Chapter 135: Dad! Dad, Why Are You Bald?! Dad?

As the spire bearing the Viceroy's palace collapsed with a thunderous crash, the Insect Saint once again turned its attention to the storm raven gunship hovering in the sky.

"Aaaaaaah!!!!"

The Blood Angel warrior piloting the storm raven let out a piercing cry.

A powerful psychic force slammed into the entire gunship, and nearly everyone heard millions of insect shrieks at once.

The Insect Saint was not merely a titan standing on the battlefield—it was also a massive psychic unit composed of a swarm.

Its enormous brain tissue and specially adapted nervous system made it a psychic entity far beyond normal comprehension.

Even though most of its psychic energy was used to maintain its shield, it still far surpassed any mortal's capacity.

Yet,

The white-haired Melphiston suddenly opened his weary eyes, and brilliant blue psychic flames erupted from them.

He flicked his fingers, and the air around them instantly turned icy, as if everyone had been transported to a frozen planet.

Leina stared in shock; as a psychic, she knew that when psychics drew power from the Warp, they slightly lowered the temperature of the surrounding air.

But such extreme cold was something Leina could never achieve.

Melphiston's finger shot out toward the Insect Saint, and the swarm's shrieking ceased instantly.

Then, a psychic lightning bolt thicker than the storm raven coalesced, swirling like a giant serpent as it lunged at the Insect Saint.

Violent ripples surged across the Insect Saint's psychic shield, and its entire body trembled.

"Yaaaaaah!!!!"

The Insect Saint roared, and its powerful sonic wave became a hurricane that shook the entire mechanical spire.

Its psychic power surged violently, concentrating on its shield and shattering Melphiston's lightning bolt outright.

It raised its bio-cannon high, aiming it at the storm raven gunship suspended in midair.

A blazing projectile of living matter shot toward the Blood Angels at high speed.

Melphiston flung his arms wide, and his psychic energy fragmented into tiny particles, instantly engulfing the entire storm raven gunship.

Everyone saw only a faint glimmer, then the surroundings shifted— the Insect Saint's bio-projectile flashed past them at a distance.

Did the Insect Saint miss?

Leina froze for a moment, then realized it wasn't the Insect Saint's aim that was off—it was Melphiston who had used his psychic power to teleport the entire storm raven gunship.

What an immense psychic power—Leina even suspected his strength might have surpassed the combined will of the previous broodlords.

But uh—

Leina stared at Melphiston, the chief librarian of the Blood Angels.

His hair was nearly silver-white, with only faint traces of the typical Blood Angel gold visible.

His skin was unnaturally pale, as if he had never seen sunlight.

And previously, this chief librarian had always lurked in the dark corners of the storm raven, deliberately avoiding light.

And whether it was her imagination or not, Leina thought his teeth looked slightly sharp.

She began to wonder—was this chief librarian perhaps… a little mutated? He looked strangely like something from legend.

"A vampire who dabbles in witchcraft," said the Traveler, Anlakai, with disdain as he looked at Melphiston.

Yet even his cold tone carried an undercurrent of caution.

Even he could not ignore Melphiston's overwhelming psychic power.

The instant he heard the words "vampire who dabbles in witchcraft," Dante's hand clenched into a fist.

Melphiston turned his weary face toward the Traveler, Anlakai, and shot him a warning glare.

"My Lord," Melphiston gasped as he looked at Dante, revealing his exhaustion.

He had just battled the Mindbeast, faced the Hive Mind directly, and had not yet recovered. Dante gave a slight nod: "Everyone, prepare for drop."

Proceed according to plan—hmm?

Commander Dante suddenly froze.

He saw, atop the mechanical spire beside the Insect Saint, within its psychic shield, a door of pinkish-red wood had suddenly appeared.

The door was pristine, spotless, intact—standing amidst the ruins, utterly out of place.

His superhuman senses told him: that door had not been there a moment ago.

Suddenly, the door opened.

A figure over three meters tall, bald, stepped out.

Dante recognized the face—radiant with divinity and mercy, yet still bearing dignity and majesty.

In an instant, Dante felt dizzy, as if his soul had been struck by a heavy blow.

"Father!!!" Dante cried out involuntarily.

The figure's face was identical to Saint Guilliman's—even the body shape matched perfectly, save for the lack of hair.

And—and Dante faintly thought he heard the sound of wings flapping.

"My Father!"

"By the Blood of Guilliman!"

"Dad!!! Oh no! Dad, why are you bald?!"

Not just Dante—all the Blood Angels aboard the storm raven stood frozen as if struck by lightning.

!. ead

That was the face of the Archangel himself—even Saint Guillen merely wore a golden mask engraved with the Archangel's visage.

Melphiston's expression was even more horrifying.

His powerful psychic senses allowed him to glimpse faintly behind the figure: a pale blue-white glow hovered, within which a pair of wings fluttered gently.

"Could it truly be my Father? No… why is my Father bald?"

"A trick of the Lord of Change? Then why not give him hair?"

Melphiston's face was utterly bewildered.

Leina, recognizing the posture, shrank back slightly, trying her best to avoid drawing attention.

At that moment, the bald man with Guilliman's face, standing behind the Insect Saint, slowly pulled a simple, ancient gourd from his robe.

Leina blinked—she recognized that gourd.

"Dang dang dang dang! Pocket Tornado!"

The bald man with Guilliman's face raised the ancient gourd and yanked out the stopper.

A swirling tornado burst forth, rapidly drawing in the stagnant air around them, forming a gray vortex that swelled to the size of the mechanical spire in an instant.

Bricks, rubble, remaining structures, and the swarming insects within were all sucked up.

The Insect Saint roared, digging its four claws deep into the ground to resist the sudden gray hurricane.

Yet even its massive body began to seem small against the ever-growing storm, stretching high into the clouds.

The man with Guilliman's face had vanished into the pinkish-red door long ago, gone without a trace.

Now, the Insect Saint struggled desperately against the storm, too occupied to notice Dante and his group in the sky.

But Dante aboard the storm raven had no time to rejoice.

The storm had indeed swallowed the Insect Saint—but it was now advancing toward the storm raven where Dante stood.

"Descend immediately toward the Thinker Gate near the mechanical spire!"

Gulp, finally finished this chapter. Stomach still hurts. Took my temperature—37. °C. I'll try to write another chapter, but it might not reach six thousand words.

(End of Chapter)