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

Chapter 898: Rapid Chase
Vulcan's actions once again demonstrated the true value of the Primarch's strongest blacksmith.

He first walked to the rock wall of the deep valley, and swung his huge iron hammer to strike the rock wall. The hard black rock crumbled and collapsed in front of him like tofu.

Vulcan simply glanced around with his naked eye, then calmly selected several huge ore veins containing special metal minerals.

The Lord of Fire Dragons lifted up the ore, which was as big as a vehicle, and transported it back to the open space where it had started.

Seeing this, the Primarchs stopped standing there dumbfounded and began to work together to move things.

Next, Vulcan dragged several huge metal load-bearing beams and pipes found in the laboratory ruins, and piled up the ore, metal beams, severely damaged parts of the Thunderhawk, and some spare energy batteries and parts brought out from the laboratory.

He restarted the small plasma furnace, and the blue-white flames blazed up again, sending out a torrent of heat.

Vulcan didn't care; he threw the ore, metal beams, and damaged parts of the Thunderhawk into the furnace.

This time, he no longer relied solely on the furnace, but instead reached out with both hands and plunged them into the plasma flames, which were hot enough to melt steel.

"Vulcan!"

Lemanrus suddenly roared, trying to stop his brother's self-harming behavior.

However, Vulcan turned around and gave the wolf king a confident smile.

Vulcan's palm instantly turned as red-hot as a branding iron, as if lava was flowing beneath his skin.

He stirred and kneaded the molten metal in the furnace with his bare hands, extracting the essence from the ore and forcibly fusing different metals.

While forging new materials, the Lord of Fire Dragons repaired the main frame of the Thunder Eagle.

He directly welded and reshaped the broken wing joints with molten new alloy, straightened the cracked engine casing by hand, patched it with molten high-temperature resistant metal, and then reinforced and relieved the stress with a forging hammer.

He forcibly straightened the twisted landing gear with brute force and reinforced the key nodes by pouring molten metal into them.

He removed the still-usable twin-barreled heavy explosive turret, inspected the ammunition feeding system and aiming mechanism, repaired several key wear points with molten metal, and then reinstalled it more securely in its position.

Vulcan directly dismantled the complex life support and circulation system inside the Thunderhawk and temporarily cobbled together a "tin can" system that could provide basic oxygen filtration and pressure maintenance using high-temperature resistant pipes and several huge metal cans.

It was all extremely rudimentary, but it was still usable.

The entire process was filled with an unimaginable level of creativity.

Like a god who controls the essence of matter, Vulcan used the most primitive methods to transform this pile of nearly ruined wreckage into a flying metal monster in just two hours.

When Vulcan finally slammed a piece of molten terracotta plate onto a huge hole in the side of the Thunder Eagle as a patch, and then slammed it in place with his fist, he took a step back, wiped the sweat and ash from his face, and revealed a simple yet powerful smile.

"The Unyielding is repaired; it can fly now."

The Thunderhawk gunboat in front of me is completely unrecognizable.

The heavy armor plates, covered with hammer marks and rough patches, covered the entire body, with rough and ferocious lines, like a metal behemoth crawling out of a scrap yard.

One wing was noticeably thicker than the other, the engine nozzles emitted an unstable blue light, and the twin heavy explosive turret protruded like the fangs of a giant beast. The whole aircraft exuded an aura of being on the verge of falling apart, yet it was also exceptionally sturdy.

“Vulcan…you…” Russ opened his mouth wide, and after a long while, he managed to choke out, “You’re a fucking monster!”

"If you were on the Ork people's side, you would definitely be the most powerful master!"

"If you can fix up this pile of junk, what can't you do?"

"By the way, how did you know it was called the Unyielding Horn?"

"Its machine spirit told me its own name, otherwise do you think I gave it a name on the spot?" Vulcan retorted.

“Time is of the essence.” Vulcan patted the Thunderhawk’s heavy armor plating, which made a dull thud. “It won’t last much longer, but it will be enough to get us off this planet.”

"Then let's not waste any more time," Ruth roared. "Everyone, board the plane immediately!"

"Wait!" Just as everyone was preparing to board the modified Thunderhawk of the "Indomitable", Conrad Coates, who had been standing silently at the edge of the shadows, suddenly let out a piercing scream.

After Coz, Saint Gilles also stood there, stunned, his eyes vacant, as if he had fallen into some deep illusion.

Saint Gilles's pure white wings suddenly spread open, his face filled with unprecedented solemnity and sorrow.

He looked up at the dark red sky, distorted by subspace currents, his voice carrying an ethereal quality that seemed to pierce the future.

"He has come...with endless thirst and twisted love...the hunter...has arrived!"

Meanwhile, Coz uttered even sharper, more uneasy murmurs:
"Laughter! Sweet laughter, purple snakes... coiled around the silver palace... He crawled out of the ashes of death... to take us back!"
Locked in an eternal cage, skinned alive, bones torn apart, the soul screams in pleasure—escape!

Coz's mental state was clearly much worse than Saint Gilles', the root of which was that the Nostramomen's prophetic abilities were much stronger than those of the archangels.

Fortunately, this clone of Koz contains fragments of memories where he was enlightened by Rosie, preventing him from falling into the vortex of prophecy again and becoming unable to extricate himself.

"They arrived so quickly?!"

The wolf king froze, his eyes widening in disbelief.

He knew Forgrim would come again, but he didn't expect it to be so soon.

Slaanesh has stopped pretending; his own demon prince had just died in battle, and he immediately resurrected him.

“No, not just our fallen brother.” Saint Gilles opened his eyes, and it seemed as if countless purple lights were flashing in them.

“Slaanesh has taken notice of our existence, and therefore has sent his demonic army to hunt us down.”

"If we are caught up, there is no way we can survive being surrounded by so many enemies with our strength."

"Stop talking about this, board the plane immediately and get out of here!" the Wolf King urged.

The group immediately rushed into the Thunderhawk gunship, filling this vehicle, a remnant of the era of conflict, to the brim.

The weight of the Primarch, combined with the weight of the armor and weapons, presented the Indomitable with the most severe test yet.

Even Leman Russ began to worry that the fighter jet, which Vulcan had repaired using the Greenskin Big Tech-style maintenance method, might explode halfway through its flight, throwing them all into the warp.

"Trust it; it can hold out until the day we escape." Vulcan had great confidence in the Indomitable.

"Let's go, let's go, I'm going to speed up!"

Chagatai Khan, who had been unable to wait any longer, had already taken over the main pilot's seat and then immediately turned the reactor's output power to its maximum.

"Slow down, slow down, Chagatai!"

"It can't take this kind of abuse!"

Lemanrus was truly terrified. He could feel the Thunder Eagle beneath him trembling violently. Chagatai had already reached maximum speed within the atmosphere, which would impose a huge material load.

However, this rudimentary fighter plane could not block out the noise generated by the intense friction of the atmosphere at all. No matter how loudly Lemanrus roared, Chagatai Khan still pretended not to hear anything.

"As the sages of Chogoris once said—"

"Even if I'm going to die, I want to enjoy myself before I die!"

The Thunderhawk gunship broke through the atmosphere and the planet's gravity with a dangerous slit, breaking free from the planet that had been swallowed into subspace.

Magnus enveloped the Thunderhawk with his psionic energy, protecting it from the direct erosion of the warp's ethereal currents.

"I never imagined that so many of us brothers would one day be crammed into a small, dilapidated ship, speeding through the warp."

Magnus, who originally had the appearance of a knowledgeable and intellectual young man, suddenly sighed as he felt the thrill of acceleration.

"Extreme speed?" Conrad Coates, who had been silent until now, immediately sneered upon hearing this.

"It looks more like a high-speed chase to me. Luckily we didn't kill someone's dog, otherwise even if we were Primarchs, we would be dead."

The Primarchs had no idea what nonsense their brother Koz was spouting. Although he wasn't as crazy as before, he still often said some inexplicable things, which only they found funny.

……

The Six Rings Silver Palace, deep within the divine realm of Slaanesh.

At the heart of the palace, woven from countless twisted pleasures and extreme pains, a bath constructed of Spirit Race Soul Stone Crystals churned with pinkish-purple water, exuding a sweet, intoxicating fragrance that could make one's soul sink.

In the center of the pool, a body re-condensed from pure subspace energy is rapidly taking shape.

His upper body still possessed that flawless, handsome youth's features, with every muscle line in his four arms exuding unparalleled power and beauty.

However, the thick snake tail below his waist, which was originally smooth as a mirror with purple scales, now bears large patches of terrifying marks left by the corrosion and dissolution of strong acid. The scales are uneven, dark in color, and resemble ugly scars.

This is the eternal mark left to him by his brother, Feralus Manus, at the cost of his own destruction in the last battle.

The blasphemous songs of the High Keepers echoed through the palace, and masked dancers sang to their tune, while simultaneously pouring the essence of mortal souls that had collapsed in the throes of ultimate pleasure into the pool, accelerating Forgrim's rebirth.

Finally, the demon prince's body was fully formed, and Fugrim suddenly sat up from the pool, splashing countless water droplets.

His narrow, snake-like eyes burned with an even more intense and frenzied rage than before, as Forgrim unleashed his emotions with abandon.

“Feralus…my Feralus…”

The demon prince stroked the remaining dissolving scars on the snake's tail, his voice like the hiss of a venomous snake, filled with a chilling mix of deep affection and venom.

In theory, each time Vogrim is reborn in the warp, his body should be restored to its most perfect peak condition, and these physical injuries should disappear without a trace.

But Slaanesh, the supreme prince of pleasure, deliberately preserved and even deepened these scars.

Forgrim felt that the scar was a constant reminder of that defeat, and he immediately felt ashamed.

Is this a punishment? A wicked reminder? Or perhaps the novel pleasure derived from the concept of "imperfection" itself by the Lord of Pleasure?
The will of the Chaos Gods is as unpredictable as the Warp itself; even a favorite like Forgrim can only speculate on a fraction of it.

Why? Why would you rather embrace the cold nothingness than share this eternal and ultimate pleasure with me?
"Istvan V, you refused to travel with me, and this time... you won't even leave me a scrap!"

The succubus servants prostrated themselves by the pool, offering the demon prince a magnificent robe woven from the perfect fusion of the skin and soul of the Aedarin race.

Forgrim stiffly donned the robe, covering his newborn body. He didn't want the other Slaanesh demons to see the scar on his tail; to him, it was an unacceptable imperfection.

"And those... inferior replicas, my toys, do you think you can escape your master's grasp?"

Just as Fugrim was engulfed in a vortex of rage and self-pity, the light in the Silver Palace suddenly shifted.

The ubiquitous, decadent music suddenly escalated to a soul-tearing intensity, then abruptly stopped, plunging into a suffocating silence.

"My sweetheart..."

A voice arose, resonating in Forgrim's soul, in his marrow, and even on every scale of his serpent tail.

It possesses countless vocal tones—the coquettishness of a young girl, the roar of a burly man, the murmur of a lover, the curses of a sadist… all of them blend together perfectly, forming a harmony that transcends ordinary understanding.

Forgrim immediately suppressed all outward emotions, his handsome face instantly displaying only extreme piety and submission.

He lowered his proud head slightly, crossed his arms over his chest, and coiled his snake tail, adopting the most humble posture.

He knew that this was the will of the Lord of Pleasure himself descending.

"Your scars, how alluring." The multi-layered harmonies carried a languid and intoxicating rhythm, as if savoring a rare and exquisite wine. "They give your 'perfection' a new level, a new yearning, and I am delighted..."

A complex shudder surged from the depths of Fugrim's soul.

Being watched by a god is an immense honor, but being appreciated by a god for his failures is a feeling that is both distorted and exciting, mixed with an indescribable sense of humiliation.

He remained silent, awaiting divine guidance. "But those escaped little ones, how dare they harm you, my darling."

"Go, go and bring them back, you'll have many more playmates."

Fugrim immediately began to express his stance.

"My lord, I will capture them all and make them pay for their folly in eternal pleasure and torment!"

"Not only that, I want the Emperor to watch his cloned sons bow down before me."

“He made me suffer a lot in the previous war, so I’m using this as a way to show him what pain is.”

Slaanesh's malice instantly overwhelmed Forgrim, and he immediately understood his god's intentions: not only to capture the Primarch clones as playthings, but also to use them as the most vicious weapons to humiliate and mock the Emperor.

"I understand, Your Highest Prince of Pleasure!"

"I will bring them all back to your Silver Palace without missing a single one of them, I swear to you!"

"If I cannot complete this mission, I am willing to be shattered to pieces and my soul broken."

"Very good..." The deity's voice seemed to carry a hint of satisfied laziness, and the suffocating pressure around them eased slightly.

"As for being shattered to pieces, that's unnecessary. You'll always be my sweetheart."

As the last words fell, Slaanesh vanished without a trace, as if he had never been there at all.

The seductive music resumed, and the masked dancers began their frenzied dance again, as if the soul-stirring summons they had just experienced were merely a fleeting illusion.

But Fugrim knew it wasn't an illusion.

"Prepare to begin the hunt, for the will of the Lord of Pleasure!" Forgrim's voice began to echo through the sixth ring.

Outside the Silver Palace, tens of thousands of Slaanesh demons have gathered.

They come in all shapes and sizes, but the only thing they have in common is the burning hunger in their eyes for hunting and torment.

Dozens of Slaanesh raiders and cruisers, with twisted shapes and decorated with bio-leather and enormous sensory organs, hovered behind the demonic legion.

Their bows resembled gaping, drooling mouths, and their engines spewed pinkish-purple flames with a sweet, cloying aroma.

At the very front of them stood Sha'rashi, the Calamity, created by Slaanesh himself, solely to defeat other evil gods and demons.

Forgrim's gaze swept over the terrifying army that had been assembled for him, his serpentine eyes flashing with a cold, determined light.

"Let's go!" Fugrim shouted.

"For the Prince of Pleasure!"

The roars of numerous Slaanesh demons merged into a destructive sonic wave, and the massive Slaanesh army, like a raging purple tide, surged toward the target planet under the leadership of Forgrim.

Wherever they passed, the subspace currents were tinged with an eerie pinkish-purple, leaving behind a blasphemous channel paved with desire and pain.

Meanwhile, in another relatively calm ocean current in subspace.

A strangely shaped warship, resembling some kind of gigantic creature in appearance, is drifting in the warp.
It was created by Fabius using his own technology combined with the technology of the Dark Eldar.

The warship was covered in a living psychic-detecting shell, and its engines spewed out almost invisible streams of eerie blue ions, like an ominous ghost in the dark void.

Since being forced to retreat from the Primarch clone planet, Bayer has had to temporarily retreat there to find a new and suitable area to rebuild his genetic laboratory.

The bridge was dimly lit, with only the control panel and the huge observation windows emitting a pale light.

Fabius Bayer was standing in front of the huge observation window, staring intently at the unsettling subspace view outside the porthole.

“The Prince of Pleasure’s hounds have been dispatched, and on a large scale,” a Bloodling said from the side, his voice hissing like a leaky bellows.

"Forgrim resurrected much faster than expected. It seems the Prince of Pleasure was really angry and intervened directly in the process."

Fabius Bayer's lips curled downwards, forming a contemptuous arc.

"Forgrim... a degenerate obsessed with sensual stimulation and morbid aesthetics, he is nothing but a puppet of the Prince of Pleasure."

The deity behind him could not tolerate any toys slipping out of his control, especially when these toys were meant to be spoils of war to display and provoke other gods.

The apothecary had no liking for these evil gods and never trusted them.

"Immediately upgrade stealth mode to the highest level, cut off all non-essential energy output, and set the psionic shielding field to maximum power." Fabius gave the order decisively, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "We absolutely cannot be discovered by Vograim, not even a trace."

“He’s completely out of his mind right now. If he finds us, who knows what irrational things he might do.”

Bayer wouldn't risk his life for Forgrim's petty grievances. He also bore some responsibility for Forgrim's death, and the Fallen Phoenix might very well seek revenge.

The Bloodlings had no objections; their modified appendages danced rapidly on the control panel, quickly operating the system.

The living outer layer of the warship secreted more absorbent substances, the eerie light of the engine was completely extinguished, and the entire ship seemed to instantly merge into the darkness of the warp background, with psionic fluctuations suppressed to an almost imperceptible limit.

Fabius breathed a slight sigh of relief after confirming that his stealth state was stable, but the vigilance in his eyes did not diminish in the slightest.

He turned and left the bridge, walking through a corridor filled with bizarre aesthetics, made of biological pipes and metal skeletons.

In the niches on both sides of the corridor, various biological organs and unfinished specimens, soaked in nutrient solution, looked particularly eerie in the dim light.

Finally, he arrived at a large alloy door. After his biometric information was verified, the door slid open silently, revealing the interior space.

This laboratory is completely different from the exterior of the warship. The overall color scheme is warm, and the air is highly filtered, carrying a refreshing scent.

In the heart of the laboratory, a massive culture chamber, constructed of reinforced glass and a high-gold frame, stands silently.

Inside the incubation chamber slept a life form that resembled an adult woman.

She floated in the nutrient solution, her figure slender and well-proportioned, her skin fair and delicate, seemingly glowing under the light of the nutrient solution.

Her long, silvery-white hair floated slowly in the liquid like living seaweed, and her face was so exquisite that it seemed to have been sculpted by the greatest artist with painstaking effort, embodying all the beautiful features that humankind could imagine.

Her eyes were closed, and her long eyelashes cast faint shadows on her cheeks.

Most strikingly, on either side of her smooth forehead, there are two small, delicate, spiral-shaped protrusions, like those carved from white jade, resembling some kind of sleeping crown.

This is Fabius Bayer's proudest creation, his pinnacle of biotechnology, and the true "new human" in his heart—Melxin.

Because of her presence, Fabius was able to maintain a peaceful state of mind even after losing those clones.

In his mind, even the Primarch clone could not compare to Melusin.

Fabius walked to the incubation chamber, and his sharp, ruthless eyes revealed a rare, almost fatherly focus and affection.

He brought up the holographic control panel, on which real-time physiological data about Melusin flowed like a waterfall.

"Gene sequence stability 99.999%, muscle fiber density and power output meet Astartes standards, neural reaction speed exceeds Space Marine baseline, psionic potential... unknown."

But these are not what Fabius is most proud of. In fact, the physical strength of the Space Marines is not that great.

If you're willing to spend the money, almost every bio-engineered warrior created using biotechnology and psionic technology is stronger than Astartes.

Most Astartes were not even as physically strong as the Euglins.

It's just that Astartes performs better in many aspects, such as physical strength, intelligence, modification cost, loyalty, and subspace resistance, resulting in a higher overall score.

"Reproductive system: intact, functioning normally, and capable of cross-gene lineage reproduction."

"Father."

A clear, pure sound, as melodious as the clinking of crystals, resounded directly in Fabius's mind.

Melusin in the incubation chamber did not open her eyes, but her lips moved slightly, and her mental perception was clear and stable.

“Melsen,” Fabius’s voice softened considerably, “how are you feeling? Any abnormalities in your adaptive adjustments?”

"I'm fine. This sudden relocation hasn't affected me." Melusin's emotional fluctuations carried a hint of dependence on Fabius.

“Very good.” Fabius nodded in satisfaction, his fingers moving rapidly across the holographic panel.

"You are perfect. You are humanity's hope for breaking free from its weak body and the shackles of ignorant gods. You are the key to true evolution."

You have proven that the greatest power originates from the most sophisticated genetic code, not from groveling before the warp.

"Father, there seems to be a huge psychic energy tide outside." Melusin's mental perception suddenly rippled slightly, and her body moved very slightly in the nutrient solution.

"A chaotic sweetness, what are they chasing?"

Fabius's eyes narrowed instantly.

Melusin's perception was so sharp, which was both expected and worrying.

In the eyes of fear, being too perceptive is not a good thing.

"It's the demonic army of the Chaos God, led by that fallen Forgrim, hunting down some escaped experimental subjects."

He did not hide anything, but deliberately used language to belittle the original clone as an "experimental subject."

"Don't worry, Melusin, they're not targeting us."

Bayer walked to the observation window and looked at the increasingly chaotic warp currents stirred up by the Slaanesh army. The pinkish-purple scum was moving away from them and rushing in another direction.

"Just you wait, Melosin."

"Forgrim thought he was a hunter, a favorite of the evil god, and was going on a high-spirited hunt for his prey."

But he was wrong. He was merely a pawn. Although he was indeed favored, this favor was no different from that of a child's beloved toy.

"Slaanesh wants to monopolize those Primarch clones? He wants to use them to humiliate the Emperor? Dream on!"

"Where does He leave His brothers and sisters when He does this?"

Fabius's fingers tapped lightly on the cold metal edge of the control panel, producing a soft, rhythmic sound, as if striking the beat of fate.

"The nature of the Chaos Gods is eternal struggle and betrayal. Slaanesh's grand operation this time is like lighting the brightest bonfire in a dark forest."

What do you think the other three evil gods will do? Will they just stand by and watch Slaanesh succeed and then obtain these clones of the Primarch?
No, although I don't know what they will do, they will certainly not remain indifferent.

"Forgrim's mission is doomed to failure. Slaanesh's rage will only become a laughing stock in the eyes of the other three gods, another farce in which they play tricks and undermine each other."

This is the essence of chaos—endless disorder and self-destruction.

Melusine floated quietly in the culture medium, seemingly digesting the ideas instilled by Fabius.

"Therefore, we just need to wait quietly, as if observing the struggle of microorganisms in a petri dish."

"Let the Chaos Gods exhaust each other's power in their games, while we will focus on true evolution."

You, Melusin, and the new humanity I created are the future.

Those clones are nothing but remnants of the old era and pawns in the frivolous games of the chaotic gods. True perfection requires no begging for the charity of any deity.

"Fabius said leisurely, gently stroking the cold surface of the incubation chamber as if he were touching a priceless treasure," he said.

(End of this chapter)