Chapter 277

"No!!!" Calgar's roar echoed in the sanctuary.

Not only him, but all the Ultramarines present let out a painful roar.

The same emotion, similar anger, linked bloodlines, even stirred up a ripple in the Warp.

But a roar alone could not stop the black sword falling simultaneously from the Empyrean and reality.

Death descended from the void; the towering, blue, round figure and Zhou Yun in the material universe simultaneously thrust their sword blades into Roboute Guilliman's chest.

Scorching blood flowed from the chest of the Emperor's son, turning into steam and vanishing on the black sword burning with death.

Roboute Guilliman let out a low, painful roar.

"No! What have you done!"

Calgar's voice was nearly hoarse; he charged forward again regardless of everything.

However, that teardrop-like spear swept by silently, shattering the power armor on his leg before Calgar could react.

That marksmanship made Calgar feel astonished even in his anger.

He fell heavily before the steps in front of the throne, looking in disbelief at the figure in the linen robes.

That figure wielded the teardrop spear in his hand, harvesting the lives of the Black Legion like an old farmer harvesting wheat on Macragge.

Every time the spear tip flashed by, a Black Legionnaire's head flew into the sky.

His spear tip hit the neck of every Black Legionnaire skillfully and precisely.

Such miraculous skill...

Calgar felt dizzy, vaguely feeling that the teardrop-shaped spear was somewhat familiar.

It seemed he had seen it in some mural, some legend, some piece of history.

Calgar saw the figure draped in linen robes slowly turn his head to look at his dying gene-father.

The black sword was slowly pulled out of Roboute Guilliman's chest, drawing out blood and the Primarch's life.

The corners of the linen-robed figure's mouth seemed to curl into a smile.

"Late-arriving King, now it's your turn to die."

"Father!" Calgar only had time to let out a painful cry.

Death.

Roboute Guilliman looked blankly at the scene before him.

Fulgrim's blade had pierced his neck?

No, that perhaps had already passed; that perhaps was a matter from long, long ago.

What took his life this time was a pitch-black blade.

That sword seemed to be Death itself, constantly hunting him, stabbing out from beneath the thin veil of reality, piercing into his chest, and taking his life.

It hurt; intense pain assaulted Roboute Guilliman's chest, and blood flowed out uncontrollably.

That sword cut open his ribs, pierced his heart and many important organs, leaving a kind of scorching yet icy fire of death in his chest.

Guilliman wanted to raise his hand to cover his chest, but he failed to do so.

His once-powerful arms could not be raised; the vitality between his flesh and blood seemed to have been drained away, and scorching hot machinery wrapped around his body like tentacles.

Death.

"Father!"

Roboute Guilliman seemed to hear a wail.

An Ultramarine in blue armor knelt on the steps before him; that was perhaps one of his gene-sons.

Roboute Guilliman wanted to speak; he tried to raise his head.

And a figure in linen robes standing before him seemed to notice his effort and slowly turned his head to look at him.

A clear laugh that made Roboute Guilliman feel familiar rang out.

"Late-arriving King, now it's your turn to die."

Those words carried a bit of playfulness, a bit of resentment, and a bit of perfect mockery.

Who are you?

Roboute Guilliman wanted to ask this question,

but his whole body was pressed down by heavy death, and his entire being fell bit by bit into a deeper place.

No,

Roboute Guilliman's soul roared in pain.

No,

who will protect them from now on?

Who will help them from now on?

Who will save our cause from now on?

No.

But death was ruthless; Guilliman clearly felt his organs weakening bit by bit, his heart stopped beating with a thud, and the electrical signals in his brain no longer flowed.

He stood on the cliff at the boundary between reality and the Warp, hearing the gods' laughter full of madness.

Cold, sticky scales wrapped around his body, and moans full of playfulness rang out from the void.

"Finally."

"The most arrogant one."

"The most boring one."

The rustling sound of velvet wrapped around Roboute Guilliman's ears, as if a snake were sliding over them.

Poison fangs were revealed from pursed lips, and intense joy, pleasure, and liveliness turned into poison and dripped onto the wound on his neck.

The snake would crawl out from here, tear apart Roboute Guilliman's glory from here, and let him fall into eternal depravity and playfulness.

It was a scaled creature that looked like a mixture of an eel, a sea snake, a slug, and an Ouroboros, crawling out from the wound on Roboute Guilliman's neck.

But at this moment, the snake noticed a brand-new scar on Roboute Guilliman's chest, wrapped in power completely different from its own.

That was, that was, that was Death.

The snake suddenly realized something and wanted to retract its body.

However, the wound on Roboute Guilliman's chest suddenly widened, and a blue arm and a white round hand reached out from it, tightly gripping a pitch-black sword blade, the sword body wrapped in thick death.

The snake let out a terrified wail, but the black sword held by the round hand killed Roboute Guilliman without hesitation, and also killed him who was parasitizing Roboute Guilliman.

The black sword wrapped in death directly pierced the snake's body, and a burst of intense pain swept through the snake's entire body.

That was pain without any joy or stimulation; cold, dull, hollow pain that could not bring any mental stimulation, only a strong desire for self-destruction.

The snake parasitizing Roboute Guilliman let out a wail and dissipated into death—

"Ah!!!!"

Inside Slaanesh's palace, Fulgrim let out a sharp, painful howl.

His body slid off the velvet throne, and the scorching hot and constantly trembling fifth Cronesword slid out from his cloaca.

A pain more scorching and colder than the Aeldari Death God's power on the Cronesword swept through Fulgrim's entire body.

What Fulgrim found most unbearable was that the pain, that death, was purer and colder than the Aeldari Death God's.

It was not tainted with a bit of hatred or other emotions, only hollow desire for destruction and pure death.

In a trance, Fulgrim seemed to see the destroyer of worlds.

Undoubtedly, this was the corruption he had left on Roboute Guilliman taking effect.

But the situation was somewhat wrong.

This kind of cold death and destruction definitely did not come from the Aeldari Death God.

Fulgrim cast his gaze over eagerly.

He saw—

Guilliman's soul wandered on the cliff at the boundary between reality and the Warp, then the cliff collapsed, and Roboute Guilliman's soul roared uncontrollably.

His blood and flesh, spirit and essence were returned to their most original state in the Warp's death storm.

That was a furious storm of blue and gold, operating with a unique and strange order, reflecting the movement of the stars in the five hundred worlds of Ultramar.

Subsequently, Fulgrim saw—

That blue, round figure rose from the ripples of the Warp, with a huge head like a tanuki, and a pocket full of deathly aura hanging on its belly, as if the other end of the pocket were the end of the entire galaxy.

That figure reached out two round hands and fiercely grabbed the storm that Roboute Guilliman had turned into.

In an instant, the storm began to regain its soul, form, body, and matter, bit by bit reshaping into Roboute Guilliman himself.

But at the same time, the power of that blue, round figure was also constantly seeping into Roboute Guilliman's body.

He was corrupting Roboute Guilliman!!

Fulgrim let out a sharp, low roar.

Who on earth was this? What kind of existence was born from where? How dare he snatch the lead from him...

Suddenly, that blue figure seemed to instinctively perceive Fulgrim's peeping and slowly turned his head.

That round eye reflected Fulgrim's figure, a figure full of distortion, depravity, and deformity.

"You're peeping, right?"

In the material universe, Zhou Yun seemed to perceive something and turned his head silently.

But he found that his gaze did not land in the material universe, but directly passed through the entire Warp and landed on a—

A creature entrenched beneath the velvet throne, like a mixture of a snake, an eel, a slug, and a white fat maggot, its upper body still vaguely showing traces of a human, but growing a pair of ferocious, thin, fleshy wings, and beneath the fleshy wings were four arms as slender as needles.

Traces of past handsomeness could still be seen on its face, but the traces left by lust, drugs, and depravity were even more obvious, causing its face to be elongated to an unreasonable degree, full of unhealthy paleness and haggardness, truly a pale snake demon.

And beside this depraved behemoth lay a sword blade forged like pale finger bones, the blade glowing with eerie blue heat, buzzing and trembling on the velvet carpet, covered in unknown mucus.

Zhou Yun looked at the pale sword blade that was clearly the fifth Cronesword, and then looked at the Daemon Primarch that was clearly Fulgrim.

Fulgrim was also looking at Zhou Yun blankly.

The fifth Cronesword was heating up on the ground, buzzing and humming.

Zhou Yun guessed that this might be the Cronesword's own ability, which would burn Slaaneshi daemons and actively attack beings blessed by Slaanesh.

But... but it seemed Fulgrim had developed some different uses for it.

For a time, the atmosphere in the air was somewhat awkward.

Finally, Fulgrim let out a sharp and terrified scream, withdrew his gaze, twisted his snake-like body, and disappeared into the Warp, vanishing without a trace.

(End of chapter)