Ku'gath Dies!

His body slowly collapsed, and the bloated, hill-like fat lost its support in the process of falling and spread out in all directions, like a puddle of melting butter.

He opened his mouth and wanted to say something, but only a vague murmur came out of his throat - there was reluctance, fear, and a kind of confusion called "absurdity" that even he himself could not understand.

Guilliman didn't look at him twice.

He retracted his fist, turned around, and walked back to the front of the nine golden dragons.

Mortarion is struggling in the dragon formation.

The claws of those golden dragons held down his Silence, the dragon's tail wrapped around his wrist, and the dragon's body lay between him and Ku'gath.

He wanted to rush over, to see how Ku'gath was doing, and to help up the old man who was lying in a pool of blood.

But he couldn't move.

The power of those dragons was much greater than he imagined. That was not the power of Guilliman, but the power of Emperor. It was the seal that Dark King personally blessed this cage with.

"Let me go, Guilliman!"

His voice was hoarse, angry, and full of panic that Guilliman had never heard before.

"Is this what you call a fair duel?"

Guilliman stood outside the dragon formation, with his hands behind his back.

His top hat flew to nowhere, and his hair was messy by the heat wave, but his black tuxedo was still straight, and his golden monocle was still firmly stuck in his right eye socket.

"A fair duel?"

His voice was full of sarcasm.

"Mortarion, you are Daemon Primarch.

You can slaughter an entire sector by yourself.

Are you talking to me about a fair duel?

When you led Death Guard to massacre those unarmed Imperium civilians, why didn't you talk about fairness?"

Mortarion's lips trembled.

He wanted to refute, to say that he was trying to liberate the world that was oppressed by Imperium, that the deaths of civilians were the inevitable price of war, but that he actually didn't want to be like that.

But he couldn't say it because he couldn't say it.

He knows those are all excuses.

He didn't know when he started to become a coward who could only make excuses.

Maybe it was from the moment Typhus betrayed, maybe it was from the moment he knelt in front of Nurgle, maybe even earlier, as early as Barbarus, when he first picked up the sickle.

His struggle gradually weakened.

Not because he gave up, but because he found himself losing control of his body.

Those golden dragons were burning his demonic essence, and every second a large amount of Chaos energy was extracted from his body, swallowed by the flames, and transformed into nothingness.

He is getting weaker and weaker, getting closer and closer to a pure ordinary Primarch without any extraordinary power.

Despair appeared in his eyes.

It's not that he is afraid of death, he has long accepted that he will die.

What he was afraid of was this kind of humiliation - being captured alive, being escorted back to Terra, being tied up and thrown into the dungeon under that Golden Throne, and letting those Inquisition lackeys torture him with various torture tools, forcing him to repent, force him to admit his mistakes, and force him to bow to the mummy sitting on the throne.

He would rather be hacked to death by Guilliman's sword.

He would rather turn into nothingness in the golden flames.

He would rather his soul be swallowed up by Emperor without even a chance of reincarnation.

At least that way, he could still retain the last bit of dignity.

He begins to burn his demonic nature.

It was not pulled away by the golden dragon, but actively ignited.

In his body, the energy cores blessed by Nurgle began to overload, and dark green light seeped out from the cracks in his Power Armour. The light became brighter and brighter, becoming more and more unstable, like a nuclear reactor that was about to run out of control.

He wanted to burn himself to ashes before he was captured alive, leaving no residue behind.

Guilliman moved.

His figure flashed in the dragon formation and appeared behind Mortarion.

A blue-gold hand pressed on the back of Mortarion's head, and the five fingers were like iron pliers, firmly grasping the edge of his helmet and fixing his head.

Golden flames surged out from Guilliman's palm, poured into Mortarion's body, and intertwined with the demonic essence that was overloading.

"Want to commit suicide? That's not up to you."

Guilliman's voice is as cold as ice.

His other hand pressed on the back of Ku'gath's neck, his five fingers clasped the thick, abscess-covered neck, and lifted the still twitching head from the ground.

Ku'gath's body was like a puddle of mud, being dragged along to create a long ravine on the ground.

He is not dead yet, the demon Greater Daemon will not die so easily, but the big hole in his chest has not healed yet, and those golden flames are still burning in his wounds, preventing him from rebirth.

"As Inquisitor, I always speak to Imperium, but I feel that the world today..."

Guilliman's voice suddenly became low, and those blue-gold eyes looked coldly into the depths of the void.

There, there was a huge and twisted dark green being staring at him.

That is not a form that humans can see with the naked eye. It is the essence of Nurgle and the projection of Chaos Gods's will.

It was angry, and the whole Garden of Nurgle was trembling.

"I prefer physical persuasion to tongue-splitting lotus flowers."

Before he finished speaking, Guilliman's hand suddenly shook.

Ku'gath's head made a muffled sound in his palm.

It was not shattered, but wrapped in golden flames. Those flames poured into his corrupt brain along his ears, nostrils, and eye sockets, blocking all the Chaos energy in his body.

Ku'gath completely lost the ability to resist at that moment. His limbs were hanging limply, his eyes were half-open and half-closed, and his mouth was slightly open, as if silently calling his loving father's name.

Nurgle was furious in that dark green existence.

The entire Garden of Nurgle began to shake violently, the burning trees were uprooted, the dried swamps began to gush out pus again, and the Plaguebearer hiding in the ruins simultaneously let out ear-piercing screams.

An indescribably huge amount of Chaos energy spurted out from the dark green mass, crushing it in the direction of Guilliman.

That was Nurgle's rage, an undisguised, naked Psionic Energy impact that could tear a planet into pieces.

Guilliman raised his head, and his blue-gold eyes looked directly at the crushing Psionic Energy huge wave without any flinching.