Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 300: Jie cannot escape; the era of the emperor has ended. (Two chapters combined)

For Guilliman, everything was terrible.

A rebellion broke out inexplicably, reinforcements arrived inexplicably, and then inexplicably turned into a massive brawl.

"Who am I? Where am I? What am I going to do?"

These three fundamental questions about life were battling each other in Guilliman's mind, driving him to the point that his super brain crashed.

Even so, Guilliman, a super Muggle, still managed to catch a glimpse of an echo:
"No, I'm missing a part of my memory. Mordred, yes, that's the name! But who is Mordred?"

Guilliman instinctively swung his elbow, which relieved his pain slightly, but he still couldn't remember who Morey was.

"I don't care, I'll fight all four of them together!"

"Pass on my order: All units, fire at will! Company one, board me!"

Guilliman's decision was undoubtedly correct. Since the Ultramarines had been lost and had not encountered any combat, they were essentially at full health and mana.

The other legions, though seemingly numerous, were mostly at low health, and even the evil god had been weakened to the extreme.

But Guilliman overlooked the fact that even a weakened camel is bigger than a horse, and a god of evil is still a god of evil, especially within the vortex created by Mordred, where they can invest even more power.

Now that all the Primarchs are laid out before us, what should we do? Go all in, of course! Warp Storm activated!
A violent warp storm swept in instantly, engulfing all the Primarchs into the warp.

Seeing this, the emperor did not hesitate and plunged in, thinking he could save as many as he could.

As expected, angels were the most sought-after commodity among all the evil gods. Four large hands descended from the sky and grabbed Saint Gilles's limbs.

The Emperor was not to be outdone; while the eldest son was being held captive by the evil god, he also grabbed the archangel's wings.

"release!"

"No, the angels are mine."

"You're talking nonsense, this is my son."

"Stop! I'm fucking about to break! Let go! Let go now!"

Faced with Saint Gilles's wailing, the Emperor exerted all his strength, grabbing the two large wings and pulling them outwards. The other four gods were also unwilling to give up their beloved possessions, so they chose to increase the pressure layer by layer.

But how could an angel withstand the combined pull of the four gods and the emperor?

An unparalleled and powerful force surged repeatedly within his body, causing Saint Gilles' limbs to stretch out little by little, as if being torn apart by five horses.

The angel's left hand flashed red light, his right hand flashed green light, his left leg was blue to the point of being purple, and his right leg was purple to the point of being blue. His two large wings had been plucked bare, and his head was flashing back and forth like a spotlight.

Unspeakable pain ravaged everything in Saint Gilles, even causing cracks to appear in the very essence of his soul.

Saint Gilles smiled with relief. Rather than suffer like this, he might as well give himself a quick death.

Having lost his spear of victory, and only carrying a large sword on his back, the angel, taking advantage of the fact that his head was still his own, didn't hesitate and twisted his neck 180 degrees, performing a "dog-sword-holding" move.

With a soft "thud," the weapon, which was more like a watermelon knife than a greatsword, pierced through the angel's head and was instantly devoured by the knife, turning into a white skeleton on the hilt.

The great Lord Baal, the Primarch of the Ninth Legion, the archangel loved by all, died so meaninglessly.

As Saint Gilles' head emptied, his body was instantly torn into mincemeat, becoming five equal parts of an angel.

Seeing the blood-soaked wings in his hands, an unspeakable rage instantly shattered the emperor's reason. He grabbed his greatsword and charged forward.

At this moment, the Emperor greedily craved the energy of the subspace, and the humanity of the man named Neos gradually crumbled. Dark golden flames burned fiercely on his body, and he instantly broke through the dangerous red line.

Seeing the cursed one suddenly go mad, the four gods were not to be outdone and turned to charge at the Primarch. Only an idiot would fight this thing head-on; the Primarch was the most important.

This infuriated the emperor, who trembled with rage. Even though he had reached the state of oneness with the divine, he was no match for the four evil gods. He couldn't withstand their scramble and was beaten half to death.

Because some of their memories were erased, and the two dimensions were rapidly merging, all the Primarchs were mentally sluggish, or rather, they were struggling with the consciousness that had suddenly appeared within them for control of their bodies.

These fragmented consciousnesses, reduced to mere obsessions, are utterly powerless against the original entity. After all, those that could be dragged over have already been dragged over by the four peddlers; it's only a matter of time before they are crushed.

But now time is everything; even a brief delay has turned the Primarch into a lamb to the slaughter.
In this situation where everyone was under the influence of a "brain drain" effect, Zhuang Sen was the first to react.

In fact, Zhuang Sen didn't know what he had done. He only remembered that he seemed to have accidentally killed something. He thought it was a speed bump, so he ran over it and then came to his senses.

Driven by instinct, Zhuang Sen's body moved faster than his brain, grabbing Vulcan and Luojia, who were closest to him and in a daze, and initiating the jungle walk.

Mortalian, on the other hand, was in a terrible state. Before Mordred died, he took away Mordred's snacks, leaving him with a completely muddled mind. When he opened his eyes, he saw a fat green guy falling from the sky, hugging him tightly, and frantically pouring shit into his body.

"Quack—it's poop!"

Even worse off was Angron, who was caught in the warp storm with Felus and Koz, whose bodies had been taken over, right next to him. Felus had attracted Slaanesh.

When he saw the Dark Prince rushing towards him, his subconscious told Angron that he absolutely could not be captured, or his life would be over.

Due to a memory gap, Angron was completely unaware that his true form was a thorn in his side. He tried to move his body toward the Emperor, but it moved in the opposite direction. In his panic, he crashed headfirst into the kobold.

The kobold glanced at the Omega struggling desperately in his hand, then at the Angron at his feet, and was momentarily stunned before bursting into indescribable ecstasy.

No gambler loses every day, and then luck comes knocking, doesn't it?
"me……"

"What do you mean, 'I'? Come here!"

Grab it in one go, refine it in an instant; even a Red Sand Angel is an angel.

In contrast to the Kobolds' good fortune, Tzeentch was targeted by the Emperor. He tried to steal Alpha but was thwarted by the Emperor, and he also tried to steal Guilliman but was thwarted by the Emperor first.

Between the remaining Corax and Perturabo, the Emperor did not hesitate to choose Corax, after all, next to Corax were Forgrim and Feralas.

Left with no other choice, Tzeentch had to choose Peturabo. It seemed like Tzeentch had lost out, but the cunning old fox always has a backup plan; he still has a safety net.

The battle between the Emperor and the Four Gods continues, and no one knows what is happening; everything is shrouded in the warp storm.

When Zhuang Sen, Luo Jia, and Vulcan, who had regained consciousness, saw the Emperor again, he was already severely injured and lying on the ground, barely clinging to life.

Meanwhile, Forgrim and Alpha beside him had also fallen into a coma. Feralus was left with only his head and a watermelon knife stuck in his body. Only Guilliman still had his own consciousness and was tightly bound to the Emperor's leg with a belt.

There was nothing anyone could do about the emperor's injuries.

Vulcan is immortal, so he's dead. Johnson is good at counter-terrorism and purges; it would be better for him to die than to study medicine.

As for Luo Jia and Guilliman, looking at the emperor who was barely breathing, they felt a sense of emptiness in their hearts. In their minds, there should have been a doctor among their brothers.

"Then why don't we kill our father?"

Vulcan's voice startled everyone; they all thought the seemingly thick-browed, big-eyed black man had gone mad, as they couldn't understand what he was saying.

But Vulcan had his own theory: "My father is immortal; even if he dies, he can be resurrected. Rather than let him suffer here, let him die quickly."

Upon hearing this, everyone surprisingly found it quite reasonable. So the question arises: who should be sent to stab the emperor in the back?
Seeing his brothers instinctively looking at him, Guilliman felt completely humiliated.
"Why the hell are you all staring at me? So I'm the only one who has to be the bad guy?"

"I'd rather die than do it! Then why not let Zhuang Sen do it? Doesn't he call himself the big brother? Don't you guys forget, apart from Fulgrim, none of us are clean, second..."

"Stop, stop talking, I'll do it."

Faced with Guilliman's questioning, the Lion King had no choice but to draw his sword and stand before the Emperor. Seeing the Emperor covered in cold sweat and his face flushed red, Zhuang Sen could only comfort himself by saying that it was all for his father.

"I'm sorry, Father, I'm doing this for your own good. I promise you'll go freely and without any pain, ah—"

With a roar, the blade, shimmering with a disintegrating force field, slashed towards the emperor's neck. But just as the blade was about to touch the emperor's neck, a pair of large hands suddenly blocked the blade:

"Zhuang Sen, what are you doing?"

"Father, so you're not dead!" He didn't know whether the emperor was dead or not, but he knew that if Zhuang Sen had struck him with his sword, he would have died even if he wasn't.

Looking at his remaining offspring, the emperor was filled with unspeakable sorrow. An indescribable grief washed over his soul, not only because of the current mess, but also because he felt that he had forgotten something he should not have forgotten.

But the emperor couldn't remember anything; he only knew that his time was running out and that he absolutely could not die.

Thinking of this, the Emperor grabbed the hands of Johnson and Guilliman. He seemed to see a phantom figure nodding at him. Was that Horus?
No, my Sagittarius doesn't have that thick blond hair, so this must be Saint Gillespie!
The Emperor regretted not having spoken more with the angel, telling him that he knew all the Legion's secrets and that he didn't need to be so cautious, but now the opportunity was gone.

“Guilliman, my time is running out. Take me back to Holy Terra and place me on the Golden Throne. From this day forward, you will be the Emperor’s Regent.”

"Father, I..."

"Stop talking."

The Emperor stopped Guilliman, saying in an unyielding tone, "You must protect our empire, that's an order, and so must Johnson."

"Father, I am here."

Looking at his sharpest blade, the Emperor made a rare little joke: "My forever proud little lion, loyalty deserves the best reward. From now on, you will be the third, no, the fourth War Marshal of the Empire."

"Come here, all of you."

Upon hearing the Emperor call their names, all the Primarchs gathered around, even bringing the unconscious Forgrim and his companions to the Emperor's side.

At this moment, the Primarchs discovered that the Emperor was not as tall as they had imagined; on the contrary, he was surprisingly thin. He had not recovered; it was merely a final burst of energy before his death.

"You are all my children, and I will entrust this empire to you from now on."

"But Father, what will we do if even you are gone?"

"Only God knows. Take me back to Terra quickly, Magnus can't hold on much longer, and neither can I."

Following this final command, the Primarch led the Emperor to Holy Terra. Under some kind of final blessing, the fleet sailed unimpeded, and even the warp was unusually silent.

When the fleet arrived in the solar system, a sense of doubt arose in everyone's minds as they looked at the twelve steel fortresses that were nothing short of insane and had completely opposite styles.

When did Emperor Fist and Iron Warriors become so close? Shouldn't Dorn and Perturabo be fighting the moment they meet?

They were not the only ones with doubts about this; the emperor, who was placed in a life support device, also had similar questions.

The loss of memory is not absolute; as long as it exists, it will leave clues. Even if he only has half a breath left, the emperor can still use his psychic powers to observe his surroundings.

The spiral towers, built at an unknown time and scattered throughout the solar system, could be identified by the Emperor as some kind of faster-than-light communication device, though for some unknown reason they had stopped working.

There's also the Fearless on Feralas, a model no one recognizes, and the heretical technology it uses is something even the Emperors have never seen.

All these anomalies led to one name—Atlas!
Like anti-counterfeiting labels, the black and red "A" logo was ubiquitous both inside and outside the empire, its scale so large that, in the Emperor's view, it could even rival the Cult of Mechanics.

If this is only the surface, then the rooms built for each Primarch within the Imperial Dream tell the whole story.

Looking at the room, which was completely different in style from the other rooms and had been transformed into an arcade, the Emperor was convinced that it was all related to his second son.

What baffled the Emperor even more was that there were aliens on the Emperor Dream: one was a tall dog-headed man, and the other was a cute yellow rat.

He didn't know the difference between the two alien emperors that appeared out of nowhere, but he could recognize the other one.

Looking at the giant thunder sprout that had already multiplied and thrived inside the Emperor's Dream and was also in a state of confusion, the Emperor was certain that this mutant was the Spirit Race!
"Does that mean I had an affair with an alien before?"

But no matter how much the emperor pondered, he could not recall any memories, and even Atlas had no recollection whatsoever.

Only those permanent fortifications, weapons, and countless containers can prove that such a force once existed.

Furthermore, this force has infiltrated every aspect of the empire, including military, communications, logistics, and people's livelihoods. Even the Emperor suspects that only the Terra Council has not been infiltrated.

Thinking of this, even though he was barely breathing, the emperor subconsciously used his spiritual energy to open the cabinet and take out a box of cigars.

Looking at the grinning dog icon on the cigar, the Emperor seemed to realize something and subconsciously looked down at his neck.

A tattered but warm red scarf was tightly tied around her neck.

Through the red scarf, the Emperor saw a large black dog fast asleep in a coffin, wearing an identical scarf around its neck.

Around this lazy dog ​​were fifty-five layers of black stone coffins. The outermost 54 layers were completely destroyed, and only the last layer was still shimmering with a faint emerald light. On it was an oil painting with several large characters written on the back.

"Seeing the painting is like seeing the man himself, Old Huang. I'll live off this little secret for the rest of my life. I'll definitely come back."

—The Lord of Tranquility, Father of Atlas, Commander of the Burning Legion, Warmaster of the Empire, Lord of the Dark Moon, Father of Nyos, the Great Forerunner, Successor of the Old Ones, the Empire's greatest skill master, the Mushroom King, invincible, the coolest, most domineering, most evil, and eternally healthy Mordred in the galaxy!!!

"Haha, hahaha, hahaha, you bastard, there's no room for so many people here."

The emperor didn't know why he was laughing, but he couldn't help it. All his bitterness and depression vanished in an instant, all because he remembered that name.

"Mordred? That's an unlucky name. Which idiot gave you that name? It wasn't that mindless kobold who just hacks and slashes!"

The emperor's unusual behavior attracted the attention of the Imperial Guards, who then discovered that their emperor, with his half-crippled body, was peeking out of his life support device, smoking and laughing unrestrainedly.

Why is Your Majesty laughing?

"It's nothing, I just remembered some happy things. Hang this painting up for me in a bit, right opposite the Golden Throne."

Upon receiving the oil painting that had suddenly appeared in the emperor's hands, and looking at the beautiful woman in it, the Imperial Guard immediately activated the recording device on his armor, and even made a copy to send to his good brother.

"I guarantee the mission will be completed. Your Majesty, please rest assured. I will use the best static field to encapsulate this painting, ensuring that it is not damaged in the slightest."

Anyone who tries to damage this painting will have to step over the corpses of all our Imperial Guards!

The emperor suddenly regretted it. He felt that entrusting the painting to the Imperial Guards was not a good choice, but he had no other choice now.

The emperor's mood improved, but this feeling was quickly swept away when he was carried into the palace by the Primarch.

Seeing his emaciated old friend on the Golden Throne, the Emperor was completely overwhelmed, while Dorne felt utterly ashamed.

"Your Majesty, you have finally returned! I feel as if I have forgotten so much. Magnus has been taken away, and the Thousand Sons have gone mad. Dorn has done its best."

Faced with Macardo's defense of Dorne, the Emperor nodded, and Macardo, as if using up his last bit of strength, collapsed completely onto the throne.

"No! Makado."

He was already on his last breath, and the Emperor was able to hold on until Terra entirely by his own willpower. Now, seeing Macardo fall in front of him became the last straw that broke the Emperor's back.

However, just as everyone was immersed in grief, Macardo suddenly rose from the dead:
"Your Majesty, I'm still barely breathing! Please save me!"

No one dared to delay any longer and quickly replaced Macardo with the Emperor. Although Macardo was still barely alive, he was only half alive. As soon as he left the throne, half of his body shattered.

Left with no other choice, the group could only put Macardo into Feralus's body to keep him alive.

As for Feralus? He's not going to die anytime soon, so he can just make do with any Fearless.

As he was placed on the golden throne, intricate and complex tubing began to connect to the emperor's body, sustaining his life while also subjecting him to endless pain.

In the final moments before his consciousness faded into slumber, the Emperor saw the 782 Atlases writing furiously in the Web, and also the few remaining Lizardmen.

The Emperor instantly understood everything. Without any hesitation, he used his last strength to cover the remaining Atlas before entering a long slumber.

From then on, the era of emperors came to an end.

The effects of the Great Rebellion are far from over, and what will become of the Primarch who has taken over this mess?

"Perhaps only God knows."

(End of this chapter)