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

Chapter 902 I am Fogrem!
"No!"

The clone of Forgrim fell from mid-air. Magnus's hastily activated psionic teleportation was naturally not very accurate, and the various Primarchs fell to the ground from different heights. If their physical abilities had not been strong enough, there would probably have been casualties.

Forgrim was covered in the ashes left from that war, and his exquisitely beautiful face was cut by metal fragments hidden in the ashes, from which drops of pure blood flowed.

However, the Phoenix Lord paid no attention to his physical injuries; his heart was bleeding with unbearable pain.

“Rellano…”

"Why, why did we just reunite, and before I even had a chance to explain that I'm different from that fallen one, we..."

Loyalty needs no explanation!

Just as the clone Forgrim was wallowing in self-pity and grieving over Rellano's heroic sacrifice, Lemanrus suddenly pounced on him, grabbed Forgrim's shoulder armor, and lifted him above his head.

His face was full of impatience and disappointment. How could this Fogrim be so sentimental?

“Any verbal declaration is pale and powerless, Fugrim, don’t you understand this?”

"Whatever you say now, using your eloquence to justify your own betrayal and depravity, it's all meaningless!"

"If you truly want Relano to see your difference, what you need to do is not to explain to him, but to prove it to Relano with your sword, with your blood and loyalty!"

"We're fucking on the battlefield of Istvan III right now, and that demon Fugrim is right below us. Virus bombs might not be able to kill him, you understand?"

"We have no time to waste, no time to lament, no time to regret. If you keep dawdling like a woman, I'll cut your head off right now and kick it around like a ball!"

Lemanrus was utterly enraged. He sprayed saliva directly into Forgrim's face, covering Forgrim's head and wetting his hair and pale skin.

Fugrim opened his eyes, looking bewildered, as if he had just been through a violent storm.

Lemanrus's highly corrosive saliva burned and scorched the wounds on his face, causing him to experience sharp, stabbing pains.

But it must be said that the Wolf King's simple and brutal methods really did help Fogrem break free from his previous pain and confusion.

He pushed away Lemanrus's hands and fell back to the ground.

“You’re right, Ruth.”

"Talking is no substitute for taking action."

Forgrim's long hair billowed wildly in the gust of wind from the explosion. The phoenix stared at the direction where Rellano had detonated the virus bomb, then raised the longsword in its hand.

He grabbed a strand of long hair, cut it off, and then disappeared into the storm.

Without hesitation, he turned the sword to his own cheek, leaving a deep, bleeding cross that exposed bone.

The Phoenix Lord's perfect face was now crisscrossed with scarlet scars, and gushing blood, not yet able to congeal, dripped down his skin and jawline, flowing into the armor inside his chest.

"you……"

Lehman Ruston stared wide-eyed, his face filled with disbelief as he looked at Fogrem's self-harming behavior.

He actually left a scar on his face?

This is possible for all Primarchs, but absolutely not for Forgrim.

Forgrim would rather die than allow his perfect appearance to be damaged in the slightest, and all his brothers understood this.

"I'll prove it."

With unwavering resolve in his eyes, Forgrim gripped his power sword and repeated:
“I will prove that I, Fulgrim, am no different from that fallen one!”

Upon seeing Forgrim's actions, even the Primarch clones, who had previously distrusted and doubted him, showed a sense of admiration.

Perhaps the clone of Forgrim is truly different from his original self; the two of them have embarked on two different timelines and are heading in completely different directions.

"The virus bomb is far less destructive than calculated. Even if it were detonated underground, we should still be within the blast radius!"

Clones Guilliman was only slightly distracted before focusing all his attention on observing the battlefield environment.

"It's highly likely that there was a malfunction inside the virus bomb, preventing it from detonating completely. In addition, the underground environment weakened the virus bomb, and the subspace energy carried by Fugrim distorted the laws of physics."

Peturabo easily kept up with Guilliman's pace of thought and promptly provided his answer.

"No need for all that. Just tell me, is that damn guy dead or not?"

Ryan Johnson said sternly, expressing his strong disapproval of Guilliman's scribbling attitude.

However, without needing a reply from the Macurags, Ryan, through his beastly intuition, sensed the blasphemous presence emanating primal malice emanating from the billowing green viral smoke.

Slaanesh's demon prince did not die.

His vitality is stronger than imagined.

However, the few pieces of good news are that most of the Slaanesh demons who were originally with the Primarch have turned to ash, and even Sha'rashi the Disaster has disappeared without a trace, which at least reduced some of the enemies for the Primarch clones.

"Attention, all! Maintain tight formation!"

Lemanrus roared, while Ryan and Horus led the two factions of Primarchs to form a defensive formation.

Although they maintain a subtle hostile stance towards each other due to their physical nature, they have no choice but to join hands and face the formidable enemy together.

"Father above, in my memory there has never been a war in which almost all of us brothers have come together to fight!"

The dark green virus cloud, like a living thing, slowly wriggled and churned among the ruins of the underground cave, emitting a faint but chilling hissing sound.

As the remnants of these viral bombs began to seep into the ground, a sweet, rotten, and burnt smell gradually filled the air, mixed with the ashes of warp demons, creating a peculiar and indescribable sensation.

In the very center of this devastating fog, a twisted figure struggled to its feet.

The viral bomb failed to completely engulf the Primarch, but it was by no means ineffective.

Fugrim's once smooth and alluring purple armor was now covered with pitted and corroded marks. Many of the various expressions of pain that were originally embedded in it had been corroded and blurred, or even melted and flowed, like burning wax figures.

Thick, dark green pus seeped from the seams of the armor, dripping onto the ground and corroding small pits into the vitrified surface.

The exposed parts of his body were even more horrifying to see.

His left arm was completely gone below the elbow, and the cut was not a neat cut, but rather an extremely irregular, rotten piece of flesh, as if it had been gnawed by millions of microorganisms.

The dark green viral particles writhed deep within the wound like living creatures, constantly trying to spread to the shoulder.

However, Slaanesh's terrifying regenerative abilities were also operating wildly. Pinkish-purple energy tentacles, like new flesh sprouts, and twisted bones constantly tried to regenerate from the broken ends, only to be stubbornly decomposed and eroded by the life-devouring virus.

This created a terrifying tug-of-war, with his arm in a horrific cycle of "constant regeneration and constant decay," the pain of which can only be imagined.

His face, that once flawless face that captivated and maddened countless people, was not spared either.

A large area of ​​skin and muscle on the left cheek had been eroded through, revealing the cheekbone and teeth that shimmered with an eerie purple light, and even the inhuman tissue structure that trembled slightly inside.

The virus, like green moss, was trying to spread across his intact right cheek, causing the skin to quickly blister, turn black, and become completely necrotic wherever it went.

The Primarch let out a roar of extreme pain and rage.

Fugrim's serpentine eyes shrank to the most dangerous needle-like point due to pain and rage, locking onto the Primarch clones in front of him.

"You...you despicable imposters, you insects! How dare you...how dare you harm my noble body!"

His anger at the pain was far less than his fury at the destruction of perfection. The ancient sage Rellano's final act not only wounded his body but also utterly trampled on his twisted pride and dignity.

Although Rellano is dead, his curses and rants before his death have taken deep root in Forgrim's heart and cannot be erased.

"For the Father!" Lemanrus roared, launching the first charge.

He knew that in the face of a wounded but even more insane Ascended Primarch, retreat would only lead to death.

They have nowhere to retreat.

The battle erupted instantly, far exceeding the intensity of the previous melee with the demon legion.

Like a lion in the shadows, Ryan Johnson, along with Lemanrus, attacked Forgrim from the left and right.

The Lion and the Wolf King, these two formidable Primarchs, showed no fear in the face of a powerful foe. They brandished their blades and slashed at the parts of the Demon Primarch that had been severely damaged by the viral bomb.

Clone Horus unleashed a long-suppressed roar, launching a fierce frontal attack on the Primarch, each strike filled with a redemptive rage.

"I am the Wolf God, I am the War General, I am Horus Lupecal!"

"You damned fallen one, Fugrim, you disgust me!"

Upon hearing Horus's curse, the Primarch suddenly burst into loud laughter.

He covered his abdomen with one arm, while using the other two to defend against the lion and the wolf king. Even with his attention divided between fighting two opponents, he was still able to steadily suppress the two clones.

"Fallen?"

"My depravity is a joke in your presence, Horus. How dare you say such a thing to me?"

"I didn't seriously injure the Emperor, nor did I bring Conrad Coz or San Gilles to the brink of death!"

Clone Horus was instantly flung away by Forgrim's serpent tail. The powerful impact dented his breastplate. Vulcan's armor, made of rudimentary materials, was ultimately unable to withstand such a brutal battle.

Clone Angron transformed into a raging storm of destruction. Wielding his power axe, he roared deafeningly and recklessly slashed at Forgrim from every angle, completely disregarding his own defenses.

As the gladiator king of Nukelia, Angron actually possesses an unimaginable level of proficiency in various weapons.

His fighting style was extremely rough and unrestrained, not bound by any particular moves, but simple and unpretentious, with every strike deadly, full of the fierce fighting style of a gladiator.

More importantly, once he enters a fighting state, he is not controlled by anger, but is able to keep himself in a calm state.

For example, when fighting with Forgrim, he was using his psionic powers to guide Guilliman to suppress his anger and prevent his brother from being blinded by rage.

Instead of engaging in close combat, Peturabo equipped himself with the ranged weapons he had found in Fabius Beyer's laboratory, which he then modified to suit his fighting style.

The artillery barrage precisely covered Vograim's movement path and potential attack points, providing long-range fire suppression and interference.

His calculation ability was brought to its limit, predicting every dodge and block by the Primarch.

The clone Mortalian was extremely adapted to the battlefield environment. He greedily inhaled the fumes produced by the viral bomb explosion and immediately recalled the highly toxic air of Barbarus.

After inhaling the toxic gas released from the virus bomb, Mortarian's condition actually worsened instead of improved.

He used his giant scythe to harass Forgrim from the flank, each strike extremely heavy, forcing the Primarch to expend more power to wear down this troublesome fellow in a sword fight.

“You have no idea what your true form has become, Mortalian, my brother!” Forgrim’s arm was slashed by the giant scythe, but the demonic Primarch ignored it and began a verbal attack.

"Your original form was assimilated by that Elsa, that Elf bitch, and you became a woman, a fucking Elf-human hybrid woman!"

When Mortarion heard Forgrim's boastful words, his heart skipped a beat, and he was instead swept away by the other party.

"A woman? My true form has turned into a woman?"

"How can this be?"

The Barbarosians were caught off guard by the linguistic onslaught.

Horus cursed Mortarion's unreliability under his breath. How could they possibly win with a team like that?
Even though he was severely injured and faced an attack from so many Primarch clones, the Ascended Vograim still displayed terrifying power.

He gripped the Blade of Lal tightly with his three remaining arms, his swordsmanship as elusive and unpredictable as a ghost, so fast that it left behind a trail of purple afterimages.

Every block and every swing precisely deflected or parried a deadly attack from behind.

Forgrim was undoubtedly a master swordsman among the Primarchs, and after being ascended to have four arms, his swordsmanship underwent new breakthroughs and changes.

Saint Gilles hovered in the air, constantly diving to harass with his power sword, but most of his attacks were skillfully dodged by Fugrim or repelled by Ral's Blade.

Chagatai Khan, with his unparalleled speed, sped around the battlefield like a whirlwind.

The plasma pistol fired in bursts, while the power scimitar sought out any opening for lightning-fast attacks. However, the Primarch's reaction speed far exceeded his expectations, and each attack was blocked or evaded in time.

Magnus hovered at the edge of the battlefield, chanting ancient psionic spells as powerful psionic lightning and even reality-distorting force fields bombarded Fugrim.

"A fake is a fake. If you were the real thing, I would have been banished back to the subspace long ago!"

"How weak your power is, Magnus! Can you, a damned clone, defeat Azak Ahriman?"

Although Forgrim was injured by Magnus's psionic energy, the effect was not as significant as expected. The Fallen Phoenix even had the energy to mock Magnus, making the Primarch's already crimson face even more unsightly.

"Yes, I am a clone, a fake!"

Magnus was brewing even more powerful psionic spells. He felt that his physical body was indeed terrifyingly powerful, and these spells were so powerful that he felt terrified just thinking about them.

"But even a fake is better than a self-degrading guy like you!"

As Luo Jia chanted an inspiring prayer, a pale golden psychic glow enveloped all the Primarch clones, providing them with mental protection, strengthened will, and a slight restoration of physical strength, counteracting the corrosive effects of the demonic whispers.

"His heart is as hard as iron, and his body as strong as steel."

"Wearing the strongest armor and wielding the sharpest sword."

"Epidemics must not invade, nor should demons and monsters disturb them."

With the help of Luo Jia's psychic powers, Guilliman suddenly felt that the highly toxic air he was inhaling was not so difficult to swallow, and he couldn't help but sigh.

"Luojia, this is the first time I've found you pleasing to the eye!"

The man who spoke so eloquently rolled his eyes, too lazy to respond to Guilliman's praise.

Meanwhile, Corax, Coz, Alpharex, and Omega were like true ghosts, their figures appearing and disappearing in the shadows of the battlefield, each appearance accompanied by a deadly attack on Vograim's joints, armor cracks, or regenerating wounds.

Their attack did cause Fugrim considerable trouble, forcing him to constantly divert some of his attention to perceive the shadows around him.

This was a thrilling hunt, with each Primarch clone giving their all and pushing their own traits and powers to the limit.

Their teamwork might not have been flawless, and they even occasionally interfered with each other, but thanks to their overwhelming numerical advantage and their determination to fight to the death, they managed to barely withstand the frenzied counterattack of the Ascended Fugrim.

The roar of energy weapons, the collision of propulsion weapons, the explosions of psionic energy, the furious roars of the Primarchs, and the battle cries of the Primarchs intertwined, shaking the land of Istvan III.

"That's it? Is that all you've got?"

Even during the fierce battle, the ascended demon Forgrim was still able to let out a mocking roar, despite his injuries continuing to worsen.

"A bunch of pathetic imitators! They can't even achieve one-tenth of the perfection of your genuine products!"

Just then, the clone Guilliman, who had been observing and harassing from the periphery, suddenly spoke in his naturally resonant, politically-trained voice, his tone filled with icy sarcasm:

"Perfect? ​​How dare you even mention that word? Look at yourself now, Fugrim!"

Look at your ugly wounds that keep festering and regenerating, look at your armor that's been tattered and corroded by the virus, is this the perfection you're pursuing?

To succumb to the god of darkness in exchange for a body of nauseating, putrid power and eternal torment?

Chagatai Khan swept past like a whirlwind. Seeing Guilliman launch his attack, he immediately joined the chorus of taunts, his voice carrying the strange, poetic tone unique to the Chogoris.

"My dear perfect brother, it seems the path you've chosen isn't as wonderful as you've described."

In comparison, I find our crippled Forgrim more pleasing to the eye.

Although his face was adorned with more decorations, at least his suffering was for atonement, not to please some lustful evil god.

Guilliman immediately chimed in: "That's right! He is the father of genes that the incredibly loyal and heroically sacrificed ancient sage was willing to acknowledge."

And you? You're nothing but a pathetic monster, corrupted by chaos, immersed in a false dream of perfection, a failure who couldn't even keep his most loyal offspring, and was instead seen by him as someone who had to be eliminated!

These biting taunts were like red-hot irons, searing into the most sensitive and twisted nerves of the Ascended Forgrim.

His obsession with "perfection," his sense of superiority over his own choices, and his complex emotions about the past were ruthlessly torn apart and trampled upon by Guilliman and Chagatai.

"Shut up!!!"

The Primarch unleashed a deafening roar, a curse a mixture of extreme pain and rage.

An unprecedentedly destructive pinkish-purple psionic shockwave erupted from his body, forcibly pushing back hundreds of meters the attackers, including Ryan, Ruth, Horus, and Angron.

His serpentine eyes instantly locked onto the clone in the distance, whose face bore a bloody cross scar, yet whose eyes held an unwavering determination.

"Fake goods! Thief! It's all because of you!!!"

He unleashed all his anger and twisted hatred on the clone, Forgrim. If it weren't for this "inferior copy," how could he have suffered such humiliation?!

Ignoring the attacks of others, he transformed into a purple lightning bolt that tore through space, heading straight for the clone, Forgrim.

The Blade of Ral, with a soul-ripping shriek, pierced straight for the throat of the clone, Forgrim.

The clone Forgrim's expression changed drastically, and he immediately raised his sword to parry.

"clang--!!!"

With a deafening roar, clone Forgrim was sent flying as if struck by a meteorite, crashing heavily into a distant rock wall.

The power sword in his hand groaned under the strain, and tiny cracks appeared on its blade. The immense impact felt as if his internal organs had shifted, and he coughed up a mouthful of blood.

They are not even in the same league.

The Ascended Forgrim gave him no chance to catch his breath, instantly pursuing him and unleashing a barrage of Ral's Blade.

The clone Forgrim could only rely on instinct and the swordsmanship he remembered to desperately parry and dodge. Each collision made his arms go numb, his tiger's mouth crack, and his armor was constantly covered with new and deep scratches.

He was completely overwhelmed and had no chance to fight back.

"Die! Die! Die! You damned piece of trash! You're a stain that reminds me of my 'imperfect' past!" The Primarch roared madly, his attacks becoming faster and more deadly.

Other Primarchs attempted to provide assistance, but the Demon Primarch's speed and power seemed to have increased to a new level, temporarily forcing them back!

"Pfft!"

Ral's Blade finally found an opening, piercing through the shoulder armor of clone Forgrim, leaving a trail of blood.

The clone of Forgrim grunted and froze.

In that instant, the Primarch's fatal blow arrived, Ral's Blade piercing his heart, and Forgrim felt excruciating pain coursing through every nerve in his brain.

After piercing its own clone, the Primarch unleashed its psionic power, releasing a purple flame radiating powerful corruption that burned the lowly flesh.

He wanted to erase all traces of the other party's existence and wipe away the history that should not have existed.

The clone Forgrim was engulfed in psychic flames, his flesh and blood ablaze, and he was on his deathbed.

Is it going to end like this? Just like that... dying meaninglessly by the sword of one's own fallen self?

Rellano… I ultimately… failed to prove it…

The pain of cloning Forgrim gradually subsided, replaced by the emptiness of impending death.

Do not! ! !
At this critical moment, in the mind of the clone Forgrim, the image of the ancient, fearless mech of Rellano resolutely detonating the virus bomb flashed through his mind.

That roar of unwavering loyalty seemed to echo once more.

"For the Emperor!!"

A sudden realization struck him like lightning, piercing his soul.

Perfection? What is true perfection? Is it a flawless appearance? Unmatched power? The ultimate sensory experience?
Do not!
It is faith, it is perseverance, it is loyalty that will never give up, even if it means being shattered to pieces, even if it means being accompanied by the darkest despair!

It is the courage to do what is impossible, and the determination to sacrifice everything to protect what is cherished!

This is the true "perfection" that the emperor hoped to see when he created them...

Rellano…he is perfect, his loyalty is flawless!
"I see!"

Cloned Forgrim suddenly raised his head, and his purple eyes no longer held pain and struggle, but an unprecedented, pure and intense golden light.

The light grew stronger and stronger, even piercing through his eye sockets, like two solid pillars of light.

A vast, majestic, cold, and powerful force, imbued with supreme will, seemed to traverse the endless void and suddenly descend upon this place, pouring into his body.

"This is……"

The sword that the Ascended Forgrim thrust out suddenly stopped. He was horrified to feel the power emanating from the other's body—a power that he found both extremely repulsive and strangely familiar.

"For the Emperor! For Rellano!!"

"The torch of imperial will will burn away the demons and monsters!!"

The clone, Forgrim, let out the loudest and most resolute battle cry since its birth.

The power sword in his hand, that ordinary iron sword that was about to shatter, was now completely enveloped in dazzling golden flames, and the cracks on the sword were instantly filled and healed by the golden flames.

His pierced heart began to beat powerfully again, bursting forth with boundless strength.

Instead of parrying, he met the incoming Ral's Blade head-on with a perfect trajectory that transcended his own limits and contained supreme will and a spirit of sacrifice.

"Click——"

A crisp, clear sound, like glass shattering, rang out.

Before the incredulous eyes of the Ascended Forgrim, his indestructible demon sword, blessed by Slaanesh and used to fight countless powerful enemies, was actually severed in two by that power sword burning with golden flames.

The tip of the sword spun out and stuck in the ground, its eerie purple light quickly fading.

Before the clone Fugrim's sword strike was over, the burning golden blade sliced ​​through the chest of the stunned demon principalus like a hot knife through butter.

Slaanesh's demon prince immediately let out a painful scream.

Golden flames scorched his blasphemous body, emitting a loud sizzling sound, and even suppressed his terrifying regenerative abilities.

Clone Forgrim flicked his wrist, his sword moving with lightning speed.

With unparalleled precision, the sword etched two words, burning with golden flames and seemingly bearing an eternal mark, into the heart of the demonic principality.

The words are:

"Fake"

"Do not--"

The ascended demon, Fugrim, let out an unprecedented shriek, a scream mixed with extreme pain and a hint of fear.

He staggered backward, clutching his chest.

The golden flames clung to his wounds like a persistent affliction, burning his heart relentlessly, and no matter how much he tried to extinguish them with the power of the Dark Prince, he could not put them out.

Those two words were branded into the depths of his soul like a branding iron.

The clone Forgrim stood with his sword in hand, his body enveloped in a faint golden glow. The bloodstains on his face remained, but his eyes shone like burning stars.

At this moment, he was like a phoenix rising from the ashes, sacred and inviolable.

He calmly looked at the writhing body and slowly said:

"The blood feud of Rellano is just the beginning."

"Our score isn't settled yet!"

The battlefield fell silent instantly as all the Primarchs stared in shock at this dramatic turn of events.

They couldn't understand why Forgrim, who had just been overwhelmed and was on the verge of death, suddenly unleashed his power and killed his opponent.

Lemanrus was the first to react, letting out an excited howl: "Haha, well done! Fugrim, that's more like it!"

Ascended Fugrim raised his head, his serpentine eyes filled with mad resentment and murderous intent, but even more so with a hysterical rage born of utter humiliation.

"What are you glaring at me for? I am the real Forgrim!"

"You damned counterfeit!" Clone Forgrim sneered, his eyes fixed on the word "counterfeit" on the Primarch's heart.

"From this moment on, truth and falsehood have been reversed!"

(End of this chapter)