This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 468 The Sun—Submitting to Death

Karna's power is simple.

They are no different from the gods.

Relying on the faith of all beings to transform into intense emotions, and then using this surging will to find the power and authority corresponding to one's own domain from the tides that stir up the subspace and the boundless high heavens.

Karna has always been this simple.

His mind wasn't as quick as Ramses', nor could he endure hellish torment like Romulus, and he couldn't live entirely in his own world like Arthur.

He oscillated between coma and lucidity, cautiously doing what he could think of to do, while fearing a hopeless future that might arise from his inability to do better.

He even felt somewhat weak, as he had to rely on the power of this world when he first joined the battle—the "Black Fury" of the Holy Blood Angels possessed his body and fought on his behalf, while he himself hid in his body to escape.

Karna didn't know if he could bear it. He had seen too much. Many times, a voice would tell him to choose the habit, that he was already doing what he could, but his inner kindness always urged him to do something.

Just like back then, when Ramses enjoyed life, Romulus faced reality, and Arthur was still describing his own world, he would always stare blankly at the layered mountains and poor children in front of him, and he still had to put on a relaxed appearance.

As a human being, the most painful thing is to be in the most helpless situation at the most innocent age.

Karna always wanted to do more, but the reality was that there was always a limit to what he could do.

but--

just now.

At this moment.

Karna closed his eyes; he was listening.

Listen to the voices flowing towards you, hear their joy as they create their lives with their own hands, and hear their resentment at how all of this has been destroyed.
Faith is real.

The expectations others have of him will form their desires, wants, and concepts in the Warp, and will eventually be transformed into what Karna desires, becoming part of his power.

He is very powerful.

He can traverse the stars and delve into the planets, caring for farmers working in the fields and workers on duty in factories. He can bring powerful technology to ensure that residents have enough to eat and wear, and he can offer comfort to people through faith.

The burning flames distorted reality, and Karna could feel his power manifesting in the way that countless people desired.

He doesn't need to rack his brains to think about how to fight; he only needs to show the enemy how powerful he is.

Karna can do many things with this.

His burning eyes reflected a scene just like the old man he had encountered before the battle.

Billions of people rely on him in all things, asking him for help, seeking assistance and pleading for guidance with endless devotion and demands, and billions of eyes are always on him.

Countless people came and went, and came again.

They were Astartes, workers, students, children, the elderly, men, and women.
They felt the barrier disappear, and they felt that the war, through the efforts and sacrifices of countless people, was gradually leading to victory on their side.

They gazed longingly at the angel, surrounding him, their trembling hands caressing his armor, speaking to this powerful being who united their wills, and beginning to express their desires.

Humanity desires revenge against the gods.

Their hatred for the four gods was so intense, and their desire to destroy them so strong, that they were willing to turn themselves into firewood, just to leave an eternal mark on the gods.

That's how it should be.

Karna reached out and grasped the blazing fire formed from countless living beings.

The desire to protect everything has earned the power to protect everything in this universe.

Now, he has everything he needs.

Nurgle.

Let's start with you!
Hot, scorching.

It was as if he were in a scorching inferno; apart from the rushing light, Mortarian could see nothing.

Perhaps this is why the Khan was able to defeat him; perhaps the Primarchs were special by nature, and perhaps he now possesses such abilities.

Mortarian stared wide-eyed at the bright light that filled his entire field of vision.

He could sense a powerful and dangerous force surging through the warp, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time.

In a panic, Mortarion raised his massive scythe, intending to stop Karna before anything terrible could happen.

He had to figure it out.

The scythe wielded the power of death, struggling to withstand the increasingly unstoppable attacks.

At least, this is what he owes them, and for the sake of his sons, he must do everything in his power.

His thoughts instantly returned to Barbarossa, to the plateaus that had exhausted him. He recalled climbing the mist-shrouded cliffs, searching for inconspicuous traces, looking for a possibility of resistance.
Mortarian forward.

He wanted to win, as if winning at this moment would allow him to forget what he should truly give up.

Afterward, Mortarian realized how terrifying that moment had been for him, how he had almost completely lost control amidst the shock and glory, and now all he knew was that something terrible had happened.

light.

For a time, that was all he could see.

The entire planet was illuminated, and along the way, billions of burnt-out rays of light lit up the deep valleys below.

The massive silhouette of the warship, illuminated by the light, gradually emerged from the drifting smoke and haze, while the ground simultaneously shimmered with the eerie green glow of stars and the pure white light bursting from physical explosions.

Then he saw it.

It was impossible to miss. Anyone on the planet Koss could see it. Regardless of whether other explosions or disintegrations were taking place around them due to their fierce battle, a blazing white, translucent sphere rose from the battlefield where the two Primarchs were fighting. It expanded at an astonishing speed and then burst forth with intense and brilliant burning light.

In the warp, he shone like a bright star, casting his vengeful light into Nurgle Garden.

The garden floor trembled violently, and demons of all sizes screamed as they swarmed out of their hiding places and ran wildly.

In the distance, no matter where you went in the garden, you could see Nurgle's black mansion trembling. Mortarion sensed another presence, as powerful as the one behind him, something as powerful as the one behind him, watching him through the light from the perpetually closed window behind him.

The ground collapsed and cracked.

Someone loudly chanted the name of the Seraphim.

Someone shouted the name of the Homeworld.

Some people charged toward their enemies, chanting war songs.

Finally, their voices converged.

"revenge."

With a wave of his hand, Karna's Emperor's Sword traversed countless distances and suddenly appeared in his hand, igniting a thousand-day flame.

Karna has always followed the power of humanity, and above him, there is another being who is no different from him.

The Emperor was shocked by the appearance of these four, worried that they would dabble in the power of the Warp and be corrupted by it. He was most concerned about Arthur, fearing that he might waver and cause the Wings of Dawn to lose their most precious insurance. He cared a lot about Romulus, fearing that he might back out and cause the Wings of Dawn's ideals to lose their material foundation. He was especially worried about Ramses, fearing that this unconventional scholar might go astray.

As for Karna, he wasn't worried.

Karna is simple; his simple wish gave him the power that best suited this world.

When the moment truly arrived, the one he was most able to align with was the angel.

He can intervene with the power of angels and then rely on them to turn the tide.

"Oh, the sun—"

He raised his spear high; the deep green stars had long been obscured, replaced by the blazing white sun.

"Accept death!"

A moment later, the sound waves arrived.

After the deafening roar came a howl from the highest heavens, all mixed with a kind of hatred that seemed to be pouring out on a particular individual.

At this moment, the hatred of the masses transforms into the tip of a burning spear, piercing through everything they despise in the most unstoppable way.

Throw the finishing blow and death at your opponent.

Slaanesh averted his gaze, while Tyrant gloated.

The Blood God couldn't help but admire it.

death.

It traversed the winding gaps between thousands of soldiers, passed through the weakest point on the hard armor, and finally stopped at the center of the arrogant tyrant's skull, letting out a sigh that sounded like a whisper.

It appeared there just like that, as if by a fatal coincidence, as if it were a sign that it was the destination to which all people, demons, and gods must go.

This is death.

The weak and hypocritical coward refuses that moment out of fear, while the strong choose to challenge fate.

The Blood God roared in battle, rising from his brass throne, his burning gaze fixed on the radiant angel, wishing the attack would strike Him instead.

Then war will be ignited on His wasteland, and both sides will be filled with eternal rage against each other, throwing themselves into this war that belongs to them.

He slammed his hand on the brass throne, and countless soldiers and demons rose up once more, casting his presence into the real universe as another grand war began.

Khorne's response remains only war; He will only respond with even more intense slaughter until the flames of war have completely consumed one side.

Motalian was too close to react.

"bring it on!"

He shouted, gripping his sickle tightly, desperately trying to see what was happening.

Amidst his despair, he seemed to harbor a faint sense of anticipation.

The Death Guardian is dead; now all that's left to lull him into a false sense of security is his own wishful thinking.

Perhaps this is how he should be.

To accept death.

Mortarian looked at the golden light and could feel something calling to him.

He could completely distance himself from all of this by simply stepping forward and accepting death as his own offspring did.

He watched the shooting star hurtling straight toward him.

'No. '

Mortarian's body no longer obeyed his commands.

He was frozen in that instant.

'No, no—'

Mortarion was forced, very, very slowly, to turn around, his face turning deathly pale as he looked back at the dark house, Nurgle's palace.

The Plague Gardens has many unique areas, among which the Black Castle is the most prestigious. It is Nurgle's palace and the Plague God himself.

squeak~
A large door opened in the gable wall, revealing a darkness even deeper than the despairing white light.

"No!"

"Motalian shouted, but it was too late," he said.

A force reached out to him and pulled hard.

He flew away, through the garden, away from the flames that seemed to be chasing him, toward the plague god's castle. Before he flew through the open gates, he felt an extreme fear, a fate that seemed more terrifying than death itself.

boom!
The door slammed shut behind him.

Once again, an even worse god trapped him.

Click!

The creaking of the closing door echoed through the Plague Garden; clearly, the god of plague was rejecting this uninvited guest who brought death.

But the gun of death can always find its target.

"Consider death!" Countless people surged forward, raising their flaming spears.

Boom!

They raised their spears high, passing strength to each other, their eyes wide, doing everything within their power.

forward.

The air fell into a suffocating silence once again.

Flames flickered from the edge of the drilled spear, outlining its contours.

The seraph's body was tense, and sparks flew from the hand gripping the spear due to excessive force.

This stalemate wasn't particularly long.

Click~
Seemingly sensing the fear of the castle's master, the flaming spears blazed once more, dispelling the surrounding deep darkness.

And so, the flames of revenge ignited once more.

boom--

That was the crisp sound of the gate shattering into carbonized fragments.

Each speck of black ash scattered, vanishing in the flying sparks.

forward!

"hold head high!!!"

The owner of the house roared.

Come in!
Kugas carried the crucible, panting heavily, his steps unsteady.

His entourage followed closely behind; these demons, who had just escaped the clutches of Tzeentch's army, were wandering through Nurgle's castle.

His heart was pounding violently, both from exhaustion and fear.

The voice of the Father now travels too slowly, hampered by wavering thoughts, a general collapse in morale, and a seemingly all-encompassing tide of panic. The Garden of the Plague God is a vast fortress of pure life, layer upon layer, and without those lives to carry out the Father's commands, they cannot control it all.

Boom!

Now he can hear the roaring sound outside.

Any Nurgle demons are acceptable; normally, such deadly noise shouldn't penetrate the thick forest, but the situation is different now. They've penetrated deep into the castle, which should have been the most peaceful paradise for life.

Ancient piles were buried in the raw material piled up by the terrain sculptor, and the resonance traveled all the way, echoing in every room and shaking dust off the narrow vaults.

However, the entire floor suddenly shook violently, and 70% of the Nurgle demons fell to the ground.

A crack appeared from the top of the city wall, spreading outwards at an alarming speed. Bricks and stones that were knocked away fell like a waterfall, crashing onto the floor and bouncing back into the newly torn valley.

Spear-like flames burst forth from the cracks, and deafening battle roars resounded, echoing throughout the hall.

The main structure of the city wall was torn open from the outside.

The surrounding forces began to become chaotic. Kugas gritted his teeth, picked up his crucible, and ran towards the crevice.

Do something, Kugas, pour out the plague of the gods and drench it upon those enemies.

He no longer expected the plague of the gods to poison the Primarch and bring the Father yet another loyal child.

He found himself praying that he could tip over the crucible, even for a moment.

He found himself praying to his loving father to grant permission for this trivial matter.

It's never enough.

Kugas is resilient and has the courage to protect its master.

However, when he was lifted up by the vibrations that felt like a drill ram striking the earth's crust and fell to the ground, Kugas watched in despair as his crucible tipped over.

What made him even more desperate was that it was completely empty.

"No!"

He let out a wail, listening to the treacherous, obscene, and ferocious voices that were also beginning to approach after the flames of vengeance.

The other three gods wouldn't let such an opportunity slip by either; the moment the gates of Plague Castle were breached, none of them would give up this once-in-a-lifetime chance.

That's how chaos is; if anyone dares to show even the slightest cowardice, other equally supreme beings will not hesitate to tear a piece of flesh from them.

Just as the gods forced Tzeentch to break his scepter, Nurgle took advantage of Slaanesh's weakened state after his birth to steal Elsa.

Kugas watched as a panel above him was completely blasted away, spraying countless fragments from the greenhouse where the father nurtured germs. The scorching, ear-piercing scraping sound gradually increased, followed by the whooshing sound of air rushing in.

boom!
Kugas watched as the spear that had obscured his view flashed past, surging deeper into the castle, leaving behind a trail of scorching feathers.

High heat, death—the phantoms constructed of pure flame poured in from the fiery battlefield after the rift pierced by the spear. Broken metal fragments crashed against the biomass shells with deafening noise, and massive shards of the outer deck of the city wall spun and collapsed like bullets.

Right now, as Kugas held the large bell in his hand, raised his head, and looked at the headless giant in front of him who was even taller than himself.

A feeling of powerlessness welled up inside me.

As the cannons roared again, and as the shocked demons began to regain their senses and scrambled to unleash their last remaining spells, the fiery army, an army engulfed in flames, ascended to the top of the withered trees and rubble.

The Cursed Legion, essentially a manifestation of the Emperor's power, has now arrived alongside vengeful spirits who worship angels.

Together they brandished their weapons and pried open the fortress of the plague god.

They stood at the summit, gazing into the endless darkness before them.

Behind them was a burning forest, and countless soldiers swarmed up to climb the castle. On either side of them were broken walls, with bricks and tiles still rolling down. The crack pierced by spears was widening, and the wooden door that served as the breakthrough point had vanished without a trace.

Before them, shrouded in the heavy shadows of dust and smoke, lay their long-cherished goal, the very promise that drove them to strive year after year.

Countless people gazed at it, staring at the overflowing fear, entered it, lit the flames, and then coldly watched their demise.

It is precisely these existences that make their very existence so painful.

Death seems to be the only viable escape.

Spires rise one after another, and the castle is so densely packed with houses that it seems to envelop all life in the world under its eaves. It is teeming with life, and as the Burning Legion approaches, they weep and tremble with fear.

This is how it began.

This is where it all began.

Those yearning to survive huddled in the plague wards, while demons and fallen beings stood frozen amidst the noise and stench. There, they witnessed everything: the true privileges of this world and the atrocities they had committed.

Now they've finally arrived, humans, the Avengers.

They had already killed many in this battle, but now, even more lay before them, an unimaginable number, like livestock being sent to the slaughterhouse.

"we are coming!"

The headless Iron General pounded on the head of the Nurgle demon, and the life force surging across the battlefield once more prompted the equally ancient victims around him to shout excitedly.

The anger and hatred of the warriors who died in that horrific tragedy ten thousand years ago cannot be extinguished by time.

"Come in."

He muttered incantations, and flames and black smoke billowed from the headless collar.

"God of Plague, we've entered!"

The thirteenth beam of light pierced the outer shell of the nearest plague crucible, and Kugas knew the time had come.

He failed.

He continued to resist stubbornly, finally managing to utter the last six words.

"May our loving father protect us..."

Then, the energy weapon's beam shot into the hall, igniting the air that was already mixed with charcoal ash.

Everything turned into a sea of ​​fire.
-
clang!
The filthy cauldron was pierced from top to bottom.

Steam filled the air, and cracks spread.

The boiling broth spilled from the side of the pot, fell to the ground, and left charred marks.

Tiny specks of intense heat splashed onto the filthy instep, scalding a series of blisters, but the plague god could only ignore such pain at this moment.

Nuguri, filled with resentment and panic, pressed down on the crucible.

From the outside, the giant cauldron was already broken into pieces, with molten gold visible through numerous cracks, and other colors mixed in at the bottom, continuing to spread.

Only when the Plague Garden's territory shrank to a certain extent, and the various forces finally reached a balance due to the concessions of its master, did the veins spreading between the fissures gradually stabilize.

The countless cracks were still breathtaking to behold, and the golden light remained bright, as if it would tear the giant cauldron to pieces at any moment.

Pressing harder and harder.

It was as if if he relaxed even slightly, those endless cursed legions would surge out from him.

Nurgle pressed hard on the edge of the cauldron, and boundless heat spread upwards along the edge, scorching His palms black and burning His forearms with hot blisters.

slap~
A Nurgle fell from a chickenpox fowl and died instantly from the high temperature.

Nurgle stared intently at the spear before him, its tip almost touching.

"ended."

Karna released his spear.

Countless people rushed forward, mortals and Astartes alike, regardless of rank, supporting each other and steadily holding him up, keeping the spear tip forever in front of Nurgle.

"Thank you, Karna."

The headless giant nodded toward the burning angel.

Beside him was the now-cleaned castle.

Everything was burned to ashes—vines, bacteria—leaving only exceptionally clean ashes.

"You need to thank more than just me."

Karna smiled, not daring to attribute all the credit to himself.

"Thank you too, thank you all, thank you for still working towards a goal."

Thanks to Ramses's boundless imagination, they had a feasible plan; thanks to Romulus's hard work, they had the conditions to execute their plan; and thanks to Arthur's unwavering commitment, they were able to make countless attempts without any scruples.

Thanks to Ryan for his war skills, thanks to Kluck for his silent contributions, and thanks to the Emperor for the power he provided.
Thank you to the millions of people who have worked to ensure that humanity can better survive in the galaxy.

Reaching this level was not solely due to his own efforts, and he never needed to face it all alone.

This victory belongs to everyone.

In this burning world, Karna meets the gaze of countless people.

They talked to each other, sharing the joy of revenge, then bid each other farewell and returned to their own battlefields, bringing the joy of victory to a fellow warrior who was about to awaken.

And harbor filth.

He could only watch all of this.

He could only struggle to support the giant cauldron, remaining vigilant against every human attack.

He could only watch Mortarion cautiously, trying to prevent death from truly arriving.

Smoke billowed and a foul stench filled the air.

Elsa watched as the entire divine body leaned over the broken pot, crackling and popping from the intense heat, its bloated form glowing a fiery red.

He will remain in this comical pose forever, until the next eternity arrives.

　Ps:

　　The next chapter: The Regent, awakens in grand style!
　　
　
(End of this chapter)