Chapter 72: What Did You Do?
"Hahaha… hahahaha…"
A maniacal laugh rippled across Fulgrim's face.
He stretched out his four arms, and as the Chaos cultists lurking on Estuarte performed their blasphemous rituals, streams of warp energy flowed into his body.
"Do you see that? My dear Tarvitz? And you, old relic Rylanor."
His massive serpentine body writhed, looking down upon the spirits burning with pale flames.
"This is a blessing from the gods! Proof that I am His most beloved creation! I am His supreme masterpiece, born from His womb!"
He brandished his sword, pointing it at his former sons.
"Your so-called oaths and nauseating loyalty are nothing but cries awaiting my pity before eternal pleasure! Ah~ how disgusting, come~, let me squeeze out your pain!"
"And you…"
Fulgrim's purple, vertical pupils suddenly turned toward Eileen in the distance.
"Little container. I will flay you alive and make you the most exquisite ornament upon my throne—"
"Pfft—Hahahahahaha!!"
A sudden, crisp burst of laughter shattered the terrifying and ambiguous atmosphere that Fulgrim had created.
The Primarch's monologue was interrupted.
He froze, his expression stiffening again.
Never in ten thousand years had he encountered so many "restless" spectators.
Everyone present—whether the enraged heroic spirits, or the vigilant Custodian and the Astartes—instinctively looked toward the source of the laughter.
Eileen was squatting beside Sicarius.
She clutched her stomach with one hand and slapped the leg armor of the Second Company Captain beside her with the other, laughing so hard she was almost in tears.
"You! You pathetic container of the Corpse-Emperor… what are you laughing at?!"
Fulgrim's voice was filled with anger and confusion.
"Trying to go mad when facing death?!"
"Ha… haha… no… I cannot take it anymore… Old Huang was right…"
Eileen wiped away tears of laughter, panting, her golden eyes filled with mockery.
"He said this place is just a brainless den of perverts… really, he is absolutely right."
She held up a finger, not pointing at Fulgrim.
But at a corner of the hall.
"Look over there, you big worm."
Eileen said with a grin.
"Your… lady's most beloved champion… seems to be in a little 'trouble.'"
Everyone's gaze followed her finger.
Among a pile of rubble and broken tiles
lay Lucius the Eternal, his arms severed by Akurduana and severely wounded by pale flames, writhing on the ground like a maggot.
And beside this "wriggling one" stood someone.
It was Lars, the new third on Fulgrim's hate list.
The governor's second son was trembling violently, his face covered in dust, snot, and tears.
But in his hand, he gripped once more the burning dagger that had just severed the Primarch's serpentine tail.
And as everyone followed their gaze downward—
the dagger was plunged into the heart of the chosen champion of the Prince of Pleasure.
Lars swallowed hard.
In his eyes, this monstrous creature held none of the intimidating power of a "champion of the Dark Gods."
He only saw an… utterly disgusting, grotesque, and threatening bald, evil man.
The instinct for survival, the loathing for a monster that constantly pushed the boundaries of aesthetics, mixed with a hysterical urge to scream, "Will this ever end?"—
all of this overwhelmed Lars's reason and fear.
"You… you…"
Lars gripped the flaming short sword tightly with both hands, his voice shrill and distorted.
"You… ugly… ugly… bald man!!"
"Stop yelling in my hall!! You are disgusting me!!"
"Hah… hah!!" Lucius let out a dying gasp.
Normally, whoever killed Lucius, if they felt even the slightest sense of accomplishment, pleasure, or pride, would be cursed by Slaanesh and ultimately become Lucius's new vessel.
However,
this spoiled brat's peculiar thoughts only contained—
"This is awful!" "Will it splash on me?" "Maybe I am dreaming."
More importantly…
the short sword in his hand was imbued with Imperial psychic energy and a crimson flame that appeared from nowhere.
"Boom—!!!"
The golden-red flames on the short sword erupted violently.
These flames did not spread outward; instead, they burned directly into Lucius's body through the wound.
"Ugh… Ah… Ahhh…"
Lucius let out a scream he would never utter again.
But the scream lasted only a moment.
This flame was not just burning his body.
It burned wildly forward along a "thread" visible only to those with psychic sight, until it reached the junction of reality and the warp.
It was incinerating Lucius's concept.
It also destroyed the "curse of resurrection" bestowed upon him by Slaanesh.
"No… I am… immortal…"
Lucius's body rapidly became transparent and ethereal in the flames.
The armor, covered in agonizing faces, melted like wax in the golden fire.
There was no longer a soul to inhabit.
Even the gods could no longer offer aid.
Only irreversible… true death remained.
Hoo…
The flames subsided.
The ground was empty.
No corpse, no ashes; this infamous chosen had left not a trace after his death.
"…"
The entire battlefield fell silent once more.
Even the Slaaneshi army crawling out of the rift stopped, staring in terror at that corner.
Lars, panting heavily, still gripped his short sword, remaining frozen in that position.
He slowly opened one eye.
Seeing that the disgusting thing on the ground seemed to have burned completely, he breathed a sigh of relief and plopped down on the ground.
"Hmph… How dare you offend me… a debater under the command of the esteemed Lady Eileen."
"You…"
Fulgrim's purple eyes widened, almost bursting out of their sockets.
He stared at the now-empty corner, feeling Lucius's completely extinguished presence.
Utter shock made him forget to attack.
"Mortal… how dare you kill the champion personally blessed by the Lord of Pleasure?"
"How is this possible?!"
At the same moment—
a sharp, piercing scream, filled with resentment, sorrow, rage, and a strange, indescribable pleasure, erupted from the void.
It was the wrath of the Prince of Pleasure itself, dwelling in the Sixth Ring Palace deep within the distant warp.
One of His most beloved toys—Lucius, who brought Him endless pleasure—had been utterly destroyed.
This loss caused the young Dark God to let out a hysterical (or perhaps strangely stimulating) scream.
"BOOM!!!"
The spatial barrier in the center of the hall seemed to be torn apart by an invisible giant hand.
A dense, almost tangible purple mist erupted, carrying the scent of musk and decaying flowers.
Thump.
A long hoof, covered in exquisite chitin and silk, stepped out of the rift.
Then, a gigantic, elegant, yet deadly figure slowly entered the material realm.
It had six arms, a slender and alluring figure, half-male and half-female, with a face so beautiful it was almost blinding, yet also possessing a pair of enormous horns.
It held a long-handled spear in one hand and a shield in the other.
A Slaaneshi Keeper of Secrets.
Judging from the terrifying aura emanating from it—an aura that even Fulgrim found oppressive—
Zarakynel the Calamity gracefully emerged from the mist.
Its purple-glowing eyes did not glance at the surrounding heroic spirits, nor at Fulgrim.
It was preparing.
Preparing to hunt down the "culprit" who dared to destroy the Prince of Pleasure's toy.
It scanned the entire area.
Finally, its gaze locked onto a corner.
The burning short sword beside Lars.