Warhammer: Should I also sit on the Golden Throne?

Chapter 103 The most unfortunate thing in the world is to sit on the golden throne...

Cicero, panting heavily, looked at Zhou Yun.

A throbbing pain gradually spread from his fingertips, and the ensuing agony caused Cicero to let out a low moan.

But this pain made Cicero feel that he was alive.

The nerves trembled, and the intense, visceral pain filled my brain. It was this feeling... this extreme sensory experience that made me feel real and alive.

Cicero knew that many people enjoyed self-harm, which he believed was because people were in a period of confusion about who they were, and they instinctively wanted to experience pain to confirm their existence.

Ultimately, they were bound by moral concepts, forgetting the real feeling of pain, and instead seeking truth from false morality.

How ridiculous!

"Ouch, that hurts!"

Zhou Yun's voice rang in Cicero's ears, and Cicero laughed.

Yes, it is pain; only pain can cleanse a person.

Here, the second one?

1

Cicero picked up the second steel needle and looked at Zhou Yun, asking a question.

The pain made him dizzy, unable to see Zhou Yun's expression clearly, and completely unaware that Zhou Yun was still in a slightly confused state.

pain?

Does it hurt?

Zhou Yun looked at his fingers and could indeed feel something tugging at his nails, sensing that his nerves were transmitting some kind of sensation.

But was that pain originally?

He had completely forgotten that this was normal pain.

Cicero inserted the second iron skewer under his fingernail, gritted his teeth, and began to gently twist the skewer, seemingly trying to inflict more pain on Zhou Yun.

It's spinning...

Zhou Yun looked at his fingers and could feel something spinning beneath them.

He felt he should act more pained, but... acting without props is very difficult.

"Has it begun?" So he asked Cicero.

"Huh?" Cicero paused, seemingly confused by Zhou Yun's question. "What, has it started?"

"Baptism." Zhou Yun glanced at the magic array on the table.

Cicero almost thought that the problem was with the "baptism" itself, which prevented him from establishing empathy with Zhou Yun.

No, the connection exists; Cicero and Zhou Yun's feelings are interconnected, he is absolutely certain of it.

"Aren't you in pain?" Cicero asked, swallowing hard.

"It hurts." Zhou Yun nodded slowly.

His nerves are fine, his body is fine, so of course he can feel the so-called pain.

"But it doesn't hurt much," Zhou Yun said sincerely. "It doesn't feel like it's being baptized."

Zhou Yun also guessed that this so-called baptism was most likely a ritual used to forcibly distort the mind, completely shattering the will through intense pain, and then injecting faith in the God of First Cry into it.

Honestly, Zhou Yun felt that the corruption was a bit too deep.

It's unbelievable that you have to torture yourself to corrupt others...

Zhou Yun sighed again, lamenting that Macurag's level of psionic combat was truly too low.

In order to convince these cultists that Zhou Yun had truly been corrupted, Zhou Yun had to feign intense pain.

Zhou Yun was quite certain that these cultists couldn't come up with anything that would truly cause him pain.

Then there's only one way...

But Cicero, that poor fellow, definitely couldn't withstand this method.

If it were just a simple trick like sticking sticks into Cicero's throat that caused him excruciating pain, the Slaanesh followers would definitely suspect something was amiss.

Cicero has to perform some tough tricks for me.

"Are you sure you can do it?" Zhou Yun asked earnestly.

Cicero fell silent, then gritted his teeth and pulled the iron skewer from between his fingers.

Then, he walked to the rack of torture instruments and took out a pair of iron pliers.

He was panting heavily, opened his mouth, and brought the pliers close to one of his teeth.

"You even specifically chose a decayed tooth," Zhou Yun exclaimed, watching this scene.

Cicero's expression froze.

Then all that remained in the air was Cicero's heart-wrenching wails.

"Ouch, that hurts," Zhou Yun said, leaning back on the sofa with her eyes slightly narrowed.

Cicero's face contorted in a grimace as he gripped the edge of the table tightly, blood trickling from his mouth.

He got up again, grabbed a hand drill, and used it to press against his back molars...

"Stop straining your teeth, I know your goal is to get rid of cavities."

So Cicero began to use all sorts of strange and unusual instruments of torture on himself.

"This is getting interesting."

"Yes, yes, push harder."

"Hey, this one's alright."

"Hey, this position is interesting, give it your all!"

"Tsk, it still feels like it's missing something."

Although Zhou Yun didn't feel anything, he still encouraged Cicero with considerable emotional intelligence.

Cicero, who had tortured himself to the point of being a bloody mess and whose body was covered in wounds, stared intently at Zhou Yun.

For some reason, he seemed to have some kind of obsession in his heart, which made him forget everything else and insist on making Zhou Yun feel pain. It seemed that nothing else mattered.

Zhou Yun tried his best to put on a look of pain but still being able to endure it, placing his hands on the table and looking at the ominous cloud above Cicero's head.

That misfortune was like a baby about to burst from its uterus, its surface constantly writhing and undulating. Its tentacles pierced between Cicero's spirit and flesh, making Cicero increasingly paranoid and pushing him little by little toward a dark and terrifying end.

He wanted to be born.

Cicero struggled to his feet, a piece of skin peeled off one of his arms, coarse salt splattered on his mangled flesh, but he seemed completely oblivious to his body, as if his mind was clouded, and struggled step by step toward the wall.

He retrieved two syringes from upstairs.

"This one can amplify a person's ability to feel pain, making the pain more than ten times stronger," Cicero said, licking his lips.

"What a classic setting," Zhou Yun exclaimed. He felt that he had seen this kind of drug in the works of a doujinshi artist whose works started with a sheep and ended with a sheep in his previous life.

"This one will burn nerves, stimulate cells, and bring extremely intense pain," Cicero said, pointing to another potion.

Zhou Yun nodded slightly, indicating that Cicero could begin.

Cicero licked his lips, a kind of madness that he couldn't control growing within him, urging him to pump the drug into his body.

He picked up the syringe and injected the two medications into his body.

For the first second, he was still doubting the effects of the medication; he did not feel any pain.

The pain only began to surface in the second second; he felt his nerves burning and his cells screaming.

His throat began to bleed, and before he could even utter his first cry of pain, his throat was ripped open.

Then he began to regret it, regretting why he had been so crazy, regretting why he had gone to such lengths.

The injected drugs felt like ten thousand knives cutting into his nerves; all other sensations receded, leaving only pain filling every nerve.

He forced a glance at Zhou Yun, trying to see Zhou Yun's expression.

Zhou Yun showed no expression as he looked at Cicero as if he were watching a clown dancing comically.

If you had to describe Zhou Yun's feelings at this moment, it would be that he was finally starting to feel something.

He could vaguely recognize that the sensation now flowing from Cicero's body into his own was pain.

"Is pain what you want?"

Zhou Yun asked Cicero softly.

Cicero could not answer, nor did he have the opportunity to answer.

Because Zhou Yun started giving him gifts in return.

Zhou Yun released his will, sending the vast majority of it back to the Golden Throne.

The torment emanating from the Golden Throne, each second feeling like an eternity of suffering, flowed down through Zhou Yun's will, entering his body in Macurag, and then through the baptism into Cicero's body.

The warp entity, manifested by misfortune and curse, that dwelled atop Cicero's body let out its first cry.

All the curses that Cicero suffered were for this moment, the darkest and most terrifying fate. There is no more terrible end in the galaxy than enduring the pain of the Golden Throne.

Cicero did not make a sound.

His eyes widened, his pupils dilated to their limit, and he saw light—golden, dark, scalding, and icy light.

He felt the fire, a blazing, silent fire, as if ignited by the burning of billions of souls.

The slight pain from the medication was instantly overwhelmed by the agony surging from Zhou Yun's body.

In a fleeting moment, the pain utterly crushed him. He forgot who he was, and the entire world vanished from his senses.

Time stretched on endlessly, each second feeling longer than ten thousand years. Pain filled everything around him—his body, his mind, his soul, even his very existence—so much so that the ability to change was no longer possible.

All he felt was pain.

And so misfortune tore through the amniotic sac, born on the dark and terrifying end of Cicero, spreading its pitch-black wings, using pain as branches to stand, and swallowing the curse as its first meal. It stood in the void, watching Zhou Yun, who was also in pain.

Then it escaped into the subspace and disappeared without a trace.

Libo watched in amazement as the pain born in that instant of baptism was born.

The gift bestowed upon him by the god of the first cry was that he could see the shape of suffering.

The terrifying pain, burning like a raging fire, rose from Cicero and Zhou Yun, filling every place he could see.

I never expected Cicero to have achieved this level.

Now, Zhou Yun, no matter what, should be baptized and instilled with faith in the God of First Cry amidst this suffering.

However, how come this pain only lasted for a very short moment?

With a hint of worry, Libo pushed open the door and entered the room.

He saw Zhou Yun leaning against the sofa, his eyes tightly closed, his body still trembling slightly.

Cicero sat opposite him, motionless.

Lipo stepped forward and placed his hand on Cicero's shoulder.

Cicero still hasn't made a move.

Lipo looked down and saw that Cicero's eyeballs were almost popping out of their sockets, his mouth was wide open, blood was seeping from his throat, his teeth were falling out one by one, his tongue was sticking out of his mouth and hanging on his chin, and the root of his tongue was broken.

It was as if everything on Cicero's face wanted to escape from him, to escape the pain within him.

Now Lippo felt he had found the reason why the pain was only momentary.

Cicero is dead.