Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 363 Let me purify everything with my ass!
"Brothers, as the saying goes, a man can't die of thirst, and that's exactly what Old Huang is going through. He's thirsty, hungry, and has to hold his urine, which means he's in the late stage of constipation. So we can start from there."

"So what do you mean?"

“I know, I know, I used to be a doctor.”

Kirimanbo, who was interrupted, was not annoyed. Since Sisyphus wanted to show off, he would give her a chance.

Seeing everyone looking at him, Sisyphus, who had a low profile, quite enjoyed the feeling of being the center of attention and spoke directly:
“If he’s constipated, we need to help him poop. We can turn Father over and stick a tube into his anus. And Second Brother, didn’t you say he was thirsty? We can…”

Guilliman was so amused by Sisyphus's rather vivid description that even the Lion King felt a headache coming on, secretly lamenting the misfortune of his family—how could such a fool be among his brothers and sisters?
But the two soon realized something was wrong, because Morey was nodding frequently, a look of considerable satisfaction flashing in his eyes:

"What are you looking at? Although Sisyphus's words are completely nonsensical, that's roughly the idea. The words may be rough, but the meaning is sound."

Little sister, stop writing those erotic novels, that stuff isn't for you. Come study medicine with me. A pen can't save the empire, look how talented you are now.

However, it's not good for someone your age to be praised too much. Just consider yourself a little genius.

"really?"

"Really!" Mordred said. You may not trust my integrity, but you must trust my skills. Jeanne has just finished high school. Wouldn't it be wonderful if the two of you, a brilliant and talented young woman, were together?

"Come here, everyone, let me tell you about my grand plan."

Although there were only four listeners, there was Johnson, who only knew how to kill people and didn't want to use his brain; Guilliman, who only knew how to use his brain but couldn't kill people; Rambo, who not only couldn't kill people but also borrowed other people's brains; and Sisyphus, a simple-minded brute with all his strength.

But none of that matters. What's important to the band isn't the bassist, but their own extraordinary wisdom.

"Brothers, Sisyphus is right. Old Huang is now a reservoir about to explode, and he himself has been blown into a bunch of fish fry floating in it."

So now we have two methods. One is to release the pressure and disperse the excess energy in the weasel's body to prevent it from blowing itself up to death.

Another approach is grafting, which involves picking out the shattered fragments of Old Huang's soul and using artificial intervention to alleviate his increasingly severe schizophrenia.

But I chose to take a two-pronged approach: relieving his stress on one hand and breaking down the fragments of his soul on the other, since only I could withstand that kind of mental pollution.

So, Guilliman.

"To!"

"Good, very energetic!" Mordred patted his good friend on the shoulder and instructed, "Your task is to prepare a batch of peanut butter, preferably chocolate flavored. I'll give you a list of the remaining ingredients; just find them according to this list."

"As for Zhuang Sen."

"Speak." Mordred extended his left hand, emerald lightning flashing, and handed a fel crystal to Zhuang Sen: "This is the key to the Abomination. Those idiots have dragged this out until now, and I can't stand it anymore. You have to help me bring the flagship back; I need the key items on it."

"And while you're at it, kill all those people. A large number of sacrifices are also necessary. Since they don't know gratitude, let them be grateful in their next life. As for you..."

Mordred stretched out her third hand and rubbed Sisyphus's little head: "Your task is the most difficult. First, go and recognize the Soul Drinkers as relatives, then take them to bake me 131313 flatbreads. Remember to put lots of onions in them, as the weasels love onions the most."

"Then what are you doing, Second Brother?"

Mordred rubbed his chin with his fourth hand, glanced at the old man beside him who was nothing but a skeleton, looked at him for a long time, and finally flicked his tail to cut off a little finger bone:

"I will perform gene modification to bring down the perfect human form of the Emperor Spirit once again."

Although each Primarch was incredibly arrogant, believing themselves to be superior to 80% of their brothers and among the top of the remaining 20%, they still respected Mordred's arrangements.

After all, his battle record is verifiable. Mordekaiser is the only Imperial veterinarian among the Primarchs. He is not only proficient in blasphemous technology, but also a frequent visitor to the Warp. He has eaten more demons than they have ever seen, so performing a blasphemous ritual is a piece of cake for him.

With the Abomination not by her side, Mordred could only use the underground research facility deep within the palace to cultivate a new generation of Imperial Spirits by replicating past technologies.

Having learned from the previous experience, the second-run experiment with the Imperial Spirit did not simply copy it. Instead, it incorporated existing experience and made some improvements, especially in terms of vitality and mental resistance. But what satisfied Mordred the most was that he successfully reconstructed the Imperial Spirit's genetic code, adding some personal touches. The general effect was that the second-generation Imperial Spirit could float using weak psionic energy and release electric currents to attack targets, becoming a veritable electric rat for the trainees.

As for why Mordred made this improvement, it's obviously because of that damned Cherubim.

Guilliman's defenses crumbled upon seeing the Cherubim after waking up, Mordred's defenses crumbled upon seeing that thing, and it could be said that anyone who experienced the Great Crusade would crumble upon seeing it.

Even if the Cherubim weren't actually created from infant corpses but were artificially bred, they're still incredibly disgusting and unattractive; they only evoke horror.

As for why the state religion doesn't use real babies as cherubim, it's definitely not because they are rational, but because the strength is insufficient. How can the original ones be as robust as the artificially cultivated ones?
Taking this opportunity, Mordred's idea was to directly replace the Cherubim with the Imperial Spirit. It's better for a big yellow rat to fly in the sky than for a dead child to fly in the sky. Moreover, the Imperial Spirit looks round and fluffy, which is quite cute and will surely be well received.

Looking at the genetically engineered mouse body that had been successfully cultivated, Mordred, as the creator, roared:
"Open your eyes, I am Mordred!"

"Squeak—Yes, yes, yes! I haven't let the Legion down, boss!"

"it is good"

As a creation of Mordred, the genetically modified rat named Leo possesses all the characteristics of Atlas's creations: thick-skinned, strange in speech and behavior, somewhat silly in manner, and full of energy and prone to startling.

Most importantly, it was that look in his eyes—clear, intelligent, and imbued with the profound wisdom of the universe.

As a mouse who inherits the Mordred ideology, Leo is not perfect. Even though he passed all of Mordred's tests at birth, he still has a quirk: he likes to drive jeeps.

But no one is perfect, and no rat is perfect either. Mordred was quite satisfied with Leo's performance and immediately began mass breeding, with half male and half female rats, to ensure the continuation of the species. He even took the time to make a small jeep for it to play with.

Everything was ready except for the final push. While Mordred was busy with the little aliens, Guilliman had already prepared a full 1300 tons of peanut butter, and Sisyphus, amidst the grinning cheers of the Soul Drinkers, led his offspring to bake pancakes.

As expected, Zhuang Sen had already screened out all the Terra officials through the continuous purges. When the Lion King arrived with the Dark Angels, looking fierce and menacing, the Ministry of Justice immediately knelt down.

Ten thousand years later, when the black hull of the Abomination descended upon Terra once more, all the Atlas looked up at the sky, gazing upon the long-lost flagship of the Legion, even though they had never met before.

If the Unbreakable Truth is a lion with its teeth bared, and the Makura's Glory is a graceful lady, then Abomination is a jubilant killer whale.

Its highly automated internal structure, various weapons covering its entire body, and thick, reliable armor achieve a perfect balance between defense, firepower, and speed.

The only drawback is that the bow of the Abomination has a crack, through which steel tentacles move in and out, and countless demon corpses are scattered all over its body. There is even a Void Whale skeleton stuck on the ship, making it look like a living creature from the Warp, which is a bit creepy.

But none of that matters. To outsiders, the Abomination might seem more blasphemous than the Chaos Ship, but to Atlas, it was simply too cool.

But now is not the time to revisit the old place. With the help of the key provided by Mordred, the Lion King led the Dark Angels to escort a device filled with fel energy contamination out of the cargo hold of the Abomination.

And this is the core material of the yellow weasel treatment plan—black glass.

Without any delay, through the mental network, 8765 Atlas, united as one, were coordinated and assembled by Mordred to complete the installation of the sister toilet to the golden toilet and connect it to the golden toilet.

Through the pipelines, one Imperial Spirit after another is relinked, serving as a psionic battery for Imperial power and a container for soul fragments.

For some reason, although he had proposed the plan himself and assembled all the devices himself, Mordred felt a little uneasy at the last moment.

He used to eat snow like crazy on this black glass, and now he wants to eat it again, making himself look like a cesspool.

"Second brother, are you ready?"

"I'm ready!"

Without saying a word, Zhuang Sen pulled the large, red lever. Accompanied by a blinding golden light, countless massive spiritual energies poured into Mordred's body through the black glass, and then purified a second time before being directed towards the Emperor Spirit.

"Quack—I'll use my ass to purify everything! Keep going, I can fit even more in."

(End of this chapter)