Warhammer: Don't Call Me the God of All Machines

Chapter 842 The Witch Hunt (Seeking Monthly Tickets)

Seeing that Waldo had taken the lead in revealing his true intentions, Macado also stopped hiding his own part of the mission and laid it all out.

"Dracnion?"

"You brought it back?"

Waldo's sharp, razor-sharp gaze swept over Macado, a rare hint of seriousness appearing in his eyes.

The Imperial Guard Marshal was indeed fearless, but that did not mean he was immune to difficulties.

The horrific memories of the Web War surged back instantly. In that terrifying war, Draknien inflicted more damage on the Ten Thousand Legion than all the other Warp Demons combined.

Anyone who is a human in the conceptual sense, whether you are a mortal, an Astartes, a member of the Imperial Guard, a Primarch, or even a mutant or demi-human, a mechano priest with little flesh on his body, will be restrained by Drachnien.

Even the mighty Imperial Guard Marshal felt an instinctive threat from a higher dimension when facing this destined enemy.

“Dracnion is a necessary insurance policy, but the real name you’re looking for isn’t absolute insurance. We must prepare for the worst and be ready to take the most extreme measures,” Macado said.

"Where did you hide Draknion?"

Waldo was still somewhat worried. He knew how terrible this demon was. If La Endymion hadn't sacrificed himself, using his own body and soul as a prison, the Emperor wouldn't have been able to banish him.

"Where to hide it? That's a good question." Makado suddenly revealed an enigmatic and strange smile.

“Deep within the Webpath, I encountered an individual extremely rare even among the Dark Eldar—a Bloodling of Comoros, who was searching for traces of human invaders with his servants.”

"Russ and his gang have turned the entire internet upside down, and even Comoros is in turmoil because of them."

"That's why this guy ran out of his lair and ended up running into me."

"Now that I've encountered the Blood Man, I naturally won't let go of such a mad master of flesh and blood sculpting."

A mad expert in flesh and blood shaping, a perfect living vessel to temporarily house Draknion… wasn’t that the perfect choice?

Lothie hadn't expected Macado's unexpected gain, which actually connected him to those Primarchs who had gone deep into the Web.

He had heard Uslan mention the Bloodwalkers, this special kind of being.

Even the prophet of Usvi's Ark was extremely wary when it came to the Bloodlust.

These greatest connoisseurs of pain and fear among the Dark Eldar have extremely profound knowledge of flesh and genetics.

The Bloodlust people have a great interest in any special biological race. They are not only obsessed with extracting different kinds of pain from different creatures by torturing them, but also keen on genetically modifying the creatures that fall into their hands.

According to Uslan, the Bloodlings also possess a special method of resurrection; they can revive anyone who has even a tiny bit of flesh left behind.

The Empire knows very little about the Bloodcrafters. These masters of fleshcraft spend most of their time hidden in the deep lairs of the Comoros, conducting research and experiments day after day, year after year, rarely showing themselves in public.

Makado's withered hand swept across the air, psychic energy surging, tearing open a rift in space to reveal an absolutely safe dimensional cage constructed of pure psychic energy.

The scene in the center of the cage was chilling: a distorted, withered, blood-red figure was tightly bound by invisible psionic chains.

The Blood Demon's pale body had no excess fat, and there were no internal organs in his waist; all those complex organs were hidden inside the muscles that grew on his shoulders.

The second pair of arms, granted by alchemy, hung limply at his sides, and his elongated bony tail dragged stiffly on the ground.

This blasphemous being's back extends a bony framework that is fixed to its head. A strangely shaped syringe hangs from the framework, its gleaming needle easily injecting drugs into its prey.

However, this infamous Bloodlust has now become the vessel for Macado to contain Draknien.

The Bloodthirsty Cultist, who has tormented countless lives and committed countless atrocities, believes himself to be immune to all the pain and suffering in the world.

But as the demon form of Draknien writhes within him, greedily devouring the twisted, modified organs and sucking at his withered soul, the Bloodlust couldn't help but let out a painful groan.

Physical pain is nothing to the Bloodthirsty Man, but his soul is his fatal weakness.

Even if the Dark Eldar hide in Comoros, they cannot escape the Slaanesh's perception forever.

Their souls will be slowly consumed by the Prince of Pleasure, and they must compensate for the decay of their own souls by tormenting other lives and creating suffering.

Drachnien has no physical form; at this moment, it is like a swirling, seemingly alive, dark mist exuding pure malice and an aura of annihilation.

When the demon sensed the gaze of the outside world, the dark mist suddenly surged and condensed into a greedy "face," attempting to breach the barrier of the psionic cage.

However, Makado's restraints were not so easy to break free from. Draknien roared furiously, but could only wear down a trace of the seal's power.

The Bloodthirsty Man screamed even louder as his soul was slowly devoured by Draknien.

Waldo showed no pity whatsoever; no matter how pitiful the Bloodlust Man screamed, it did not stir any emotion in him.

“But have you considered this?” Waldo looked at Drachnion and then pressed, “Unlike me, who used my true name to kill the Emperor, your use of Drachnion to kill the Emperor will have extremely negative consequences.”

"If Drachnien, who symbolizes the end of humanity, were to actually kill the Lord of Mankind, it would undoubtedly cause Drachnien's power to expand to its extreme in an instant."

"What will we do when the threat of the Dark Lord is gone, but we are faced with an even more terrifying and invincible Draknien?"

Upon hearing this, Luo Xi also fell into deep thought, her brows furrowed.

Waldo's concerns hit the nail on the head; it was indeed a fatal problem that could not be avoided.

"Since I dared to bring Draknien here, I naturally have a way to deal with him."

Makado's smile carried a hint of confidence in having the whole situation under control.

"Drakenion does not have a fixed form, but when it is held by a 'war master', its power is anchored and its form is locked."

It will materialize from the formless, intangible, and elusive concept of a demon in the subspace into a visible, tangible, and destructible... demonic sword.

"How much power a weapon can unleash depends on its user. If its master is a complete fool, a loser rejected by fate, then even if Drachnien is terrifying, how much of its true world-destroying power can it unleash?"

Rather than saying it found a master to use it, it's more accurate to say it found a suitable jailer, a suitable cage, and shackles.

Lothie looked at the Marker in disbelief. If it was really as he said, then the Demon Sword-transformed Draknien could be considered a huge weakening, enough to nullify the effects of killing the Emperor.

"Only the Warmaster... Horus is dead, so you chose Abaddon to be the holder of Draknien?"

Makado nodded slightly, confirming Rosie's guess.

"Abaddon has now become the new Chaos Warmaster, the Great Raider, and the ruler of the Black Legion."

"Even the Primarchs are willing to acknowledge Abaddon. He seems to be the one everyone wants, the one chosen by the gods to succeed Horus and continue to destroy the Empire."

Makado's tone turned sarcastic.

Suddenly, an out-of-control laugh came from the corner.

The laughter came from Peturabo, the Primarch, who tried hard to control his facial expressions, but unfortunately, he failed.

The original's facial muscles were twisted together, and you could see with the naked eye the muscles pulling back and forth, creating an expression that was difficult to maintain.

“Petulabo!” Guilliman hissed unhappily, instantly shattering the serious atmosphere.

"What are you doing? What's so ridiculous?" In Guilliman's view, Perturabo's gloating was a desecration of the heavy topic at hand.

In Guilliman's mind, Peturabo undoubtedly harbored schadenfreude.

“It’s nothing,” Peturabo said, trying to keep a straight face, but his voice betrayed a barely suppressed laugh. “It’s just… I suddenly remembered something very interesting.”

"Was it the ambush at Saturn Wall?"

The person who knew Perturabo best was undoubtedly Roger Dorn. Dorn only glanced at his brother and immediately understood why the other man was suddenly laughing.

“That’s right!” Peturabo seemed to have finally found an outlet, and his voice rose a few decibels.

"I discovered a huge flaw in the southwest wall of the palace, and the rebels were likely to exploit this weakness to launch a fierce attack. So I deployed an army there to ambush potential attackers," Dorn said.

“I saw the problem, and I believe that Perturabau must have seen through my backup plan as well. I thought that ambush army would not work, but in the end Abaddon led his sons of Horus and the sons of the Emperor into the fray.”

"In that skirmish, Abaddon's elite forces were almost completely wiped out; only Abaddon was teleported away." Dorn said expressionlessly.

"So it was you who tricked Abaddon, causing his most trusted legion to be almost completely wiped out?" Dorn asked. "I was wondering why Abaddon would so impulsively step into the trap. It turns out it was you."

Seeing that he finally had a chance to speak, Peturabo immediately seized the opportunity to show off his talent.

The Primarch, who had once betrayed his brother, discovered that while his brothers no longer harbored extreme hatred towards him, they were also unwilling to pay him any attention.

He was practically invisible to them, deliberately ignoring their presence.

Despite his immense pride, Peturabo still wanted to prove himself in front of his other brothers.

“I did not deceive Abaddon, this is slander!” Peturabo interrupted immediately, his tone filled with indignation at being misunderstood, but the smugness in his eyes was undisguised.

"That arrogant fool Abaddon thinks he's discovered a loophole I haven't, and he's smugly believing his insight surpasses mine."

"And what about me?" He spread his hands, looking helpless and innocent.

"I merely expressed a little admiration at the right time, and that I was bound by Horus's orders and unable to mobilize more power to fill that 'gap'."

"He insisted on jumping in; could I possibly stop him?"

"I've always been this understanding."

Listening to Perturabo's nonchalant description, the crowd even had a sense of absurdity: Abaddon was actually quite pitiful.

He was completely used as cannon fodder by Peturabo, who even smugly believed that his foresight was impeccable.

In reality, however, he was completely manipulated by Peturabo and became cannon fodder for scouting without even realizing it.

“I’m saying all this just to prove a fact—” Peturabo’s smile faded, and his voice became cold and resolute.

"No matter what Abaddon has become, no matter how glamorous his War Marshal title is, or how prestigious his name is, deep down he will always be that fool who crashed his head against the Saturn Wall and bled profusely, a complete loser."

"The reason he was able to become the second-generation Chaos Warmaster was twofold: firstly, there was really no one in the Chaos faction who could take on the responsibility; and secondly, Abaddon did indeed disguise himself very well."

"He disguised himself as a wise and powerful hero who would not give up until the empire was destroyed."

"If he becomes Draknien's master, it would undoubtedly be an epic weakening for this great enemy of humanity."

As he unravels the Emperor's meticulously planned and flawlessly executed scheme, Rosie has to admit its brilliance and ruthlessness.

On the surface, there seem to be no obvious loopholes. As long as the plan is followed, the emperor's liberation from the eternal confinement of the golden throne seems to be within reach.

“In that case,” Losi said, glancing around at everyone present—Marcado, Waldo, Guilliman, Dorn, and Peturabo, whose expression was complicated—“we shall now move on to the next phase of the plan.”

"On the surface, let the Alliance of Light led by Qile and the State Church of Terra led by Elfreda confront each other and fight for the high ground of faith."

"Once everyone's attention is focused on this far-reaching war of faith, we'll quietly return to Terra and... liberate the Emperor from the Golden Throne!"

The plan to liberate the Emperor was a top secret of the Empire, and even Lady Eudon did not know what Guilliman, Losi, and others were plotting.

She was just a little surprised that Guilliman seemed to have suddenly become busier and his schedule had become much more packed.

Makado no longer appears at the lake every day to continue fishing for fish that he can never catch.

This seasoned palace official sensed the unsettling atmosphere that preceded the storm.

The human empire, this ancient behemoth, may be about to undergo a revolutionary upheaval.

Just as Loshi and his associates were preparing to execute this plan that had been brewing for a century, a religious storm ignited by the Holy Terra was sweeping across the territory ruled by the State of Terra.

The source of this storm remains Holy Terra, with the Pope of the State Church of Terra calling on his followers to actively "purify" the organization—to find and report heresies among their own people.

Anyone who supports Qile's Light Alliance, or who has not fully expressed opposition, will be subject to individual scrutiny by the state church pastors.

Of course, what exactly this so-called "review" entails depends on the specific circumstances.

If it is proven that these people do not obey the state religion of Terra, then they will be immediately burned at the stake as heretics and sacrificed to the God-Emperor.

The Pope's original intention may have been to use this storm of faith to eliminate those hidden dangers within the Alliance of Light who secretly agreed with and supported it.

But this wildfire, ignited by fervor, became uncontrollable once it spread. Like falling dominoes, the chain reaction swept through countless nest worlds.

In various human-inhabited worlds, fanatical followers of the state religion began searching for what they considered "heretics."

Initially, heresy was defined as those humans who supported Qile and opposed the state religion of Terra.

As the religious uproar continued, the scope quickly expanded to include those who had previously expressed dissatisfaction with the high religious taxes levied by the state religion of Terra.

Later on, even those who claimed to have no faith or who retained a certain primitive belief were considered "heretics".

The normal operation of the human empire was thus severely affected, and those fanatics not only had no intention of stopping, but instead became keen on classifying more humans as heretics.

Countless people began to whip and mutilate themselves to prove their absolute loyalty to the emperor, otherwise they would most likely become victims in sectarian struggles.

In this increasingly frenzied environment, a "witch hunt" that had existed and been dormant since the Middle Ages has been revived and is intensifying.

Those fanatical followers of the state religion turned their attention to the growing number of illegal psionicists on the hive planet.

In their prophecy, psychic energy is a blasphemous power originating from the warp, and only psychic energy blessed by the God-King can be cleansed of this blasphemy and become a sacred power.

Aside from those in the state religion, all psychics possess "impure" psychic abilities.

The vast majority of psionic beings emerging among humans lack sufficient self-control; if they lose control of their emotions even once, they will become veritable walking time bombs.

If these psionicists get out of control, they could very well become conduits for warp corruption to enter the real universe, causing a series of terrible consequences.

Prior to this, one of the important responsibilities of the planetary governor was to control the number of illegal psykers under his jurisdiction to ensure that a large-scale warp corruption crisis would not be triggered.

However, the situation began to change. Religious conflicts erupting in various human worlds exhausted the planetary governors, and their control over this area began to loosen.

The direct consequence of this laxity is a gradual increase in the frequency of unlawful psionics going out of control, and a continuous rise in reports of damage and loss caused by warp corruption.

The state religion's response was simple and brutal: these illegal psychics were not blessed by the Emperor, therefore their power was tainted and dangerous, and for the safety of the Emperor's people, they should be burned at the stake.

Thus began a massive disaster called "purification," which was in reality a witch hunt.

The state religion hunted down these illegal psionicists and publicly gathered them together to be burned at the stake.

These extreme measures resulted in countless horrific massacres, with large numbers of innocent people being wiped out and killed by the state religion.

The psionic screams caused by the mass burning of psionicists can sometimes kill the entire population of a planet.

But even as chaos spreads across more and more of the human world, the State Church of Terra, the source of this witch hunt storm, shows no sign of stopping.

On the contrary, they seem to be deliberately escalating the storm.

Holy Terra, the core of the state temple.

Pope Elfreda sat enthroned on the throne, a symbol of supreme power, before her a mountain of parchment scrolls, exuding the musty smell of ink, awaiting her review and processing.

Beside her stood Christine, the newly ordained living saint of the Church of England, patiently assisting with the documents.

Inside the grand and bright room, the paper servants, made from the bodies of pure believers who voluntarily offered themselves, moved silently, carrying in more documents.

Amidst the hum of flapping metal wings, the cherubim sorted the processed files and placed them into towering archive shelves.

Elfreda loved these cherubim. In her eyes, these little things, a mixture of flesh and machine, perfectly embodied the majesty of the God-Emperor and the State Religion.

Cherubim inspire awe in others, thus further demonstrating that the Pope has the Emperor's approval and transferring that awe to the Pope.

Furthermore, some cherubim would install spy programs within their own ranks to monitor every move within the state temple and identify any disloyal spies and heretics.

"Under our guidance, large-scale sacrificial activities have spread like wildfire."

"The God-Emperor needs more sacrifices. When the bodies and souls of believers are consumed in the flames, their faith will be sublimated and refined."

"Only with sufficient sacrifice can He break free from His bondage sooner and embrace all mankind into His...merciful embrace."

The living saint spoke softly, and in her eyes, an incomparably deep darkness was surging and churning, countless times more active than at the beginning.

“More and more protests and opposition are emerging, and over four hundred planetary governors have issued a joint statement to me.” Alfreda’s voice carried a hint of weary indifference as her fingers traced a document.

“They want our religious taxes to be more realistic, and discontent among the people under their rule is growing rapidly.”

"Some people hope we can narrow the scope of the witch hunt. They claim that some psykers are controllable. Although they do not worship the Emperor, they have not turned to the Warp and should not be burned at the stake."

“Look, there are some foolish bishops who have advised me to restart peace negotiations with the Alliance of Light and sit down together to discuss our differences in faith.”

"Heh, how short-sighted! They only see the immediate gains and losses, without seeing the more valuable long-term returns."

With the help of the cherubim, the Pope reviewed the documents, but she rejected the vast majority of them and threw them directly into the incinerator to burn.

“Yes, people are always short-sighted, so they need our guidance,” the living sage said.

"Unfortunately, we cannot tell the world that those psionicists who were burned to death became sacrifices to the God-Emperor, and that their pitiful lives and souls achieved a value that a wasted life could never realize."

This witch hunt was initiated at her suggestion to the Pope. In fact, in the eyes of the living saint, the witch hunt of this scale has not yet reached the level she envisioned.

Christine could hear the sounds of the world burning fiercely and countless lives screaming in their dying moments all the time.

That was a revelation from the God-Emperor she worshipped—He was still dissatisfied with the current situation and desperately wanted to break free from the cage that imprisoned Him and freely exercise His will.

The living saint grieved for the state of her god, but all she could do was to speed up the process, even under immense pressure, to push the witch hunt forward.

The state religion lacked sufficient justification to arrest and burn all the psychics in the empire, so they resorted to this method of judging heretics to sacrifice the psychics.

Both the Pope and the living saints are well aware that if they continue in this way, they are likely to continue to shake the foundations of the state church's rule.

The more extreme and cruel their methods, the more people turn to Qile.

But they realized that time was running out, and for their God-Emperor, any price was worth paying.

As long as the God-Emperor can awaken and be born, the current internal conflicts among humanity will immediately disappear, and everyone will throw themselves into the God-Emperor's embrace, uniting together regardless of status or kinship.

The Pope and the living saint were moved to tears at the thought of that grand occasion.

Alfreda felt a little tired. She rose from her seat and, accompanied by the living saint, slowly strolled through the magnificent yet oppressive temple.

Within this temple, the highest authority of the state religion, are preserved the works of many outstanding and devout believers.

As the Pope walked and looked around, she saw countless densely packed words and drawings preserved on the magnificent walls of the church.

Some of them are hymns written in obscure and difficult language, while others are vivid murals painted with pigments made from a mixture of fanatical blood and ashes.

Countless exquisite yet eerie and sacred sculptures stand in every corner, monuments, museums of relics... together weaving a breathtaking web of faith.

Elfreda closed her eyes, listening to the soft rustling of the wind through the temple's pillars and walls, feeling the unique fragrance of human blood and ashes mixed in the air. Unconsciously, her weary heart calmed down once again.

She felt that every brick, every stone, every statue, and every hymn in the temple contained a peculiar feeling that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

This feeling made her more determined, more resolute, and more convinced that her choices and actions were correct.

"How are you feeling?" the living saint asked with concern.

"I'm much better now. The God-Emperor has not yet been born, so how can I fall down like this?" the Pope encouraged himself.

Elfreda straightened her back, her gaze seemingly piercing through the thick walls and the vast distance, directed towards the golden throne.

The emperor was asleep on his golden throne, and beside him, the emaciated Magnus opened his mouth wide, emitting silent howls and cries.

A chilling fear seemed to emanate from the Emperor, a pure and unadulterated darkness, the most absolute and extreme form of death.

Even though Magnus had been oppressed by the Golden Throne for a century, he was still extremely uneasy about the strange behavior of the emperor beside him, and felt a deep fear in his soul.

The Crimson King sensed His presence, a being that was on par with, or even more powerful than, the Lord of Change.

Holding the Spear of Dionysus, the Imperial Guard, always vigilant and clear-headed, stood motionless, silently watching the scene unfold like a statue.

“I suddenly had an idea that could increase the impact of our witch hunt and let more people see our determination.”

The whispers of the God-Emperor echoed in the Living Saint's mind once more. That terrifying aura of darkness and death tormented Christine's soul, causing her brain to twitch and twist, and even drawing blood from the corner of her mouth.

Even so, she was still smiling happily, because she had received another revelation from the God-Emperor.

The Pope looked at his living saint, waiting for him to offer his advice.

"The God-Emperor told me that there are two more sons of God in the Throne World."

"One of them is Magnus, who has committed a terrible crime and is now imprisoned on the golden throne. He is atoning for his sins for all eternity."

"The other one is imprisoned in the Shadow Prison guarded by the Imperial Guard. She is also a former Primarch who once rebelled, but unlike Magnus, the pure human blood in her body has been corrupted."

"Her blood contains both human and Eldar alien blood. Isn't such a witch exactly the kind of sacrifice we need?"

"The God-Emperor must be completely loyal to his Primarch, who will become his messenger and convey his will."

"Then what should we do?" A glint of light appeared in the Pope's eyes.

“Burning Mortalian and sacrificing her to the God-Emperor is the best salvation for her,” Christine replied.

(End of this chapter)