Nice Work, Nephew!

Various voices exploded in Guilliman's mind at the same time.

There was a thin, needle-like laughter, and a low sigh, like it came from the ground.

There are soft calls, like whispers in a lover's ears, and sharp roars, like glass being crushed.

That is Chaos Gods's usual trick. Guilliman has heard it countless times from those guys.

Use words to tear apart your defenses, use voices to confuse your judgment, and use specious truths to make you doubt yourself.

They call these "Chaos's Whisper", but Guilliman feels that it is more like a lunatic in a mental hospital arguing with you through the iron door.

He took a sip of spit on the ground.

The spit did not fall in the void, but turned into a small, blue-gold ball of light, which looked like a miniature sun under the reflection of the pink flames.

"You are right," Guilliman's voice was as calm as water, "There is indeed an easier way, and people should choose an easier way."

The corners of Slaanesh's mouth became wider, thinking that Guilliman was shaken.

I thought my voice had finally penetrated the blue-gold shield, and I thought this tough guy was finally going to give in.

"But the thing is I want to go down this path now."

Guilliman's voice did not increase in decibels, but every word seemed to light up a star in the void.

Emperor's Sword's sword suddenly lit up at that moment.

Golden flames spurted out from the sword, dragging a long tail of light in the void, like a giant dragon waking up from its slumber and stretching its wings.

"I don't want to take a step back!"

His body rushed out from the shield of golden flames.

There was no warning, no starting move, just going from stillness to explosion. That speed made Slaanesh's pupils shrink slightly.

Emperor's Sword's sword blade has no fancy moves, it just stabs straight at the purple figure, moving forward like a meteor piercing the sky.

Slaanesh turned sideways and easily dodged the sword.

Its speed was extremely fast, and its slender body seemed to have no bones, bending into a strange arc in the air and sliding under the edge of Emperor's Sword's sword.

But its smile froze at that moment, because the flames burning on the sword burned its shoulders the moment it passed by.

It's not painful, Chaos Gods doesn't hurt, but the feeling makes it uncomfortable.

That is the golden flame of Emperor, the original power of Dark King, and the existence that specifically restrains Chaos Gods.

The wisp of flame burned a small black spot on its shoulder, as if someone had burned the white paper with a cigarette butt.

Slaanesh stepped back and distanced himself again, an elusive light flashed in those big purple eyes.

Guilliman did not pursue him. He stood in the void, holding Emperor's Sword tightly in his hand, like a wall blocking the space between the transport ship and the purple figure.

"How long can you stop me by yourself, Son of War?" Slaanesh's voice was filled with a smile, but there was a cold temptation hidden under the smile.

Guilliman did not answer.

He just raised his sword and pointed the tip of it at Slaanesh's eyebrows. His gesture was like saying "Come here and try."

At that moment, a voice came from the void.

The voice was not loud, but each syllable was as clear as someone reciting a prayer in his ear. It was warm, mellow, and had a comfortable feeling reminiscent of a leather armchair in front of a fireplace.

"My nephew is right!"

A golden flame fell from the sky. It was not the violent gold of Emperor that was as dazzling as a sun flare, but a gentler pale gold that was like the sunshine of an autumn afternoon.

There was a sword in the flames. The blade was slender and slender, with a light blue gem inlaid on the sword grid. The blade was engraved with countless fine, vine-like runes.

It was a Eldar style sword, delicate, elegant and gorgeous, in sharp contrast to the violent and domineering Emperor's Sword.

The sword edge passed over Slaanesh's shoulder, tearing a hole in the pink flame shield.

Slaanesh's body retreated suddenly, and the smile in those purple eyes finally disappeared.

"Why, do you think my good brother has no energy to mess with you when facing Nurgle?"

The figure walked out of the flames.

He wore a white-gold linen cloak, and the hem of the cloak was trailing in the void, like clouds blown by the wind.

He was wearing a well-tailored dark blue robe with a golden belt around his waist. The belt buckle was inlaid with a ruby the size of a cat's eye.

His face is outrageously handsome, not the majestic and god-like handsomeness of Emperor, nor the holy and angelic handsomeness of Sanguinius, but a gentle, kind of handsomeness that makes people want to get close, like the uncle next door.

His hair is silver-white, combed into a meticulously styled back, and fixed with a simple silver hairpin.

Phoenix King Asuryan.

He stretched out his hand, and the exquisite Eldar long sword flew back into his palm from the void, with the tip of the sword facing down, and it was stuck at his side.

He turned his head and looked at Slaanesh, with a gentle smile on his lips, like a teacher looking at a distracted student.

"If you try to snatch Isha away, my brother may not do anything wrong. But if you hurt his son, the hope that the fifth human being has finally saved will be gone. Do you think a fifth Chaos Gods, who is in charge of killing and destruction, will suddenly be born?"

Slaanesh's pupils shrank slightly under that gentle gaze.

Its body leaned back slightly in the void, with two thin swords crossed on its chest, and its purple eyes were full of shock and confusion.

Isha, no matter how you say it, he is half of our Eldar god.

Why don't you even have a little wisdom from Eldar?

The smile on the corner of Asuryan's mouth was still gentle, but there was a layer of ice under his eyes. His eyes looked at Slaanesh from top to bottom, as if he was looking at an ignorant child.

Guilliman looked at the figure walking from the void, and his eyelids twitched.

He had seen Asuryan. In Aeldari Gods's Garden of Nurgle, Asuryan at that time was wearing a plain white robe, as gentle as a reclusive old scholar.

At this moment, the Phoenix King is wearing a platinum cloak, holding the exquisite and gorgeous Eldar sword in his hand, and his whole body is burning with pale golden Psionic Energy flames.

The appearance of walking from the void is like walking on a red carpet, every step is taken just right, and every angle is carefully designed.