I'm in Warhammer, please don't praise Doraemon

Chapter 581 Vashtor is truly an honest and kind man!
Thick liquid gushed from the pipes and poured into the mangled body.
His eyes were gouged out, his eyelids were sewn back together with neat, uniform silk thread, his lips were peeled off, his teeth were pulled out, and the steel awl that was originally used to hold his upper and lower teeth in place was pulled out by Vashtor.

His arms and legs were nowhere to be found, as was his torso below the chest. His internal organs were suspended in a greenish liquid, and his two hearts and three lungs were faintly visible through the severed opening.

His skin was also peeled off with great patience. The skinner's skill was astonishing; while completely removing Abaddon's skin, he didn't damage the muscles beneath, exposing Abaddon's bright red muscles, which slowly twitched and convulsed.

The torturer even brutally cut off Abaddon's topknot!
But this does not mean that Abaddon was ugly at this moment.

Vashtor looked at Abaddon with admiration.

He had to admit that Abaddon was at the peak of his good looks at that moment.
Abaddon's limbs were cut so neatly, symmetrically, and precisely that the incisions on his torso perfectly conformed to the golden ratio. The internal organs that fell from between the flesh and blood appeared to hang randomly, but in fact, the intestines were coiled in the shape of a Fibonacci sequence and fixed with steel needles.
Excess intestines and organs like the liver were removed, leaving only the colon, which drooped naturally under the pull of a pear-shaped metal object inserted into it, forming a golden triangle with the two hearts that protruded slightly from the upper part of the torso.

His muscles, from which his skin was peeled off, were not undesigned. The dust on his muscles was carefully wiped clean, and fresh blood was injected into them, shaping his muscles into a bright red, ruby-like color, while also swelling just the right amount, making his physique slender yet robust.

Vashtor could sense the ingenuity of the person who transformed Abaddon and his aesthetic sensibilities.
Even a mortal so ignorant of the beauty of proportion that he has no knowledge of it would instinctively feel beauty from Abaddon's mutilated body, aside from fear, if he stood here.
Even Vashtor was unwilling to call it a mutilated body.
From an aesthetic and mathematical perspective, Abaddon is actually more complete and perfect at this moment than before.

"Is this the cooperation you promised?"

Abaddon opened his toothless mouth.

Even in this state, he still did not die.
Vashtor could only marvel at the immense power of the four gods; they said they wouldn't let Abaddon die, and they wouldn't let him die.
He also desires to ascend to such a position, to reach the ultimate state, and then to exhaustively understand the principles of all things, to comprehend the nature of mind and matter in both realms, to attain a truly unconstrained state, to seek the knowledge he desires, and to create the things he desires, regardless of morality, justice, or stance.

"I collected so many key fragments for you! And you abandoned me!"

"Vashtor! You bastard!!!"

Abaddon roared at Vashtor at the top of his lungs, his mutilated body trembling uncontrollably, somewhat ruining the original aesthetic.

"My body was destroyed by Doraemon's Great Demon and the Chosen Ones."

Vashtor said calmly, Abaddon's roar did not provoke his anger in the slightest:
"This is an unforeseen event and does not constitute a breach of contract on my part. This matter is also recorded in Article 1679 of our contract."

"Who the hell can read all those contracts of yours?!" Abaddon roared angrily.

He now has all four limbs severed, many of his internal organs removed, two-thirds of his spine pulled out, and his skin completely peeled off; he's practically a cripple.

If it weren't for the blessings of the gods that kept him alive, he would have been dead.
“You must heal me! You must make me stand up again!!” Abaddon said in a hoarse voice.

Vashtor sighed wearily.
What did Abaddon think he was doing?
Before Abaddon regained consciousness, Vashtor had already begun treating him.
It's worth noting that Forgrim inserted thousands of barbed needles into Abaddon's three lungs, and Vashtor had to remove them one by one to avoid interfering with subsequent treatment.

"Of course I will heal you; it's stipulated in Article 138 of our contract."

"That is: Vashtor is obligated to treat all injuries that Warmaster Abaddon has suffered and will suffer in the future in the manner he deems best, so as to ensure that Abaddon is in the best condition to fulfill his obligation to help Vashtor collect the key fragments."

Vashtor said in his calm and unquestionable tone:

“I will make you stand up again, make you wield the magic sword Draenecoan again, make you re-equip the Claw of Horus, restore your ability to fight, and even make you taller, stronger, and more powerful than before.”

Vashtor's words carried a sincerity that Abaddon hadn't felt in a long time.
His instincts told him that Vashtor was not lying.

"Really?" Abaddon couldn't help but ask with a hint of doubt.

He really didn't believe these subspaces existed, even though Vashtor had always acted differently.

“This is stipulated in our contract, and I will never break the contract I signed myself,” Vashtor said, his tone so firm as to leave no room for doubt.

Abaddon was momentarily moved, realizing that Vashtor was truly different.

Unlike other beings in the subspace who are full of lies and riddles, he said what he meant, was straightforward, and everything was written in the contract.
Honest, reliable, and trustworthy.

Vashtor led a team of steel warriors to lift the life support pod containing Abaddon and walk out of the treatment room.

"How will you heal me?" Abaddon felt slightly uncomfortable being carried into the life support pod.
He felt that this life support capsule was somewhat like a coffin, and he was a corpse being lifted out of the coffin, about to be buried in his own grave.
This idea made Abaddon uneasy, prompting him to ask, "It's the best treatment technique I know."

Vashtor answered calmly and frankly:
"Since I took on the task of healing the wound on your chest, I have been thinking about how to keep you in combat for a long time."

“Those are scars left by the power of the Four Gods. Even if I ascend to godhood, I may not be able to remove them perfectly. This is a tremendous challenge for me.”

"Fortunately, after much thought, I finally found the right method."

"I have built a medical machine, the culmination of all my creativity. It is both a medical pod that restores your mobility and a weapon of war that makes you incomparably powerful."

"To create it, I even paid a considerable price, obtaining technical support from Peturabo, and with the enchantment magic you obtained from Luojia, I was able to complete it."

"Perfect timing, it's come in handy right now."

Abaddon once again sensed sincerity in Vashtor's words, and his trust in Vashtor deepened.

"But why didn't I know this machine existed?" Abaddon asked, still with some doubt.

Vashtor suddenly turned his head, staring at Abaddon in the life support pod with his fiery red eyes.

“I sent the information about this machine to your desk five months ago, in document number 65-978.”

Abaddon was immediately embarrassed.
Vashtor was indeed sincere enough; everything he did, every machine he designed, and every plan he formulated was written into thick documents and sent to Abaddon's desk.

Abaddon did manage to watch some of it, but eventually realized he couldn't finish it all and gave up.

Vashtor did not reprimand Abaddon, but simply nodded and continued walking at the front of the procession, leading the Iron Warriors to carry Abaddon to a room deep within the Soul of Vengeance.
Abaddon had never seen this room, nor did he know of its existence or when it appeared.

Abaddon wasn't surprised, after all, the Soul of Vengeance was as large as a city, and he couldn't fully understand it. Moreover, the Soul of Vengeance had been subjected to a high degree of warp corruption, so it was normal to have a few rooms he had never seen before.

The room was filled with all sorts of machinery, wet parts, spare parts, and all kinds of tools.

The large machines, clearly used for assembling something, were still humming and emitting bursts of scalding steam mixed with subspace energy. Demons, dimensional blacksmiths, and members of the Dark Mechanicus could be vaguely seen moving between the machines.

Abaddon's life support pod quickly came to a stop, but it was still being held up by the Iron Warriors and not put down.
Abaddon was facing the ceiling, his view was limited, and he couldn't see his surroundings very clearly.

He could only barely twist his body, raising his head to glance around out of the corner of his eye.

The first thing he saw was that figure, like a giant steel wall.

That's Peturabo; he seems to be assembling something.
And standing beside Peturabo were seven ferocious demons.

A near-human figure, with purplish skin, covered in vibrant scarlet flowers, emaciated, and with deep-set eyes, resembling a drug addict.

A fat, obese figure, resembling a Nurgle Demon, was remarkably clean, devoid of Nurgle spirits or other bacteria.
A tall, strong figure, with the upper body of a human and the lower body of a horse, his body stained crimson with blood, wielding a saber and a bow, with countless skulls hanging from his waist.

A figure with a cunning expression, a bird's head, and a blue body holds up a pyramid. Upon closer inspection, one can see that the pyramid is constructed by thousands upon thousands of people stacking it layer upon layer.

A creature, its body as black as iron, lay prone on the ground, riddled with bullets, its head a protruding gun barrel, a dark, gaping hole that seemed to have swallowed countless lives.

One was a gigantic locust, its body dripping with blood, its eyes bulging like a frog's, its legs like those of a dead animal, its wings like those of a fly, and hail was falling from its body.

The last one is hard to describe. It looks like an octopus, a star, or a sculpture of non-Euclidean geometry, but it cannot be described with accurate words. It seems completely unknowable and unnameable, like some kind of twisted and bizarre thing that transcends reason.

Furthermore, Abaddon's cursed sword, Delanickon, was also placed among the seven demons.
The seven demons and Draenecoan formed a circle, surrounding a massive machine at the center.

Upon seeing the machine, Abaddon's pupils contracted instantly, and he let out the sharpest scream he could muster.

(End of this chapter)