Vengeance Without Mercy, Neoth
He has seen Old Ones destroyed in the Psionic Energy storm.
I have seen Eldar being buried together in the birth of Slaanesh.
I have seen human Emperor step by step from an ordinary person to Dark King.
But he had never seen anything like this.
A human being with a life span of less than 50,000 years Primarch.
A madman broke into his Garden of Nurgle and ran wild all over the place.
Kill his favorite Greater Daemon.
Take away his Daemon Primarch.
Burn the Garden of Nurgle he worked so hard for.
In the end, I still stood in front of him, speaking every word with great force.
"There is nothing you can do."
He wanted to deny it.
But he found that he couldn't deny it at all.
Because every word Guilliman said is true.
He was really at his wits' end.
Emperor and Black Sun were pressed firmly on top of his head.
The golden flames burned his Garden of Nurgle crazily.
His Greater Daemon was killed by Guilliman with a sword, and his soul was shattered.
His Daemon Primarch Mortarion was firmly clamped in the opponent's arms and could not move.
His Plaguebearers let out shrill screams in the sea of fire, and were turned into ashes one by one.
There is nothing he can do.
Guilliman lowered his head and looked at Mortarion in his arms.
Mortarion is taller than him, and being clamped like this, his posture is extremely awkward.
It's like an adult holding a naughty child who is much larger than himself.
But Mortarion didn't struggle at all.
He didn't even want to look at Guilliman's face, he just lowered his eyes and stared at the ground.
His lips moved slightly, but no sound came out.
It's like meditating silently.
Silently recite the Emperor prayer, silently recite the military song of Great Crusade, or silently recite the names of those heirs who have died long ago.
There was an extremely strange expression on his face.
Not regret.
Not relieved.
It is not an emotion that can be accurately described in words.
Rather, it was shame, joy, and fear, all mixed together, with an almost imperceptible trace of expectation hidden inside.
He felt ashamed.
It was a primitive human emotion that he thought had been completely discarded long ago.
There is no need to be driven by reason, it comes naturally from the bottom of my heart.
My stomach tightened crazily, my cheeks were frighteningly hot, and my breathing was rapid and disordered.
He wanted to push Guilliman's hand away.
I want to scream "let me go, I can walk by myself".
I want to keep the last bit of dignity on top of these ruins.
The dignity of being the master of Primarch, Daemon Primarch, and Death Guard.
But his body didn't move at all.
Because the body is more alert than the brain.
The only thing that can allow him to leave this Garden of Nurgle alive at this moment.
It was this posture that made him extremely ashamed.
He doesn't want to die.
After watching with my own eyes the descendants fell under the knife of Adeptus Custodes, and listening to them sing the military song of Great Crusade with their incomplete vocal cords.
He doesn't want to die.
He wants to go back.
Return to the Imperium of Man that he swore to protect to the death but betrayed with his own hands.
Even if you go back, you will be thrown into the deepest dungeon.
Even if he is tortured by Inquisition's lackeys.
Even if he is locked up in a dark prison, he will never see the light of day.
He also wants to go back.
I want to smell it again, the smell of incense mixed with old books in the Imperial Palace.
I want to take another look at the golden light reflected by Golden Throne under the setting sun.
I want to hear again the roar of the soldiers in the training ground and the hurried footsteps of the officials in the corridor.
Guilliman already knows the answer.
There is no need Mortarion to speak, or even to look him in the eye.
The arm holding the other person's neck can clearly feel the pulse there.
From panic, it gradually became calm.
From rushing, slowly becoming calm.
Like a drowning man, he finally catches the only driftwood.
Guilliman chuckled lightly.
The smile was very faint, but there was no trace of sarcasm.
There is only pure joy for the elder brother to see his lost brother finally turn around.
He raised his head and looked at the dark green cloud again, with a bit of a teeth-itching smile in his voice.
"Will I regret it?"
"I won't."
"Take a good look at your Garden of Nurgle."
He released his left arm holding Mortarion and slowly stretched out towards the burning Garden of Nurgle.
The palm drew an arc in the air, and the blue-gold flame in the palm followed the path of the fingertips, dragging out a dazzling light strip.
The posture is extremely elegant.
Just like a docent in a museum who calmly explains famous paintings.
Not the invaders who just set fire, killed people, and took hostages.
Nurgle's Garden, is fully burning.
Not a sporadic small fire, not a remnant fire that is extinguished in an instant.
Instead, the entire Garden of Nurgle was completely engulfed in flames.
From the farthest point as far as the eye can see, to the scorched earth beneath our feet.
From the highest forests of rotten wood to the deepest pools of ichor.
From the playful place of Plaguebearer to the core area of the Plague Furnace.
No one was spared, they were all burned.
The golden flames were overwhelming, like weaving a hot carpet on the earth.
The flame is not static, but flowing wildly.
Climbing from low to high, rushing from the edge to the center, like a living creature, not letting go of any remaining inch.
A towering rotten tree collapsed, and a cloud of dark green spores erupted from the break.
The spore cloud hit the golden flame and exploded instantly, turning into Mars all over the sky.
In the distance, the screams of Plaguebearer were heard one after another, getting weaker and weaker.
Like candles being extinguished one by one, there was complete silence.
Nurgle The condensed clouds trembled violently.
He watched helplessly as his Garden of Nurgle was reduced to ashes inch by inch.
He doesn't care about rotten wood, he doesn't care about swamps, he doesn't care about the bacteria that have been cultivated for thousands of years.
What he cares about are those wailing "children".
Plaguebearer, Plague Walker, and loyal Greater Daemon.
They were burned into nothingness in the Emperor golden flames, their souls were completely devoured, and even the chance of reincarnation was deprived of them.
He cares about Ku'gath, cares about Mortarion, and cares about the children he has held in his arms, fed with rich soup, and blessed personally.
Guilliman looked at the trembling clouds without any sympathy in his eyes.
He took back his hand and held Emperor's Sword tightly again.
The golden flames at the tip of the sword surged, illuminating the dark green Chaos energy, making it ugly and fragile.
"You've burned my Garden of Nurgle to the ground... what more do you want?"
Nurgle's voice was forced out of the clouds with difficulty.
No anger, no threats.
Only endless emptiness and exhaustion remain.
He no longer clamored that Guilliman would regret it, no longer said harsh words to make the other party pay the price, and no longer even mentioned revenge.
Just asking.
"What else do you want?"
The moment he asked the question, he felt ridiculous.
What Guilliman wants is clear from the beginning.
Take away Mortarion, rescue the goddess of life, and burn this Garden of Nurgle.
He is doing it one by one.
This question is not a question, but a sigh of extreme weakness.
Guilliman has no answer.
He turned around, clamped the Mortarion again, and strode towards the Material Universe crack that was slowly healing.
The pace is neither urgent nor slow, but every step is steady and powerful.
Every step left a burning footprint on the charred ground.
The footprints are connected in a series, like eternal road signs.
Pronounced - he set foot here, he killed decisively, he never hesitated.
He walked to the crack and stopped.
Without looking back, the cold voice penetrated the sea of fire and came clearly.
"Next, the other three gods will never escape the same Destiny."
The pain they inflicted on Imperium of Man and all mankind.
No penny less, no penny less.
Give them all back.
He tilted his head slightly, and his voice spread further into the depths of Warp.
"Just because I am Lord Regent of Imperium."
"Just because I will retaliate against you."
This is the oath of Robert·Guilliman.
The last word fell.
The golden flames behind him suddenly surged and burned into an indestructible wall of fire. The high temperature forced the dark green clouds to retreat continuously.
Mortarion was held in the crook of his arms, with his back facing the burning Garden of Nurgle.
He didn't look back.
It's not that I don't want to, it's that I don't dare.
He was afraid that when he turned around, he would see the heirs struggling in the ruins, their desperate eyes, and their lips calling him silently.
Guilliman The moment he stepped into the crack, the crack shrank suddenly.
It's like a giant python swallowing its last meal and closing completely.
The last trace of golden fire flickered for a moment before the gap closed, and then was completely extinguished.
In the sky above Nurgle's Garden, there were only ruins riddled with holes and burning, and a dark green cloud as silent as stagnant water.
The clouds were suspended in mid-air, motionless for a long time.
Long enough for the flames to burn away the last piece of rotten wood.
It took so long that the last Plaguebearer took its last breath.
Over time, the entire Garden of Nurgle turned into a piece of gray-white scorched earth with no grass growing on it.
It finally spoke slowly.
His voice was as soft as talking to himself, but also as if he was talking to someone in the void.
"The evil will be repaid."
"You have learned such interesting things from humans, Neoth."
Warp On the other side, that round of Black Sun was silent.
Like an eternal tombstone, it quietly overlooks the burned Garden of Nurgle without any response.