Warhammer: My Biological Father Emperor and My Demigod Brother

"Then how can a demon preserve corpses? If the corpses haven't rotted, it means the demon is waiting to kill enough people before performing the second part of the witchcraft."

Aaron sat down on the ground, rubbing his face:

"You guys can still laugh out loud now—"

"It's over. The worst possible outcome I can imagine is that these people can still be saved, but we'll dissect them."

Anda shook his head firmly and said, "No, I confirmed that from the beginning. These corpses can no longer bear the infusion of souls. Even Nurgle doesn't like corpses."

Hades added, "I can attest to this. My psychic powers are aligned with death. If it's just a matter of the soul and body separating, even if I can't bring them back, I can sense the problem."

"Their bodies have no chance of being revived."

Angron, on the other hand, started jumping around, making sure everyone was watching him:

"I also asked about their burial site. Apart from some who died at sea, the rest of the dead are buried together."

"Let's go and see what condition the bodies inside are in."

"The old men said that every time something like this happens, they leave the body in the yard for a few days. If it doesn't wake up, they quickly bury it."

"We actually burned the body; this is the first time we've ever done this."

Aaron looked up at the old man, his tone cold:

"Did you hear that, Father? You'll have to go dig up the grave tonight."

Anda crossed his arms, his face full of disdain:

"Dissecting corpses and digging up graves... Why does this feel so familiar? Does the future empire have people who specialize in this?"

"Fine, I, as the head of the family, will have to do this again. Remember to distribute these amulets. I want to see what kind of thing this demon is that specifically targets and kills the fathers of other people's children."

The quality of the last few dozen amulets was obviously shoddy; they were simply broken off by hand, a hole was punched in them, and a rope was tied around them.

Aaron should fix it himself before sending it out, to make their Hades priests seem more professional.

42K, Sheila.

"How much longer until the False Emperor's fleet arrives? The intelligence has been flawed, and the Primarch is very unhappy."

A clockwork demon, emerging gradually within Vashtor's domain, born entirely of him after acquiring some divine power, Wirtz, is questioning the Chaos Astartes perched on his shoulder, Petr Sven, leader of the Day Wraiths.

Wirtz whispered, each sound mingling with the ticking of a clock.

“I know you’re unwilling to admit that you’re descended from the Iron Warriors, but the connection between the genetic seeds cannot be severed. I have, however, learned a layer of witchcraft from my Lord, a power that can bring about the ‘death of the father.’ Would you like to try it?”

"Although its effect on the Primarch will probably only be to make him trip and fall on flat ground."

Bang, bang——

Astartes pressed on relentlessly, its footsteps ringing out clearly in the silent ship passageway.

"Oh dear, at least you're reacting. We're partners chosen by your genetic father, so let's see who's more important to you?"

"The False Emperor, or the Original Body?"

Chapter 246 The Smooth-Talking Peturabo, the Gravedigger Anda (3K)

Wirtz pulled out some threads woven from an unknown type of leather from his watch strap, searching for a suitable name within them.

"Ah, Midrod, the name that has been etched longest in your thoughts for a thousand years."

Demons always like to use the deepest secrets of their hosts that they have discovered as topics of conversation.

Having lived within the Eye of Fear for so long, Petra did not truly live for ten thousand years; his body had only aged for a little over a thousand years and had not yet reached the point of complete exhaustion.

Creak—click-click-click!

The clock was grabbed and torn off by Petrella, then thrown aside and smashed against the metal wall, scattering screws, gears, and springs all over the floor.

Petra stepped on it:

“I don’t like making deals with demons, and we have nothing to do with the Lord of Steel.”

He walked past, where only the remaining fragmented parts were trying to be put back together, and from them came Wirtz's regretful voice:

"Humans are truly a species adept at self-deception. Even Astartes is, after all, human."

"However, we need to look for the name Midrod; no corresponding record has been found in the last few thousand years."

Wirtz quickly dragged his broken body into the warp, returning to his master Vashtor's domain to peruse the records.

Many demons and warbands had signed contracts with their masters' factories, and some who couldn't pay their bills were forced into slavery or exchanged for something more valuable as collateral.

Counterintuitively, the Chaos Warband does indeed have camaraderie, and even many positive and genuine emotions.

These are the forces that Vashtor, and even the ancient Four, are eager to seize.

The master had long planned to find a suitable steel warrior, Astartes, to do the work, given that the evil steel was difficult to control.

Petra was the chosen target, just as Typhon was to Nurgle.

If the Primarch is slacking off or disobedient, there has to be someone who can temporarily lead the legion to do the work.

No rush, there's plenty of time.

Wirtz returned to the subspace realm, repairing the damage to his body, and made up his mind.

I will find out who Midrod really is. Petra, you will be your master's most loyal slave. You cannot escape.

30K, the Great Expedition period.

"Yes, I want to collect all the alien creatures that the legions have encountered, as well as their dangers and weaknesses."

Midrod was on the phone, carefully holding a small phone, about the size of a peanut, between two fingers, the elastic cord restrained so it wouldn't break.

Not all planets have the environment to build wireless communication. In his years of expeditions, they even encountered a terrifying race that could throw spears through power armor with their bare hands. Their method of communication was to tie letters to spears and throw them.

The spears are marked with the latitude and longitude information corresponding to the throw, and the person who catches them will continue to throw them.

And so it went, one after another, even surpassing the communication speed of horseback riding in some feudal eras.

Now we can find a wired phone to call the front-line camp, then transfer the call to the fleet and deliver it to the Star Speaker.

It's already quite an achievement.

"Just send it to Terra like this, and remember to CC the Ultramarines. It would be even better if Lord Guilliman could see it."

“Oh, never mind who said it, this is Lord Peturabo’s order, and he will personally oversee it. He hopes to see these alien atlases before his next arrival in Terra.”

"Otherwise, you can tell the editorial department to prepare a cross of the right size and hang it up on a nice day."

I never expected the Primarch to go to such lengths for His Highness Aaron, whose reputation within the Imperial Departments was already poor.

They are now also threatening the Imperial Department.

Logically speaking, shouldn't it be most comfortable to be tactful, build good relationships, and form an interest group to gain their support?

The Primarch simply felt that his bullets had a large enough caliber and a smooth enough loading mechanism. When a gun was pointed at him, the Imperial forces would do anything.

After hanging up the phone, he even took a moment to crush the mechanical enemy that lunged at him with his hands.

These robots are not the terrifying, highly threatening machines that other legions have described.

Instead, it was a low-intelligence soldier created by an alien race that didn't have any particular fetishes towards humans.

However, it is hostile to all organisms other than itself.

They believed that if they were the only organic life form left in the galaxy, they would receive the blessing of the mechanical god and be elevated to mechanical life forms.

What kind of weird logic is this?

So you think there are too many organic life forms, and that once all the others die out, that god, whose existence is uncertain, will see you, right?

We must strike hard and kill them all!

A few days later, the communication from the Cult of the Machine God finally arrived. They had just received authorization, personally signed by His Majesty, to take over the battlefield.

The Mechanicus believed this place might be the site of a twisted Omniscient God's worship, but when they arrived, all that remained was a pile of carbonized earth.

Damn it, the Iron Warriors are collecting data on the Xenomorphs that were wiped out during the Great Crusade. They're selling this to the Mechanicus for a hefty sum!

They want to go to the capital to meet the emperor and accuse the Primarch of the Fourth Legion of having ambitious plans!

They even betrayed their own people.

This pitiful alien race was eventually contained with only one relatively intact corpse. Although video footage had been taken, it was still kept for Prince Aaron's sketching purposes.

Sigh, the Primarch really has feelings for this prince.

"Petra, I'm appointing you as the company commander's adjutant. From now on, these matters will be your responsibility!"

Midrod entrusted this new recruit, whom he had personally trained, with his sincere dedication.

The other party's genetic material was obtained using his own.

In 600 BC, Ondino.

Aaron doodled in his sketchbook; these things were all taken from the future and weren't of much value.

The old father didn't lose much hair.

My son wants to learn to draw, so as a father, I can only support him.

“Angron, look, the things drawn on this are all bad guys. If you ever have the chance to meet them again, kill them immediately.”

Aaron, holding Little Ann, was using his skills to refine the appearance of these alien creatures.

Angron sat obediently in his brother's lap, pointing at the monster above;

"I understand, but brother, could you try them out as ingredients later?"

Aaron gently patted Xiao An's head:

"Just kill it and burn it clean, why are you still thinking about eating it?"

He had heard his father mention that what he ate might end up in his future father's domain.

Animals are one thing, but they lack intelligence and self-awareness.

If they send an alien in, how do you explain that?

Father, your son is going to war with the goal of annihilating the enemy.

Angron, the world-devouring force!