Chapter 100: He's Angry! Really Angry!
Francis swallowed the silver potion. With a metallic clang, his entire body transformed into gleaming silver metal.
Then hundreds of eyes opened across the armor, their pupils darting wildly, occasionally emitting purple light.
Lorgar didn't hesitate. He swung his daemon-staff, unleashing a purple psychic storm that roared like a raging dragon. Warpfire ignited the air, tearing black rifts in space, as if the entire battlefield was collapsing.
The hundred eyes on Francis's armor opened simultaneously, each pupil flashing with different light, forming a complex barrier that reflected the psychic storm back at Lorgar.
The redirected storm slammed into Lorgar's armor, forcing him to spread his daemonic wings defensively. Purple flames and corrupted light intertwined, triggering a violent explosion.
"You're a heretic! And you claim you haven't fallen to Chaos?!" Lorgar roared.
"Your body has been corrupted by the warp! Why resist the great powers? Every eye witnesses the Emperor's failure!"
He'd ascended to Daemon Primarch status, so why did Francis look more like a daemon than he did?!
"You know nothing! This is Aeldari technology, everything from your Chaos!"
"By that logic, Terra itself is Chaos!"
Francis charged recklessly forward, his armor bristling with over a hundred eyes.
If I could really witness the Emperor fail more than a hundred times, that would be pretty entertaining!
Francis leapt suddenly, his figure flashing like lightning as he pounced on Lorgar. Each eye tracked every movement, predicting attack trajectories.
He swung his fist, aiming for Lorgar's chest.
Lorgar raised his daemon-staff to block, a psychic shield intercepting the blow.
His fury reached its peak. He unleashed the full power of his daemonic ascension, his body swelling until it nearly filled the entire chamber.
"The Emperor cannot save you! Chaos will devour everything!" he bellowed.
All the eyes on Francis's armor closed simultaneously. Then the armor detached from his body, constantly reshaping itself into the form of a cannon. A thin beam of warp energy continuously pierced and intensified through the hundred lenses.
Finally, a massive beam of concentrated warp energy launched!
"If the Emperor won't save me, why the hell would you save me?! Waaaaaaagh~"
Even though Francis hadn't turned into an ork, he still shouted his favorite slogan.
Lorgar tried to block, but his psychic shield shattered. His daemon-staff was knocked away, his breastplate pierced by the beam, daemonic power exploding within him.
"Aaaaaah! You're a heretic!!!"
He collapsed backward.
Rather than kicking him while he was down, Francis poured growth serum onto Lorgar's chest wound.
Lorgar couldn't help but sneer inwardly. Brotherhood at a time like this? How touching.
Too late!
Once Chaos restored his body, he would never engage in close combat again, always keeping distance, then...
Before he could finish the thought, Francis grabbed a syringe from the ground and plunged it into his newly healed chest.
Francis filled the ten-liter syringe in one pull, the massive suction making Lorgar's entire body deflate.
Then Francis growled, "You're not going to die anyway! Let me draw a few more!"
"Why didn't you tell me you were ascending to daemonhood?!"
He drew another syringe.
"You beast!"
"You're worse than a daemon! Aaaaaah!"
At the same time.
Warriors of the Iron Hands and Iron Warriors surged through the hatches of the Death Guard warship like a steel tide, their black and silver armor interweaving through flames and toxic fog, erupting with thunderous war cries.
The Iron Hands fought silent and ruthless, precisely deploying heavy firepower and chainswords to sever every Death Guard in their path.
The Iron Warriors advanced primarily defensively, moving behind shield walls while using powerful siege weapons to destroy enemy plague bunkers and biological structures.
The enemies within seemed endless: plague warriors, corrupted daemonic entities, and countless fallen soldiers infected by viruses. Every battle felt like stepping into hell, Death Guard dragging their rotting bodies, wielding venom-dripping weapons, challenging iron will with low coughs and plague whispers.
When they broke through the final defensive line, they found the command chamber door completely sealed by plague corruption. Walls and floors had decayed into living flesh covered with pustules and tentacles, every step felt like descending into an abyss.
Plague storms raged through the passages. Every breath was suffocating agony; only their armor's integrity and iron will allowed them to survive.
With a roar, Ferrus charged forward, rage blazing. He slammed his iron hand and warhammer into the plague-sealed gate.
"Mortarion!"
With his power, the corrupting barrier finally collapsed, revealing the interior of the command chamber.
When they rushed inside, they were stunned by what they saw.
Mortarion stood before the control panels, his body fully daemonified, taller, more gaunt, emanating a foul stench of poison. Enormous daemonic wings spread wide, their edges dripping corrosive pus. His face was hidden in smoke and toxic gas, and the scythe Silence in his hand emitted deadly green radiance, each swing making the air itself groan in agony.
Typhon stood beside Mortarion, his armor almost fused with corrupted flesh, his warhammer stained with plague-creature remains. His face bore mockery of loyalty, his eyes revealing cold belief in corruption.
Mortarion looked at Ferrus and Perturabo, speaking in a low voice.
"Steel rusts. Will decays. You lackeys of the Emperor have come here only to witness your own inadequacy."
Perturabo was furious. He stepped forward and pointed at Mortarion, shouting insults.
"I don't know which bastard told me before that he hadn't succumbed to corruption! That he was using it! That he was controlling it! That he'd tamed it!"
"How did you manage to tame yourself into this pile of shit when you were supposed to have the strongest resistance to viruses and plagues among all our brothers?!"
"Hah! Bah! Trash belongs in the trash heap!"
Mortarion was getting angry now.
He was really getting angry.
But Perturabo had learned well from Francis; he couldn't stop. He continued spewing venom.
"Which of you two is actually the leader of the Death Guard? Who could tolerate their subordinate shitting on their head?"
"Looks like you've succeeded! What is this bastard next to you? He looks more like a Legion Master than you do!"
"..."
Perturabo grew more enthusiastic as he continued. Ferrus tried to stop him but couldn't hold him back at all, Perturabo's spittle was flying everywhere.
His words were like sharp blades, each one piercing deep into Mortarion's heart.
Unease and rage flickered in Mortarion's eyes. His scythe trembled slightly in his hand, emitting a low groan, as if responding to Perturabo's provocation.
His grip tightened on his weapon.
"Perturabo, you'd better die!"
He let out a low growl. Toxic mist spilled from the corners of his mouth, swirling around his massive frame.
His patience finally ran out.
He roared and swung Silence. Poisonous fog surged with the scythe's arc, instantly filling the entire space with a corrosive storm. The blade's arc, like death itself, carrying unstoppable plague-born power, slashed down fiercely toward Perturabo.
However, Perturabo was prepared. He raised his cannon and bombarded relentlessly, blocking the attack with an unshakeable stance.
[End of Chapter]