Chapter 352: The Price of Failure Now is Death
"It's alive~"
Ramesses activated the ritual with feigned nonchalance.
Ding—
Like a pebble dropped into a still pool, golden ripples spread deep within the warp. Light flowed like liquid gold, tearing fissures in the surrounding shadows of Chaos.
The Lord of Change, feeling extremely uncomfortable nearby, moved further away. It truly couldn't understand why an existence known for being formless and shapeless had such an ostentatious personal style.
Ramesses glanced sideways, wiping his faceplate. Fragments of gold gathered at his fingertips, revealing a plain, unremarkable face.
!!!
The Lord of Change fled as if it had seen a ghost, a series of teleportation flashes leaving a trail of chaotic purple sparks.
This reaction made Ramesses frown.
He pretended to pay attention to the Daemon Lord's unusual movements. He had deliberately revealed a flaw in the spell's construction, which Tzeentch, the God of Magic, could not possibly miss.
However, the Lord of Change acted as if saying, "Please continue, I won't disturb you, I'm leaving," showing no sign of Tzeentch hijacking the ritual.
The brows framing his golden eyes furrowed deeper.
Showing weakness didn't work, provocation failed, deliberate negligence elicited no reaction...
The spell flowing between his fingers trembled again. Runes intertwined, and the chains hooked in the warp began to stir uneasily, just like the Greater Daemons peeping from the shadows.
In fact, his spell process was all a show for Tzeentch. Both the Maugetar Stone and the core formula were with Romulus from the beginning; he only needed to command remotely. He was just waiting for Tzeentch to intervene here.
Why was Tzeentch acting like he was dead this time?
Did he send the Lord of Change here just for sightseeing?
His consciousness swept over the plan again.
The Dawnlight's Blackstone array was running smoothly; the Custodes and Sisters of Silence maintained surveillance and lockdown on key facilities; Drach'nyen was under monitoring; Arthur could teleport up at any time; the Emperor's psychic phone line was open, etc...
All chips were safely placed outside the gambling table.
Ramesses suppressed his doubts and focused on remote-controlling Romulus.
Everyone had prepared themselves mentally long ago. Frankly, they didn't have much feeling for other Primarchs; likes and dislikes were mostly based on the other party's actions.
The authority controlled by Perturabo was still useful, at least guaranteeing the safety of some technological applications.
As for the carrier, it was naturally the Maugetar Stone. Once Ramesses finished building the technical framework and Romulus completed the access, it could be used directly.
Mm, my brother's interface can be updated again then.
!!!
Ramesses turned his head sharply, only to find the Lord of Change had run even further away, sensing nothing.
Really not planning to cause trouble?
What exactly is Tzeentch plotting?
The Lord of Change bristled all over, noticing the other's movement, looking aggrieved.
No, my lord, I'm just a nameless Greater Daemon, is this necessary?
Dawnlight, Reception Hall
"First," Romulus said.
"This is not a game."
He stared at Perturabo. The wounds on his face from the hammer blows closed, skin scorched by fire restored, pristine as new.
Broken bones re-fused, armor damaged by high-intensity combat self-repaired, regaining its luster.
Blood scabs on his body began to dry, then blew away like ash, leaving no trace.
"Second," Romulus said again, lowering his eyes.
"I've had enough of all this. All the historical baggage you brought, and you yourselves."
"Perhaps those brothers related to you by blood would try to crush you honorably in war, toppling the fortresses you built. They always insisted on honorable warfare, choosing battles with honor, but I will not."
He watched Perturabo's current body. This meticulously constructed form began to compress, strange brilliance bursting from within. Perturabo could gradually feel the boundary between his body and his consciousness beginning to blur.
Perturabo locked his gaze.
He was angry, but he couldn't open his mouth.
He wanted to resist, but his strength was draining away.
Just like ten thousand years ago, the 'gift' given by Fulgrim built a bridge between his essence and something greater, then extracted it. But this time, his life was draining much faster.
And there would be no raid by loyalist Space Marines to save him.
Facing this absurd sight with his own eyes, Perturabo remained silent.
He realized he never understood his opponent. This matter was his wishful thinking from beginning to end, and the other party never had a trace of the appearance constructed in his stereotype.
They didn't care if Perturabo prepared one gift after another on the Iron Blood that could never be sent out, didn't care about the chessboards built for brothers to fight and determine superiority, didn't care about Perturabo's contradictory psychological state.
The Dawnbreakers wouldn't indulge him.
They only cared when Perturabo, the cause of all this, would die. For Romulus, this Primarch was no more important than a man or woman fighting on the surface of Cadia.
The only thing he cared about was the residual power in this body. Since the owner of this power couldn't use it 'better', the Dawnbreakers wouldn't hesitate to take it away.
What is 'better'?
Hoping that humans in this galaxy can live better, hoping to rely on this power to create a better living environment for humanity.
That was the Emperor's original intention in creating the Primarchs. He found twenty essences from the abyss that even the Four Gods dared not venture into, creating twenty Primarchs with his own expectations and hopes, hoping they could lead humanity to a better life.
Then half the sons betrayed, and the rest disappeared.
Now this responsibility was fulfilled by four existences who had nothing to do with the Emperor since their birth.
So they didn't care.
"Third."
Romulus released his hand, completing the anchoring of the soul.
The Maugetar Stone, as the ritual carrier, was held in the Regent's hand. With the injection of authority, it became more complete, transforming from fragments into a dazzling gemstone.
Inside was the authority Perturabo had relied on for ten thousand years, based on his uniqueness and the worship of the Mechanicum and countless Techmarines, allowing him to influence technological creations and preserve technology.
"I hope you things disappear completely. I hope one day I can drag the high and mighty gods off their thrones. I can feel the pain you brought to this galaxy, and I can no longer let those humans you trample wantonly suffer more."
"But you won't see it, Perturabo. You will be the one who dies here."
I will die.
This was an answer Perturabo had never thought of.
This universe is tolerant of the strong, and he happened to be strong.
He planned everything, he prepared enough, he overcame his weakness from ten thousand years ago, and admitted his failure.
He should have made a comeback.
But now, he would die, with no chance to start over.
The result of failure is death.
When Perturabo realized what kind of existence he was during the ten thousand years away from the Imperium, he found the rules had changed again.
Even a great Primarch could not escape the fate of elimination after failure, even if Perturabo thought he had discovered his true power.
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