More familiar figures stood farther along the road. They were all part of the price—the price Boss Slick had to pay to become a god, the price of washing away his humanity.
Yes, they were all Orks, all born to fight. Dying in battle was what they had hoped for, too. There was no need to mourn them.
But memory was an abyss. A god was a vessel capable of preserving limitless information and memories. Unless he found a way to wash away his humanity, all that endlessly preserved information would drive a god mad sooner or later.
At the end of the path to the divine throne, Boss Slick was destined to be alone, destined to gain power, destined to lose everything.
Boss Slick did not want to become a god, yet for reasons written into his fate, the divine throne was racing toward him.
Back when Boss Slick had still been a humie, he had often jokingly mocked the Emperor's declaration, "I am not a god." Looking back now, he realized how much hope and helplessness those words held.
Boss Slick's resolve had been firm, but when he saw the apparition approaching him, he wavered. It was a ball of flesh, a life-form that constantly changed.
"Hols..."
Vashtorr had just been about to make a probing attack on the motionless Boss Slick when Boss Slick stirred and began pulling the spikes out of his body, one by one.
Having divided himself into countless parts, Vashtorr felt relieved that he had not impulsively attacked in person. Boss Slick was far too cunning. He must have been trying to lure Vashtorr into revealing himself.
Sensing Boss Slick's aura climbing ever higher, Vashtorr kept shifting his main consciousness between his avatars, evading Boss Slick's scrutiny.
Vashtorr understood the Orks as a