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

Chapter 844 Uslan: The Time Has Come
Hearing the conversation between the Imperial Guard Protector and the Living Saint of the State Church, the Mortalians imprisoned in the golden coffin were already numb.

She could accept being executed by her other Primarch brothers, just as the Second and Eleventh Primarchs were erased.

In a sense, Perturabau is the Primarch most like the Emperor, because they both carried out the decimation of their sons.

But... a living saint of the state religion?
What the hell is that? A mortal? An ant playing with the tricks of faith? By what right does she judge a Primarch?!

Imprisoned in the eternal darkness of the Shadow Prison for a century, Mortalian's understanding of the outside world had become completely disconnected.

She couldn't even understand how a department reeking of decay and superstition could suddenly appear in a human empire that originally upheld imperial truth.

It's important to know that during the glorious years of the Great Crusade, her Death Guard was at the forefront of the fight against alien races and the destruction of heretical religious beliefs.

Because of Barbalus's early experiences, she deeply resented psionicists—especially the likes of Loka and Magnus.

In the eyes of the Pale King, all witchcraft should be eradicated, and all existence related to the Warp should be despised and destroyed.

"Diocletian, you idiot!"

Mortalian's roar echoed dully within the adamantite coffin.

"My father entrusted you with guarding Terra and the palace, yet you stood by and watched this damned cancer of faith fester and grow stronger?"

"By what right do they judge me? Who gave them the power? Who gave them the audacity? They even want to burn me alive in Terra's largest courtroom?"

Diocletian did not answer Mortalian's question. As he had just said, he had already transferred Mortalian's supervision to the State Church and the Living Saint.

The tribune wasted no time and left the state church directly to return to his post.

If living saints can elicit a response from the emperor on the golden throne, then perhaps they can imitate this and try to get a response from the emperor.

Compared to this momentous event, the commotion caused by the State Religion, Mortalian's fate, and even the current chaos in the Empire are all insignificant.

The tribunal was well aware that Qile had formed an organization called the Alliance of Light, and was engaged in a civil war of faith with the Terra State Church led by Elfreda.

However, in the eyes of the tribunal, this matter had nothing to do with the Imperial Guards.

That was the infighting of mortal regimes; the role of the Imperial Guard was to be the emperor's shield, not the empire's mediator.

What makes things difficult for them is that Qile is the Emperor's first living saint, and Christine is also the Emperor's living saint.

Furthermore, Christine demonstrated her ability to elicit a reaction from the Emperor in front of them, which forced the Imperial Guards to reconsider their position.

When living saints clash, they can never achieve perfection no matter what they do, so they simply remain neutral, neither supporting nor opposing either side.

Inside the vast state church temple, only the battle nuns directly under the Living Saint remained; even the servants had been driven away.

A series of slow footsteps sounded, and the Pope, leaning on his scepter, a symbol of his status, slowly approached the living saint.

"You really... brought her here." The Pope's voice carried a strange sense of satisfaction as his withered fingers traced the cold surface of the coffin.

"A traitor, a heretic, a qualified sacrifice to intimidate everyone."

The Pope summoned the battle nuns beside him, and together they opened Mortalian's golden coffin, revealing the Primarch inside.

The Primarch had been imprisoned in the absolute darkness of the Shadow Prison, and her eyes had long since adapted to that darkness.

If an ordinary person were locked up in such a horrific place for a century, their eyes would probably have degenerated to the point of being unable to see.

The Temple Mount was magnificent and radiant. Sunlight streamed through the colorful stained glass of the dome, reflecting off the smooth walls and landing on Mortalian's face.

Even the eyes of the Primal form instinctively begin to secrete tears to protect the eyeballs when stimulated by strong light.

A second later, Mortalian had adapted to her surroundings again.

The Primarch was burning with rage. Her psychic powers were locked by the restraint device, and her body was tightly bound, leaving her no room to exert her abilities.

She saw a woman who looked somewhat old, dressed in a magnificent papal robe, whose cloudy eyes burned with a mixture of emotions that made her nauseous—a fanatical greed mixed with a condescending desire for control.

"Let me introduce myself, I am Elfreda, the current Pope of the state religion."

"Perhaps you do not know what the state religion is. We are all spokespeople for the God-Emperor's will, His most loyal servants, and His most steadfast believers."

“After the God-Emperor ascends the Golden Throne, our actions will represent the Emperor’s will.”

The Pope moved slightly closer, his withered fingers carrying a chilling touch, gently caressing the side of Mortalian's bound cheek.

The original body could clearly sense the rough keratin on the other's fingertips, the fine sweat, and the decaying aura within that aging body.

"Do you know that just those few words you said would have been enough for the emperor to order the destruction of you and your 'state religion' a hundred times over in our time!"

"You actually call Him the God-Emperor? How ridiculous! Although my father was a tyrant, everyone knows his hatred and loathing for the gods."

“Luojia is the best example. His perfect city was destroyed on the emperor’s orders, and my foolish and naive brother Guilliman was responsible for carrying it out personally.”

The Primarch's sarcasm embarrassed the Pope, and her fingers froze.

"I like your arrogance, but unfortunately, what else can you do?"

The Pope coughed twice, and then the Living Saint Christine stepped forward to take her place.

Although Mortalian's psionic powers were sealed, it did not mean that her keen perception of psionic powers was also locked down.

When the living saint appeared before her, the Primarch's heart suddenly stopped beating for a brief moment, and even her breathing froze instantly.

Mortalian's pupils dilated; she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Behind this so-called living saint, a void of darkness and annihilation, a deathly stillness, evokes an instinctive fear even in the Primarchs.

It was as if a shadow, a shadow that could not be seen by conventional means, was indifferently "observing" the world through the eyes of a living saint.

Even more chillingly, when Mortalian tried to see the living saint's inner thoughts through his pupils, the shadow met the Primarch's gaze.

She and He locked eyes in that instant.

Mortalian's rage and resentment vanished instantly, leaving her feeling dizzy and disoriented.

The Primarch trembled with fear; she wanted to escape, to escape at all costs, no matter where she went.

Mortalian's fine hairs stood on end; she was terrified, like a mouse before a cat.

"do not worry."

"You are the protagonist of the next chapter, Mortalian. The flames will wash away your sins, reshape your essence, and you will once again become the beloved offspring of the God-Emperor."

"Daughter of the God Emperor, just thinking about this radiant title fills me with endless glory and joy for you."

Mortalian forced herself to endure the living saint's fingernails slowly sliding across her skin; the sensation was far worse than Magnus licking her with his foolish tongue.

What disturbed Mortalian even more was that the shadow she saw in the living saint was exactly the same as the image of the emperor in her memory.

She had only been in the Shadow Prison for a century, so how could the outside world have become so incomprehensible to her?
The Living Saint's hands gently brushed across the Primarch's skin, and Mortalian felt the terrifying, ethereal power, as if it were alive, trying to burrow into her skin and penetrate her very marrow.

He is corrupting himself, just as the chaotic evil god known as the Father wants to do.

No, even more so than the Father, His corruption is more insidious and harder to stop.

Because He has an inseparable relationship with mankind, He is the god of mankind.

Despair, like an icy tide, instantly overwhelmed Mortalian.

The last time the Primarch felt such profound despair was in Barbaros, when he was facing his adoptive father's psionic gas and was on the verge of death.

"I will never, I will never bow down to you!"

"I, Mortarion, will not bow down to any tyrant, whether it be the Emperor, Nurgle, or whatever else that hell!"

The desperate roar of the Primogen, originating from the deepest part of its soul, stirred up towering waves like a boulder thrown into a calm lake.

Not only was the will within the Living Saint stimulated, but even deep within the Sea of ​​Souls, the master of the Plague Garden sensed her helplessness.

The Plague Garden, filled with endless corruption and new life, shook violently as if it had been struck by a devastating earthquake.

The viscous lake of pus surged with foul-smelling waves, rotting vines lashed wildly, and countless playful Nurgles and the enormous Great Unclean fled in panic, uttering confused and fearful murmurs.

"What did you send?"

"Why did the great father of the plague suddenly become enraged?"

"Who dares to anger the Lord of Plague? Who is it!"

Nurgle's magnificent and colossal figure slowly materialized, stirring in his hands a massive cauldron symbolizing the cycle of life, within which churned a plague broth powerful enough to destroy a planet.

Every time a drop of liquid spills from the crucible, a plague-like disaster will occur in the real universe, causing countless casualties and bringing more pain and suffering.

"is her……"

The voice of Nurgle seemed to resonate throughout the entire world, a cacophony of countless dying murmurs, the noise of decaying organs, and the swarming of plague flies, enough to instantly shatter human reason and transform him into an incomparably terrifying Chaos Egg.

“It’s her… my dear Mortalian is crying.”

"Why did she run away from this warm embrace? Why? The outside world is so dangerous, with too many malicious enemies eyeing her."

“Aisha, are you satisfied now? Our child is suffering, the cursed one… is forcibly pouring his filthy power into her body.”

The father's voice was filled with twisted sorrow and rage.

The goddess of life, trapped in a room woven from thorns and poisonous flowers, also wept, for she too felt the pain and despair in the heart of Mortalian, who shared her bloodline.

Crystalline tears slid down her illusory face, transforming into translucent soul stones.

This feeling can transcend vast distances and directly affect the souls of both individuals.

“What’s the point of saying this now? Mortalian won’t have a good ending in your hands either,” Aisha said sarcastically, which enraged Nurgle even more.

"Now is not the time to argue. I have to help Mortalian. Although she is rebellious, I still love her."

"Kugas, Rotigos, take the children and charge into the realm of the cursed." His roar reverberated through the warp.

"He dared to harm my child, I'll never forgive him!"

The will of the Father was instantly known to all the Nurgle demons, especially the Great Impure Ones who were playing around, who immediately adjusted their minds and were furiously determined to avenge the Father.

The Great Game has begun again, and the endless demons of the Plague Garden have almost swarmed out of their nests, roaring like a green, corrupt torrent as they attack the area shrouded in the cold, dark sun.

"What's wrong with my pedantic brother?"

As soon as Nurgle made his move, Tzeentch couldn't resist any longer. The sounds of countless whispers and conspiracies echoed through the ever-changing crystal labyrinth, filled with a delightful fascination.

His insightful gaze easily captured Mortalian's fate.

A pure, annihilating darkness is corrupting her lifeline, and if left unchecked, Mortalian will soon be completely transformed into the form of the Black King.

"Interesting, interesting!"

"In that case, how could I be left out?"

Tzeentch's maniacal laughter shook the entire Crystal Maze, and countless "clever people" trapped inside suddenly felt hope calling them; they were finally able to find a way to escape from this damned maze.

The torrent of Nurgle and the crystal storm of Tzeentch were like the clarion call of war. Khorne and Slaanesh could not stand idly by. They didn't care about any reasons. Since you started fighting, they wanted to get involved too.

The already chaotic subspace became even more chaotic and dangerous under the influence of this trigger.

Khorne's roar shattered the curtain of the warp, and the forges of the Brass Fortress burned even more fiercely, as endless bloodthirsty ghouls craved new carnage.

Slaanesh's sighs were like the most alluring poison, and the spires of the Palace of Pleasure resonated with a piercing sound, as the demons who sought the ultimate smelled the scent of a new feast.

However, none of this had much of an impact on Mortalian, who was at the center of the vortex.

Holy Terra is where the Emperor resides, and the light of the Star Torch is enough to dispel the covetous eyes of all warp enemies. No matter how angry Nurgle is, he cannot directly unleash his power on Terra.

The Pope and the Living Saint were not joking. Shortly after the Imperial Guard handed over Mortalian, the entire Church of England activated its propaganda machine, sending an incredibly important message to the entire galaxy.

They are about to put Mortalian on trial, and all the followers of the State Church on Terra are welcome to witness this incredibly powerful event.

Meanwhile, Mortalian herself was dragged by the battle nuns to Terra's largest trial square, as if she were a trophy.

The golden coffin binding her was dragged to the stake, and black iron chains pulled it off the ground through the holes in its surface.

This grand trial ceremony needs time to ferment. The State Church plans to wait until the news has spread widely enough and its impact is explosive enough before burning the traitor's Primarch.

This was enough to spread fear and fanaticism to every corner of the galaxy. Before that, Mortalian would be hung here in disgrace, and the most devout followers of the State Church would slit their own throats with blades under the Primarch's watchful gaze.

They let the scalding blood and fat flow down, piling up under the stake—this would be the "holy oil" that ignited the flames of judgment.

Every day, mortal believers from other parts of Terra would come to witness Mortalian's wretched and ugly state as if they were observing some rare and exotic creature.

"Traitor! Shameful!"

"This is the consequence of betraying the God Emperor!"

Burn her! Use her ashes to purify the galaxy!

Countless people cursed Mortalian before her, this once glorious Son of God, mocking her for deserving her current fate.

The curses and hatred of millions of mortals, like an invisible tide, washed over Mortalian's soul day and night.

What could she possibly do? Could she possibly slaughter all these mortals who cursed her?
She couldn't do anything, not even scratch her own eyelids.

Mortalian awaits the so-called moment of judgment. She cannot change her fate, but she will never yield.

She had once gone down the path of betrayal, and Mortalian acknowledged what she had done, but even so, she was not convinced.

It's simply a matter of the victor taking all and the loser being condemned. The Emperor, that tyrant, was clearly using the power of the Warp himself, yet he kept warning the Primarchs against approaching the Warp.

Mortalian has not completely let go of her hatred for the Emperor, but she subconsciously forgets that she is now a pure psionic Primarch, capable of manipulating unimaginable warp power.

Time slipped away amidst humiliation and numbness.

The moment of judgment proclaimed by the state religion has finally arrived.

Pope Elfriede Alfreda personally attended this important trial ceremony.

The pope, who looked much older, sat in her seat, surrounded by other high lords who had been invited to attend the ceremony.

However, the current High Lords Council is dominated by the state church, and the seats of the other High Lords are slightly lower than those of the Pope.

The political implications of this are self-evident.

The high lords sat reluctantly in their seats, equally shocked as they watched Mortalian bound to the stake.

"That's the legendary Primarch of the Fourteenth Legion, Mortalian of Barbarossa?"

"By the Emperor, she's still alive? I thought the records of the Siege of Terra were true."

"This is insane! We're going to burn a Primarch, the Emperor's own child, even though she betrayed us, her identity is also..."

Navigator Ambassador Alicia could hardly hide her shock.

Although she had already learned through her own channels that the Church was going to try Mortalian, knowing and seeing are two completely different concepts.

She could even see Mortalian's entire appearance with her own eyes: the female Primarch's appearance was naturally flawless.

The Primarch's unique aura, combined with her vibrant and vigorous life force, naturally evokes feelings of admiration and heartfelt pity for Mortalian.

“Yes, even Primarchs cannot escape judgment,” Elfreda said.

"This trial is a hundred years late. Back then, the God Emperor didn't have the heart to punish his own child."

"And now, we will act on the will of the God-Emperor and make Mortalian pay the price!"

Justice may be delayed, but it will never be denied!

The Pope gently tapped his gavel, and the living saint Christine led countless priests in reciting the lengthy "Words of the Emperor."

In a solemn and rigid tone, they recounted Mortalian's "heinous crimes"—betraying humanity, siding with Chaos, and blaspheming the God-Emperor...

Every word echoed through the massive plaza via loudspeakers, and was then transmitted through the state religion's broadcasting network to all of Terra and even to countless worlds within the empire.

Through the narratives of the state priests, countless people learned the detailed history of that dark past and the crimes that Mortalian had committed during her public trial.

Even so, the unique identity of the Primarch still makes countless people feel uneasy and fearful from the bottom of their hearts.

That is the Primarch. How can mortals judge or even kill the Primarch?

But the state religion is about executing judgments, and they are placing their authority above the Primarchs; that is their purpose.

At least the high lords present no longer thought that Alfreda was just a complete madwoman.

Even a madman wouldn't do such a thing.

"In the name of the God-Emperor, we have completed our judgment on you. Now, we shall begin the execution by burning at the stake immediately."

"May your sins be purified in the sacred fire, may the God-Emperor forgive your mistakes and accept your soul back."

The living saint's voice echoed in all directions, and countless humans held their breath as they watched him throw the torch in his hand onto the fuel beneath the stake.

boom--!
A blazing flame suddenly erupted, and promethium fuel, mixed with the fat and ashes of believers, spread violently, climbing up Mortalian's pale body along the stake.

"What an irony! Do these foolish mortals really know what they are doing?"

Mortalian ignored the flames spreading across her body. With the Primarch's physical strength, she wouldn't be seriously injured even if she were burned by the Promethium Fire for several days.

In particular, Mortalian is a powerful psionic Primarch. Although her psionic energy is imprisoned and unusable, the psionic energy within her body can still resist the erosion of flames on its own.

Even if you detonate a molten metal bomb in front of her, it might not actually hurt her.

Mortalian's gaze swept over the mortals who had fallen into fanaticism. She saw the blind, twisted, and extreme power of faith flowing into the body of the living saint Christine like countless filthy streams converging into a river.

Nourished by these nutrients, the terrifying dark shadow seemed to be greedily absorbing them, growing even stronger.

Chaos is His essence, and all blind, fanatical, and extreme beliefs become the source of His power.

Mortalian understood that if this monster were to truly awaken, it would be far more terrifying than the birth of Slaanesh!
It will instantly devour the souls of most of humanity, dragging the entire galaxy into a cold, void, and eternal end!

"Guilliman, you idiot, why didn't you stop all of this?"

"Why is there no one on Terra these days who can step up, take charge, and crush that damned Primarch?"

"If this continues, humanity will truly be doomed, in a way that is far more complete than any chaotic evil god... a despair with no hope of redemption."

Mortalian cursed inwardly.

She opposed the emperor and even followed Horus on the path of rebellion, but that doesn't mean she didn't love humans.

She simply hoped that humanity could be liberated from the rule of the tyrannical emperor, and that she would become the true leader who could guide humanity toward a bright future.

In this respect, Mortalian and Horus are very similar; they both harbor resentment towards the Emperor, yet still possess a strong sense of human identity.

The living saint wore a smile, and within her dark pupils burned a faint, ethereal flame that would reduce the entire Milky Way to ashes.

"For the God-Emperor!" Christine led the shout, her voice igniting a massive tsunami of cheers from millions of believers.

"For the Lord of Darkness!" The living saint lowered her voice, so that only she could hear it.

She watched the sacrificial ceremony with great joy, believing that the god she believed in would bestow even more blessings upon her outstanding contribution.

A burst of pure golden flame suddenly erupted from Christine's body.

As if it were alive, it instantly merged into the promethium flames that were burning Mortalian.

In an instant, the nature of the flames underwent a terrifying transformation: from the blinding gold, wisps of pitch black, as if capable of absorbing all light, began to seep out.

The scorching heat was replaced by a bone-chilling cold.

Mortalian, who had been handling the situation with ease, suddenly let out a painful groan.

She suddenly felt the flames on her body become incredibly violent, her skin began to turn charred black, and a terrifying corrosive force seeped into it, wreaking havoc inside her body.

Aisha's power began to fight back, attempting to resist, but it was repeatedly defeated by this void, dark, and deadly force.

Mortalian's consciousness began to blur; she felt as if she were about to fall into a bottomless, cold, and deathly dark abyss.

Her will will be completely erased, her existence will be reshaped, and she will become a cold puppet who only knows how to spread death and end.

Once the ritual is complete, the free Mortalian will be utterly dead, leaving only a death instrument named Mortalian.

"Is this... the end?"

Mortalian seemed to see her own end in the same way, a future that was no better than her being completely trapped in the Plague Gardens and utterly corrupted by Nurgle.

Just as her consciousness was about to be completely swallowed by the boundless darkness, an unexpected voice suddenly rang out from the depths of her mind.

The voice, like a cold, sharp sword piercing through endless fog, suddenly stabbed into the depths of Mortalian's chaotic mind.

"Motalian! I am Uslan. I am trying to contact you through the power of my people's goddess of life, Aisha. My time is very limited!"

Uslan sounded extremely anxious, as if he feared that if he was even a little slow, everything would be completely irreversible.

"Elf race, what do you want?"

Mortalian's previously hazy consciousness suddenly cleared.

Instead of venting her anger and resentment at the Eldar prophet as she had in the past, she maintained rational restraint.

Hidden within the Primarch's mind was an absurd idea:

Perhaps these mysterious spirit race people can help her escape from this damned predicament.

Even cooperating with the Eldar and seeking help from the Xenomorphs is still better than being completely enslaved by a hidden Chaos God and becoming a cold puppet, right?
"What do you want to do?!" Uslan's voice carried an urgency that seemed to say, "You're still asking this?"

"I'm not here to laugh at you!"

“Listen carefully, I now have a way to save you. The Laughing God of my race has personally sent me a divine decree, commanding me to snatch you, the genetic prototype with half-spirit blood, back from the clutches of the Dark King!”

"The God of Laughter will personally intervene and use the network to temporarily isolate the corruption of the subspace. This is your only chance to escape!"

"The Dark Lord has not fully awakened yet; this is merely a nascent instinct within Him. If He were to fully awaken, even the God of Laughter would have no chance whatsoever."

Hope is like grasping at a straw in the endless deep sea.

Mortalian could hardly believe that the one who reached out to her in her deepest despair was the Eldar, whom she had once despised.

"Then what are you waiting for? Make your move!" Mortalian roared in the soul link, her will to survive overriding everything.

“I have one condition, and you must agree to it immediately, or all talk is over,” Uslan said firmly.

Mortalian's soul trembled with rage, wishing she could tear the opportunistic Eldar prophet to shreds, but did she have any other choice?
"Tell me quickly, I'll agree to anything I can." Every word the Primarch uttered sounded like blood squeezed from between his teeth.

"You must become the genetic prototype of the Adarin race and lead our people to a bright future."

"The blood of our race's goddess of life flows in your veins. You are both the son of humanity and the son of Ida. The olive branch we extended to you back then still stands."

"The Adarin are now staunch allies of humanity in the fight against Chaos. By helping us, you are actually helping humanity itself."

"You have ten seconds to consider and make a decision, Mortalian."

Uslan's voice echoed in Mortalian's mind, filled with rage at the Primarch's arrogant notion of being Eldar.

They want to completely submit to the Spirit Race, this broken ship!
But she had no choice; if she didn't agree, she would only be completely corrupted by chaos.

“Eight…seven…” Uslan’s cold countdown was like a death knell.

Deep within her soul, the icy black fire seemed to have realized that the situation had changed, and it was frantically gnawing at her last line of consciousness, trying to drag her into eternal nothingness.

On the other side, the Eldar offered a lifeline carrying the aura of an alien race, but at the cost of completely changing one's identity and bearing the fate of a strange race.

Humiliation? Or eternal enslavement and destruction?
"Six...five..."

There's no time left! There's no other choice!
"Four……"

Mortalian's soul let out a silent, agonizing roar, the immense humiliation nearly tearing her apart.

But that indomitable will to survive, originating from the poisonous world of Barbarossa, ultimately overwhelmed all pride and hatred.

"I agree!" These two words seemed to have exhausted the last bit of strength in Mortalian's soul, and were roared out with endless pain and resentment before her consciousness completely succumbed.

"Take me away, now! Right now!"

(End of this chapter)