With Nyx's assistance, the shoota, the chain‑choppa, the big shoota, the shock attack gun... a series of greenskin technological weapons were churned out by Brother Bug. Though the process was inevitably somewhat 'sketchy', the producer himself derived immense enjoyment from it.
"Brother Bug, how long have we been underground?"
"Dunno either!"
"But Boss, dat batch o' Squigs you planted — dey're almost ready."
Nyx scratched his head. He hadn't been up top in a while. Mortarion sent three meals a day to the door of his surface hut, and Bug fetched them for him.
On the surface, Nyx seemed like a black‑hearted boss, forcing his underling to churn out greenskin weaponry. In truth, however, he was genuinely researching how to cultivate Squigs suitable for the Imperium's human needs.
After all, though Squigs were edible, one should not forget that some Ork tribes also used them as combat pets. There was even a joke: 'Go feed the Squigs — and end up as the feed yourself'.
A breed that would turn on its keeper was certainly not what Nyx had in mind. His goal was to domesticate Squigs into reliable 'porkers'. For now, however, the Squigs made up only a small portion of the greenskin units cultivated through Bug's tissue culture. Most were still ordinary Orks.
According to Nyx's analysis, the material universe itself seemed to reject the birth of 'ancient Orks'. He could not mass‑produce an ancient Ork army through Brother Bug's tissue culture. At this stage, the birth of ancient Orks could only depend on the atavism of particularly exceptional Warbosses.
Of course, this experiment was not without results.
'Ork wetware' — that was certainly heretical enough. Nyx had excised most of the Ork's body, leaving only the unyielding core of the WAAAGH! energy field, integrated into the power armour backpack of an Astartes.
During combat, the Ork wetware would become agitated, and the WAAAGH! energy field would generate a shield to protect the wearer.
Nyx had even 'interviewed' several test subjects equipped with modified Ork wetware. The feedback was overwhelmingly positive; they simply hoped someone would outfit them soon so they could participate in a major scrap.
Suffice to say: aside from its extreme blasphemy, this thing actually worked pretty well.
"Time to head up, get some fresh air... and sample Barbarus's 'fresh' atmosphere."
Nyx tossed his notes aside and led the hooligan back to the surface hut. Constant work had left him somewhat dazed. Unconsciously, he caught his reflection in the 'mirror' within the room.
"Boss...?!"
"Shh, Brother Bug!"
Nyx signalled Bug to be quiet. He stared at the Emperor in the mirror and sighed. It had been a long time since he had reverted to his original appearance.
"After all, this is a Primarch body. Such high‑intensity, sustained work... even dark circles under the eyes..."
He smiled self‑deprecatingly, then realised how foolish he was being. Since when did a Primarch have dark circles?
"But this yellow face... Well, it's fine. I can barely pass as handsome as my father."
Having said this, he even struck a small pose. The next second, however, his entire body went rigid. Several beads of cold sweat emerged at his temples.
...Why isn't my reflection smiling back?
Why isn't it moving?
Wait... Barbarus is in the Stone Age. Where the hell did this mirror come from?!
"Ha... Haha... Actually, I don't think I'm a patch on the God‑Emperor! The Emperor is humanity's most ancient beauty..."
"Enough."
A cold voice cut him off. "Choose one, Nyx. How would you like to die this time?"
Standing opposite Nyx was the Emperor Himself. He had finally taken a break from his 'date' with the Centaur and decided to check on Nyx's progress. The result: he walked in on this wretch, together with a dangerous ancient Ork, conducting blasphemous experiments.
The Emperor could tolerate this as a necessary evil for Mortarion's liberation of Barbarus. But this wicked beast, upon opening his mouth, had immediately slandered Him — it had almost become this child's instinct.
"...Um... Can I not choose?"
"What do you think?"
"Don't worry. I'll try to make sure no one finds out."
The Emperor raised His palm. In an instant, the narrow confines of the room stretched into infinity. Countless shadow‑palms materialised, then shot toward Nyx like flashes of light!
"Damn! Thousand‑Hand Guanyin?!"
The barrage descended. Nyx was like a shattered kite, sent flying across the boundless expanse.
"WAAAGH! GOLDEN GIT! I'Z FIGHTIN' YA! IF YA WANNA KRUMP — KRUMP ME!"
Bug roared.
"Brother Bug!"
Nyx was momentarily touched. In the critical moment, Brother Bug was far more humane than the Emperor!
"Then together."
The Emperor's other hand rose. Brother Bug joined the ranks of those flying across the sky. Suffice to say, blessings need not be shared — but Brother Bug truly dared to rise to the occasion.
Ten minutes later, the Emperor ceased. Nyx and Bug collapsed onto their backs, their entire bodies swollen like meatballs that had been repeatedly tenderised.
"Do you understand your wrongdoing?"
"Yes... Yes, I understand..."
Nyx trembled as he rose. This beating had made it impossible for him to maintain the illusion. He simply reverted to his original form.
"This time, I came partly to see you, and partly to see Mortarion."
"He is in better shape than I expected."
"Stop — could it be that this is a bad thing? Who should he thank?"
Nyx curled his lip. He seriously suspected that when the Emperor had traded with the Warp, He had pawned off His emotional intelligence along with it. It was already progress that He didn't treat his 'good big boys' as pure instruments.
This old wall‑lamp had a very hard mouth. He had just finished beating Nyx, yet had quietly used His psychic energy to heal the lingering wounds left by the clash of forces in Nyx's body — textbook 'tough talk, soft heart'.
Emperor... you old tsundere!
"I truly have little time to teach them personally."
"No time? You have time for the Centaur?"
Nyx choked the Emperor with a single sentence.
"You can't just dump all this educational work on me. In the future, will they call me brother or father?"
Though he didn't really care about either title.
"In terms of education, I may not be your equal, Nyx. But some things... even I cannot do everything."
The Emperor rarely displayed a trace of shame. Then He changed the subject.
"However. Would you care to explain why the image of a 'ferret' has become mixed with the locals' perception of me?"
"Nyx. Do you think I look like a man, or a god?"
Nyx's Adam's apple bobbed. He spoke cautiously: "...Like... like a man?"
"Oh? Can men beat you like a punching bag?"
"...Then... like a god?"
"I told you—"
The Emperor's voice suddenly rose.
"I! AM! NOT! A GOD!"
The next second, Nyx was once again on the receiving end. He understood now: this old wall‑lamp was just looking for an excuse to beat him.
Perhaps because the two were so focused on each other, neither noticed the figure standing quietly outside the door.
Mortarion stood motionless, the breakfast he had prepared for Nyx still in his hands. He struggled to control his trembling hands, to keep the tray from falling.
"...Father... Father?!"