Warhammer 40: My Fiancée Fulgrim

Although I don't know how he started running, he couldn't run anymore after he started moving.

There was nothing they could do, and Corax dared not make any more changes.

Anyway, it won't taste good once it's dry, so just eat it as is.

At the heart of that place, which reeks of a strong, foul stench, lies a biological pool that nourishes the growth of algae.

However, it seems that besides algae, there are also more viscous substances that don't look like algae floating and tumbling in it, emitting an even stronger odor as they are boiled in the next pool.

Like a pot of thick green soup, it is constantly fermenting new elements.

vomit.

Just seeing these things made even Peturabo's steely heart feel nauseous.

I heard that the Imperial Fist deliberately messes with newcomers like this, which does seem to fit Rogdoryn's nature.

Is this what everyone in the world eats?

Living off food?

In Olympia, even animals eat better than this!

Even though he had a lot of grievances against the people on Lycaeus, Perturabo still felt a slight pity for them at this moment.

Perhaps he had previously mocked these people for being as stupid as animals, but it seems they eat even worse than animals.

After the problem is fixed, let's help them build a new corpse starch synthesis factory.

Peturabo thought to himself.

"Where did we go wrong?"

He asked the worker representative who was hurrying over.

“It’s the exhaust vent.” The man bowed respectfully to Peturabo. “These days, workers have been reporting seeing a thin, ghostly figure at the exhaust vent, which is making the workers here very uneasy.”

"You have an exhaust vent here? I thought this huge open-air fermentation site was the exhaust vent. Can't you smell the stench?"

"I"

"Alright, I don't expect you to be of any use anymore. I'll handle this. Go back to work."

"Yes, thank you for your help, sir."

Gee.

"The exhaust vent is right at the top of this workshop. They call it haunted? These idiots are so superstitious—"

"Hey hey hey"

"Wow, that tastes amazing!"

As Peturabo climbed up the pipe, he seemed to actually hear the ghostly figure's laughter.

However, the voice seemed somewhat familiar.

"Right ahead!"

After climbing over the corner of the ventilation shaft, he saw the thin, ghostly figure lying on it, and the two locked eyes.

The two sides fell into a rather long silence at this moment.

Finally, Peturabo posed a thought-provoking question.

"Motalian, it's you?"

Mortalian will never laugh again.

Chapter 168 The Mortalians' Sky Has Fallen

The silence was deafening.

An indescribable silence, accompanied by a violent tremor in the pupils, paused between the two.

"I"

Mortalian wanted to say something, but it seemed that saying anything more at this moment would not make much sense.

They were caught perfectly legitimately, with absolutely no room for explanation.

He...he regrets it!

Now I regret it.

Very sorry.

Ugh!

After being transferred from Barbaross to the Emperor's Voidship, he remarked on how refreshing and comfortable the air was without Barbaross's poisonous miasma.

But soon, Mortalian found the air, filled with the smell of disinfectant, to be unpleasant no matter how he smelled it.

The taste is off!

It was a colorless, odorless gas without any toxins. Although Mortalian knew in his heart that this was what fresh air should taste like, he still felt uncomfortable whenever he was in it for a long time.

I feel uncomfortable all over.

He felt a deep longing for Barbarossa's aversion to poison gas.

bah bah bah!

How could he possibly miss that disgusting and painful gas?

he.

Mortalian was constantly struggling internally.

Does that mean he'll never be able to survive in the air above Barbarossa?

No, that's not right, it shouldn't be like this.

He can endure it!

Tenacity!

Mortalian! Remember that you are the most resilient Primarch!

You must never succumb to such a ridiculous and pathetic desire!

Of all the Primarch brothers, his situation was the most tragic. He was immediately imprisoned in a tower by a damned alien creation and soaked in extremely concentrated poison gas!

But it was he, so resilient and indomitable Mortalian, who was able to withstand the corrosive effects of the poison gas and lead the people of Barbarossa to complete the uprising!

He can endure it!

"Huhu."

I felt the long-lost, foul-smelling air through the respirator.

His body is now completely dependent on the poison gas from Barbalus (a certain fat, evil god).

But these wonderful times are always incredibly short-lived.

That's all.

After finishing a whole bottle of e-cigarette cartridges, Mortalian fell into a state of deep introspection, akin to a period of profound reflection.

What on earth is he doing?

Is he really that weak and incompetent?

What happened to the most resilient Primarch? Was his perseverance and endurance all a lie, something that never existed at all?

Is it really true that he can't even tolerate such a minor case of acclimatization?

impossible!

That's absolutely not true!

I'm so terrible.

Mortalian clutched his head in anguish as he thought this.

Since things have come to this, let's take one more sip.

"Ah~"

Thoughts brought back to the present.

"Motalian, what are you doing here?"

But after a moment's thought, and after the Primarch had already performed millions of calculations in his mind, Perturabo finally asked.

Peturab understood that Motalian might indeed have developed a certain dependence on the toxic gases on Barbaros due to his childhood experiences.

But his frantic inhalation of air from the exhaust vents of the workshop where the nutritional paste was produced was something Peturabo couldn't understand.

"I'm exercising!"

Mortalian's eyes were also spinning rapidly.

"That's right! To strengthen my resilience!"

"Being able to withstand highly toxic environments is part of the Deathguard's resilient character, but poison alone is not enough!"

"It's not just highly toxic air; we also need to strengthen our resistance to air with unpleasant odors!"

"I realized that I lacked the necessary training opportunities, which is why I'm here practicing to resist the stench."

Motalian became more and more agitated as he spoke.

It seems that, just as he himself said, he appeared at the exhaust port simply to hone his skills!

It's not because I've been on Lycaus for too long and can't breathe the stale air of Barbarus, but because I have no other choice but to sneak here and take a few sips!

What a genius he is!

Motalia thought to herself.

How could she find such a good excuse to absolve herself!

This kid is an idiot.

Do you really think he's blind and couldn't see the blissful look on his face just now?

Peturabo's lips were still twitching slowly.

He didn't understand Mortalian's actions.

After all, there is still a significant difference between toxic gas and foul odor.

But he was indeed very knowledgeable.

He had seen this kind of fetish many times before.

—On second thought, since there were even Rogdorath and his Imperial Fist among their brothers, Mortalian's actions weren't as shocking as they had been at first.

After all, Mortalian could only sniff around quietly at best, but what about Rogdorn?

He's not going to act anymore!

Not only do they invite new recruits to a members-only restaurant for their thesis defense after their surgeries, but they also prepare unique Ace Adoration items for some of their underperforming offspring.

—Pain gloves!

A garment made of electrofiber mesh that can cover the entire body except the head. When worn, it stimulates the nerves and causes excruciating pain throughout the body without causing physical harm.

The device also suppresses stun reflexes to ensure the user remains conscious throughout the process.

No matter how tough a Space Marine is, they'll look amazing in this!

Not only will Emperor Fist wear it, but even Roguedon himself will wear it.

Ugh, disgusting!

nausea!

Peturabo felt a surge of disgust.

Why not just kill off any offspring you don't like, like he did with Peturabo? Why torture them like this?

He even pretended to be a suffering saint.

Who knows, that guy Rogdorn might be secretly gloating somewhere while wearing the Gauntlets of Pain! Those Imperial Fist fighters probably think their Gene Father is suffering, huh!