Another Father (Two-in-One)

"Father, you're not dead?"

Old Thomas remained silent, thinking to himself that this bully hadn't changed at all; he'd survived being beaten to death all his life, no wonder he was so strong.

"Dead, but not completely dead. That's why some coward dragged me out of the dead and sent me to check on you."

Hearing this, Mordred felt a mix of sadness and relief. She was saddened that her adoptive father was indeed dead, since she herself had dug the grave for his burial.

Fortunately, my childhood wasn't a fantasy; Old Thomas wasn't that Khorne on the Brass Throne. If he were, it would be hilarious.

What do you mean by "enemies and allies share the same origin"? This isn't some dark Kamen Rider story, don't pull this stunt.

"So Old Man, are you a god?"

"..."

His fist suddenly hardened, but after much hesitation, the not-so-gentle Old Thomas finally loosened his grip and replied:

I Am Not a God!

"But don't be too happy yet. You probably understand now that the Dog-men are inseparable from that guy. Although we have long lifespans and can live for tens of thousands of years, once we die, we're dead."

Everything has a price, and I've lived for countless years, always by the side of the Dog-men. Guess how many of the last few years before I died were I lucid?

Mordred seemed to understand, but it was unlikely she truly grasped it, so she eventually plopped down on the grass, giving up on thinking.

In fact, Mordred had long suspected that it was completely illogical for Old Thomas, a Dog-men who was about to die of old age, to be able to use strength comparable to that of Old Man Huang to pin him to the ground and beat him up.

There is no love without a reason. If we put aside the faction, the Khorne were incredibly kind to me. It's just that fate doesn't assign values to the future, but rather to the past.

Seeing his adopted son's low spirits, and looking at this giant who was once so small but can now stand as tall as him even when he squats down, Thomas couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness, but even more so, a sense of pride.

What's the outside world like?

"It's not good. It's not as Serenity as our grasslands. Or rather, it's just a cesspool."

"I remember your biggest wish when you were a child was to go out and see the world. You would even seriously explain to other Dog-men that our world is a sphere, but behind their backs you would steal Rambo's food."

You've been clever and lovable since you were little; even those dull-witted Ogryn are willing to obey your commands.

Do you still remember what you said that day when you recruited all the clans and became the Great Chieftain of all the clans by winning 88 battles in Malkgorra?

As Thomas inquired, the surrounding environment gradually changed. Under the illumination of the two Moon Mothers, the Dog-men clan, separated for countless millennia, gathered together to celebrate the birth of their only Great Chieftain.

Rare and precious fruit wine was brought out in barrels, and Dog-men received a delicious roast chicken. The celebratory atmosphere was infectious, and children sang dog songs that had been passed down since ancient times.

"That land of lush pastures is our homeland."

The azure grassland carries the hopes of every Dog-men.

Under the starry sky, the flags fly high; wherever you look, our empire Eternal Prosperity.

The emperors of the past were blinded by bloodshed, but the hymns of courage still resonate.

Our indomitable rage Burning Fiercely; even the gods cannot defeat us.

Come back, come back! The grasslands cherish every wolf cub; here you'll find sweet fruit wine and tender lambs.

Even if our claws and teeth are worn down, the grasslands will always be our home.

The lullaby hummed by the toddler reminded Mordred of that night when he was at the height of his glory, speaking of his dreams by the blazing campfire and promising to lead every Dog-men to a bright future.

"Did you do it, my child?"

Mordred can deceive anyone, but she cannot deceive herself. Once Dog-men living in a remote corner of the galaxy, she followed in Atlas's footsteps and traversed the entire galaxy.

No longer do they have to struggle to survive; every Dog-men is now on government pay, and people have accepted these seemingly large but very easy-going dogs.

Even the unified currency of the Serenity 50 Worlds was Dog-men head adorned with Adamantium.

When one person attains enlightenment, even their chickens and dogs rise to heaven. Nepotism is not a flaw; the core members of almost every legion are those who initially followed the Primarch.

Without any deceit or power struggles, the optimistic and simple-minded Dog-men and the dull and simple-minded Ogryn immediately integrated into the Atlas group.

Without a doubt, Mordred fulfilled his promise, leading the Dog-men race to a bright future, and he didn't even forget those dim-witted Ogryn.

But looking at Thomas's aged face, with its white hair and beard, Mordred hesitated.

"I can do even better."

"No, you've done enough. Remember Goda?"

Mordred was astonished, thinking, "How did you know this? Don't tell me you're Goda, living from 65 million years ago to the present."

As the saying goes, no one knows a son better than his father. Knowing that this unfortunate child was overthinking things again, Thomas slapped him across the face without any hesitation.

"Even the skeletons that the Necron turned into might not have lived for 65 million years, so how could Goda have survived until now?"

"Huh? Old Man, you even know about the Necron, what else are you hiding from me?"

"Guess?" Old Thomas grinned, revealing his white hair and beard, making him look like a dog-headed old sage.

Perhaps it was the mention of a name that cannot be spoken, and some being began to exert its power, a crimson light permeating the dream, trying to force its way in.

This action enraged Old Thomas, who unleashed a torrent of crimson flames and howls, slapping the crimson light with his own.

"Where did this dog come from? Get lost!"

I am also his father. If you still have any sentimentality, then you should at least show some respect, Your His Majesty! This is what you owe all of us Dog-men. Do you intend to do the same thing as the Yellow Skins?

In such a setting, being called Yellow Skins is incredibly insulting; even Khorne wouldn't want that.

The crimson light vanished without a trace, Mordred felt a sense of unreality looking at the Old Thomas who seemed like a hermit.

Where did I leave off?

You're saying the Yellow Skins is an idiot.

Thomas nodded, indicating that his biological father was indeed an idiot. He was not confused when he should have been, and he made mistakes when he shouldn't have. Between being a human and a god, he chose to be God-Human, which goes beyond the scope of carbon-based life.

Mordred nodded vigorously, indicating that this was exactly the case; Old Man Huang was like a terrible teammate, and anyone who teamed up with him was doomed.

I've been working so hard, even though I'm the Second Son, I'm acting like both father and mother, afraid that some Primarch might have a problem.

Angron is sick, I'll treat him; Koz is in a bad mental state, I'll find him a stepmother; the brat still has unfinished business, I'll personally teach him how to shoot his adoptive father...

Every single one of you, if you have no money, we'll give you money; if you have no food, we'll give you food. Our home planet is poor and remote, so it produces unruly people. Second Brother sent people to rebuild for you from scratch. Even when he was the Warmaster, he didn't forget you. He made sure every legion was well-fed.

"Old Man, do you think I wanted to be both father and mother? I was forced into this. If that Yellow Skins had been a little more capable, I wouldn't be in this state."

You wouldn't believe it, Atlas may seem wealthy, but aside from normal consumption, 80% of his resources are supplied to those Yellow Skins.

Now look what's happened! My brothers are giving me weird looks. When I needed him the most, that idiot Yellow Skins just turned around and ran away! He actually ran away!

Looking at Mordred pouring out his grievances, Thomas knew that his son had no one to confide in. Suppressed for so long, he had lost the joy he once felt on the grasslands.

So what are your plans next?

Or to put it more bluntly, will you still remain loyal to this empire that you dislike?

Upon hearing this, Mordred stopped talking and sat there blankly, like a lost person who couldn't find a future.

Although they didn't care, the Four Merchants' move did create a crack in what should have been an impregnable fortress.

The Emperor can use offspring, brotherhood, responsibility, and everything else to create bonds that make Mordred and even Atlas part of the empire, becoming the lifeblood that supplies the Great Crusade.

Ultimately, Mordred remains a wanderer far from home, and if he is unwilling, Fealty is nothing but a joke.

Although Mordred was raised by Dog-men, she's not a sycophant. Rambo one-sided devotion went unrewarded; even Rambo would be furious if he did that.

The Four Gods were extremely fond of this precious treasure, which they could not obtain even with great effort. In their view, it was simply a matter of the Emperor's good luck.

If you can go, so can I! Since you Yellow Skins don't know how to cherish things, then don't blame the brothers for sabotaging us.

They are watching, watching the rift grow wider and wider until the covenant is completely broken, at which point everything will fall into place.

And also watching from this side was the desiccated corpse that had sat alone on the Golden Throne for ten thousand years.

Watching his father talking to himself again, even though Guilliman claimed he wasn't having a relapse and had simply found a long-lost brother, Caldor saw it as a sign of his father having a split personality.

After all, according to his father, his brother was a super big dog with jet-black fur, smooth skin, and eyes that sparkled with extraordinary intelligence. Moreover, he could stand on his own two legs and speak human language.

What else could it be? It must be the Wolf King Roboute Guilliman!

Perhaps it's a hybrid of the Lord of Fire, a vision created by my father after he had been asleep for ten thousand years, helplessly witnessing this cesspool empire.

Whenever he thought of this, Caldor's two hearts would ache.

Especially when she discovered that her father would wake up in the middle of the night, his eyes gleaming like a different person, and he would run to the statue of the Emperor to steal offerings.

That cautious, timid look, as if afraid of being discovered, while frantically devouring the roast chicken, must have been incredibly painful!

If that were all, it wouldn't have been so bad, but as time went on, Guilliman's condition worsened.

After a routine report, Caldor had just left the room when he heard his father muttering to himself, cursing everyone from the High Lords Council to the Legion's new recruits.

"Damn it, How Could the empire become like this?"

"I clearly wrote that the data is for reference only, I said it's for reference only, for reference only, but you fucking won't listen."

Weakening the legion's power is one thing, but you can't reduce yourselves to the point of being weak!

Caldor knew this must be a sign that her father was under too much pressure. Whenever she saw her father's increasingly thinning hair, intense self-blame kept Caldor awake all night.

So much so that he had to seek psychological comfort by going to his cousins in the Black Templars and borrowing their Pain Glove, and then Caldor discovered that these electrocution suits were indeed not for human use.

However, Father was in a good mood today, unlike when he last met the God-Emperor. Instead, he directed the Adeptus Custodes to install the ancient device called the speaking device on the Golden Throne.

According to the Wolf King in his father's imagination, this talking device could make the God-Emperor speak. Caldor believed that as long as His God-Emperor His Majesty, his father's mood would definitely improve.

Very quickly! With a snap, the speaker was installed on the Golden Throne, and everyone came before it, intending to listen to the God-Emperor's sacred voice.

A series of static crackles followed, and the speaker successfully activated. "Technology changes lives, no money to play games? Choose technology, choose Atlas! We are your wallet's forever Fealty partner. Hey ha!"

For some reason, after hearing that "Hey-ha," Caldor's right hand trembled uncontrollably, wanting to Gao Yang, but he ultimately forced it down.

"Eek eek eek eek eek--"

Damn it, I can finally speak! It's been 10,000 years! You bunch of exhibitionists who love applying essential oils, couldn't you at least give me a talking device?

Don't push! I'm the Emperor now. What do you mean, "you are too"?

Bah! I am the Emperor! How dare these whining bastards call themselves Emperor? Someone come and scratch my nose, it's so itchy!

What's that thing? It's yellowish and kind of cute. Come here and scratch my nose.

With a flash of golden light, a Centurion of Imperial Fists, who had somehow appeared beside the throne, was dragged to the Emperor's side and began scratching the Emperor's nose with his Power Fist, whose head was now just a skull.

Before the crowd could even cheer, Guilliman, Emperor's Sword in hand, strode forward.

"Father, it's time to tell the truth. Second Brother, what exactly happened to him?"

"Mordred? My Second Son, no, number 13, Ambition, traitor, you promised to team up with me for the Great Crusade for life, don't leave me!"

Looking at the Emperor was rambling incoherently, flashing golden light one moment and black light the next, and occasionally drizzling, Guilliman was helpless. Only the Centurion was still scratching the Emperor's nose.

Those sunken eye sockets were empty, as if countless consciousnesses wanted to break free of their shackles, transcend time, and watch over a descendant who was lost in confusion.

Haven't you decided yet?

Looking at Mordred, who was still hesitating, just as he had driven away the Crimson Fury, a black flame that had appeared out of nowhere was casually crushed by Old Thomas.

Whether it's the courage to indulge in killing, or the destruction to end everything; whether it's stagnant life, or rampant chaos, or that insignificant desire.

Thomas would not allow anyone to influence his children, his master, their creator, or even themselves.

A meeting that transcends time and space unfolds. Gazing at the pitch -Black Sun that exudes a sense of destruction, the once mighty Wolfkin Empire, though destroyed, still resonates in the Sea of Souls.

His hunched figure gradually straightened, and the wildness he had abandoned for survival returned, his Crimson Shroud Wolf Claw Mark marks fluttering behind him.

Not at the same time, nor in the same place, Old Thomas's figure appeared not only under the pitch-black sun, but also in the Four Gods Realm.

"So what if they're gods? Even an old dog has a few teeth."

The countless, unstoppable skeletons of werewolves, blotting out the sky, emerged from the void, causing the Milky Way to Burning Fiercely and the stars to tremble.

"War spirits from the endless abyss, I grant you the right to burn once more, to be enemies in all that you see, Slaughter the stars."

Evil God, let you witness our unyielding wolf claw battle flag!

Crimson lights shone from the withered bones, and in the eyes of the dead, it was as if they had returned to their own era: traitors, C'tan, Necrons, Old Ones, Aeldari, Orks...

We're back. Everything is back.

Your His Majesty, let's charge one more time!

Looking at the scarlet hound standing atop the dead, topped with a navel orange, dyed with eerie pink fur, wielding a ridiculous spear, and even riding a bizarre mount, charging towards him in a desperate attack.

That Dark King, who should never have appeared, perhaps also remembered his former self.

But my spear has long been dulled by the heavy rain, and even my warhorse is rusted. Oh, great windmill of the empire, can you still recall the dream of that Great Crusade?

The boy who slayed the dragon has become the dragon himself. Thomas, also a father, is now Khorne's dog-like head feigns death. So who am I?

"I remember now, I'm not the Lord of Destruction, I'm the Emperor, I'm the Galaxy's Coolest."

I'm not a god!

Will we win?

"Win my ass!"

Thomas has failed. If the once invincible Wolfkin Empire were to reappear, they might be able to accomplish the god-slaying feat once again. But now they are merely souls unwilling to accept the empire's demise.

But the spear, imbued with courage, pierced through the stars, and a golden flame reignited from the black sun. Following the souls slain by Daemon, a torrent of cursed Cursed Legion surged forth.

What the future holds, only God knows!

But now, looking at Mordred was still confused, Old Thomas patted him on the shoulder and said:

"Since you're still hesitating, why not go home and take a look? Go back, whatever choice you make, don't forget the direction of home."

"Father, I..."

Mordred wanted to grasp that figure, but dreams eventually end. Opened Eyes, the hunched figure was no longer there, but this time Mordred did not feel alone.

A warm and comfortable red scarf, though patched up, appeared in his hands, its brass-woven Wolf Claw Mark gleaming.

It feels like yesterday.