Chapter 388: The Primarchs Are But Mortals; Doraemon Is Not a God

Reina poured her dwindling psychic energy onto the battlefield.

At this moment, she felt as if she had stepped into the depths of the legendary Brass Fortress's demonic arena, where endless demons surged toward her like a crimson tide.

Bullets provided support behind her; lasers and explosive shells might wound them and momentarily stall their advance.

But to kill them, only the most primal means would do: fists, blades, and psychic warhammers.

Reina was unskilled with fists, disliked blades, but excelled in psychic energy.

She roared the names of the Emperor and Saint Doraemon, her intense psychic force tearing the crimson, twisted demons in half.

Though she had expended over seventy percent of her psychic energy to slay one bloodthirsty daemon, the remaining thirty percent was more than enough to let these malevolent entities from another dimension taste the fury of the Emperor and Saint Doraemon.

Through the sea of blood, Reina faintly saw the Lion's Gate a kilometer away.

Beneath a sky burning crimson, the gate still stood firm, macro-cannons and lasers cascading from its summit, carving trenches into the ruined ground and drenching the daemon horde, supporting the retreat of the Cadia 184th and the Grey Knights.

Thanks to Saint Doraemon's protection, Reina made contact with Grand Master Voldus of the Third Brotherhood, who explained her identity to the Grey Knights and persuaded them to temporarily overlook her untrained, unbounded psychic energy.

Without this, in the Grey Knights' eyes, Reina would be a greater threat than a Greater Daemon.

She was still an Alpha-level psyker; with her portable pyramid and high-efficiency pills, she could further amplify her psychic power—if she lost control, she might instantly become a twisted warp gate, summoning demons directly behind the Grey Knights.

Fortunately, Grand Master Voldus vouched for her, and during the retreat toward the Lion's Gate, Reina and the Cadia 184th earned their trust through battle—yet.

"If you were Ma Lei, and of suitable age, we would have a fine brother."

"Too bad you're female, and too old. Truly a pity."

Grey Knight Inquisitor Alkon swung his warhammer, shattering the skull of a Khorne daemon, then tilted his peculiar crusader helmet slightly, staring at Reina as she unleashed psychic energy without fear of warp corruption.

"." Reina hurled two collapsed spires into the daemon horde, answering the Grey Knight in silence.

This was not the first time she had heard such words.

Morpheus had said similar things; Digris had too—they both lamented that Reina could have been an outstanding Astartes Librarian.

At first, Reina felt a small pride, thinking it was recognition.

But as she heard it more often, she grew numb.

No matter her identity, she would fight loyally for the Emperor and Saint Doraemon.

Huh?!

Reina sensed a sudden shift in the battlefield's atmosphere.

The rumble of tracks began, followed by the clatter of steel, artillery, and boots crushing through muddy earth.

Crimson clouds poured down; shell craters overflowed with foul, grayish water, forming dark, black pools where corpses floated.

These corpses wore shredded, blown-apart uniforms, steel helmets, and crude gas masks, their ashen dead faces staring at Reina.

"The Somme, the Somme, yes, yes, that's their name."

"Yes! Yes! All dead! All rotten!"

"Germans, British, French—all the same!"

"The Somme, the Somme, long ago there was a great war."

"When people were young, when they stuck flowers in rifle barrels—that was a terrible war."

"Tall tanks raised their barrels; terrifying machine guns screamed; men shrieked, killing day after day, night after night before black barbed wire."

"Since then, the marsh appeared here, swallowing rage, spreading, spreading, spreading…"

The stench of rotting corpses struck Reina's nostrils; the dead faces screamed at her.

Barbed wire coalesced into fleshy forms; tank tracks became chainsaws humming; machine guns roared, spewing bullets; mortars formed steel armor.

This was slaughter—senseless, dishonorable killing.

The soldiers gained nothing from this war but killing and being killed.

That is why it grew strong—the Somme; that is why it grew strong.

On Terra, it was far stronger than the bloodthirsty daemon Reina had slain.

For it was born from one of Terra's cruelest wars, from one of humanity's most meaningless killings.

It continuously fed on the war's power and Terra's lingering, ancient fear of it.

Here, it manifested its form.

Reina's remaining psychic energy struck the Somme's body—but its crude barbed-wire-covered form was unnaturally resilient, barely moving beneath her assault.

Then the Somme spread its wings, composed of countless primitive, rough machine guns, unleashing torrents of bullets at Reina and the nearby Cadia 184th warriors.

Reina hastily summoned psychic energy to clash with the brass bullets, yet some still grazed her psychic warhammer, carving a bloody line across her face.

"Raise your psychic shield!" Inquisitor Alkon growled, swinging his warhammer to meet the Somme's track-chain-saw.

Intense psychic potential erupted from Alkon, manifesting as psychic lightning that burned across the Somme's body.

Alkon's words made Reina's expression twitch slightly, yet she continued slamming her psychic warhammer into the Somme.

Meanwhile, Reina noticed fighting erupting nearby.

She saw Morpheus battling two bloodthirsty daemons; Star-Talker Chief Kellaprin held off one alone.

Other Astartes clustered together, clashing with bloodthirsty daemons and ordinary Khorne demons.

But the battle remained barely balanced—these invading bloodthirsty daemons were clearly among Khorne's elite, and the eighty-eight Khorne warbands were undoubtedly seasoned.

Yet Reina knew one force had not yet moved—she had heard since childhood of the Emperor's guardians, those golden warriors.

If they entered the fray, they could turn the tide.

But where were they?!

At that moment, Shield Captain Valerian charged into Reina's, Inquisitor Alkon's, and the Greater Daemon Somme's battlefield, wielding a power spear.

Beside him marched three Silent Sisters; their presence made Reina's stomach churn with nausea.

But the Silent Sisters' anti-psychic energy clearly targeted the Somme Greater Daemon, causing its form to shrink slightly.

"Where are they? Where are your brothers, Captain Valerian?!"

Reina forced down her nausea, squeezing the last of her psychic energy, and demanded of Valerian:

"Why won't they come to support us?! Why must they stay behind the Lion's Gate?!"

Valerian stiffened at the question.

"Soon. Very soon," Valerian gritted his teeth. "Marshal Trajan is working."

Valerian silently prayed that Marshal Trajan would hurry.

Behind the Lion's Gate, Imperial Guard Commander Trajan stared at the four thousand silent Imperial Guard.

Unlike Astartes, the Imperial Guard were never merely an army—each one possessed his own strategic mind, trained to think independently, granted the right to judge orders, and their flat structure arose from this very principle.

The Restriction Edict—a pact signed ten thousand years ago by the first Imperial Guard Commander, Constantine Valdo, with Roboute Guilliman, Rogal Dorn, and the High Lords—

was born of the Guard's guilt, a self-imposed chain and instrument of punishment, the greatest limitation left by the greatest Imperial Guard, Constantine Valdo.

Even Trajan could not break it alone—he needed an external force to lift the Edict.

Before the Battle of Cadia, he had collaborated with Star-Talker Chief Kellaprin and failed—but now Trajan saw another chance to lift it.

Tiruien, Imperial Chancellor, hurry… Trajan prayed inwardly.

Tiruien had never hated his body more—bloated, obese, weak.

He hated that no vehicle could enter this damned corridor.

The crimson sky burned; blood rain fell beyond the ancient corridor.

Tiruien gasped for breath, fighting the rage and madness surging within him, clutching tightly the decree bearing several signatures.

To lift the Restriction Edict required approval from over half the High Lords—originally seven.

But thanks to the Emperor, Leoop Frank, the former Star-Talker Chief who opposed lifting the Edict, was dead.

He had tried to reignite the Astronomican and nearly destroyed the entire Star-Talker Chamber, leaving the position vacant.

Now only eleven High Lords remained; only six votes were needed.

The decree already bore the signatures of Star-Talker Chief Kellaprin, Inquisition Representative Ils, and Imperial Guard Commander Trajan—all already supported lifting the Edict.

And now, with Terra's situation obvious, former abstainer Assassin-Master Fadius was willing to sign in support.

Merchant-Princes' Spokesperson Kania Danda declared bluntly: "Hurry! If the Imperial Guard can save my life, I'll sign anything."

That made five votes—only one more needed.

The Mars Forge General was not on Terra; the Navigator Ambassador was nearly insane.

The Ecclesiarch and the Fawu Force Minister were staunch conservatives, both following the lead of their conservative leader—Neiwu Force Director Ilto Simotrien.

Meaning Tiruien must persuade Ilto Simotrien.

He found the Neiwu Force Director in a chapel within Ilto's private estate.

Ilto Simotrien looked even more worn than Tiruien, slumped on a simple wooden chair, half his body trembling slightly—some neurological spasm.

It was normal; High Lords bore burdens beyond mortal endurance; most suffered mental or neurological ailments.

Beside Ilto stood his adopted son and assistant minister, Neso.

The young man wore a gentle, affable smile.

Tiruien knew he was Ilto's most trusted man, as Tiruien trusted Jeci.

Yet for some reason, Tiruien always felt Neso was a snake.

Not a venomous, lewd snake—but one hidden in caves or dark corners, watching people with unwavering stillness.

The feeling had no reason, only intuition—but Jeci's spies found no flaw in Neso.

His file was clean; raised by Ilto since childhood.

"Trajan let them enter the Sanctum, brought them into the Throne Hall."

Neiwu Force Director Ilto spoke softly:

"Then, Chancellor, my friend—what do you think of them? The Primarchs and that… thing?"

"Saint Doraemon." Tiruien raised his voice slightly: "Saint Doraemon and the Primarchs."

"Guilliman was the Emperor's Commander. Sanguinius was the Emperor's heir. Saint Doraemon is—"

Tiruien spoke cautiously, suddenly remembering how Zhou Yun had insisted he was not a god.

"Guilliman was once the Emperor's Commander," replied the Neiwu Force Director dismissively. "But the God-Emperor never died. Sanguinius was merely a successor."

"Both Primarchs were part of the rebellion that destroyed us. Guilliman limited himself and the Astartes' authority to prevent another such catastrophe. They have no need to reclaim those powers now."

As he spoke, Iltu's expression grew grim:

"More dangerous still—what would the Primarchs do if they seized power? Launch another Great Crusade? Even worse than Macaricus? Then destroy everything we've built? Tiruien, can you not see the threat?"

"They are madmen who turned on their own kin—and now they've allied with a cult— I mean, that so-called Saint Doraemon."

"We must stop him. We cannot let them take power."

"They are the Lords of the Legions," Tiruien couldn't help smiling.

"Two Legions already destroyed," the Neiwu Force Director emphasized. "Guilliman himself disbanded them."

"We have a real chance. The Primarchs and the Chaos God are still in the Throne Room. The High Lords remain powerful. The Astra Militarum are en route—millions strong. The Navy is ours as well."

"And Mars—the Forge Lords will gladly support us. The Titans and the Adeptus Ministorum are equally formidable."

"We can protect our own rights, Tiruien—my corrupt, greedy old Tiruien. You don't want to lose power, do you?"

Tiruien paused briefly, instinctively replying: "The two Primarchs could easily rebuild their Legions. And Saint Doraemon is equally formidable."

Suddenly, Tiruien caught the scent of opportunity. He clenched the documents in his hand, a smile tugging at his lips:

"But not all Legions are gone."

"Yes," replied Iltu, his gaze turning to Tiruien with surprise. "One Legion remains. The Emperor's Legion. Terra's Legion. The Imperial Guard. Will Trajan stand with us?"

"I believe they will, my lord," said Nethos, standing beside Iltu, smiling before Tiruien could speak. "We've often heard the Imperial Guard deeply distrust the Primarchs and the Astartes."

"Yes, yes," Iltu seemed convinced, nodding rapidly. "But the Restriction Edict—"

"I've already prepared it," Tiruien said calmly, handing the documents to Iltu. "It only needs your signature."

Iltu stared at the documents in astonishment, then smiled at Tiruien: "My old Tiruien—you've been acting all along."

"You've done well. You've done excellently." The Neiwu Force Director signed his name on the document.

Then he let out a quiet, giddy laugh, murmuring to himself: "See? They're just mortals too."

Tiruien looked bewildered. "Who?"

"The Primarchs and Saint Doraemon."

Iltu's body trembled with nervous spasms:

"The Primarchs and Saint Doraemon are just mortals."

"Aren't they? Tiruien? They're not invincible."

Tiruien nearly gaped. It took him three or four seconds to grasp Iltu's words.

Throughout his long career as Imperial Chancellor, Tiruien had always believed the High Lords were the Empire's finest minds—even if all of them suffered from various mental afflictions.

But now, Tiruien had a clear judgment of Iltu Simotrien, the Neiwu Force Director—he was an idiot.

"Yes, yes."

Still, Tiruien nodded vigorously:

"You're right. Absolutely right!"

"The Primarchs are merely mortals. Saint Doraemon is no god."

A purest destruction—a terror capable of driving most beings mad—surged from all directions toward Zhou Yun.

It was a force that craved only annihilation, that sought to bring all things to their fated end, to reduce all to dust, and finally to destroy itself.

In the Warp, this force's domain was called the Corrupting Annihilation. Among the Eldar and human seers, it was known as the Dark King.

The Emperor had severed a fragment of this force and cast it into Zhou Yun's body.

Just as he had once cast it toward Zhou Yun on Baal.

For a moment, Zhou Yun felt his perception expand immeasurably, his spirit and soul ascending.

Such is the nature of the Warp—the more one claims, the closer one draws to godhood, to ascension.

By dividing this force and giving it to Zhou Yun, the Emperor eased his own burden—yet simultaneously accelerated Zhou Yun's approach to divinity, to his own reflection within the Warp.

In the Throne Room, before Sanguinius and Guilliman, Zhou Yun's form flickered endlessly between flesh and a blue cat.

But in Zhou Yun's own perception, he felt he had already slightly transcended the limits of the material universe and the timeline.

He faintly heard voices chanting his name, saw those who prayed to him or spoke his name.

Not only those of the present—but also those of the past, or of a near future.

"Ankhar, are you certain the Machine-Soul emerged in this Necron system?"

A silver skeleton radiating green light asked another silver skeleton glowing blue.

"Then why did no similar change occur in the Necron Dynasty of this system? What else did you touch?"

"I also touched the Blood Angels."

"Could it be linked to this new human cult of Saint Doraemon?"

Zhou Yun shifted his gaze slightly, and the scene before him changed again.

In darkness, only a single candle burned faintly. A man with a gloomy face knelt before it.

"Save me. Forgive my sins."

His voice was filled with remorse:

"Save my Laine, and make him forgive our crimes."

"He will forgive," came a seductive voice from behind the man. "If he accepts his true nature, and becomes a god."

"Great Saint Doraemon, the Fifth God of Chaos, new ally of the Dark Gods."

These prayers were too distant—too far in space and time—for Zhou Yun to respond.

But he saw one prayer—from a near future, from before the Lion's Gate on Terra.

"Saint Doraemon… save us."

Leina's voice rang out.

Zhou Yun saw shattered golden power armor, fallen Imperial Guard and Grey Knights, a great daemon with wings unfurled.

"Saint Doraemon and the Emperor, save us!"

Zhou Yun felt he could answer this prayer.

With his Daemon? No—not Fat Tiger.

Zhou Yun looked into his fourth-dimensional pocket.

【Item: Fragment of the Emperor / Dark King / Corrupting Annihilation】

【Origin: The Warp — Domain of Corrupting Annihilation】

【Evaluation: The northernmost sector of the Octagon of Chaos, born from the hatred of all beings toward the world and life itself. It is the desire for annihilation and self-destruction. This galaxy is so dark and profound that these emotions have grown in the Warp into the largest domain. One who ascends within it must become the Dark King, and ring the death knell of the universe. This is a fragment of the Corrupting Annihilation's power, taken from its occupant—the Emperor.】

【Production Time:???】

【Status: Fragment】

【Value: 1, 13, 31, 13 Credits】

【Suitable for supplementary material in juvenile behavioral correction and re-education】

【Add juvenile behavioral correction and re-education material?】

"..." Zhou Yun faintly glimpsed his destined future.

He was destined to be born—Zhou Yun's Daemon, the Emperor's Daemon.

"Yes," Zhou Yun said almost instinctively.

(End of Chapter)