Chapter 808 Lord of Death
“It’s better not to linger here, we are already late.”
The courtyards and balconies were crowded with people, and fat priests shuttled between the altars. , accompanied by swarms of assistants, the person about to be sacrificed squirmed in the sack.
Wizards walked among them, some of them Unbreakables, twisting the whips in their hands tightly. The huge deformed creatures had their limbs stretched out and their bellies were swollen. They staggered up the twisted stairwell, roaring and respite.
There is a palace within a palace.
In some places, astrologers would refer to swinging galaxies and tilt their charts toward slits in thick glass windows.
In other places, alchemists toiled over bubbling racks of instruments, and even more, surgeons would sharpen their blades on whetstones before turning to trembling figures strapped to tables .
Occultists with seven eyes scrawled on stone tablets, their quills soaked in pools of living blood, and demonologists tied screaming beings to horse chestnuts , the air thumped with its filth, butchers in bloody aprons strutted out of the large dining hall, and pharmacists struggled under the weight of many fallen phage glass bottles.
It is noisy, lively and lacks order here.
Every piece of meat was pimpled and yellow, and every piece of stomach was flabby and showed signs of burning.
Steam surges in brass incense burners and green flames burst from holes carved into the walls of pulsating flesh.
Burned deep underground and high on crumbling spires, these chambers are filled with life, death, and many things in between.
The two did not stop to observe these wonderful things, they continued walking inside.
Slowly, the life forms gradually dwindled, and they entered an area illuminated only by thin candles, where the stones were damp and covered with a smooth coating of seaweed.
The hustle and bustle gradually disappeared, and soon, only the Unbreakables like them could be seen, silent and depressed, immersed in their own affairs in the most lifeless place in the Plague City.
"They are still as energetic as before."
Ngarta couldn't help but comment.
"Vox has always managed things in an orderly manner."
"You listen to him, don't you?"
"Of course."
Now they reach a dangerous place, passing under crumbling gates and emerging into an abyss connected by a rotten ropeway.
There are many shafts there, from which circles of unnatural steam emerge.
They could hear machines rumbling in the distance, and low screams - everything was echoing here in an uncanny way, as if there was a wall that shouldn't be there , or an invisible room.
Finally, they reached the inner gate.
This door is modeled after that of Malcador the Markbearer, though larger, but these ancient Terran designs have been twisted with indecent divine taste.
Two Deathshrouds stood guard on either side, motionless, barely visible in the repulsive darkness.
They said nothing, but as soon as Deathstroke approached, the door opened.
"You wait here."
The order only allowed him to enter, so Engalta could only ask his followers to wait outside.
“Understood.”
Soon, he entered the inner hall.
He had only been here once before, and many in the legion, even some of the highest ranks, had never made it this far.
Others are eligible to enter only if the Primarch himself speaks, and these words have always been rare.
It is cold here, hoarfrost hangs from the ceiling in the distance, ice forms on the floor, the dark pillars glow slightly, and swarms of flies crawl instead of buzzing on the dark vaults.
Engalta walked through the long nave, which was designed in the Imperial Gothic style - solemn, solid and heavy, so his footsteps kept echoing between the tall columns, which was breathtaking. Creepy.
There is a throne at the end of the nave, shrouded in shadow. Above the throne are spears with low-hanging war flags hung on the arches. Each one is engraved with the name of a certain world. .
Many scrolls lay scattered on the stone floor, covered in frost, with words in a mixture of human and xenos languages.
The throne has a high, grooved backrest, with a pile of tattered skulls on top, covered by a thick spider web, with a swollen spider squatting in the center of the web.
The size of this throne is far beyond ordinary imagination.
Engalta stopped, it was almost dark, all the light and heat had been sucked away from this place, sucked away by an empty heart.
The air smelled musty, like a prison.
"Welcome, Engalta."
The owner of the throne made a deep voice. N'Galtar had experienced many things during his long service, and he was not easily intimidated, but the sight of Mortarion was an exception.
The Primarch was always a striking figure - thin, gaunt, and foreboding, even as a child, but ever since he was swallowed up by the Dark God, The last restraints have been lifted.
He was a giant now, a gigantic corpse, his armor reforged and plated with demonic alloys, his gray muscles atrophied further, clinging to oversized bones, his back sprouting thorns and pores, his shoulders piled with muscle. , used to support the dilapidated wings draped behind rags.
As he breathed, yellow-green steam spurted from an ancient and worn-out rebreather, and Engalta saw his sunken chest heaving under the corroded armor, and under the worn-out hood, A pair of dim eyes peered out from the shadows, and pale gauntlets clung to the armrests of the throne.
Ngarta immediately bowed his head.
"It is a pleasure to see you again, Master."
Mortarion stared at him, it was always difficult to know what those eyes were looking at, N'Galtar was well aware of the price of becoming a demon, and he understood that despite the Primarch's immense power, he could only barely perceive the real universe in a vague way, just like everyone who made this deal.
Given enough time, most enchanters would turn into howling idiots, but this was a Primarch, one of the sons of the Lord of Mankind, whose indomitable spirit was unyielding even as they compromised with the daemons. Still will not be lost.
"I did not foresee this."
The Primarch's voice was like the iron bars of a tomb being lazily opened.
“I did not foresee that a loving father would be so angry.”
Ngarta remained silent.
"Isha, the goddess of life of the Eldar, is the most cherished treasure of the loving father. It does not allow any flaws in her."
He chuckled, which made his neck shake, and the armor on the The scary gadget also rattles.
"We never knew about this, but now it is no longer a secret. The last fragment of Isa's soul is in the world."
He coughed for a while and his whole body trembled. Stirring up the dust on the ground.
Ngarta was not sure if these words were spoken to himself. The Primarch always liked to talk to himself loudly, and being isolated from the world for several centuries here made him even more solipsistic. ism.
"I have resigned myself to my fate. I look here and there, but mostly I stare into the abyss. This is the choice I have made, to abandon this boring little game and leave the old world and the old war to mortals. , and turned to the truly great game."
His eyes briefly focused, and he seemed to finally see Engalta for the first time.
“So, what good news did you bring.”
“Master, after a period of reconnaissance and seeking the assistance of the red pirates, we finally determined that the Eldar’s Ark World Uthvi briefly appeared in the Armageddon system, which coincides with the time when the wrath of the loving father broke out. We are convinced that the daughter of Isha is on the craft world Uthvi."
Mortari. Ann looked confused for a moment, then recovered.
"Ah, yes, Hajime Doton."
He leaned forward on the throne, and this slight movement caused streaks of dust to fall on the roof.
"Those thirsty ladies' forbidden beasts have been hiding in the webway for tens of thousands of years. Why did they appear in Armageddon?"
"Not long ago, the greenskins once again The invasion there seems to have something to do with it.”
“This will not happen under my hands.”
"Greenskin, yes, greenskin."
Mortarion gasped, and a long inhalation sound came from the filter of the ventilator.
"That place has unique significance to the greenskins. They will not give up there, but what does this have to do with the Eldar. Ha, it's ridiculous."
"Sir, then we What to do next? ”
“It’s your business”
Mortarion waved his hand, as if to ward off something disturbing.
"Such a glorious task has fallen on your shoulders. Whatever you need, just go to others, they will give you everything, and I have to wait."
Ngarta tried to understand what he was saying, but failed.
"I'm sorry, my lord, I don't understand."
"No need to understand, just do your thing."
Engalta thought for a while, and finally slowly exited the hall, leaving only the decaying giant still breathing slowly on the throne -
"Yes, the wind is rising"
(End of this chapter)