Chapter 198: Slacking Off!
Inside the Hall of the Throne on Terra, holy light streamed down from the dome, illuminating the Emperor of Mankind and a group gathered around the Webway entrance.
Malcador watched with a deep frown, the wrinkles on his face deepening with confusion. Beside him, Guilliman stood equally straight, his black power armor gleaming in the light. He furrowed his brows, conversing in a low voice with Malcador.
"Is this really going to work? I have a bad feeling about this!" Guilliman asked.
Malcador fell silent. "..."
Clearly, he wasn't sure either. Following their gaze, they looked into the Webway entrance.
"This is mine! Yours is over there!" a goggle-wearing Ork Boy roared, snatching a spirit-bone plank from the other's hand.
"Bullshit! This is mine!" Another Ork Boy also roared, smashing a fist onto the other's head.
"Ah! You dare hit me! Even the boss has never hit me like this! I'll fight you to the death! Waaaaaagh!" the first Ork bellowed.
The Ork Boy, with bloodshot eyes, suddenly kicked out. The two fought fiercely, completely oblivious that they had already reached the unrepaired Webway floor. Just as one of the Ork Boyz suddenly pushed, the other's foot slipped.
His massive body instantly lost balance, and the Ork Boy's expression turned from rage to bewilderment. "Ah!"
Then, completely out of control, he fell downwards. In the nick of time, he stretched out his hand, grabbing the other's chest, and instantly, that Ork let out an incredibly shrill scream.
"Let go! Ah! I can't take it anymore!" he shrieked.
The sudden pull left half his body suspended. His thick arm gripped the edge of the cracked floor tightly, almost being dragged down by the other's weight.
"If you're going to pull, pull more of me! Raaahgg!" he roared in pain, his chest stretched long.
"If I don't hold onto you, I'll fall down! It's pitch black down there, and I'm afraid of the dark!" The Ork Boy hanging below shouted back righteously, his two short legs still flailing as he tried to find a foothold.
The two were deadlocked there, their massive green-skinned bodies swaying in the air, the Ork above gritting his teeth. "Let go of me! You're going to drag me down, too!"
"Then pull me up!" the Ork below retorted, but his grip tightened even more, to the point where the other let out continuous screams.
Another Ork Boy, busy turning his head, also stepped on them, instantly making three people hang there and roar. "Help! Waaaaaagh!"
Francis approached from deeper in the tunnel. It wasn't until ten of them were hanging that they were finally rescued by Francis, who had stopped to rest. The Ork Boyz were all thoroughly scared.
Francis. "..."
The rescued Ork Boyz gasped for breath, cursing incessantly.
"Who built this! It's too broken!" one complained.
"Exactly! And ugly! Uglier than me!" another agreed.
"What the hell!" a third muttered.
The Ork Boyz grumbled, raising their hammers and relentlessly striking every connection point of these spirit-bone planks. This time, to avoid falling, the Ork Boyz even smeared their saliva into the gaps of the planks...
Malcador and Guilliman. "..."
They then turned to look at the Soul Drinkers beside them. They had already taken on the appearance of Drukhari, working in groups to perform rituals, continuously drawing Warp energy and converting it into spirit-bone material.
They clenched their fists, then reluctantly lowered them.
It was a strange sight, yet they worked with exceptional seriousness, especially the look in the Orks' eyes when they met, filled with wisdom! It looked out of place no matter how you looked at it, yet they couldn't find any fault.
They could only hear the constant sound of toes curling inside shoes. Guilliman looked at Malcador again and said, "Did Father make a mistake before? This is the correct way to build."
Upon hearing this, Malcador's eyes widened as he roared, "Don't talk nonsense! The Emperor cannot be wrong! It's this Webway entrance that is wrong; it failed the Emperor's expectations!"
Meanwhile, the other Tech-Priests all stood at the Webway entrance, tapping and knocking, pulling out various instruments and muttering, "So that's it! So that's it!"
A Tech-Priest beside him eagerly asked, "What did you find out! What did you find out! Tell me quickly!"
Then the Tech-Priest said earnestly, "So, a fresh Webway looks like this!"
The others stared baffled at the madness.
Just then, Francis suddenly felt an unprecedented sense of exhaustion, and he stopped what he was doing. He walked straight out, and they immediately swarmed around him, holding out incredibly complex Webway entrance blueprints, shouting, "Wise Francis, please tell us what's wrong with our design!"
"This is the result of our long analysis, and it's all based on previous Webway designs. What is the principle behind what you're doing?"
"Is it a problem with the materials? Or did we misunderstand something?" another asked.
Watching them question him all at once, Francis also paused, looking at them with a puzzled expression.
"Could it be? Isn't a Webway a Way? A Way is a road, so building a Webway is just building a road. Why so many questions!" After speaking, he walked straight towards Guilliman and the others, leaving the Tech-Priests to keep muttering his words.
"Isn't a Webway a Way?" one murmured.
"A Webway is a Way!" another repeated.
"Isn't a Webway a Way?" yet another echoed.
Suddenly, everyone began to radiate heat, the roar of machinery rising in a frenzy.
Seeing them like this, Francis had no choice. Anyway, he tried putting a plank on it, and it really worked! The others were easily broken, and he finally discovered that the spirit-bone worked best.
Thinking of this, Francis continued to walk out, then Guilliman grabbed his hand. "Where are you going?"
"Home, of course! Why would I stay here? They need to follow the steps, and more White Orks will slowly line up later," Francis explained.
Francis slapped away the other's hand and walked towards the spaceport.
"Hey!" Guilliman quickly chased after him, but the more he chased, the faster Francis ran. The chase continued through the palace halls. Chasing all the way out of the Terra Imperial Palace, Francis suddenly stopped, and Guilliman, not paying attention, crashed into him.
Clang!
Before he could react, Francis immediately put his arm around him, and with a swift motion, placed a helmet made of blackstone on both their heads. Then he growled with a look of indignation.
"Ah, Guilliman! It's not that I don't want to continue working, but the old man is just too cold-hearted! I mean, look at how miserable I am right now. I painstakingly brought a planet's worth of blackstone, and he didn't reward me at all! And now I'm stuck repairing the Webway for him again, and he still hasn't given anyone anything! Do you know what this means?"
Guilliman, stunned, blurted out, "What does it mean?"
"This means He's freeloading! Do you know? Freeloading is an existence more terrifying than Chaos! It is the darkest existence, a terrifying existence that even the Warp cannot withstand!" Francis declared.
At this point, Francis looked pained, as if he had lost money.
Guilliman stared in confusion. He wanted to say something, but he hesitated.
"Cheer up, brother. Once the High Lords finish their selection, you'll have your troubles." With that, Francis patted the other's shoulder, then removed the blackstone helmet from the other's head.
However, the other stopped him, whispering, "How much for this helmet?"
Francis grinned. "Oh, please, between brothers, talking like that is too formal! Send me ten Leman Russ Battle Tanks later, along with 10x ammunition cargo!"
"Deal!" Guilliman readily agreed.
...
After Guilliman happily left, Francis stepped onto the Abyss Howl, the bitter resentment on his face instantly vanishing, replaced by a radiant smile.
"Return to base!" he declared.
He decided that, unless necessary, he would not return to Terra. This wretched place...the work was endless. A group of people doing nothing, just staring at him working. He wasn't going to be a fool and keep working!
No one could stop his slacking, not even the Emperor!
...
Far across the galaxy, on Planet Amontep II...
On Planet Amontep II, the Necron tomb buried beneath the barren desert suddenly glowed with an eerie green light. The mechanical platform, sealed for countless years, was utterly broken, the sound of machinery snapping echoing through the empty underground.
Stormlord Imotekh's optical crystals gradually lit up, and he slowly stood. As his awakening was completed, his memory data slowly loaded, and he gradually remembered everything.
"It seems it's time to unify the galaxy! I will lead the Sautekh Dynasty to rise again!" he proclaimed.
He surveyed his surroundings. Imotekh muttered, turning his head to look around, expecting to see his Necron army neatly arrayed. After just one glance, he quickly lay back down, then abruptly closed his eyes, finally rising again to look around.
"What in the world is going on?!" Imotekh's mimetic logic spun rapidly. What did he see?!
All the walls and floors had been crudely dismantled, blackstone carvings dug out, leaving only scattered debris and tool marks, as if the place had been plundered countless times. The once-glorious towers, symbols of the dynasty's splendor, were reduced to broken foundations, with hardly any intact structures remaining.
Even his own warriors lay there, all missing limbs, some even with their heads smashed flat.
"Who did this TREACHERY! Damn YOUU!" Imotekh's voice was low, filled with fury.
His metallic fingers slowly clenched, making a grating sound. The light in his eyes suddenly intensified, flashing with anger and vengeance.
Suddenly, he thought of something and strode towards the central hall of the tomb, but the place where his precious scepter once lay was also completely emptied, leaving only some irregularly cut foundation stones.
Sealed memories gradually awakened. Trazyn had once said, "You should keep your scepter safe, you never know when I might steal it!"
"Tra... zyn! You thieving, shameless BASTARD! I will make you pay this, you hear me, Retribution will come for your wrongdoings, wait for my wrath TRAZYNNN!!" His voice was like muffled thunder from the depths of the tomb, echoing through the empty hall.
Just then, he activated the communication node in the Sautekh Dynasty's ruins, trying to reach his comrades. However, the communication node was completely paralyzed. He picked it up and saw that all the blackstone material inside the communication node had been torn out completely!
"AHH!" he roared.
[End of Chapter]