang Bing and the Emperor.

Looking at the busy 'ants' on the wide bridge, neither of them had the desire to speak.

After a short while, Om Messiah finally couldn't hold back any longer and spoke first.

"From this perspective, how small and insignificant humanity seems."

"Nihilism is unacceptable," the emperor coldly retorted.

"We have won this war."

“I know, which means your plan is indeed feasible.”

"Facts speak louder than words," Jiang Bing boasted.

A gilded and silver-painted airship descended from the sky, escorted by a patrol boat.

"Your eldest son is back; it seems the celebration is about to begin."

The sacred 'God of All Machines' dusted himself off, stood up, and took another step, finding himself in an alley near the main road of the Century Bridge Industrial Zone.

Despite the fact that the people of the empire, who had suffered through war, had lost their loved ones and homes, they still appeared jubilant, the atmosphere was very enthusiastic, and their fighting spirit was high.

Humans have always been a race prone to forgetting, which is both a flaw and a remarkable talent.

The celebration proceeded as scheduled, with magnificent tanks, chariots, and hundreds of thousands of Astronauts marching across the Bridge of the Century, passing under the gaze of 'Godson' Guilliman.

They were the most numerous, and their contributions were the greatest.

They are the cornerstone of the empire, so Guilliman specially permitted them to walk at the forefront of this celebratory parade.

However, the Astartes' appearance is naturally eye-catching, attracting the attention of all onlookers without needing to be overly flamboyant.

The Emperor's Angels donned their power armor, which was covered in wounds. Their neat formation, majestic figures, and chilling aura, along with their unwavering will to fight, filled the entire squad.

A deafening roar of cheers erupted.

At that moment, a lowly human worker mingled in the crowd, constantly looking towards the procession in the street, and joining the other onlookers in raising their arms and cheering.

However, at a certain moment, two new faces suddenly appeared on either side of this slave worker.

“Your disguise is quite good, Tarasin.” Om Messiah put his arm around the worker’s shoulder from behind. Before the real being in the disguise could react, he was suddenly pulled by a strong force and fell into the void behind him as if he were flying through the clouds.

When he regained his footing, he was suddenly surprised to find himself high in the sky, surrounded by blue skies and white clouds.

Above us is a thin atmosphere, and below us are tiny people. The earth is like a chessboard, and all living beings are the pieces scattered on it.

A formation of Thunder Eagle gunships and flying units, fully loaded with weapons, passed by him and headed towards the ground, as if they were located at opposite ends of two dimensions, completely ignoring his presence.

"Tarasin, I'm here to complete the transaction," Jiang Bing's voice came from behind the other party.

In the blink of an eye, when Jiang Bing saw the other person's face, the worried look of the hardworking imperial worker had transformed into a face resembling a metal skull.

"Om Messiah?" Tarasim asked the question himself, but he already had the answer.

However, to his surprise, standing beside 'Om Messiah' was an old Terran farmer with a sorrowful expression, who was also looking at him.

"Emperor!"

The space necromancer's astonished cry was filled with bewilderment.

The emperor said nothing, but after gazing deeply at Tarasin, he turned his gaze back to the ground beneath his feet.

A grand victory parade was taking place on the Century Bridge, with Guilliman on the bridge and the Emperor in the sky, all watching the stirring march.

“Your astonishment is too contrived, ‘The Endless One,’ it looks like it was drawn on your face with a clumsy crayon.” Jiang Bing’s words drew Tarasin’s attention back.

"After all, these emotional modules are simulated. The human Om Messiah is not something that can be evolved and solved by changing a body or altering a version of personality data."

Om Messiah waved his hand, and the surrounding space moved rapidly as if it were a sightseeing cable car, dropping three seemingly human-like objects from the sky onto the ground.

"Did you bring the things, mourner?" the emperor finally spoke.

"certainly"

Tarasin opened his palm, and an ominous octahedral crystal materialized in his hand.

This material, with its metallic sheen and occasional appearance of dark purple and green energy patterns, has a very descriptive name: Night Skeleton.

However, the human empire also calls it Blackrock.

Blackstone is a cosmic substance with special properties. It is naturally able to absorb or release subspace energy. The origin of this mineral, which seems to be a natural creation, remains a mystery.

The Necromancers of the Space believed that the Black Stone was a "subspace regulator" created by the Star God using some kind of cosmic singularity-level technology. It was scattered throughout the universe by the Star God to counter the psionic advantage of the Ancient Ones.

Some believe that this substance was created by the ancient saints as the cornerstone of the "real structure" of the Milky Way to prevent the subspace from expanding too much and eroding the material universe. However, it was captured by the Star Gods during a long war and reverse-engineered.

Jiang Bing, who had devoured part of the Void Dragon, understood that the secrets contained within this thing were deeper than he had imagined.

Chapter 1088 A Different Kind of Negotiation and Deal

This magical substance existed before the ancient saints and star gods.