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

Chapter 693 Whoever wins is the original, whoever loses is the clone.
The ground crumbled inch by inch, the surrounding air temperature soared, the smell of ozone was sharp and pungent, and roaring lightning surged from beneath the ground. Neatly cut stone blocks floated in mid-air.

What terrifying psychic energy! The instant that energy was released, Azrael felt reality evaporate like dew under the sun, becoming thin and fragile.
The terrifying creature, the behemoth known to the Eldar as the Calamity of Maranthai, clearly raised its head and looked at Azrael.
Azrael felt a chilling malice. The psionic monster's feeding had been interrupted by Azrael's sword, and it now wanted to unleash its fury on Azrael.

Bang! ! ! ! ! !

Sharp psionic tentacles shot out, the powerful psionic energy instantly tearing through Azrael's shoulder armor.
A soul-crushing pain swept through Azrael's entire body; someone with a slightly weaker will would likely have already descended into madness and a split personality by now.

Just a hair's breadth away from death, Azrael was thankful that his reaction speed had once again paid off, allowing him to dodge a blow that could have instantly shattered his soul.
But the tentacle changed direction the instant it grazed Azrael's shoulder, slicing at a ninety-degree angle and aiming for Azrael's face.
In a flash, Horel displayed even greater speed than Azrael, his broadsword managing to block the psionic tentacles of Maranthai's Calamity.

"Do it!!"

Without Hrelel needing to say anything more, Azrael moved swiftly, his blade slicing through the psionic tentacle and shattering it. The resulting intense psionic shockwave caused Azrael's arm to throb with pain, his face contorting for a moment.
Maranthai let out a sharp roar, and the rocks suspended in mid-air by his psionic energy shattered into dust. The intense psionic energy transformed into surging waves, carrying a sharp force that pressed down on the Imperial army.

Many Astartes who were closer to the Maranthai Calamity and had lost their souls, leaving only their bodies, were directly blasted into fragments by this wave of psionic energy.

The think tank squad from Deathwatch, Blood Angels, and Dark Angels promptly erected a psionic barrier. The think tanks' psionic energy mingled together, burning as fiercely as a roaring wildfire.

In contrast, the psionic power of the Maranthai Calamity was like a scorching star; the psionic shield erected by the think tank team shattered in just two or three seconds.
But at that moment, a surge of psionic energy, even stronger than the combined souls of all the think tank teams, erupted from the ruined fortress.

A warrior, taller than the average Astartes and clad in unpainted power armor, stepped out from beside Archsage Belisarius Caul. This Astartes emanated four distinct styles of psionic energy.
Like a frigid hurricane, like a clear, bright sky, like cryptic scriptures, like feudal superstition, four kinds of spiritual energy surged forth simultaneously, colliding with the spiritual energy of the Calamity of Maranthai. For a moment, neither could gain the upper hand, and both shattered, tearing several hideous rifts in the void, revealing the supreme heaven hidden beneath reality.

Many demons in the High Heavens noticed the existence of this warp rift. They cheered wildly, poked their heads out from the rift, and attempted to flood into the real world.

For demons, this behavior is practically instinctive. Intruding into the real world is a risk-free and highly profitable endeavor for them. Even if there are dangers in reality, at most they will simply die and be reborn in the warp.

But as soon as they poked their heads out, psionic tentacles shot out and pierced through the bodies of these demons.

The physical forms these demons had just acquired quickly withered away, and what terrified them even more was that their very essence was being rapidly devoured.
The demons let out terrified howls, and those that were lucky enough to escape being pierced by the psionic tentacles fled in panic towards the Empire.

Their idea was very simple: be killed by the Astartes, then escape back to the warp and resurrect.
However, what greeted them was a whistling warhammer.

Fugen's face was contorted in agony, the three scars on his cheeks grotesque and terrifying, making him resemble a venomous snake that had just been used as a Fiji Cup; his resentment was almost tangible.
That insect dared to let him see it, to make him almost experience it firsthand, impersonating the person he loved most. Fugen let out a roar.
In a single exchange, the demons charging towards the Imperial forces were shattered by the hammer, their limbs broken, but they were not banished back to the warp; they were merely rendered incapable of movement.

Then, behind Fugen, miniature Doraemon emerged one by one, shaking the pouches on their bellies, and flew towards the demons with smiles on their faces.

The demons shuddered, their faces filled with fear, and twisted their bodies in an attempt to struggle, but were grabbed by Mini Doraemon's round hand and stuffed into his pocket.

Maranthai sensed the chilling danger emanating from Fugen, and immediately changed direction, conjuring a large number of psionic tentacles that surged towards Fugen.

Fugen's Forge Shatterer trembled, and a burst of orange-yellow flames, like a furnace, erupted, instantly shattering the psionic tentacles into countless azure fragments.
His violet eyes, filled with rage, were fixed on Fugen.

The humiliation he had just suffered in the illusion released by the Calamity of Maranthai had now turned into rage, and he wanted to burn the Calamity of Maranthai to ashes.

Maranthai's body trembled slightly as powerful psionic energy swirled around him, pulling him backward abruptly.

Fugen stepped forward and pursued, while the Astartes behind him quickly unleashed their ammunition on Maranthai's calamity.

The brain of the Marantai calamity writhed violently like worms, and faint roars and wails echoed incessantly.

Everything around Maranthai suddenly dimmed, as if he had devoured everything nearby.
A sharp insect chirp rang out, and a howling psionic wind surged from all around Maranthai's Calamity. The projectiles fired at him quickly ignited, disintegrated, and turned to ashes under the influence of the psionic wind.
The psionic wind swept across the entire battlefield in the blink of an eye, directly impacting the Astartes.

These psionic winds seemed to contain countless burning, tiny insects. The terracotta armor was stained red by the intense heat, and the flames tore through the power armor, seeping into the flesh and skin of the Astartes beneath, instantly igniting all the nerve synapses in their bodies.

A mournful cry echoed as the Astartes, touched by the psionic winds, spewed scorching flames from their mouths, their bodies instantly incinerated, turning into withered bones as they fell.

Azrael and Horel were alert enough that the moment the psionic winds blew, they led their squad to a safe position.

But this was because they were far enough apart to have enough reaction time. The Primarch clone Fergen, charging at the forefront, had no time to dodge and collided head-on with Maranthai's terrifying psionic power.

The magnificent armor, inlaid with purple and gold, was ignited by roaring psionic energy. Crimson spots of light spread across the metal like fungi, and Fugen's power armor bubbled up like an effervescent tablet soaking in water, dissolving inch by inch.

The sounds of burning and the roar of psionic energy drowned out all other noises, blurring Fugan's vision. The deadly psionic energy, like trillions of tiny insects, burrowed into his power armor and into his flesh.
Fugen's skin began to burn inch by inch, and the nerves buried between his flesh and blood acted like lit fuses, transmitting terrifying psychic energy to every part of Fugen's body.
This was followed by intense hallucinations; everything Fugen had just witnessed in the illusion woven by the Maranthai Calamity resurfaced.

The ordeal of Marantai unearthed the darkest, most fearful, and most unbearable memories deep within Fugen's heart.

That memory had always existed in Fugen's brain tissue, but he had concealed and buried it.
Fugen saw Feralas's head; he saw his own pale, sickly self cradling Feralas's head in his hands, murmuring incoherent words, expressing apology and love, expressing the brokenness of his heart.

He began rubbing his face against Feralus's head, whispering in Feralus's ear, then laughing maniacally, as if he had just told Feralus a delightful joke.

Then, he saw himself cradling Feralas's head, getting closer and closer.
How can such humiliation be tolerated?
A voice asked in Fugen's ear,
A voice answered before Fugen could, a groan of depravity born of humiliation, a pleasure born from the memory of that profane indulgence.
Fugen replied that he could not bear the humiliation, the depravity, or any of it; he was furious and wanted to wash away this shame.

A silence fell over the subspace, and Fugen sensed a sense of acceptance.
He vaguely saw a purple-gold figure similar to himself, standing in the purple tide of decay, looking at him with a sorrowful gaze.
You remind me of myself in the past.
+It's even more like me than I am now+
Fugen let out a sharp wail.
Maranthai's Calamity seemed to interpret this as a sign of Fugen's impending downfall, and it unleashed even more frenzied psychic energy upon him, tearing at his nerves and digging into his dark and depraved memories.

Fugen's skin was almost entirely ablaze, and his exposed muscles were quickly ignited as well. Only his violet eyes grew ever sharper.
A burning pain coursed through Fugen's body, but he charged toward Maranthai's calamity faster and faster.

Marantai's will froze for a moment; his mind struggled to process what was happening before him.
The psionic feedback told him that all the neural synapses of the creature before him had been ignited, yet it was still active, which completely defied basic biological common sense.

Suddenly, Maranthai's warp senses detected something.
Something, a torrent from some subspace, is constantly flowing into Fugen's body. That torrent seems to be a reflection of Fugen himself, yet it also seems to have some subtle differences from Fugen.

The Hive's will received the information seen by Maranthai's Calamity. Realizing the danger, it quickly projected a wisp of will, issuing commands to Maranthai's Calamity.
The psionic sniper shot has moved up five centimeters.
The psionic winds blowing over Fugen vanished in an instant, and Fugen seized the opportunity, lunging fiercely at Maranthai's Calamity.

Maranthai's Calamity slightly raised its head, all its psionic energy converging into a single point—

A beam of psionic energy, only a finger's width wide, shot out from the crown of Maranthai's Calamity, instantly piercing through Fugen's left forehead, penetrating Fugen's brain tissue, and burning half of Fugen's brain to ashes.

Fugen's body fell heavily to the ground, and a deathly silence filled the air.

Maranthai's Calamity raised its head slightly and, under the control of the Hive's will, let out a roar that was clearly a celebration of victory.

Fugen lay on the ground with his head tilted to one side, his eyes empty and lifeless.
+It looks even more like it+
The voice rang in Fugen's ears again, as if he too had been sniped through the head, and a sense of resonance flowed between the voice and Fugen.
Fugen gripped the Forgebreaker's Warhammer tightly, leaped into the air, and slammed the hammer down on Maranthai's chin.

A dull thud rang out as Maranthai's jaw was ripped open, the lower half of his brain tissue shattered from the impact of the hammer, and thick fluid splattered out.

Maranthai's mind went blank again; Fugen's brain tissue was clearly damaged, but he was not yet dead.
The Hive's will reacted a fraction of a second later, but this was actually a good thing for Maranthai's calamity; his biological instincts led him to do the right thing.

A powerful psychic energy enveloped Maranthai's Calamity, and he vanished instantly, disappearing without a trace.

Fugen was panting heavily; the grotesque hole on his forehead was healing and reshaping at an abnormal speed.
He felt more and more within him, and dark, blasphemous, and chilling destinies began to flicker and swirl before his eyes.
The perfect end is so dirty, ugly, and depraved.
He wanted to vomit, but in the end he only let out a horrifying whimper, and tears involuntarily streamed down Violet's face.

Slaanesh let out a sharp howl; He realized that something of His own had been stolen.
A portion of Forgrim was extracted and flowed into the clone's body.

Slaanesh's resentment surged towards the Moon Viewing Platform, clashing with Zhou Yun's will; the two intertwined relentlessly.
Slaanesh condemned Zhou Yun for his underhanded tactics in stealing the original body that rightfully belonged to Him.

Zhou Yun smiled and slapped Slaanesh across the face, insulting him for not even being able to control his own Primarch.

It is foolish to separate the essence of the Primitive from the Primitive itself; the essence of the Primitive is the Primitive itself.
The fact that a portion of Forgrim's essence flowed into Forgren can only mean one thing:
Deep within Fugrim's heart, in the depths of those corrupted wills, still resides the proud and noble purple phoenix of yesteryear.
That part of Forgrim couldn't accept himself as he was now; deep down, he believed that cloning Forgrim was closer to his true self.

The warp is a world of will; your belief is your magic, and reality will be distorted into whatever you believe.
It was a part of Forgrim that chose to let his essence flow to Forgrim, rather than Forgrim stealing Forgrim's essence.

"Why not let the two Lion Gates fight it out? Whoever wins will be the Primarch, and whoever loses will be the Clone."

(End of this chapter)