Warhammer, I'm a nanny, not your father!

"Put aside your disputes. I will lead you to a land of abundant water and grass!"

When Sanguinius descended, his pure white wings glowed with a sacred aura even in the twilight.

The mutants instinctively trembled under this holy light, their knees sunk deep into the wasteland, and their deformed heads almost hit the dust.

Awe and unwillingness were intertwined in their turbid eyes.

They both long to touch this purity and feel ashamed of their own filth.

Their twisted and mutated bodies are no longer recognizable as human, and vague prayers are squeezed out of their tumor-ridden throats, as if pouring all the sorrow and suffering accumulated over thousands of years into this sudden redemption.

Sanguinius's wings folded slightly, and a trace of compassion flashed in his eyes.

They are such humble and helpless creatures, their bodies distorted by the curse of radiation, but they still struggle to continue the flame of life.

Every crime they committed was nothing more than a desperate survival instinct.

Faced with such a group of poor people struggling to survive, Sanguinius couldn't help but ask himself:

"How could Shengjiang have the heart to kill them all?"

Sanguinius already had the answer in his heart, a mixture of inferiority and convert fanaticism.

Shengchan is more eager than the purebloods to prove that he is not a mutant.

The first batch of soldiers of the Ninth Legion were all mutants. When they became noble angels, the mutant genes were eliminated from the Ninth Legion, but the blood thirst still existed.

His offspring are still freaks of nature.

He has always been inferior, and extreme inferiority has given rise to extreme arrogance.

He refused to interfere with Baal-2, always gloating over the fact that if you could survive the ravages of poison, you could survive many others.

Those mortals who can struggle to survive in the face of hardship are certainly tenacious.

But that is no excuse to create suffering.

The most shameless, insidious and vicious praise in the world is to use the hardships and sufferings of ordinary people as inspirational stories to fool ordinary people.

Never believe that suffering is worth it. Suffering is suffering. It will not bring success and is not worth pursuing. We need to temper our will because suffering cannot be avoided.

Shengjiang had the opportunity to lead the people out of suffering, but he trapped himself in the irradiated wasteland of Baal.

Because that's where he grew up.

However, suffering is not a virtue, and happiness is by no means weakness.

Those souls struggling in suffering yearn for redemption, while those bathed in happiness never lose their tenacity.

Aren’t the five hundred worlds created by his brother the most powerful proof?

Sanguinius is not Saint-chan, and he would not make the same mistake.

Sanguinius's wings slowly spread out in the twilight, the edges of the pure white wings coated with a layer of light golden afterglow.

He looked down at the mutant kneeling before him, his voice as clear and firm as the morning light at dawn:

"I swear to you: no matter how many years it takes, I will find a cure for the damage caused by radiation. I will heal you, and all the people of Bhaal who struggle to survive in this wasteland!"

The evening breeze blew his soft golden hair, and on that perfect face that combined divinity and humanity, compassion and determination were equally clearly visible.

"But you must also swear to me: to uphold humanity, and to remain so until death."

"Adhere...to...humanity..."

The mutants stammered and swore, even though they could not understand the meaning of the oath at this time.

……

"I come in peace!" Fulgrim's wings spread out like a canopy, knocking two attackers away and knocking down a group of warriors, sending them flying.

The patriarch's Adam's apple rolled. "Who... who are you? What do you want here?"

"I am Fulgrim, the Twin Angel, son of the Wop, Lord of Bhaal. I come here to seek unity, to lead you to a land of abundant grass and water, and to bring salvation to the people of Bhaal!"

"What if we refuse?" The young man staggered to his feet, a stubborn glimmer in his eyes.

Fulgrim: "First courtesy, then force. If you refuse kindness, I will offer iron and blood."

The little girl mustered up her courage and raised her face. "Angel, aren't you supposed to be kind?"

Fulgrim's pure white wings folded slightly in the twilight, and he walked towards the crowd in awe.

As everyone watched with bated breath, he knelt on one knee, bent over and lifted the girl onto his shoulders.

"Angels are certainly merciful," he said, a gentle smile emerging from his handsome face, but his purple eyes revealed an undeniable majesty. "But just as the sun doesn't shine on every inch of Baal, this mercy isn't available to everyone."

The little girl's clear eyes were filled with confusion, and she asked timidly, "But, Angel, doesn't the sun shine on everyone?"

"The sun shines brighter on blooming flowers than on insects and ants in the shade. If you hide in the shadows, how can the sun shine on you?" Fulgrim smiled, his fingers gently brushing the girl's hair. "If you have good intentions, the angels will protect you. If you persist in your wrongdoings, you cannot expect mercy."

The little girl nodded as if she understood, and buried her face in the angel's wings that radiated holy light.

My dear angel, it smells so good!

The patriarch calmly gestured, and several strong men immediately pressed the ignorant young man into the dust.

"My Lord," he said, his back hunched, his voice trembling and hoarse, "Please forgive this child's recklessness. We, the lowly people, dare not even hope for salvation. Please tell us what kind of mercy people like us deserve."

Fulgrim: "Like everyone else, safe shelter, clean drinking water, and a warm meal each day."

The hunter's Adam's apple rolled violently, "Everyone?"

"All Baal, pureblood or mutant, as long as they are still human."

Some mutants are no longer human.

The distortion and deformity of the body can be cured, but if the last trace of humanity and reason is completely worn away, even angels cannot save it.

The angels declared to the people, "Baal will be unified, for the greater mercy!"

The girl smiled and clapped on his shoulder, not afraid of the giant at all.

Because angels are merciful.

"My Lord, we are willing to submit and pledge our loyalty to you."

The chief knelt before him, and all the tribal members knelt in turn like waves of wheat.

Fulgrim's voice slowly echoed through the valley. "Rise! I do not need your kneeling. I want you to follow me."

……

Wop took the statistical table from Karin and said with a hint of surprise, "I originally thought that Barr had a population of only 500,000. It seems that my estimate was too conservative."

Karin stood quietly by, explaining softly, "The tribes in the wasteland alone are indeed in line with your expectations, but there are also many refuges scattered across Baal. While not as large as the Promised Land established by Dr. Ivan, they also accommodate thousands to tens of thousands of survivors, totaling approximately one and a half million."

Fulgrim: "Three times more than expected. A sufficient population base is the foundation for the reconstruction of civilization."

There was a trace of pity in Sanguinius' eyes: "Among these people, there are only 300,000 purebloods."

Not all sanctuaries can protect Baal people.

The radiation filtering modules of many shelters have long been damaged, and there are only mutants in those shelters.

How can we rebuild civilization if we can't cleanse the radiation-ridden Baalsatian moon?

Fulgrim grasped his brother's hand, his eyes burning with unshakable conviction: "That is why we must save them!"

The residents of the shelter trekked through the irradiated wasteland for two and a half years, searching hard for the tribes scattered across the wasteland.

When the twin angels spread their wings, the process of Baal's unification will be like a prairie fire.

Whenever an angel spreads its sacred wings, people feel as if they have witnessed a miracle with their own eyes.

In just two months, this weathered wasteland was unified again under the protection of the angel's wings.

Now, they bear the burden of Baal's revival.

This year, they were three years old.

……

In the maintenance area, senior team leader Gerard held a data tablet and called out the names one by one in a hoarse voice:

"Angelo, Tiberius, Koch, Lof."

His eyes swept over this special tactical team, a mix of two purebloods and two mutants.

Tiberius's mutation features are more obvious. His eyes are yellow-brown vertical pupils, and dark green scales cover his body like armor, with gray-brown wrinkled and hard skin visible between the scales.

Koch's mutation is slightly less severe, with a third pale arm deformed and growing from his right shoulder blade.

"Our mission today is to advance eastward in a 20-kilometer fan-shaped area, focusing on investigating heat signals on the leeward side of the dunes. There are reports of fire scorpions nesting there. Remember, our mission is to investigate, not to clean up. If you find any abnormalities, report them immediately!"

Gerard has long been accustomed to fighting alongside these mutant comrades, but he still repeats the precautions tirelessly before each departure.

In their new home in the Promised Land, all residents had their roles to play.

Some people cook hot meals in the cafeteria, others sweep and dust the corridors. Only powerful warriors can patrol the wasteland in full armor like them.

It's an honor.

In the shelter, mutants and pure-bloods were deliberately arranged to live on different floors.

Only in the preparation area, mixed-formation tactical teams allow warriors of different bloodlines to fight side by side.

Therefore, the basic condition for being selected into the tactical team is to abandon ethnic prejudice.

This not only maintains the cohesion of the team, but also serves as an important bond to bridge the rift between the two ethnic groups.

Just as the team boarded the armored vehicle and the engine roared as they were about to leave the shelter, Ivan's voice exploded from the vehicle's communicator:

"Gerald, abort the mission! Your mission is canceled. Simon's third team will take over your patrol area."

"Koch and Tiberius, report to the 459th floor of the core area immediately. This is an order from the angels."

The armored vehicle instantly became quiet. In the promised land, the angel's orders never needed to be explained.

Gerard took a deep breath and pressed the communication button: "Received."

"Angelo, turn around. Koch, Tiberius, get off at the next hub station and take the elevator directly to the 459th floor."

"Koch, Tiberius, good luck to you."

As he got out of the car, Gerard extended his palm to his two mutant comrades.

Koch also stretched out his hand and shook hands with his three normal companions with his three palms.

They looked at each other knowingly, both knowing what Koch and Tiberius were about to face.

Mutants joining the tactical team also have a special privilege. They can apply for priority treatment for radiation mutations.

But the success rate of cure is not 100%.

……

Sanguinius stared at the uneasy mutant warriors across from him. "Do you truly understand what you are about to face? You are the first group of test subjects. I cannot guarantee the success rate."

"My Lord." Koch raised his three arms. "We do not wish to bear the stigma of mutants forever, nor do we wish for our descendants to suffer the same torment we have. The unfinished potion left behind by Dr. Ivan was earned at the cost of the lives of countless ancestors. Even after my death, my people will still celebrate my deeds!"

Since they chose to sign up, they were already prepared to face everything.

……

The mutant warriors were sleeping in the incubator, and Sanguinius was adjusting the ratio of genetic drugs on the Thinker control panel.

These finely tuned parameters determine the success or failure of the entire healing process, and while the healing process is far gentler than creating a Space Marine, it is equally fraught with danger and requires extreme patience.

He is not a master in the field of genetics, and his existing achievements are based on the research data left by Dr. Ivan.

Fulgrim: "Are you nervous?"

Sanguinius gazed at the genetic map unfolding on the Thinker's screen. "This is the first clinical trial, but the success rate of preliminary experiments has increased to 99%. This fully verifies the genetic lock theory proposed by my father, but I will still pray that everything goes well."

Fulgrim asked, "To whom? A miracle or hope?"

"No, miracles and hopes are false." Sanguinius' voice suddenly softened, and he knelt on one knee before Wop. "Father, do you think I will succeed?"

Wop's gaze fell upon Sanguinius's golden eyes, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Yes, I believe in you. Whether you succeed or not, I am proud of you."

Dr. Ivan has laid a solid foundation, and Sanguinius has increased the success rate to 99%. From a statistical point of view, this is a near-perfect success rate.

"Sanguinius is indeed his father's favorite child." Fulgrim's voice was sour.

Wop: "Yes, Fulgrim, I love you too."

Fulgrim turned his face away pretending to be indifferent, but his slightly raised chin and the uncontrollable curve at the corner of his lips still revealed his inner joy.