Come Eat

Before long, the Ant-Cow's shell began to discolor and char under the intense heat.

A peculiar meaty aroma, mixed with scorched fragrance and roasted protein, spread through the air.

Guilliman grabbed one of the Ant-Cow's limbs with his bare hands, though it was still burning hot.

With a scalp-prickling tearing sound, he forcibly separated the Ant-Cow's limbs from its torso.

He roughly tore open the blackened shell and the half-cooked flesh beneath it, inspecting it carefully.

He made sure the disgusting flesh-boring maggots hidden deep within the muscle fibers had been completely roasted to death or removed.

Then he picked up a flesh-boring maggot that was still faintly wriggling, though already half-cooked, and casually tossed it into his mouth.

"Crunch, crunch..."

After chewing twice, he nodded in satisfaction.

"Not bad. Tastes like chicken, nice and crunchy. Its protein content is hundreds of times that of beef."

He savored it carefully, seeming to analyze its layers of flavor.

"On closer tasting, the flavors of beef and lamb burst forth first, followed by the aroma of chicken and fish... Hm?

Chew it a little more, and damn, you can even taste a hint of human flesh!"

That was not nonsense.

In truth, every Space Marine had tasted heretic flesh to some extent.

When using chainswords to hack madly at enemies, tiny chunks of flesh and sprays of blood would inevitably splash into their mouths.

For superhuman warriors whose saliva was highly corrosive and whose digestive systems were like furnaces,

those pieces of flesh were often rapidly broken down and absorbed before they even had time to spit them out.

"At this level of doneness, you can eat it without any problem, right?"

Guilliman tore off a large chunk of Ant-Cow hind leg meat, charred on the outside and tender within, still sizzling with grease, and looked at Landros with concern.

"Father, I... I can eat Ant-Cow meat cooked to this degree without issue.

My oral surgery and stomach augmentation surgery were both very successful."

Landros answered somewhat uneasily, his voice still weak.

Hearing this, Guilliman patted the ground beside him with his fan-like hand, producing two heavy thuds, and said heartily to Landros,

"Then sit down already!

Sit down and eat, hurry up!"

Landros struggled to his feet and slowly, almost cautiously, made his way over to Guilliman.

Like an obedient schoolboy, he sat down properly with his legs together, a posture so docile that it clashed completely with his heavy power armor.

Guilliman handed him the enormous Ant-Cow hind leg, taller even than himself.

He even thoughtfully peeled away the outermost, blackest, hardest shell with his bare hands, revealing the huge pinkish-white mass of steaming meat within.

Landros accepted the heavy Ant-Cow leg with both hands.

As he looked at the meat giving off an enticing aroma—though its source was somewhat bizarre—his eyes instantly filled with tears.

(This is a meal personally made by the Gene-Father! A meal the Gene-Father made for me!)

(To eat food personally roasted by one's own Gene-Father—throughout all history, how many Space Marines could ever receive such treatment?!)

"Father, I... I truly..."

Tears blurring his eyes, Landros choked up and could not finish his sentence.

He lowered his head and took huge bites from the meat in his hands, swallowing it together with scalding tears and uncontrollable snot.

He ate with utmost devotion, as though participating in some sacred ritual.

"Ah, we're eating. Don't talk about that stuff. Eat, eat."

Like a kind old father, Guilliman reached out and gently patted his back, which trembled faintly from sobbing, helping him catch his breath.

Landros ate quickly and urgently, as though he wanted to swallow all his regret and gratitude along with the food.

After stuffing the last morsel into his mouth and swallowing it forcefully, he abruptly turned toward Guilliman and dropped to his knees with a thump, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Father! I was wrong! I was truly wrong!"

"Why are you kneeling at a time like this?" Guilliman reached out to help him up. "Didn't you merely follow the Codex I wrote?

What is there to be wrong about?"

He directly slipped both hands beneath Landros's power-armored shoulder plates and exerted a little force.

Like an ordinary man lifting a docile Golden Retriever, he easily picked up the heavily armored Space Marine Chaplain from the ground and set him back down.

"No! Father! I was truly wrong! Wrong in so many ways!"

Landros shook his head, tears pouring even harder. "Because I rigidly clung to the Codex, I... I sent Titus, the bravest captain our company had ever known, to the Deathwatch!

He was a truly fearless and valiant warrior, Father!

Every night when I close my eyes, I feel as though I can see his resolute, disappointed face and remember his countless great achievements...

Yet I reported him and had him transferred to the Deathwatch!

It has been more than a hundred years!

More than a hundred full years!

Is he doing well?

Or did he already die in some battle against xenos, without dignity and without honor?!"

The more he spoke, the more agitated he became, and he tried to kneel again. "This is all my fault, Father!

I have no right to remain your genetic son!

I am unworthy!"

As he wailed, the Ultramarines around them who had gradually awakened also silently and heavily knelt around Guilliman.

Each of them had done similar things, to some extent.

Through rigid enforcement of the Codex, they had hurt outstanding battle-brothers or caused needless sacrifices.

They were not truly resisting their Primarch merely because they had to change their habits. The deeper reason was the heavy guilt that had built up over centuries.

It made them feel that they had sullied the armor upon their bodies and betrayed the glory of the gene-seed flowing within them.

The atmosphere in the plaza instantly became incomparably stiff and heavy.

These warriors of steel all deeply felt their own "errors" at this moment.

Their former convictions had been wrong. Many of their past actions had been wrong. It even made them begin to question whether their very existence was itself a mistake.

The wavering of their wills brought tremors at the level of their souls.

Several hundred Adeptus Astartes warriors simultaneously sank into immense remorse and despair.

This powerful psychic fluctuation was like a boulder cast into the Warp!

A concealed ripple formed from pure emotional energy silently spread outward, immediately drawing the gaze of predators lurking in the depths of the Warp.

A Tzeentch daemon lurking along the boundary between reality and illusion let out a low, delighted laugh.

It "saw" the violent fluctuations in the psychic barrier around this area.

It saw those souls, once firm as stone, now being eroded by all manner of suppressed and despairing emotions.

(What wonderful change... What delicious despair and self-doubt...)

The daemon greedily drank in this rare "delicacy."

(The Lord of Change will surely find this very interesting...)