Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 292 The Last Echo of an Era

Mordred could simply eat and drink to her heart's content, while the others had to think much more.

Driven by an insatiable thirst for greed, Mordred craves the Primarch, partly because she herself possesses scraps of the Primarch within her body.

On the other hand, it was because each Primarch had consumed a part of him before the grand plan was implemented.

This small dose of fel contamination acts as a kind of condom for the Primarch, preserving some of their essence and preventing them from selling their underwear when they are stuffed into puffs by the four peddlers.

After all, inviting a wolf into your house doesn't mean you should actually let the wolf eat you.

The composition of the primordial is quite peculiar; the physical body is like a chassis, a shell that can contain the essence of the subspace.

Subspace is essentially made up of electrical components, such as motherboards, graphics cards, monitors, memory, fans, and CPUs—essentially hardware.

As for the soul and self-awareness, they are undoubtedly the operating system. As long as the operating system is kept running smoothly, even if it gets infected with a virus, you can simply reinstall the operating system by flashing the firmware.

Mordred had never anticipated that her most important antivirus software would malfunction. The fragments that should have served as a protective shield instead became the hunter's mark on the Primarch.

For Mordred now, the Primarch is like a candy that smells delicious and can make him incredibly high just from a single lick.

Biological instincts are nothing more than the same three things: eating, sleeping, and playing cards. Now, a group of adorable little creatures who can eat and sleep well and smell so familiar have appeared in front of him, and Mordred simply can't resist.

Even though it lost its mind and became a beast that only acted on instinct, it still reacted when it saw that golden, shiny weasel that was constantly emitting light pollution to the outside world.

Dead memories suddenly began to resurface, suppressing his biological instincts and igniting a flame of hatred within him.

Of Mordred's more than 200 years of life, the most profound and important part that influenced him was undoubtedly his memories before he came to this cesspool.

Besides that, the second most vivid memory is of this weasel.

For Mordred, his impression of Neos was entirely negative; he was a complete scoundrel, lazy, cunning, and wicked individual.

As an emperor, Neos doesn't even deserve the title of tyrant. He's as fierce as he is in killing aliens on the battlefield, but he's just as incompetent at governing the country.

If there were a keyboard that could govern a country, even putting a dog on it would be better than this idiot. It's just that Makado misjudged people and was forced to be a government servant in Terra.

Speaking of dogs, as a father, Huang Pizi is even worse than a dog. The way he educates his children is so bad that calling him a dog would be an insult to dogs.

What about his character?
The Emperor's reputation score has plummeted to rock bottom. He can't even scan a shared bike in Tranquility. The shared bikes might even find him dirty and turn into Autobots to give him a good beating, then transform into Decepticons and curse him for being unlucky.

The only reason this piece of trash has survived this long is because of his unreasonable and powerful strength, and that is Mordred's third most profound impression.

Ever since becoming the Primarch, Mordred has been beaten up every time he encounters the Emperor. Although he does have a foul mouth, does Neos have nothing to do with it?
The Emperor's appearance instantly triggered a stress response in Mordred, who began to frantically exhale.

If it were Zhuang Sen's breath, it would just be a matter of blowing the heads off a few unlucky guys. But Mordred's breath would spew out fel energy death rays and spontaneously rush towards that final godhood.

The fifth throne, symbolizing the dissolution of greed, drew ever closer, with even black flames igniting behind it, pressing the divine position against Mordred.

The name Mordred echoed throughout the entire warp; everyone knew it, and all spirits began to sing praises to the birth of this fifth deity.

"Oedipus Seven Sargeras Proudmoore Griffith Menethil Pendragon..."

This is a blessing bestowed upon Mordred by 88 dog-man clans, and it is also the beginning of 88 dog-man clans. Across millions of years of time, an unobstructed road to heaven was formed.

With each syllable that appears, Mordred takes a step closer to the divine position, and his form becomes increasingly distorted and grotesque.

The distorted face was so terrifying that it could hardly be called a living being. Amidst the intertwining of materialized energy and flesh, countless eyeballs and sharp teeth burst forth, accompanied by irregularly sliding fleshy tentacles, staring intently at every living being.

Such a nightmarish and twisted creation, like a terrifying fantasy from the depths of a nightmare, is Morred's true nature.

No one would doubt his identity; anyone familiar with Mordred could recognize him at a glance.

Even if he were reduced to a pool of boiling flesh and blood, everyone could still see the arrogant blond hair that writhed with the flesh and blood, still sporting an afro! When you gaze into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.

With just a glance, countless mortal soldiers collapsed to the ground, howling in agony as their reason crumbled and they mutated rapidly, eventually turning into a lump of boiling viscous slurry.

Perhaps due to further evolution, one figure after another emerged from the slime. Blocked by dimensional barriers, it was not the Burning Legion that came this time, but Atlas, who could move freely in the physical world.

The four vendors believed they were doomed and began to cut off limbs to survive, severing areas contaminated by fel energy. However, this inadvertently contributed to the birth of Mordred.

Only the kobolds did not back down, joining the Emperor in protecting the Imperial fleet with all their might, watching Mordred, which should have belonged to them, drift further and further away.

That was once an unattainable hope for him, and now, he had personally destroyed that salvation.

"No, this shouldn't be the case. You three cowards, don't bother coming."

Amidst the barrage of artillery fire, the roars of the kobolds reached the Emperor's ears, but at this moment the Emperor had no time to pay attention to anything else.

The Dark Lord has staked everything on Mordred, but similarly, as soon as Mordred is born, the Dark Lord will be born soon after.

However, when it comes to swindling people, the four peddlers never disappoint. After discovering that cutting the field was meaningless, Tzeentch's amazing wisdom struck again.

"Everything is going according to plan. Trust me, you all have to trust me, I have a way!"

The blue slime, already corrupted by fel energy, gradually went mad, and the previously laid contingency plans were activated one after another. The fragments of that completely destroyed world began to collide with the entire galaxy.

As the two dimensions collided, everything corresponding to the Milky Way region began to reset and merge, both in the subspace and the physical world.

Mordred did not exist in that world, and Tzeentch wanted to use this nothingness to take away Mordred herself.

This plan, which would inflict 1000 damage on the enemy while also harming 800 of its own, is unpredictable and anyone could only try it as a last resort.

However, as time ticked by, Mordred not only didn't weaken, but instead burst into emerald flames, breathing even more fiercely. Tzeentch thought the dosage wasn't enough and tried to increase the intensity, but the Emperor, realizing what was happening, kicked him in the mouth.

"Get lost, you forgetful brat! Have you forgotten how you messed up before?"

"What should I do?"

"How the hell was I supposed to know this was all your fault? I'll just take you all down with me, even if it means we all go down together. It'll be worth it!"

"Look at you four good-for-nothings: a fatso, a slut who's neither male nor female, a piece of trash who just shouts that everything is going according to plan, and you even have a dog."

It wasn't that the Emperor had given up hope; it was simply because he heard Mordred recall the surname Wayne, and that if he remembered his name again, the outcome would be an endless final battle.

Just as the Emperor was about to give up, Mordred suddenly stopped spitting out, and his whole body—no, his whole sphere—began to groan in pain.

A silver-white spear flashing with emerald lightning appeared on his body. Although it was gradually dissipating, it firmly pinned him to the last step of the Ascension Staircase.

Two completely opposite energies collided here, shattering the balance Mordred had maintained until now. A half-human figure struggled to crawl out, but was quickly pulled back by the endless fleshy tentacles, letting out a pathetic howl:
"Croak—someone save me!"

Beneath her golden hair was a scarlet scarf fluttering in the wind, the brass wolf claw mark still gleaming.

Countless faint points of light burst forth from it, trying to drag Mordred down from her pedestal, but they were too weak.

Mordred is not only the Mushroom King, but also the creator of the Dogmen. His once glorious Dogmen are gone and cannot resist the dragging of the new era's sacrifices.

Watching the rapidly dissipating silver spear, the kobold and the emperor exchanged a glance, both confirming a certain idea.

"You bunch of useless trash, hold them off!"

"My son! Your father has come to save you!" ×2
(End of this chapter)