A Little Basic Physiology

As Roboute Guilliman entered the former assembly hall, which had been temporarily requisitioned as an autopsy room, he noticed a pungent black smoke filling the cold air. 💙☝ ☆♝ Compared to this, the extremely strong smell of blood seemed almost insignificant.

Roboute Guilliman frowned. He knew that the fumes were a powerful disinfection measure in the process of transformation. Judging from their appearance, the disinfection process had reached its final stage.

Only when the smoke dissipates into a colorless and odorless white mist will mortal servants be allowed to enter. Until then, the environment here will affect them.

Of course, even if they were to actually enter this place, it would be after it was no longer used as an autopsy room.

It's worth mentioning that these comprehensive disinfection measures were actually based on theoretical knowledge derived from a Chapter called the Cleansers.

After being proven effective on multiple occasions, Roboute Guilliman introduced it into the Ultramarines and their various sub-teams, requiring its use as a general disinfection method and as an extreme countermeasure in a few rare cases.

"Sarral!" Roboute Guilliman shouted into the smoke. "Where are you?!"

His words were met with a muffled cough, and Apothecary from the Raven Guard strode through the black smoke and appeared before him.

He wasn't wearing a helmet, and his armor was covered in blood. The lower half of his face was covered by a makeshift mask made of polymer material, which wouldn't be removed until his severe injuries had healed to a certain extent.

Several bone screws were nailed to the edge of the mask, firmly securing this somewhat gruesome medical procedure to his face.

Compared to the injuries to his face, his left hand was in slightly better condition, and the Techmarine quickly fitted him with a prosthesis.

Although it was just an old model found in the warehouse and couldn't be used for delicate work, it at least allowed him to use his left hand to hold some medicine or similar items, preventing him from facing the embarrassing situation of only being able to use one hand.

The Apothecary had no objection. Firstly, he didn't have time to cooperate with the Techmarine in performing complex neurological adjustments, and secondly, he could perform dissections with just one hand.

As a member of the association, he had that much confidence.

"My lord," Sarral bowed to Roboute Guilliman, "I must remind you, my work is not yet finished."

"I know, that's one of the reasons I interrupted you for now," Roboute Guilliman said, pretending not to understand Sarral's implication.

"Grown ups?"

"I've found you a new helper."

His words puzzled Sarral. The Raven Guard even looked up at the tall Primarch, only to receive a cryptic stare in return.

At this time, the "dissection room" contained a total of 422 main dissected objects, as well as the remains of thousands of victims. Four hours earlier, Roboute Guilliman had issued an order to urgently dispatch 20 Apothecary to help.

They temporarily left the patients behind and arrived at another place where medical knowledge was urgently needed. Sarral welcomed their arrival, as it was a lifesaver; however, it also meant he was no longer short of help.

However, he was still very curious to know what kind of person could have earned Roboute Guilliman's personal recommendation.

Half a second later, he saw a mortal in a black robe slowly emerge from behind Roboute Guilliman, who was not particularly noticeable.

The Apothecary's expression turned somewhat surprised.

"Karyl Lohars," said the Lord of Macragge. "He will assist you with the research, Sarral."

After saying this, he turned and left, leaving a bewildered Sarral. Moreover, his surprise had now turned into utter astonishment—he had never seen Roboute Guilliman so inconsiderate; was sending a mere mortal really appropriate?

However, considering their current situation, this may be normal.

The Primarch is also human, and is bound to make mistakes. And if he doesn't make mistakes, then that person must possess extraordinary abilities.

Raven Guard, lost in thought, said nothing, simply turning around. A medical arm extended from his back, tossing a normal-sized filter mask to Karyl.

"So, come on. Are you a field medic? Or did you study at a medical school?"

"No," Karyl said, his voice hoarse as he put on the heavy filter mask.

". What?"

"I have never studied at any academy, nor have I ever treated anyone. In fact, I am not a doctor, Sarral the Apothecary."

Sarral offered another conjecture. "So, you're a former soldier?"

"Strictly speaking, I wasn't a soldier, but I did participate in a few wars."

Sarral frowned, stopped, and turned to look at the mortal named Karyl Lohars.

The latter stood still, accepting his slightly cold scrutiny amidst his doubts, unmoved. He stood there quietly, his hands hanging naturally at his sides, as if blood, smoke, or anything else did not exist for him.

It was only then that Sarral realized he was actually quite tall for a mortal. Moreover, his eyes had no distinction between black and white or any pupils; they were pure black, which was the hallmark of the Nostramo people.

Throughout the entire galaxy, only those from the Star of Eternal Night would possess eyes that cannot withstand strong light.

"You're from Nostramo?"

Karyl smiled noticeably, nodded, and didn't pursue the topic further.

Sarral gave him a deep look, his doubts not lessening but increasing, but he decided not to ask any further questions.

This makes no sense.

The most urgent task is to expedite the autopsy; compared to what they are about to face, the identity of this person is not their primary concern.

Sarral turned around and headed back to his work area, deliberately slowing his pace, with Karyl following closely behind. As they went deeper, what had been hidden in the black smoke was fully revealed.

Dozens of cold iron platforms were fixed to the hall floor, and iron hooks for suspending corpses were moved from top of them by a transport platform. The corpses were suspended and moved without any respect, their heads hanging low.

The Apothecary were busy like workers, their handcuffs already stained with blood, Servo-skull floated above their heads as they continuously recorded data. Anti-gravity blades absorbed the smoke and slowly expelled it, passively evolving the air.

The transport Servitor, carrying corpses or replacement dissection tools, carefully avoided the cables laid on the ground, struggling to complete their assigned tasks amidst the cruel sounds of flesh being cut and bones being rubbed.

The stark white light pierced the black mist at the top of the slaughterhouse, illuminating the area around the iron platform as if it were daytime, but it did not dispel the terrifying atmosphere; instead, it made everything even more sinister.

If anyone asked, Sarral would complain bitterly—he really dislikes this working environment, but it's the best he can find right now.

The medical hall on Macragge's Honour was attacked during the recent riots, its power supply was cut off, and the program was set to completely lock the fifteen doors.

To enter, they would have to wait for the Techmarine and shipwrights to open it, but they don't have time to do that right now. A third of the engines of the Macragge's Honour still need repair, and the medical hall will have to wait until power is fully restored.

Sarral raised his hand and pointed to an empty iron platform that was a little closer to his workplace.

"If you'd like, you can start working there. I'll have the Servitor find you a set of tools you can use."

"I don't think it's necessary, Apothecary Sarral," Karyl said quietly.

He strode toward Sarral's work site, where lay the remains of a monster, its upper body the only part remaining. Its blood had been drained and it had been preserved, making the entire body appear much shriveled, yet still enormous.

There was a huge, acquired wound on its chest and abdomen, which appeared to have been caused by a surgical saw. The bones and internal organs had been removed one by one and laid out to the side. It is worth mentioning that its face skin had also been peeled off.

He walked up to the iron platform and began to examine it closely. Seeing his actions, Sarral couldn't help but frown.

If it were an ordinary mortal, he might already be trying to persuade the other person to face reality, but...

"Apothecary Sarral, before we begin, I'd like to ask a few questions," Karyl said softly, his gaze fixed intently on the corpse on the iron platform, his face showing no sign of discomfort.

"Your autopsy report mentions that you believe the existence of this creature contradicts the most basic physiology, is that right?"

"Of course," Sarral replied slowly, crossing his arms. "The flesh and blood that make up their bodies come from many different people, men and women, young and old, with no taboos."

"Take this one in front of you, for example. Its spine may be made up of several men between thirty and fifty years old, while some of the muscles in its right forearm are from a teenager."

"If you ask me, let alone naturally born ones, even surgical modifications would cause these things to die and come back to life dozens of times just from the rejection reaction."

"But they lived—or at least they once lived," Karyl said.

As soon as he finished speaking, he stretched out his right hand and placed his index finger near the corpse's mouth. Before Sarral could even stop him, a drop of blood gushed from his index finger and fell into the corpse's mouth.

The next second, the lifeless corpse began to tremble violently. Its shriveled skin was stretched back up with strange, sticky sounds, its muscles twitched, and its eyeballs rolled wildly in their sockets without warning.

Seeing this, Raven Guard silently drew a flaming pistol from his waist and aimed it at Karyl.

"Don't fire yet, Apothecary. Besides, Volkite Weapon might contaminate other people's autopsy materials as well, right? Do you have any other guns?" Karyl said without turning his head.

Raven Guard silently switched to another Boltgun he had inherited, took a step closer, and pointed the muzzle at the back of his head.

The screams grew louder, and the Apothecary all put down their work and walked over. They remained silent, exchanging several glances with Sarral over a few seconds.

Karyl, however, kept his head down, seemingly oblivious to everything around him, his attention entirely focused on the resurrecting corpse.

The screams lasted for a total of five minutes before stopping.

"Where am I?" Roboute Guilliman asked blankly. His voice sounded like two pieces of dry wood rubbing against each other.

Karyl said, "You're on the Macragge's Honour, or more precisely, on the fifth deck of the Macragge's Honour, which is the assembly hall for the Ultramarines."

The monster, now only half-bodied, looked around and let out a muffled groan. "I don't think so. What's the difference between this place and a slaughterhouse?"

"The difference is that no lives are being murdered here. This place has been temporarily requisitioned for use as an autopsy hall," Karyl began to explain patiently. "Do you have any more questions?"

The monster looked at him and shook its head with great difficulty. "No more."

So, are you still hungry?

"I'm not hungry anymore," the monster said, a hint of surprise suddenly appearing on its face. "Actually, I don't think I've ever felt this full."

Do you still have memories of your past?

"Oh, yes," it said. "But the word 'memory'... how strange."

Why? Don't you have any memories of the past?

It pondered for a moment before giving its answer amidst the dangerous scrutiny of those around it, "I think, probably not. If we go by the definition of memory, my past is nothing more than a jumble of fragmented images. They clearly don't deserve to be called memories, right?"

"So—what kind of scene is it?"

The monster remained silent for a few seconds, then its Adam's apple bobbed, and a look of obvious disgust spread across its face. "I don't want to talk about it."

Karyl smiled, took off his filter mask, and winked at it. "You ate a person."

"."

"To be precise, you ate thirty-two. Do I need to say more? Like their gender, age, name, or the last words they said before they died?"

Who exactly are you?

"I'm the one who fed you," Karyl said. "In other words, I'm the one who saved you from the mindless, soulless realm of a beast. I don't expect you to be grateful to me, but I want to ask you some questions."

This time, the monster pondered for an even longer time. The Apothecary from the Ultramarines saw an uncanny familiarity in that faceless face.

"Fine, ask away," it finally said. "But I hope you kill me after you've asked."

Karyl raised an eyebrow.

"So, the first question—why?"

"What?"

Why do you want me to kill you?

"Because that doesn't count as living," the monster said clearly. "At least it's very different from my own definition of living. I don't know what kind of creature I am, but I think this life form is unclean and poisonous."

"My mere existence would endanger those who believe in me—no, those who believe in Roboute Guilliman. Therefore, for both moral and rational reasons, for both public and private reasons, I should not live."

"You know about faith?"

The monster flexed its facial muscles, smiled, and nodded, its tone surprisingly wistful.

"Of course I know, after all, I was born because of it. I can still remember the prayers that prompted my birth. They were wholeheartedly devoted to Roboute Guilliman, and I..."

It fell silent again.

"And you devoured them the moment you were born," Karyl said calmly. "You are a phantom creation, an empty shell fabricated through people's faith. You need something to sustain your existence in the material world."

"To achieve this goal, your instincts drive you to pounce on the nearest living creature. But even if you eat more, you'll still be just an empty shell. To gain your current level of intelligence, you'd need to consume at least tens of thousands of people or some exceptional individuals."

"But by then, you'll probably have already lost the power to choose."

The monster stared at him blankly for a long time before asking, "Who created me?"

Karyl didn't answer, only looking at it with a hint of pity. The monster stared blankly at him, its broken half-body resembling a shattered puppet under the pale light.

A few seconds later, it seemed to realize something and lowered its head.

A flash of silver light disappeared in an instant, shaking the air and severing a head.

Sarral's expression changed abruptly. He hadn't even seen how the knife appeared in Karyl's hand, or how he swung it to smoothly kill the resurrected monster.

In his astonishment, he even had a faint urge to pull the trigger immediately.

However, the thought had barely formed when the magazine of the Boltgun suddenly fell to the ground. Immediately afterward, the pulled-out bolt slammed back into place, followed by the safety engage.

Sarral watched helplessly as its two safety mechanisms were automatically and completely deactivated, the Raven Guard insignia on the muzzle looking utterly terrifying at that moment.

Karyl turned around, glanced at the gun, and suddenly smiled.

"Alastor Rorschach's gun is interesting. Well then, farewell, Apothecary Sarral, and all of you, I'm truly sorry for the trouble I've caused."

"Where are you going?" Sarral blurted out.

"Go back and report my discovery to Lord Roboute Guilliman, or else?" Karyl said, bending down to pick up the magazine and handing it to Sarral.

"You—" The Apothecary took a deep breath, steadied himself, and reached out to take the magazine. "—I also have a few questions for you."

"Why do you think I'll answer?" Karyl asked.

He looked at him with a half-smile, a strange, delighted expression that he had never shown before.