A Cordial and Friendly Father-Son Exchange

As the conscience among the Primarch, Vulkan looked fierce and menacing, but he was actually quite friendly, even reaching the level of a saint.

Mordred, on the other hand, was someone who couldn't keep his mouth shut. The two hit it off immediately, and their bond as good brothers heated up rapidly.

However, it was mostly Mordred bragging, painting grand pictures while boasting about how awesome his Atlas was, and occasionally cursing the Emperor.

The only one suffering was Rambo, the dog-man nearby. Not only did he have no dinner, but he also had to prepare snacks for the two big guys, keeping him busy for the entire night.

Watching his Boss gorge and stuff with the others, Rambo's dog eyes grew hazy. Every time a batch of fried chicken came out, he would subconsciously lick his chops, using mental gymnastics to convince himself he was already full.

"(＃°Д°) That's not right! I clearly fried four chicken legs, how are there only three? Did I eat one just now?"

Rambo figured he must have eaten it subconsciously. He hurriedly scanned his surroundings, and seeing only a tramp nearby, he felt relieved enough to continue working, even kindly cutting off a piece of meat to hand to the tramp.

The tramp didn't refuse, stuffing the fried chicken into his mouth and rudely swiping a slice of watermelon to gnaw on.

Perhaps satisfied by the meal, the tramp actually developed the idea that he should raise a few dog-men himself, so these big dogs could cook specifically for him.

"Hey, doggy over there, your name is Rambo, right? When did you dog-men appear? How come I have no impression of you?"

The tramp's words alerted Rambo, but thinking of his Boss bragging over there, he figured the tramp might have just heard it from somewhere, so he didn't pay much mind and chatted casually:

"That goes back a long way. As far as I know, we dog-men have been the local residents of Serenity since ancient times. Some long-lived elders even witnessed the war between you humans and the Pointy-ears.

Rumor has it that we dog-men had a glorious history long ago, even establishing an empire, with a deity leading us to conquer the world.

It's just a pity we fell on hard times later and the deity abandoned us. But fortunately, we met our Boss, and by following the Second Legion, our dog-man race will surely prosper again!

Why? Do you want to settle in Serenity? No problem, just mention my name when you arrive. Our dog-man Riot Squad is currently short on people."

The tramp Nodded, indicating he would definitely go if he had the chance, perhaps even joining them after retirement, while secretly beginning to ponder.

The so-called empire of these big dogs was likely just a small kingdom established on the grasslands. And since dog-men were particularly long-lived, stories got distorted over the long perception of time; any individual who was slightly powerful could be called a deity.

After all, he himself was an immortal; no one understood the ignorance of the ancients better than he did.

Thinking of this, the tramp—or rather, the Emperor in disguise—felt more and more satisfied the more he looked at the dog. He suddenly realized the dog-men's physical stats weren't bad at all, almost catching up to a Space Marine. What a good dog!

Glancing at Mordred in the distance, who was still blathering on, the Emperor vaguely heard words like "declaring himself king," making him want to go over and beat this Rebellious son with impure thoughts.

"Then what kind of person is Thomas, the adoptive father of your Boss?"

Even as slow as Rambo was, he realized the person in front of him was no mere tramp. But before he could act, a pair of eyes glowing with a Sinister Glow looked towards the dog.

"Ah, you mean the Boss's adoptive father? The Old Chieftain is the oldest Shaman among all our dog-man clans. No one knows how long he has lived, and we all respect him deeply. It was Thomas who picked up the Boss. As for the rest, the rest...

Wait! Who exactly are you?"

A dog bark rang out. Instantly sobered, Rambo leaped backward, his right hand already gripping the pistol at his waist. The dog in mid-air was confident he could empty the magazine in half a second, and even if six bolter rounds couldn't eliminate the enemy, his warning would alert the Boss.

But someone was faster than Rambo. In an instant, a Grassland Illusion hooked onto Rambo's torso, and as the muzzle flash illuminated the surroundings, he was teleported into the cabin of a Stormbird.

Without hesitation, Rambo pulled the autocannon trigger, and a death-dealing fire snake of bolter rounds roared toward the target. Under the cover of this firepower, Mordred had already teleported behind the enemy, brandishing his Greatsword to launch a righteous backstab.

BOOM BOOM BOOM

A series of explosions rang out, sending the Civilians fleeing in terror. Fortunately, Vulkan had already stood before the crowd with his warhammer, preventing unnecessary friendly casualties.

Yet, under this death-trap that lasted less than half a second, the target did not die. Instead, he dodged Mordred's surprise attack at the first opportunity and erected a psychic shield to isolate the gunfire.

With such skill, this was no ordinary enemy. It was time to Strike Hard!

The Greatsword shifted from a thrust to a Slam. The strange Emerald Lightning energy made the Emperor feel a sense of discomfort, but even then, he did not reveal his true form. Instead, he punched the spine of the sword to gain leverage and escape, neutralizing the crisis of being cut in two.

At this moment, the Emperor became interested. A pair of iron fists glowed with dark gold light, and he looked provocatively at the two offspring before him.

"Come at me together!"

"Hah! You bastard, not only do you not run, but you dare walk toward us? You're courting death!"

Taunted by a psyker, Mordred's temper flared instantly. Vulkan also furrowed his brows, rubbing the hammer handle in his hand like a Salamanders ready to strike.

Without any rehearsal, the brothers looked at each other and began an all-out assault.

Mordred struck first, Emerald Lightning lashing out. He opened with an AOE, using plasma like viscous mud to seal the space before flashing in with a grassland-step assault.

"Serenity Sword Style—Lightning, Cyclone Slash!"

BANG—

Before he arrived, his voice did. Mordred, who shouted the names of his moves, still couldn't break the habit of a knight, specifically aiming for someone's ass.

Second Brother went for the backstab, while Vulkan unleashed a Fire Dragon Strike. Vulkan was no righteous Knight of Serenity and had no interest in butts. The heavy hammer in his hand was his most powerful weapon; a sky full of hammer shadows danced as he launched a wild, chaotic barrage—no technique, just pure Stats.

However, the Emperor was no Ordinary Person. His movement was like a hack; he couldn't be targeted at all. With one hand imbued with psychic power, his fists became harder than adamantium, clashing head-on with Vulkan while kicking back at Mordred's dog head.

While fighting two, he side-stepped the rather insidious bolter round, flicked the little thing toward Vulkan, and mocked:

"Is this your sword style?"

"Pah! If I have a gun and don't use it, what kind of Primarch am I? Vulkan, don't bother with Chivalric Spirit when dealing with enemies, just Slam him!"

"Understood."

In an instant, the two macho mans moved like a Gale War God, their weapons swinging no less than a hundred times. Their immense power even shattered the floor, causing the plaza to crumble as if bombed by fighter jets.

Wherever the three Powerhouses went, they split mountains and broke rocks, walls collapsing and houses folding—as powerful as a Category 8 gale! By the end, they had even run to the peak of a volcano.

Anyone who witnessed this scene couldn't help but exclaim: "Gwa—to see such Powerhouses fight, even dying is worth the price of admission."

Yet, ginger is indeed spicier when old; Old Man Huang, having transformed into the Dynamic Boxing King, lunged and struck with supreme martial arts, circling the fray to ruthlessly pummel his two offspring.

This left Mordred, who was being pinned down and beaten, to briefly wonder if the monster before him was some Greater Daemon that had slipped into the reality of this world! How could it be even more badass than him?

If a Greater Daemon were to hear this, it would surely cry out in grievance, for only a fool would be unable to think of anything better than to fight The Cursed.

But facts have no "what ifs." As the Great Chieftain of House Wayne, the one thing Mordred never lacked was an emergency contingency plan, so he lunged forward and hugged the Emperor's thigh.

Although Vulkan did not understand what his Second Brother was trying to do, his body moved a step ahead, pouncing forward to sit squarely on the Emperor, only to hear Mordred scream:

"Calling for Orbital Bombardment, kill him for me!"

These words hit the Emperor's heart like a bucket of ice water, but before he could drop his disguise and stage a father-son reunion, a scorching beam of death Descended from the Sky, instantly enveloping all three of them.

"Rebellious son, I am your Father!"