This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 483 Master Ra confronts the evil gods head-on; Abaddon regrets the Saturn Gate.

"What are you talking about?"

Ramses pointed to the screen constructed of psychic energy.

Kayan's stirring voice was just a minor incident; what was more noteworthy was the five-colored waves surging within the warp.

Guilliman was able to recognize what these things represented by simply by looking at them, even if those things looked extremely blurry.

It doesn't matter, as long as he refuses, we'll figure out a way to handle the rest of the subspace portion.

This is a very real lesson, and a unique case. If the fleet hadn't switched to the real universe, if Old Man Huang hadn't been watching them, and if Karna hadn't been here, he wouldn't have dared to do this.

"How can you compare me to Little Ma?"

When faced with a bunch of Astartes who had never met him before calling him "father," his expression was as if he had suffered some unprecedented insult.

"Although Little Ma was also completely outmaneuvered by Tzeentch, to be honest, sometimes I really can't tell the difference between him and Oglin."

You are still feeling wronged.

Guilliman dared not refute, and nodded in agreement.

He used to care a lot about what others said about the Primarch, even about Luo Jia, his vicious and superstitious brother, whom he disliked having his offspring make unwarranted comments about. But now he doesn't care anymore.

After reading through the Primarch biographies and realizing that some of his brothers were a bunch of bastards, and that some Primarchs might not even be as good as Oglins in certain situations, Guilliman unconsciously felt that comparing himself to them might be a disgrace.

He spoke in a low voice to Digglis, who was born in the 40k and was arguably his most relied-upon offspring at this moment, eagerly absorbing all knowledge of psychic energy.

Oh right, and numerology too.

He rummaged through the pile of books, and Sepius, who had been rigorously trained by Delacroix, immediately stepped forward and quickly helped Guilliman find the original copy of "Numerology" left by Mortalian, which was used for comparison with Ramses's psionic textbook.

I have no idea how the library in Altrama keeps all this messy stuff.

The prisoner in the cave only takes what he knows within his limited understanding as the whole truth, while those fortunate enough to break free and escape the cave know a far wider reality.

Guilliman is now fortunate enough to know that this narrow cave is actually the last NBC (nuclear, biological, chemical) shelter that humanity used to defend against this gas-polluted world.

His fingertips traced the pages of the book as he looked at Ramses's vivid metaphors in the textbook.

Sometimes, humanity had to rely on the power outside the cave to survive. So the Khan, leading his prophets, studied the patterns of the tides, using them cautiously and sparingly. The Wolf King found an antidote for his shamans, avoiding the search for the source. The Lion, through discipline and restraint, kept his men constantly prepared to deal with any threats. They all knew that beyond the cave lay a sea of ​​poisonous water.

However, the red-skinned, one-eyed Oglin was different. He led another group of little Oglins, swimming freely in the toxic water without any protection. Wearing sunglasses, they looked like they were on a beach vacation, having a blast. He even turned around to wave to his fully armed companions, inviting the others to join in the fun.

"Haha~"

Guilliman couldn't help but burst out laughing, and at the same time, he couldn't help but recall his arrogance when he first returned to Terra and faced his brothers.

He arrogantly used Imperial Truth to deconstruct these Chaos forces, rejecting Dorne's suggestion to 'seal off Mars and the Moon, which were then occupied by traitors, and prioritize the capture of the escaped Chaos traitors,' and presumptuously believed that the threat of the Four Gods had been resolved by the Emperor, and that the Emperor would be able to return after a period of time, thus missing a golden opportunity.

In fact, the four gods are immortal. They have been free from restraint since the moment the Emperor was trapped on the Golden Throne. The Emperor cannot return. He was the victor of the ascension ceremony that sacrificed the fate of mankind. If he were to truly rise from the throne, the Emperor would no longer be the same person he once was.

He had no idea what the Four Gods represented or what everything that happened in Terra meant, yet he arrogantly refuted the judgments made by his brothers who had endured the torment. At that time, he was perhaps no different from Magnus.

His decision was able to be executed thanks to the more than 3200 capital ships that were in the air above Terra at the time, as well as the 25 Ultramarines among them, and the supplies that were enough to completely repair Terra.

Guilliman's face stiffened, and he suddenly felt as if a boomerang had hit him.

He could already imagine how foolish his boastful words would seem in the eyes of Dorne, who had returned from the Blood God's Realm, confronted Mortarion and killed his Khan, and the Wolf King, who had long known what an Emperor was.

Perhaps when he's wielding the Emperor's Sword, flaunting his authority and thinking his brothers, ravaged by the Great Rebellion, have misjudged him, they're probably thinking of him as an arrogant and conceited Blue Oglin.

This made Guilliman sigh instinctively, put away his arrogance, and continue to focus on studying the text.

He cannot afford to make the same mistake again, especially since his brothers have placed their hopes for the future of the empire on him.

When the arrogant and unrestrained Khan and Rus return, I will make them look at me with new eyes, and then use methods that they cannot control to put them in their rightful places.

Guilliman thought with a rather wicked glint in his eyes as he thought of those two guys who had so readily abandoned the empire after his fall.
-
"As expected, things won't go that smoothly."

While Guilliman was still figuring out how to deal with his unruly brothers, Ramses was still keeping an eye on the warp.

The spell was still in progress, but he encountered a slight problem.

Strange storms, burning flames, decaying tides, and mesmerizing smoke rose all around him, kept out by the brilliant golden light, yet enveloping him like a threat.

The four gods were very unhappy with Ramses's attempt to kill Abaddon directly.

The Warp is not united; its chaotic thoughts have led to countless disagreements among them. The entanglement between the four gods is no less complex than the conflict between reality and chaos. Therefore, it is not easy to elect a representative that they can all accept.

Given that Abaddon is indeed an actor who is both entertaining and has a certain role on stage, the Four Gods will not hesitate to give him their attention.

They wouldn't easily allow such a entertaining actor, the most entertaining one since Horus, to leave the game, nor could they accept that an increasingly unrestrained player on the chessboard would continue to win.

Ramses remained silent.

The surging warp tides crashed against his body, which was suspended in the sea of ​​souls. Unlike the terrifying appearance in the eyes of those demons, he now appeared radiant.

But no one rushed to make a move.

Ramses knew that he currently had no way to obtain the Four Gods.

The Four Gods knew that the creature before them was merely a facade, and no one knew what lay hidden beneath its radiant exterior. But even the Four Gods knew that what lay beneath was certainly not what they most desired to take.

Tzeentch has tried countless times. As the entity that has been organizing the demon army to destroy the 'Park' every moment since its appearance, if the souls that He seized from countless battles that constitute this glorious body are really useful, then He can at least assemble 999 Ramses in His own divine realm.

Abaddon cannot die.

This is the bottom line for the gods.

The environment has indeed changed. The living conditions of the named and known subordinates are now extremely harsh, and they cannot even be protected outside of the subspace.

The four gods, accustomed to greed, naturally didn't want to waste this little bit of money, but that didn't mean they would endlessly choose to compromise.

Especially for Jianqi.

A predetermined outcome is truly meaningless.

A dazzling blue flame rose from the ground, and illusory feathers swirled and fell. The roots of these feathers were competing with an invisible force, and the two sides began to alter each other's answers.

Golden rays of light occasionally streaked across the sky. Behind Ramses, the cold sun of the warp tore the paper about to reveal the results, forcing everything to start all over again.

At this point, the fluttering feathers would pause for a moment, then resume filling in, as if in a state of exasperation.

"The number of people remains the same, I will not touch Abaddon, and the rest will rely on their own abilities."

Ramses felt that dragging things out like this was not a good idea.

His health bar isn't infinite like the other five; just letting it dwindle like this could easily cause problems.

But the bottom line of 130 cannot be changed.

Otherwise, Huron wouldn't be able to win.

Abaddon may not be good at much else, but when it comes to real fighting, he's unstoppable when leading his team to behead enemies. Back when he wasn't even equipped with the Four Gods' special supplies, he could face the three War Gods, Garo, Cypatus, and Hal, all by himself. Before running away, he even killed two of his opponents.

A fair duel, while Harken's commandos are currently entangled with the reinforcements, Abaddon's 130 men versus Huron's 130 men.

The gods, who had been entangled with each other, paused in their actions.

With a sound like a fist loosening its clenched cartilage, the crimson flames receded.

Khorne was the first to acknowledge it, pressing down on the armrests and sitting back on the throne, transforming once again into a statue of a war god soaked in endless blood.

He needs to bleed. The Blood God doesn't care about winning or losing. There aren't many beings in this universe who can kill people with indifference, especially social beings like humans.

Humans need intense emotions to drive them to overcome what they fear and kill the factors that hinder their survival; the emotions generated in this process can give the Blood God great satisfaction.

And Abaddon—

It must be said that the Chaos Warmaster possesses an extraordinary talent for causing bloodshed, whether it be enemy or ally. Slaanesh immediately agreed.

He didn't want to waste time here; there was far too much joy waiting for Him to experience in this world.

Honestly, Ramses was His second favorite. This attitude of constantly teetering on the edge of taboo but never falling down was quite alluring. It added a touch of 'maybe I can win him over?' to pure restraint.

Moreover, the threat of the Spirit Race's Death God has been completely eliminated by him. With the addition of the old woman's sword in His palace, He, as the weakest link among the gods, finally has one less fatal weakness.

As long as Abaddon lives, He is happy to witness the clown continue His performance and add to His own pleasure with the consequences of His actions.

Nurgle was saddened by this.

The fact that those brothers loyal to Abaddon were about to embark on a deadly path because of their brotherhood caused the loving Father such sorrow.

But there's nothing He can do. Among all the gods, He is now the one with the least room for maneuver. He still has his own problems to solve. The plague that once ravaged the galaxy, could not be cured by conventional means, and poisoned all living beings, is now being dealt with at its source by the executioners under the command of the Emperor or the Wings of Dawn.

Tzeentch looked at the cold sun and began to confront himself.

The surging hellstorm retreated, leaving behind a blank sheet of paper that only displayed the number of words.

Well, that's fine. Anyway, the goal has been achieved, and everything is going according to plan.

Great, deal done.

Ramses finally painted over the blank fate without any hindrance. In the instant that only a moment had passed in the real universe, and as Kayan's roar was shattered by the surging tides of the warp, the fate of the Black Legion was decided.

130
Only 130 people.

"Emperor Karna!"

Ramses reacted swiftly; the moment fate revealed its outcome, he stopped writing and charged forward first.

Two suns, one enormous and cold, the other tiny and warm, pressed forward together, beginning to seize the first prize of this operation: the fallen warriors under Abaddon's command.

The possessing demon drained them dry, and the fallen humanity faced eternal death.

Under the cover of an unseen force, the two suns gained priority in this struggle, and with a speed far exceeding that of the gods, they obtained everything they needed in the fastest and most swift way.

The two suns, one large and one small, drifted away under the influence of an invisible force, leaving behind the gods roaring in resentment.

When you are powerful enough, you can naturally trample on all rules, but if you are not powerful enough, you will be bound by the rules whether you like it or not.

Those who are not strong enough shed blood that praises Khorne and sings the praises of the gods with every choice they make. But there are always those who, and the emperors behind them, can ignore the iron law of this galaxy. They can make the minions of the gods, and even the gods themselves, shed their unwilling blood.

This is not the end.

Ramses' consciousness detached from the subspace.

He turned on the communication.

"Hey, Old Nineteen, I have a list here, can you keep an eye on it for me?"

"Hey, boss, Master Ya, this is the final coordinate. You guys go ahead."

"I'm fine on my end. We'll hold the fort with the rest of the troops. Okay, that's settled."

End.

Ramses revived the so-called agreement.

The shadow of the ravens once again loomed over the treasures cherished by the gods, those demons and fallen beings they had painstakingly crafted, thus obscuring their vision.

In the warp and the net, two separate regions, two commanders of the same legion of knights, whose forces had already broken away, were moving at their fastest possible speed.

A verbal agreement is never as effective as one obtained by force, just like what happened earlier.

If the gods truly desire it, then, as they just threatened Ramses, they must take it themselves.

Coincidentally, he was never alone.

Ramses then put pen to paper at the very end of the agreement.

Everything is going according to plan.
-
"."

Looking at his remaining subordinates, Abaddon felt a tightness in his throat, followed by a strong smell of blood spreading from his body.

At this moment, just as at that moment.

He shook off the influence of the Lord of Steel, the interference of the Chaos Gods, and the mistakes he had made in the past, and carried out the mission in the most traditional way, with his truest thoughts and the most unwavering commands.

Then, he was given a harsh lesson.

In the past, he despised warp magic and was kicked out of the palace by Dorne in the most orthodox and primitive way. Now, he despises warp magic and is judged by the being behind Huron in a way that far exceeds the understanding of the Chaos Astartes.

He looked to his side, at Fakus Kabo, and the thirty Despair Messengers under his command.

His gaze shifted again, and what remained were the hundred or so Wolf Brothers gathered together, and the scattered Gastrin.

What about the rest?
Abaddon withdrew his gaze from the sharp protrusions of the steel structure, carefully controlling his steps, when he inadvertently caught sight of the blood flowing from the cracks in the Imperial Statue.

Abaddon closed his eyes.

They were embedded in the walls, in the foundation, and in the now gleaming imperial statues.

This is all due to his decisions.

Abaddon recalled countless times the past, the past, at the Saturn Gate, the great defeat that wiped out the entire main force of the Sons of the Emperor and the Sons of Horus.

He blamed it on the bedrock not being stable enough, on Peturab mocking him, on everything except himself.

However, now, all this disastrous situation is entirely due to his own incompetence and pathetic ineptitude, the second time—

No, I've lost count of how many times.

Abaddon delivered him and his men to their destination, then lost countless lives in a disgraceful manner.

Again.

The members of the Black Legion all watched him, waiting for the war commander to give orders.

They were shaken and confused.

They could all easily see that the War General's gamble had failed once again. Their opponents were a step ahead, having completely predicted the War General's choice and were waiting for them to walk into their trap. The exciting promises in the plan had vanished in an instant.

It's because of him again.

Abaddon could almost hear the laughter of the Four Gods, or perhaps more than just the Four Gods, mocking his own overestimation of his abilities and his arrogance, which provided the spectators of this universe with a superb performance.

He forced down the blood that rose in his chest.

He raised his sword in the arena laid out by his warriors, and right in front of them, behind another energy shield, their opponents stood in formation, waiting.

Fograim had commented early on that Abaddon and Fabius Bayer both possessed unique qualities.

Despite making incredibly stupid mistakes, they always manage to put on an attitude of 'I'm right' and stubbornly continue down this path, all the while insisting that they are different from others.

The laughter and chatter around them grew louder.

Gunfire erupted, sparks flew everywhere.

Let them laugh.

In the increasingly heated battlefield, Abaddon found his match.

I am still the commander-in-chief; they can't find a more suitable candidate than me.

(End of this chapter)