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

Chapter 843 Burn Mortalian! (Seeking monthly votes)
As the name Mortalian pierced the air, Pope Elfreda's pupils contracted sharply, and a complex expression of hatred mixed with ecstasy appeared on her face.

"Is it really true? The Empire's records about those Primarchs who betrayed the Emperor are already fragmented and mostly vague."

“Even their names are being erased from the memory of the galaxy little by little by the will of the Empire, like wiping away the stain of shame.” The Pope’s voice grew increasingly low.

"I thought that the Pale Tyrant of the Death Guard, Mortalian of Barbarus, had also disappeared into the Eye of Terror like the other traitorous Primarchs, or perhaps he was simply dead."

“Motalian is an exception.” The undead was still processing the revelation given by the God-Emperor. She wiped the blood from her face and the corners of her mouth, her breathing rapid.

The Emperor is the Black King; the two are two sides of the same coin and are inseparable.

Most of the Emperor's memories and thoughts could not be hidden from the Black King, who was also the one who knew the Emperor's existence best.

He knew that "He" was plotting to completely break free from the throne of the Chaos Octagon, and He would do everything in His power to stop the Emperor. They would eventually become the only cold sun in the warp.

"After the Emperor recaptured Mortalian, he didn't know how to deal with this former traitor."

"So she was temporarily imprisoned, but before the Emperor could come up with a solution, the Lord of Humanity had to fall into a deep sleep."

"Strictly speaking, this is a legacy issue."

The Pope abruptly waved his hand, the movement as sharp as a blade, cutting off the living saint's narrative.

"unimportant."

“None of that matters. I only care about the God Emperor’s will. I just want to know what we should do next.”

"The will of the God-Emperor is the key to all problems. I will do whatever He requires of me."

True believers do not use their own base thoughts to speculate about or question the will of God.

"If someone imposes their own ideas on God, then he is definitely a hypocrite."

Elfreda's voice was incredibly firm; even if the God-Emperor ordered her to give her life right now, she would not hesitate to offer her neck for execution.

A glimmer of approval appeared on the weary face of the living saint, who then spoke of the revelation he had received and some of his thoughts.

"Motalian is currently under the tight control of the Imperial Guard. We must use the name of the God-Emperor to obtain Mortalian from these most loyal guards."

A cold light flashed in Christine's eyes.

"Once the first step is complete, we will announce our plan to the entire galaxy—we will burn a traitorous Primarch at the stake, using her tainted, profane blood to prove our resolve and courage to everyone:"

“Even Primarchs will have to pay with their lives for betraying the Queen of God. This will be a strong signal to deter the heretics and the various Space Marine legions they support.”

“If Guilliman stays put in his own Alteramar and stops interfering with the imperial structure, we can tolerate him for a little longer.”

The Pope dug her nails into her palms; she felt a deep-seated disgust for these audacious and unruly Primarchs.

The Primarchs are the offspring of the God-Emperor; shouldn't they maintain a stance aligned with the God-Emperor?
The State Religion is the Emperor's sole representative in the world, and from any perspective, the Primarch should be an ally of the State Religion, not an enemy.

However, reality was quite the opposite of what she had imagined. All the Primarchs, led by Guilliman, harbored naked hostility towards the Cult of Terra, and were even one step away from a complete break with them.

Their joint statement on Qile was etched into the Pope's soul; she could not tolerate these men's blatant defiance of the Emperor's will.

The loyal Astartes Legion should be the high wall of the Empire, a shield against enemies, not openly supporting the heresy of the state religion and committing the heinous act of splitting the Empire.

The Pope fell into deep thought, his mind racing as he calculated the benefits that the storm of burning Mortalian would bring.

It's inevitable that the prestige of the Terran state religion will be elevated. They can even burn traitorous Primarchs alive, so how could they possibly let other heretics go unpunished?

Those who are wavering in the storm will see the state religion's iron-fisted methods and will most likely turn to them out of fear.

This heavy blow was enough to make the "Imperial Commander" with his vast army think twice before stepping out of Alteramar.

As for the adverse effects... Elfreda repeatedly considered them in her mind, but a cold smile curled at the corner of her lips.

From any perspective, the execution of Mortalian is undeniably justified, and no one has the right to criticize the State Church.

“These are just the visible effects,” the living saint added.

“Burning Mortalian is itself a grand sacrificial ritual. We can offer everything she has—her power, her existence, her essence—to the God-Emperor.”

"After completing the sacrificial ceremony, Mortalian will be infused with new pure blood by the God-Emperor and become His representative in the world."

"At that time, our state religion will also possess its own absolutely loyal Primarch, a direct force capable of rivaling Guilliman!"

The Pope was overwhelmed by an indescribable surge of power, a mixture of pleasure and ecstasy, as she contemplated how those high and mighty Primals, who had once looked down upon mortals as ants, would eventually grovel at her feet and obey her commands. A soft moan escaped her throat.

"In that case, go ahead and do it. I'll help you withstand the pressure."

Alfreda looked at her living saint, her daughter, her eyes filled with pride and admiration.

With the mother and daughter working together, they will surely be able to make the entire empire even more prosperous.

Christine bowed slightly, then left the magnificent yet oppressive state church with the Pope's direct orders.

She was accompanied only by a squad of elite combat nuns, and went directly to the throne room, where the Living Saint knew that she could find the Imperial Guard.

At this moment, the shadow of the state religion has enveloped everything in Holy Terra.

Other high lords all face immense pressure from the state religion; if a decree is not approved by the state religion, it is almost impossible for it to be effectively implemented.

They must be harboring resentment, but they dare not express it openly, remaining silent and waiting for the so-called opportune moment to retaliate.

Christine's psychic perception, imbued with the power of the God-Emperor, was exceptionally sharp. From the moment she left the State Church Temple, those cold and wary gazes from the shadows followed her like a shadow.

The Imperial Guards were almost perfectly concealed, but unfortunately, the Living Saint was filled with the great power of the God-Emperor.

The Imperial Guards were the Emperor's personal guards, and with the Emperor's instructions, they were simply unable to perfectly conceal themselves.

Christine smiled and ignored the Imperial Guards.

When she had walked a hundred paces outside the throne room, the royal guards finally appeared and stopped them.

"Entry into the throne room is strictly prohibited. Violators will be killed without exception." The cold voice was flat and emotionless, like the scraping of metal.

The tall, golden-armored guards stood firm like a high wall, their magnificent golden armor engraved with various totems symbolizing their achievements and experiences, each guard being unique.

Even a living saint could smell the subtle odor produced by the Imperial Guards' spears activating a disintegrating force field and the electric arcs ionizing the air.

But Christine wasn't annoyed; she simply waved her hand gently, signaling her nun guards to retreat and maintain a safe distance.

She walked slowly to the side of the Imperial Guards, showing no fear of the lightning-strewn blades so close at hand, almost pressing her face against their armor.

"I bring the God-Emperor's command. Do you also intend to disobey His will?"

“You are not qualified to stop me. Go and summon Diocletian, the tribune of the plebs. I will convey the will of the God-Emperor.”

The more aggressive and confident the living saint appeared, the more the doubts in the hearts of the Imperial Guards grew wildly.

They knew that this so-called living saint could hear the emperor's call, but how credible that was was something they simply couldn't verify.

Could they possibly question the emperor about whether he had truly bypassed his own imperial guards and issued an order to the state religion?

The Imperial Guard disliked the state religion and abhorred the act of worshipping their master as a god, which they considered a blasphemous act that, while seemingly well-intentioned, was actually full of malicious intent.

The Imperial Guard knew perfectly well how much the Emperor hated religion and faith.

However, it was precisely this possibility that could not be completely disproven, like an invisible shackle, that forced the Imperial Guard to choose a temporary and cautious acquiescence to the expansion of the state religion.

The two guards exchanged glances, one of them nodding slightly, his figure instantly transforming into a flowing golden light and disappearing into the deep shadows of the palace.

Before long, a taller and more imposing imperial guard appeared.

He had an arm that differed from the other guards; the armor on this arm was painted silver-white, creating a striking and jarring contrast with the main gold color scheme.

“I am Diocletian. What do you have to say… that you need to relay to me?”

The tribunal, with a cold face, questioned the living saint.

“In accordance with the Emperor’s will, I request that your Guard release the traitorous Primarch, Mortalian of the Fourteenth Legion, imprisoned in the Shadow Prison.” Christine’s voice was clear and powerful, echoing in the empty corridor.

"From this moment forward, the State Religion will have the authority to dispose of Mortalian. We will use the blood of this traitor to prove that the Emperor's bottom line is inviolable, and anyone who crosses it will pay a heavy price."

Diocletian's heart sank; he didn't understand why the Church of England knew of Mortalian's existence.

This is one of the Empire's top secrets. During the Siege of Terra, all those who knew of Mortalian's existence were either killed or had their memories erased.

In public statements, Mortalian was said to have died in that brutal war, and her body did not survive.

Has the influence of the state religion extended into the Imperial Guard?

Diocletian immediately dismissed this absurd idea; the loyalty of the Guards was impeccable, and he absolutely did not believe in such a possibility.

Since it wasn't the Imperial Guards, the leak must have come from somewhere else.

The Chief of the Guard has made up his mind and may launch an investigation into the Space Marines.

“I don’t care how you know about Prisoner XIV, but you should know that I won’t carry out orders just because of your empty promises.” Diocletian’s voice was even colder, carrying a metallic chill.

"It was the Emperor himself who ordered Mortalian's imprisonment. No one is allowed to harm her until the Emperor issues a new order."

Diocletian also harbored hatred for Mortalian, but emotions were never the key factor in deciding matters for the Guards.

The Imperial Guard's creed was: duty above all else, loyalty above emotions.

However, the living saint had already anticipated the Imperial Guards' answer; this was the moment she had been waiting for.

“You want the Emperor’s personal command, which I naturally cannot give. After all, the Emperor now sits on the Golden Throne and no longer personally guides humanity.”

"But I have a way to get the Emperor to send a revelation, which is the only way to prove the Emperor's will under the current circumstances."

“I need to reach the Golden Throne to do this, Your Excellency Tribunal. Make your choice.”

Diocletian’s breathing rate suddenly changed slightly, his heart began to beat faster, and even his adrenaline was secreted in excess.

The Imperial Guards yearned for more inspiration from the Emperor, and now an opportunity presented itself.

However, allowing anyone other than the Guards into the Throne Room would undoubtedly violate the Guards' principles.

Diocletian pondered for a full thirteen seconds, then stared intently at the living saint, as if trying to see through the truth and falsehood deep within her soul.

“I can make an exception for you this time, but you must know that if you cannot get the Emperor to give me a revelation that can persuade me, then you will pay a bloody price.”

"No one can use the Emperor's name to commit blasphemous acts of deception and fraud!"

The tribune desperately wanted to prove that the living saint was lying, but he was also extremely conflicted and hoped it was true.

“Your Excellency the Protector of the People, I do not need you to make me pay the price. If I cannot get the Emperor to react, I will immediately commit suicide in front of him.”

The Imperial Guard conducted a rigorous search of the living saint, and even the other part of the Emperor's Claw—the Silent Sisters—personally intervened to ensure that Christine was free of any evil warp magic.

The Silent Sister withdrew her Soulless Stance with slight confusion, as she could sense a peculiar power surging within the Living Saint's body.

The feeling she got from the other person was remarkably similar to the feeling she got from the emperor.

The Silent Sisters had fought countless battles alongside the Emperor, and their special abilities to counter psionicists only failed when facing the Emperor.

The living saint's face remained calm, as if he had already anticipated this outcome.

She finally had the opportunity to enter the throne room and face the Emperor himself.

Her gaze drifted to the top of the golden throne, where at the very end of the towering steps to the throne, a torrent of some extraordinary energy seemed to surge.

Under the cold gaze of the Imperial Guards and the Silent Sisters, Christine ascended the steps that symbolized the highest authority of the human empire, finally kneeling devoutly before the throne, her forehead pressed against the cold ground, and began to pray.

The next moment, a deep, dark light began to emerge from the golden throne. The pale blue glow flowing from the steps vanished without a trace, replaced by a profound, dark, and soul-chilling light that quietly appeared.

The air in the entire throne room instantly became thick and heavy, filled with a terrifying pressure reminiscent of divine wrath.

On the throne, the withered body leaning against the back of the chair seemed to... tremble very slightly.

Immediately afterwards, a beam of light, imbued with boundless majesty and icy will, ripped from the body and, like a tangible lightning bolt, precisely pierced the body of the kneeling living saint.

This scene took place in full view of the public, with Diocletian and many other guards witnessing the Emperor's apparition.

"My Lord!!" The tribunal's voice was distorted with extreme excitement, his hand holding the spear trembled violently, and tears of joy and shock blurred his vision for a moment, only to evaporate instantly inside his visor.

After many years, their emperor has finally once again bestowed his revelation.

Although the Emperor had reacted before, it was fundamentally different from such a clear and explicit reaction.

Christine's body convulsed and trembled violently the moment the light pierced through, as if she were enduring unimaginable pain, yet a burst of wild, ecstatic laughter erupted from her throat.

She slowly stood up, looking directly at the tribunal, her eyes revealing an immense sense of oppression.

Cold, ruthless, and almost divine.

Christine's lips curled slightly, and then she spoke.

"Tribunal..." A voice came from Christine's mouth, but it was definitely not her.

The voice was grand, ancient, and carried an absolute will that crushed the soul; every syllable seemed to resonate like a great bell or drum within Diocletian's skull, tearing at the will of the Guards.

"obey orders."

Diocletian's every pore trembled. He could not be mistaken; it was the Emperor! It was the Emperor's voice!

Even if we wait until the end of the universe, until everything is heat-dead, Diocletian will not have misheard.

"Our Lord!" the Imperial Guards cried out in unison as they knelt.

However, the Emperor's manifestation lasted only a moment, and the throne's light dimmed again, leaving only deathly silence and the lingering, scorching smell of psionic energy in the air.

The Imperial Guards were filled with resentment and disappointment, but they could only bury this burning emotion deep within their hearts.

After completing her communication with the Emperor, the living saint collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, and bright red blood gushed from her seven orifices like a stream, instantly staining her white monk's robe.

Diocletian stepped forward and supported the limp living saint. From that moment on, Christine, who could communicate with the emperor, became the object of the guards' protection at all costs.

The tribunal immediately summoned the apothecaries from the Imperial Guard to help the living saint heal his physical wounds at all costs.

However, what Diocletian did not see was that in the blood-stained eyes of the living saint, a deep and dark light quietly flashed.

"Since this is the Emperor's will, the Imperial Guards shall obey unconditionally."

“We will release Mortalian and hand her over to the State Church. We will not interfere with what you do with her.” Diocletian’s voice was filled with unprecedented awe and obedience.

Diocletian's promise brought a forced smile to the face of the living saint.

“In that case, please do it as soon as possible,” Christine said in a deep voice.

……

Deep within the Shadow Prison, beneath the palace and heavily guarded by the Black-Armored Imperial Guards, the figure of Diocletian, the Protector of the People, quietly appeared.

He quickly gained the trust of the Shadow Prison leader by using the unique communication methods within the Imperial Guard.

There was no light inside the Shadow Prison; everything was immersed in boundless darkness, and even the sense of time and space became blurred.

Using the map from their memories, the Imperial Guards avoided the more dangerous areas and quickly arrived at the cell where Mortalian was imprisoned.

Since Mortalian was imprisoned here a century ago, the cell door has been completely sealed and has never been fully opened.

Even the bizarre riot in the Shadow Prison did not affect the safety of Mortalian's cell.

Aside from periodically receiving some life-sustaining food through secure means and removing some waste, Mortalian has no contact with the outside world.

She was as if she had been forgotten by the world, forever left only with boundless darkness.

Mortalian went from being agitated and furious at first to gradually becoming calm and peaceful.

She began to explore her psychic talents, seeking to unleash even greater power to help her escape this damned place.

Because of that accident, after Mortalian drank the potion from Eldar Goddess of Life Aisha, she will have pure Eldar blood in her body.

Furthermore, in terms of bloodline purity, even if all the Eldar, including the Dark Eldar and the Ark Eldar, were tied together, they wouldn't be worthy of giving Mortalian a toe.

In a sense, she and Elsa are half blood relatives, while the human half comes from the Emperor.

She possesses unimaginably powerful psychic talent; in terms of psychic potential alone, she surpasses even the former Crimson King Magnus.

Mortalian, who was meditating, suddenly opened her eyes. Her invisible yet incredibly powerful psionic tentacles pierced through the many seals of the cell, and she sensed that something outside was watching her.

Are they the Imperial Guards? What are they planning to do?
Mortalian was confused, but the next moment a soulless force that made her feel nauseous and weak rushed towards her.

Even a powerful psionicist like Mortalian felt as if her consciousness had been struck by a heavy hammer, causing her to spin around instantly, and her soul was almost forcibly ripped from her body.

The intense nausea and weakness made her vision go black, and she almost fainted on the spot.

Only a gathering of more than a hundred Silent Sisters could create such an impact.

"What the hell are you guys doing!" Mortalian immediately started cursing.

However, the cell door opened silently the next moment with a strange sound, like rusty metal rubbing and twisting.

As outside air rushed into the cell, Mortalian, who was enduring immense pain, felt a surge of hope as she smelled the unfamiliar scent.

A wildfire called "freedom," suppressed for a whole century, was suddenly ignited.

The door opened, that damn door opened!
She can escape!

Although Mortalian is unable to use her terrifying psionic powers due to the Soulless Field, the Primarch is still the Primarch even after losing the word "psionic".

Even relying solely on the most primal close-quarters combat, Mortalian was confident that she could break through the encirclement of these expensive figurines and toys belonging to her father.

If a Primarch is determined to escape, there is almost no way to find and capture him.

The palace of Holy Terra contains a vast and complex network of mazes, and this ancient structure, which covers millions of square kilometers, was not entirely built by the emperor.

Long before the emperors arrived, technological warlords and mad scientists who survived from the era of conflict had built their own city-states and laboratories in the Himalayas.

After eliminating these enemies, the emperor and his followers did not choose to destroy their relics, but instead chose to continue expanding his palace on their foundations.

The Imperial Guard's Blood Game was developed on this basis as a way to identify and address weaknesses, sealing off any potential dangers posed by secret passages.

However, how could the Imperial Guard not have anticipated that Mortalian would inevitably resist the moment the door was opened?

They not only used the Silent Sister's soulless state to weaken her most powerful psychic abilities, but also immediately released an anesthetic drug originating from Nukelia.

A thick, pale purple fog, carrying a sweet, exotic fragrance, surged into the cell as if it had come alive.

Angron, who fell into Nukelia, suffered a terrible fate due to these local anesthetic drugs.

Mortalian didn't have the perfect armor protection of the Royal Guard. Although she immediately held her breath and cut off all communication and exchange with the outside world, it was still too late.

The Pale King, who hailed from Barbaros, boasted that he was immune to most of the world's poisons and drugs, and in fact, he was.

Mortalian's extraordinary resistance to poison was even passed down to her offspring, giving the Fourteenth Legion unimaginable resilience and tenacity, forging their indomitable reputation.

She resisted for twice as long as the Guardians had anticipated. The anesthetic mist, which in theory could incapacitate all life, including Primarchs, could only cause Mortalian to stiffen and fall to the ground.

Fortunately, this is all Mortalian can do.

She stubbornly kept her eyes open, staring intently at the Imperial Guards and the Silent Sisters in the darkness.

Her body was being paralyzed, but with the Primarch's constitution and Elsa's blessing, she was recovering rapidly.

In just thirty seconds, she will be able to get rid of this damned drug and regain her freedom.

Unfortunately, she didn't even have three seconds, let alone a century-long thirty seconds.

Diocletian took matters into his own hands and wrapped heavy chains, mixed with the ashes of the Silent Sisters and shimmering with an eerie dark gold, around Mortalian's limbs and torso.

Immediately afterwards, they coldly fastened the anti-magic collar, which could continuously suppress psionic fluctuations, to her pale neck.

They were still not at ease, so they roughly stuffed the once-powerful Lord of the Death Guard into a mobile coffin made of adamantite and filled with fixing devices inside.

Even the Primarchs, under such extraordinary targeting, became helpless lambs to the slaughter.

Mortalian's rage lasted only a short time; she had to accept reality, and at the same time, her super brain came to a conclusion—

The empire was about to take action against her; otherwise, these imperial guards would never have gone to such lengths and risked everything to drag her out of prison.

Even the Imperial Guards have taken action, so this must be an order personally given by her father?

"Ha ha ha ha……!"

Mortalian’s maniacal and shrill laughter emanated from the golden coffin, and the Imperial Guards who carried it for her heard the Primarch’s curses clearly.

"Father, if you want to kill me, why go to all this trouble?"

"Do I still have the strength to resist? Are you going to judge me in public, humiliate me, and utterly destroy my last shred of dignity before you kill me?"

“Answer me!!”

Mortalian's venomous curse reached the ears of the Royal Guard. They were furious at this shameful traitor's blasphemy against the Lord of Mankind, but they still carried out their tasks with mechanical precision.

The maniacal laughter gradually subsided, and Mortalian fell into a deathly silence, overwhelmed by a sense of defeat and immense doubt.

She couldn't understand why the emperor, who had imprisoned her for a century, would still execute her.

Logically speaking, shouldn't she also show her remorse in order to demonstrate the emperor's influence on the rebel and add a layer of sacred halo to him?

Does the emperor need to ponder for a century before reaching a conclusion? When did her most brilliant and ambitious monarch in the galaxy become so indecisive?

Countless questions swirled in her mind like a storm.

In the end, she only cared about one thing: who would kill her?

Did the emperor do it himself, or did his brothers do it for him?
Is it Lehman Ruth, known as the "Emperor's Executioner"? Or is it Ryan Johnson, the ruthless scavenger of the Dark Angels?

Whichever it is, I just hope it's not that idiot Guilliman. Mortalian can't bear to die at the hands of a psionic Muggle like that.

However, after being tossed about in the darkness for an unknown amount of time, when the moving coffin finally came to a stop, Mortalian was shocked to find herself being taken into a nauseatingly opulent, incense-filled... religious temple.

The tribune's voice rang out from outside the golden coffin:

“Living saint, we have delivered the traitor Mortalian here as you requested.”

"From now on, she is under your control. Whether you kill her or she kills you to escape, it is no longer within the purview of the Imperial Guards."

Mortalian heard a gentle yet utterly repulsive female voice—the voice of a so-called living saint.

“Of course, thank you for your cooperation, Your Excellency the Tribunal.” Christine’s voice carried a hint of barely perceptible pride.

"The Imperial Guards are the Emperor's loyal servants, that much is undeniable."

"We will publicly burn Mortalian, the traitorous Primarch, in Terra's largest trial square, proclaiming this great judgment to the entire galaxy!"

(End of this chapter)