It Really Won't Fit Anymore!

"Neos, you bastard, is this how you act as Emperor?"

"You're talking nonsense! I am the Emperor! Get off Malcador right now!"

The first Master of Mankind Unrestricted Fighting Tournament is underway. Huang Fang is Morality bankrupt, low-character, and powerful but brainless Golden Boss.

The black player is Morality bankrupt, extremely low-character, and brute-force-bound sorcerer who has lost his mind.

He's supposed to be Hell God of War, but as Yellow Skins, his credit score has plummeted to rock bottom. If you scan a shared bike, he might just transform into Decepticons and start hacking at you.

The supreme technique known as the Hell God of War requires an absolute powerhouse with telepathic communication. As for the Yellow Skins, who is so inhuman, no one who wholeheartedly plays with him ends up well.

Consider Ol' Peson, the first Warmaster, who fled before the Unification Wars was even over. Had he fled any later, it's possible that Malcador would have been reduced to ashes.

Ultimately, only Malcador, this old thick rice, can serve as the vessel for the God-Emperor. If it were anyone else, they wouldn't let you use a single hair of it.

In Combat Power alone, even if the Emperor of the 30k era were to sit at the card table, he would only be fit to sit at the children's table. He would be far inferior to the God-Emperor has been prayed for by billions of humans for thousands of years.

But at this moment, His Majesty the God-Emperor His Majesty, who obeyed the name of the Father, was only a wisp of thought, without even a physical body, and could only possess the old horse's body.

"Fight your mother! You dog, how dare you lie to me about my father! You didn't expect that, did you? My father died a long time ago!"

"Tsk, yes, that's right, our dad died early. It's a good thing he died young, otherwise he would have been driven to his death by seeing your behavior."

The two sides were evenly matched, but I had the advantage, and neither could gain the upper hand. The battle was extremely intense for a time.

Kicks to the groin, throat locks, toe stomps, spitting, ear-pulling, and hair-pulling were all common occurrences. The two men were wrestling wildly on the ground like thugs.

Unfortunately, being Emperor, they shared the same ideas and had the same skill sets, like two groundhogs fighting, choking each other and gazing at the moon for balance.

But in the end, experience prevailed God-Emperor, His Majesty possessing Malcador's body, used the "Old Tree Roots" technique to lock the Yellow Skins's arm. Seizing the opportunity, he used his free right hand to pull out his scepter and thrust it into that round, large buttock.

"Aww!!"

With a piercing scream, Marshal Valdor, the Imperial Marshal of the Adeptus Custodes acting as the curtain-raiser, rushed into the room, but was immediately driven back by two shouts of cursing:

"Get out!" ×2

"Alright, I'll be off now. Your His Majesty, please take care of yourself."

As the Emperor's top henchman, Valdor had nothing else to offer but upright conduct and a calm demeanor, especially his open-mindedness. Seeing the other Adeptus Custodes looking at him, he quickly waved his hand, indicating that they shouldn't listen to what they shouldn't hear or look at what they shouldn't look at.

Valdor finally understood. He shouldn't be behind the door, but under the carriage. His Majesty and the Arch-Magos are playing a little game, so why should he get involved?

Besides, His Majesty really acted inhumanely, and he deserved his fate. If he had angered the Second Highness and driven him away, who would have given us the opportunity to take leave on public funds?

Although, like the Space Marine, the Adeptus Custodes are also staunch supporters of the Emperor, they are not without their own independent consciousness and their own hidden agendas.

Inside the Secret Room, the Emperor, his rear end sticking out and his body trembling, Collapsed on the Ground. A little boy with red lips and white teeth was frantically stomping on his head with his bare feet, cursing incessantly.

"You bastard, if it weren't for your crazy borrowing and your brain being in your ass, would I be sitting on that damn toilet for 10,000 years?"

You've made it so I can't even scratch my nose. It's all your fault. If you were even a decent human being, I wouldn't be in such a miserable state.

Do you know how I've survived these past 10,000 years? Look into my eyes!

I can't even talk to anyone. Those damn Adeptus Custodes are all freaks. They say they're protecting my safety, but what the hell do I need them to protect me?

Another stomp. Malcador's toes plunged into the Emperor's nostrils, brutally crushing him.

"You haven't left the Imperial Palace for a full 10,000 years, hiding there like a shut-in. Being a shut-in is one thing, but you also don't wear clothes and are covered in oil. Do you think that's Armor of Achilles? This is all your doing."

And you, Malcador, old Makado, I really miss you so much, but those God-Human- Inquisitor you left behind are real beasts.

The Xenos Inquisition is full of Xenos, the Daemon Inquisition is full of Daemon, and even our Holy Terra has been defiled.

Having been prayed to by the Imperium of Man for a full 10,000 years, and with those faiths originating not only from humans but also from all sorts of supernatural entities, the God-Emperor who alone guarded the Golden Throne had long since gone mad.

The fragments of consciousness were so shattered that they could have fought another Unification Wars, but for the first time, when facing their former selves, these fragments of consciousness united as one.

Seeing that the Yellow Skins at his feet was still stubborn, the His Majesty God-Emperor, growing increasingly angry, grabbed the scepter and repeatedly thrust it in and out.

"No, don't move! It really won't go in anymore! What are you doing? What did I do to deserve this? What's the point of torturing me? I am you!"

"I know, but I'm happy to do it. When you were borrowing Dogs and Donkeys like crazy, did you ever think about this day coming?"

"But I didn't intend to pay it back!"

"..."

"You bastard, you even screwed over your future self! Oh, so it was me. No wonder. But I'm the one who's suffering."

In the eyes of the God-Emperor, the Yellow Skins with blood gushing from its rear end was Dark History he could never erase. How could he have been born like this? No wonder he was now abandoned by everyone.

As for the idea that his former self was indeed himself, the God-Emperor never considered it. Trying to reason with him was like talking nonsense; whoever had the bigger fist was right.

He wasn't wrong in any way; the mistake was in my past self. What does that have to do with me now?

"Stop playing dead! Now, immediately, go and find Serenity, or everything will be ruined."

"What? You're not convinced? Then I'll have to keep a close eye on you."

No one understood the Emperor better than the God-Emperor. Without any hesitation, he directly pulled out the tormented scepter of Adamantium.

With another piercing scream, the door was kicked open from the inside. Looking at the white-haired boy dragging the Emperor like a dead dog, Valdor subconsciously swallowed.

"Um, Your His Majesty, you can't hit me after you hit him, right?"

"Enough with the nonsense! Prepare the boat; we don't have much time left."

Time was running out. In a corner undetectable by any probe, unlike the card room where the Warp Entity had gathered together before, the Four Merchants huddled together on their own.

From the perspective of the Four Merchants, they were the victims. Their partners, who should have been Great Game with them, got too caught up in the game and first proposed a particularly cool plan to raise funds together.

Then the four of us contributed money, effort, and manpower, and in the end you bastard ran off with the money, leaving us not a single one of the Primarch, and even jumped onto the table to become a pawn yourself.

This is no ordinary deadbeat; we must Strike Hard. Since you're so stubborn and unrepentant, don't blame us for flipping the table.

Inside the Emperor's Dream, the Emperor, still bent over after being brutally Flank Attack, had a strange glint in his eyes, like a weasel eyeing a delicious roast chicken.

"Hey bro, stop looking so stern. Now that you've made it this far, tell me what the future holds!"

Will the Webway Project be a complete success? Will our empire flourish, and will I be able to retire with honor, taking those troublesome kids with me to Garden of Nurgle to live out my days?

I've already chosen my target world, although the name doesn't sound very auspicious—it's called Arthas. The environment there is beautiful, almost exactly like the former Holy Terra.

Then I can rebuild Rome, make Horus Archon, Perturabo and Dorn architects, Angron a doctor.

I'm also going to lease a large tract of land for Mortarion; he loves growing things, and maybe he can even use the grain to make wine.

The vineyards can't be neglected either. Although the wine from Baal isn't even as good as urine, Ninth Brother loves fruit the most. As for Mordred, it's perfect for him to collect taxes...

The Emperor, outwardly socially awkward but inwardly secretly passionate, was out there explaining his plans, but the God-Emperor beside him could only see pain.

"Stop talking."

"What?"

"I told you to stop talking. Since you have so much to say, why don't you tell them in person? Why wait until it's too late to salvage the situation?"

Looking at his suddenly enraged self, through Malcador's boyish appearance, the Emperor saw a broken skeleton like black mud, with empty eye sockets that held no future, only darkness.

Countless souls burned in the mud, the decaying empire continued to die, and there was no shortage of firelight in the darkness, but the Mars were too small, and even if they burned everything, they could not alleviate the giant's suffering in the slightest.

"So, we failed?"

Yes, but will you admit defeat?

Their eyes met, one gold, one black, facing the interrogation of their future selves. Even with blood still seeping from their buttocks, they still let out arrogant laughs.

"Admit defeat? You must be joking."

If the outcome cannot be changed, then let the galaxy, the entire world, and the Warp Burning Fiercely!

Fuck you, God! No one can judge me, and even if it is the heavens, I'll tear a hole in them!

"Good! As expected of me, you have guts. Have you thought about how Serenity will apologize?"

The Emperor looked astonished and said, "I did nothing wrong, why should I admit it? You dragged me here, and the empire is in this mess because of you. What does it have to do with me?"

Upon hearing this, the God-Emperor smiled with relief:

"Fine, you want to play like this? In that case, I've got plenty of tricks and ruthlessness to deal with. Bend over properly, it might hurt a little!"

"Big Silly Huang, what are you doing?"

"God-Emperor Blast Fist!"

"Quack--"