Doesn't Feel as Good as Slaanesh's Finger

Throughout history, aside from the Golden Giant, Mordred is probably the only one who can negotiate with the Four Merchants.

In order to take down Mordred, the Khorne have even decided to sever ties with Angron and never associate with that good-for-nothing again.

Of course, Sanguinius are still necessary; they're Khorne's most desired White Moonlight, after all, who doesn't love Great Angel?

They want both of them!

A thunderous whisper descended from the sky, causing countless bloodthirsty Greater Daemon to halt their slaughter and prepare to listen to the supreme teachings of their god. Some even cast envious glances at Mordred, lamenting that they were not the ones so favored by the god.

Mordred only felt annoyed. The Khorne's speech was like it had reverberation added, a bunch of gibberish that Mordred couldn't understand a single word, and it made his head buzz and dizzy.

"Why are you yelling so loudly?" The fearless Mordred never tolerated such behavior. He picked up the skull from the ground and smashed it at Mordred, then yelled even louder at him.

But the more disrespectful they were, the happier Khorne became, believing his previous investment was worthwhile and that only such an unruly person deserved it.

"Boy, I admire you! As long as you leave that the Cursed, I will make you my eternal champion, and grant you unparalleled power!"

"An eternal champion, and immense power? Then what?"

What? And then? This completely baffled Khorne. He thought Mordred was dissatisfied, but who knew he actually liked the little thing and then promised other honors:

"Besides power, I also bestow upon you the supreme honor of becoming my son, my right-hand man, and from now on we can address each other as father and son." Khorne continued to escalate the favor; that was how much he valued talent.

"But I have all of those things! I'm an Imperial Warmaster now. Don't tell me you don't know what Emperor is. Do you think you can beat him?"

Upon hearing this, the Khorne was furious, hating nothing more than being told he was no good, "I'm not afraid of that the Cursed, I am Khorne!"

I am the strongest.

"Pfft--" Mordred couldn't help but burst out laughing. He was so cowardly at talking tough, yet he wanted to be the boss. You Khorne are such a loser.

"Alright, alright, you're the strongest, okay? Since you're already here, I'll analyze it for you."

Such treasonous words would surely incur the wrath of the Blood God. The bloodthirsty Greater Daemon had already figured out how this unfortunate fellow would die, but to their utter surprise, their usually furious god surprisingly did not kill the human.

This led some Daemon to suspect they had been corrupted by the Tzeentch Birdmen, those useless bunch who were only good at scheming and plotting.

The Khorne's actions terrified not only the Daemon but also Mordred himself. He was already preparing to flee back to the city, now he could indulge in his suicidal antics for a few more minutes, and his expression became even more arrogant and unrestrained.

"Fine, I'd like to hear your explanation."

"There definitely is, let me explain in detail."

You said you'd make me your eternal champion, but if you calculate it that way, it's equivalent to the Yellow Skins's Primarch. But how many Primarch are there?

Can you guarantee that I will be the only eternal champion?

For some reason, the giant Khorne found these words very reasonable, especially the word "Yellow Skins," which pleased him greatly. Even the Greater Daemon around him agreed with this explanation and wanted to hear him continue.

"And the power you speak of, I have no shortage of." Mordred casually summoned the nearest Bloodthirster, showing none of the fear one might feel when facing Daemon. Instead, he patted the archdeacon's incredibly powerful and imposing body, and asked:

"Handsome guy, if you came to the Material Universe, would you be confident you could defeat me?"

Before their own gods, the Greater Daemon certainly wouldn't dare lie, saying that after entering the Material Universe, their power was reduced to less than one-tenth, and only the most powerful Greater Daemon could contend with the Primarch.

"Very good. A pragmatic Daemon like you is a rare find these days. If you ever have the chance, you can come work for my Atlas. I guarantee you excellent benefits!"

To show her sincerity, Mordred even gave each Daemon a Chaos Energy Crystal and a recruitment poster in front of Khorne.

"So I told you, none of these conditions you've offered are attractive at all! Give me some real benefits, then. Even the Emperor knows I'm being asked to collect taxes and have my property confiscated. What good are these empty titles? You think I'd work for you?

Especially the one who made me your offspring, that's an even bigger pitfall within a pitfall."

The demons were puzzled. Becoming a god's child was a privilege they dreamed of, so why did you, you bastard, speak of it so utterly worthless? Even the Khorne, lost in thought, spoke up and asked:

Why?

"Why! You still ask me why?" Mordred's voice grew louder, as if he were holding back a lot of resentment. He pushed aside the demons and came to Khorne's feet, placing one foot on Khorne's toenail.

"Just because I'm the offspring of that damned Yellow Skins, that rebellious father beats me every day, not only dominating me, but also treating me like a piece of trash, needing me to clean up his messes."

Before I joined you, I only had one father, and only one person could keep me in check. But after joining you, I came to the Warp, and now I have at least four fathers above me. Didn't I come here for nothing?"

Khorne understood now. Thinking of those few good-for-nothings, although he was very unhappy about being rejected, he still felt there was some truth to it. Ultimately, it was a matter of insufficient treatment, so he decided to go all in.

"I can grant you the right to stand on a throne beside me, to become my right hand of God. Together you will enjoy the endless joy of war and bloodshed." This was the greatest concession Khorne could offer, after all, his left hand was still reserved for Sanguinius.

Such an honor drove the Greater Daemon mad with envy. They only regretted that they were not the Primarch, who could become their superior with just a nod, and was even the Right Hand of God, far superior to them, mere beasts of burden.

Mordred, however, remained completely unmoved. It was laughable. Although he always called the Empire trash, it was still not Chaos, and besides, he was a complete Chimera. What did the explosion of the Warp have to do with him?

Feeling that he had absorbed enough of the Warp Energy, Mordred that if he continued to absorb any more, his body might explode. He paced back and forth, as if contemplating a decision, gradually moving away from the Chaos God behind him.

When Mordred returned to the spot where he first appeared, having timed it perfectly, he raised his hands and shouted:

"All eyes are on me, I have something to announce!"

Mordred, instantly becoming the center of attention, shone brightly and declared righteously:

"Khorne, I see you're really stubborn. Do you remember what you said at the beginning? To get me to join you, you actually abandoned my good brother Angron."

You're so despicable. To me, you're like a lapdog, so pathetic, so utterly repulsive, and so stingy.

Lies don't hurt, the truth is the sharpest blade. Khorne felt something suddenly shatter, but Mordred continued to attack:

"Don't think you can claim kinship with me just because you have a dog's head. If you're a sycophant once, you'll be a sycophant forever. You can abandon others, which means you can abandon me too."

"No, I will never abandon you. You are different from others!" That look of utter disdain deeply wounded his pride. Khorne would never admit that he was a lowly sycophant.

"Pfft, what about them?" Mordred pointed to the Daemon around him and continued to press, "They've followed you for so many years, why should I receive such an honor as soon as I arrive?"

Think about it, guys. A boss like that doesn't deserve your loyalty at all. Just like he did to me, he only gives you empty promises and you'll never get any real benefits.

You worthless dog! Tzeentch than you and can teach me knowledge, Nurgle is more generous than you and can make me soup, Slaanesh can at least give me some pleasure.

What good are you?

Why not grab a greatsword and cosplay as Aatrox? Be your own Rammus!

Khorne, no longer able to bear the Khorne, stood up abruptly from his Brass Throne. The extreme humiliation and rage consumed his last shred of reason.

Seeing the Khorne suddenly stand up, Mordred sensed something was wrong and immediately made his escape. His Emerald Chaos Energy materialized, rising from his feet like lava, pulling his thoughts back to his body. No one could stop him from leaving.

But at the last moment, Mordred still wanted to do one last desperate thing, shouting:

"Khorne, you're not even as good as Slaanesh's Slaanesh. Go lick Nurgle's breasts. Don't contact me again, I'm afraid Tzeentch will misunderstand. Sayonara~"

Boom!

Mordred's afterimage was pierced by a giant battle blade burning with raging flames, Fel Energy lava exploded out, and even the Khorne's Daemon World was engulfed in crimson fury. Countless Daemon perished and began to flee in all directions.

The furious Roared of Khorne could be heard throughout the entire Warp, causing a terrifying tide to rise and sweep away countless unfortunate Warp Creature.

But what does all this have to do with Mordred? What does the life or death of the Warp have to do with him? The more chaotic things get, the more he can profit from it and collect valuable Daemon materials.

Opened Eyes and feeling the immense power within him, Mordred was overjoyed. Although Khorne was a sycophant, that demonic realm was indeed a wonderful place; it was the first time he had ever eaten so heartily.

Eating too much isn't a good thing either. The Emperor had warned Mordred long ago, but he hadn't taken it to heart, which has now led to an extremely awkward situation.

"Oh no, I can't change back!"

Failure Diary: Whenever someone in the author group takes off, someone will suddenly appear and praise them to the skies. This isn't just flattery to kill, but rather a fierce mutual appreciation among those who have failed. "If we become rich and powerful, let's not forget each other," says the author.