Khorne Was Still Very Angry

The waves of Warp rolled across the deck of the Chaos warship "Carnival," a manifestation of pure madness and carnage.

Skarbrand, once the Greater Daemon of Khorne, now the uncrowned king, stands at the center of the storm.

He was laughing loudly.

It was a chilling, maniacal laugh that came from the depths of the soul.

There was no reason in that laughter, only a primal desire for violence.

"Hahahaha! What wonderful anger! What pure killing intent!"

Skarbrand brandished his massive axe, stained with countless drops of blood, his single eye fixed on the front. "A Primarch! Such a powerful prey!"

This will be the best offering to the Blood God! I will make my wine cup from your skull!

He was prepared for an eternal bloodbath, every drop of blood in his body burning.

However, the smile on Skarbrand's face froze the next second.

Because he sensed it.

That wasn't ordinary anger; it was a sense of oppression that transcended anger, as vast as a galaxy.

That was order crushing chaos, civilization judging barbarity.

"Are you laughing at your mother?!"

A thunderous roar erupted.

Before Skarbrand could react, a Power Fist shimmering with blue-gold Psionic Energy flames, carrying enough kinetic energy to shatter stars, slammed into his arrogant face.

Boom--!

The immense impact instantly pierced through the Greater Daemon's skull.

Skarbrand didn't even have time to let out a scream before he was sent flying like a rotten tomato hit by a cannonball, crashing through several decks.

Roboute Guilliman, the Primarch of the Ultramarines, accelerated to full speed, transforming into a golden streak of light and instantly catching up with the flying Skarbrand.

He grabbed the Greater Daemon by its horns and slammed it hard onto the floor.

"Huh? I'm asking you a question, are you laughing at your mother?!"

Guilliman's voice was icy and chilling, yet his actions were extremely brutal.

He was like a street brawler, or perhaps the most fanatical wizard in the Inquisition, frantically rubbing and hammering Skarbrand's head against the alloy deck of the warship.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The entire Chaos Warship was trembling violently, as if it would disintegrate at any moment.

The deck was shattered, and the walls were crashed down.

Guilliman showed no sign of stopping. He dragged Skarbrand downhill, each punch carrying immense force, and every impact causing the energy of the Warp to surge.

Until--BOOM!!!

Skarbrand's body was drilled through by Guilliman from the top to the bottom of the warship, and finally even broke through the bottom of the ship and fell into the void of the Warp.

But that's not all.

Guilliman did not let go; he hovered in the Warp, one hand gripping Skarbrand's neck tightly, the other continuing to throw punches.

Skarbrand finally let out a wail.

That was a desperate wail.

"No... impossible! I am Khorne's Greater Daemon! I am immortal!"

But he could clearly feel that his essence was disappearing.

The Primarch before us is simply a bottomless pit.

Each time he was hit by the opponent, a portion of his body would dissipate into red Warp energy, and this energy would not return to the Warp.

Instead, it was greedily absorbed, devoured, and transformed by the blue-gold flames on Guilliman's body.

This is plunder!

A blasphemy!

Guilliman got more and more into the fight; the Viltrumites blood within him was boiling.

A large amount of red Warp energy was burned away by the blue-gold flames on his body, transforming into pure Psionic Energy that replenished his body.

Finally, Guilliman stomped on Skarbrand's head, pinning him firmly to the void.

He drew the Emperor's Sword from his waist with a backhand motion, the tip of the sword pointing directly at the Greater Daemon's brow.

"No!!!"

A piercing scream came from afar.

That's Carlos.

He was hiding behind a huge rock when he saw this, and he was terrified.

He quickly cast the Psionic Energy spells he had prepared beforehand.

This was a backup plan he had laid, a trap specifically prepared for Guilliman.

This is a vicious spell that can draw out all the negative emotions in the Primarch's heart, amplify them infinitely, and transform them into a spell that imprisons Psionic Energy.

If Guilliman harbored even the slightest darkness in his heart—even a trace of doubt about the Emperor or a lack of self-confidence—it would instantly explode, plunging him into a frenzied self-destruction.

"Victory is inevitable!"

Carlos roared inwardly, "In Destiny, victory is assured! Once the spell takes effect, you will be consumed by your own heart!"

Psionic Energy fluctuations enveloped Guilliman.

However, the anticipated madness did not occur.

Guilliman merely frowned, as if he had only been bothered by a fly.

"Um?"

Some of the Primarch's negative emotions were indeed stirred up.

It was the pressure of Terra, the anxiety about the state of the Imperium, the betrayal of brothers... but so what?

That was Roboute Guilliman's emotion, the Primarch of this era.

But at this moment, the one who holds the dominant position in this body is an emperor from another universe.

"Tch, such a petty trick."

Guilliman curled his lip in disdain.

He was the emperor.

The emperor cannot be wrong.

The emperor would feel no guilt whatsoever.

Those so-called negative emotions are nothing but dust in the face of absolute self-awareness.

Guilliman raised his head, his gaze piercing through the void, precisely locking onto Carlos, who was trembling behind the rocks.

"You little bastard, you just wait."

Guilliman pointed at Carlos, his tone laced with roguishness, "I'll pluck all your blue hair out and turn it into a mop!"

Having said that, he ignored Carlos and brought the Emperor's Sword down with a swift motion.

Puff--!

There was no suspense whatsoever.

Skarbrand's head was neatly chopped off.

Golden flames instantly engulfed the head, burning away its very essence.

The first Greater Daemon Khorne, who once roamed Khorne Warp with impunity and struck fear into the hearts of countless worlds, died just like that.

Deep within the Warp, atop Brass Throne.

Khorne was enraged.

It was an indescribable rage, a fury powerful enough to set the entire Milky Way ablaze.

Although he had always been angry, this time, he was truly furious.

"You insignificant Primarch! How dare you!!"

Khorne roared, extending his enormous, blood-stained saw-like hand, traversing countless dimensions, to grab at Guilliman.

In his view, no matter how powerful the material world is, it cannot compare to him, the embodiment of war and rage.

The moment that grab lands, Guilliman and his entire star system will be reduced to nothing.

However—BOOM!!!

The black sun trembled in the void.

A shield formed from a vast, boundless, and extremely cold golden Psionic Energy forcefully blocked Khorne's saw-hand.

Khorne was stunned, then became even angrier. "Cursed One! What do you want to do?!"

Behind the shield, the being known as the "Cursed One," the "embodiment of despair and destruction"—the Emperor —calmly watched Khorne.

"Are you blind to protect your own?"

A calm voice came from the Black Sun.