Calas Typhon Decided to Call for Backup

162. Calas Typhon Decided to Call for Backup

This was a serious problem.

Sometimes, Calas Typhon would silently ponder what exactly motivated him to keep living.

It might have been hatred for Xenos, longing for fame and fortune, an inability to let others walk alone, or even—he meant even—perhaps simply because he did not want to die.

There could have been many possibilities.

But the one thing it absolutely could not be was living long enough to see a Greenskin talk about the Underking and Mortarion.

He could not breathe.

This was even more despairing than being swallowed by a Great Unclean One and suffocating in a greater daemon of Nurgle's stomach. At least that could be understood, could be imagined—unlike this.

Greenskin Warlord, High Gothic, Underking, Mortarion... could those fucking keywords even be connected?!!!

Calas roared at the sky in his heart, wishing the Emperor would send down a bolt of lightning and kill him right now—or kill those two idiots first.

He had already lost count of how much suffering he had endured, and how much of it had been utterly undeserved disaster brought upon him by those two idiots back then.

Yes, he had gained supreme power, but he had also taken on responsibilities far beyond it. At the very least, Calas believed that the old hands in other Legions would never encounter a scene like this, nor would they have to bear the damage it inflicted upon their reputation and responsibility.

He was an idiot. He should have run away the year the Deathwatch had recruited.

Anyone could become Death Guard, but Calas Typhon should have passed.

He could not bear it.

When Calas Typhon's consciousness finally returned from that drifting state, he prayed once more that he would simply faint—or that the Emperor would grant