"Fake. It's all fake!"
Gibson curled up on his bed, forcing out a hoarse, rasping roar from his throat. "There is no god at all! He's just a fraud! A filthy mutant!"
Honor, worship, and Karin... all of it should have belonged to him.
But that filthy mutant had stolen everything from him!
Gibson's eyes were bloodshot. He had to expose the mutant's true nature. He had to make everyone see that the mutant was no god. He had to personally reclaim his lost glory!
"But what can I even do?"
A bitter smile crept onto Gibson's lips.
There was nothing he could do.
The two small winged mutants were nothing to worry about, but the larger mutant could immobilize him with a mere lift of his hand.
How could he possibly expose the truth?
Reality poured a bucket of ice water over his head. He couldn't confront a mutant with force. He needed outside help.
But where would that come from?
The villagers worshipped the mutant as a god. They would never agree to his mad plan.
Those ignorant fools would only see him as a heretic attempting to kill a god.
Killing a god.
The word made Gibson's heart surge.
If he truly managed to slay a god, he could reclaim his lost honor, perhaps even become a god himself!
He imagined the entire tribe kneeling at his feet. Old Albert groveling and kissing his boots. Karin serving him loyally.
All of it hinged on one thing-
Killing the mutant.
He couldn't do it himself.
But perhaps… the world could.
No one understood the dangers of Baal better than the Baalites.
Perhaps that thing could help him.
.....
"Karin, we're heading out. Have lunch prepared by the time we return."
"Yes, my lord."
The girl knelt on the ground, her forehead pressed flat against the earth.
Only after Caelan's footsteps faded away did she dare lift her head.
She wasn't afraid of the lord. He treated her kindly, never once criticizing her mistakes as a priestess, even allowing her to eat at the same table.
But every time she faced him directly, she felt overwhelming pressure.
It was the instinctive trembling of mortals before divinity.
A reverence born of nature itself.
Though Caelan continually denied being a god, the truth was already obvious.
If he wasn't a god, then there were no gods in this world at all.
To repay the god's grace, she had to serve him with even greater devotion.
....
The village was full of junk.
And that was not a metaphor.
The vehicle clattered and groaned as if it might fall apart at any moment.
The radiation suits were hand-stitched, layered and patched repeatedly.
The houses were also leftovers from millennia ago, their outer walls weathered and peeling.
Yet the main structures remained intact, thanks to the construction materials of the Golden Age still doing their job.
In the ancient nuclear war, Baal Secundus's hive cities had long been reduced to ruins.
Ironically, these scattered wilderness villages survived, because they held no tactical value for strikes.
Most survivors were descendants of those villagers from millennia's past.
Even so, Baal Secundus had mutated into a death world due to radiation. Technology and civilization were steadily eroded by the brutal environment.
All that remained was this pile of scrap.
"My lord, where are we going?" Cole gripped the steering wheel tightly, excitement surging through him. The god had personally chosen him to serve!
Driving for the god and two angels, he'd do it even if it meant luxury cars and mansions were taken away forever!
"Anywhere," Caelan said calmly. "Wherever it's dangerous."
He wasn't a god. He couldn't just eat and live comfortably in The Bloods camp. He had to do something for them.
If there were dangers they couldn't handle, he would deal with them.
Cole didn't object. He didn't even ask why.
How could a mortal dare question a god's will?
If the god commanded it, then it must be divine providence.
The tires rolled slowly across the sand. Cole carefully controlled the speed, he feared the car might fall apart if he drove too fast.
Every component rattled violently even at low speed.
But this was already a miracle. Baal Secundus no longer had the technology to make vehicles. This ancient relic still running was astonishing.
Finding danger, however, wasn't difficult.
Danger was everywhere on Baal Secundus. Normally, The Bloods avoided such threats at all costs, but today, there was a god in the car.
What was there to fear?
"Turn left," Caelan suddenly rang out.
Without a moment's hesitation, Cole wrenched the steering wheel hard to the left.
Whatever command the god gave, he only needed to execute it!
Thinking was an unnecessary burden. How dare the wisdom of mortals speculate upon the e expanse of a god's thoughts?
Boom!
The sand exploded upward. A massive crimson pincer burst from the ground, flinging tons of sand into the air.
When Cole saw its full form in the rearview mirror, invisible terror seized his throat, making it hard to breathe.
Even with a god present, humanity's instinctive fear of apex predators nearly froze his blood.
Baal had many lethal predators, but none were more dangerous than the Baalite Fire Scorpion.
Twice the size of a human, its pincers could crush bones with ease, then tear prey apart piece by piece with its mouthparts. The acidic venom from its stinger could dissolve flesh in seconds.
Worst of all, they were pack hunters. They were almost never alone!
If you saw one, there were always more beneath the ground.
'With the god here, we'll win!' Cole clenched his teeth.
What could he possibly lose with a god on board?
The god only needed to lift a finger and the scorpions would become a mist of blood!
Yet the god remained unmoving in the back seat.
Instead of using divine power, he pointed calmly out the window.
"Go. Kill it."
"Me?" Cole froze, but the two angels shooting out of the car instantly made him realize who Caelan meant.
And somehow… that felt even worse!
His heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He was an adult! No matter how much potential the angels had, they were still babies!
Yet in the next instant, Cole saw the silver-haired angel in the mirror, dodging the venomous spray at near-teleport speed, his tiny little fists whistling through the air as they smashed repeatedly into the scorpion's head.
Crack!
Cole swore he heard bones shatter as the monstrous beast collapsed.
"Little fire scorpion, red and bright,"
"Two pincers raised up tall and tight,"
"Smash the shell, smash the head,"
"Lie still, lie still, nice and dead."
Fulgrim hummed the song his father had taught him.
Cole stared, dumbfounded.
'So this… was an angel?'
Boom! Boom!
The sand erupted in multiple places as several more crimson giant scorpions burst forth.
Their carapaces rubbed together with a terrible clicking sound. Their eight appendages moved with eerie coordination, plowing deep grooves in the sand.
These predators, which relied primarily on vibration to sense prey, had extremely poor eyesight. They ignored the little Angels in the air, targeting only the moving vehicle.
Only when a little angel flew directly before them did they sense danger, instinctively lashing out with a spray of venom. But this was their one and final struggle.
Because the little Angels' seemingly soft, adorable fists would knock their heads apart, one by one!
Bang!
Carapaces cracked like spiderwebs, then skulls exploded outright. Blood, gore, and viscous fluids rained across the sand.
"Turn back," Caelan said.
Cole swallowed hard and quietly turned the car around.
Only now did he truly understand what an angel was.
When mortal infants were still crying in their swaddling clothes, angels could already single-handedly slay Baal's most terrifying predators with their bare hands!
Their fists looked small and cute, but even a Baalite Fire Scorpion's carapace couldn't withstand a few punches. A mortal would probably explode instantly from just one.
Sanguinius flew back into the car and dove into Caelan's arms, whining tearfully, "Dad… it hurts."
"Where are you hurt?" Caelan panicked, checking him over.
"My hand hurts."
Sanguinius pitifully raised his little hand. A faint pink scratch, barely visible, marked his tender palm, cut by a fragment of shell.
Thankfully Caelan noticed in time, another few seconds and it would've healed completely.
Uninjured, Fulgrim puffed his cheeks and glared angrily at the his little brother snuggled in their father's arms.
'What a literal baby!'
He was sure Sanguinius did it on purpose. He'd tried the same thing, but Sanguinius was faster, and his wound had already healed.
Caelan opened his arms. The silver-haired angel folded his wings and dove into them like a chick returning to its nest.
"Are you hurt?" Caelan asked gently.
Fulgrim curled into his arms, voice muffled and milky-sweet.
"No."
"Don't ever push yourself. No matter what happens, tell me, understand?"
"Mm. Then I'm hurt."
Fulgrim obediently raised his palm.
"Where?" Caelan examined it closely.
Fulgrim lifted his chin proudly.
"It already healed!"
"My Fulgrim is amazing!"
Anyone else would find such babying childish, but Fulgrim smiled happily, completely unashamed.
Caelan hugged the twins close, one on each side.
They were unexpectedly childish, but he liked that.
What's wrong with being childish?
They were babies.
And besides, were the other Primarchs any less childish?
Primarchs had incredible intellects, but mental age and intelligence weren't the same.
Just like M3 era students, smart enough to get in a university, yet often naive and easily fooled.
For example: "I don't know, the counselor said it would add credits so I came." Or, "I don't know, they said they'd give an internship certificate here so I came." And, "I think a six-month unpaid internship is pretty normal, right?"
Primarchs were similar in some aspects. Even though each Primarch possessed superhuman strength and intelligence, even the adult Primarchs had shockingly low psychological intelegence in certain areas, essentially a bunch of rebellious teenagers.
Fulgrim and Sanguinius were only six-month-old. Their psychological age matched their actual age.
That was a good thing!
The twins nestled into Caelan's embrace.
Still innocent children, they gazed at the world with pure eyes, as if refusing to grow up would let them remain forever in this warmth.
"My lord, should we return to the village?" Cole asked quietly.
"Can fire scorpion meat be eaten?" Caelan asked.
"Yes." Cole nodded. Even fire scorpions could be eaten once the head and tail were removed. Picky eaters didn't survive on Baal Secundus.
"Then let's go back. Have Albert send people to retrieve the bodies."
"Yes, my lord."
"With the god's protection, maybe we really can brave that place!"
Inside a rattling vehicle, a man's voice trembled with excitement.
"If we reclaim that underground ruin, we won't have to deal with surface threats anymore, and the tribe won't fear mutant attacks!"
Gibson slammed his fist into the metal door.
"Shut your damn mouth, Mills!"
The others fell silent. Torren glanced at the rearview mirror, seeing Gibson's twisted expression. His grip on the wheel tightened.
"Gibson… are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Keep driving."
"You don't look well. Should we stop and rest?"
"I said I'm fine!"
Torren swallowed and said nothing.
Mills, however, didn't back down.
"Gibson, do you have some grievance against our lord?"
Gibson let out a harsh, chilling laugh.
"Calling that mutant 'lord' every other sentence, do you really enjoy kneeling and being a mutant's slave?"
The word mutant made Mills' voice drop dangerously.
"Gibson! Have you lost your mind?"
"You're all insane!"
Mills' fist clenched slowly. "I won't argue with you. When this mission is over, I'll report your disrespect to our lord."
Gibson reined in his expression, but the malice in his eyes deepened.
He'd gone too far. If Mills really reported him, he'd never get another chance.
Mills had to die.
And Torren, too.
Gibson's mind raced with unusual clarity. A full plan formed in his head.
"Stop the car," he ordered suddenly.
Screech!
Torren slammed the brakes. Mills slammed his nose into the seat, yelping in pain.
"What the hell are you doing, Torren?!"
"I-I didn't mean to!"
Mills glared. "Gibson, why did you stop?"
Gibson lowered his eyes, deliberately softening his tone.
"I'm tired. Can't I rest?"
Mills snorted, "Rest? Did you forget we have to clear this area before sunset?"
"There's plenty of time."
Gibson got out and walked toward a weathered boulder.
Mills followed grimly. Torren hesitated, then followed.
'It should still be here.'
Rounding the boulder, a clear pool of water appeared just as expected.
Gibson's throat went dry. He drained his canteen, then approached the pool.
"Are you insane?!" Mills lunged forward. "You dare drink that?"
Gibson smiled, and shoved him in.
Splash!
Mills fell into the pool without even a scream.
Gibson crouched, carefully scooping only surface water with his old canteen, never touching it directly.
He handed it to the stunned Torren.
"We were attacked by mutants. Mills was taken while protecting us."
Torren's pupils shrank. He dropped the canteen like it burned.
Gibson picked it up and pressed it against his chest.
"Say it. Or you die too."
Torren's teeth chattered as he glimpsed the dried corpse in the pool.
"W-we were attacked by mutants…"
Gibson patted his pale cheek.
"Good. Remember, this is our secret."
"Karin."
Gibson stood outside the courtyard wall, basket in hand, voice deliberately gentle.
"Brother Gibson? Why are you here?" Karin looked up from sweeping, puzzled. Gibson never came to pray.
"Is… is the lord not here?"
"The lord has been hunting in the wilderness these past few days."
"You haven't collected food yet, have you? The chief asked me to bring this."
He stepped forward, the ceramic jar of clear water clinking softly.
He'd waited two weeks for this moment.
He could not slip up now.
"Thank you." Karin accepted the basket without suspicion, dimples appearing on her cheeks.
Their food really was running low. She'd planned to go later anyway. Brother Gibson was so kind.
"You're welcome," he replied vaguely, then called out as she turned away.
"Karin… it's exhausting living here, isn't it?"
She shook her head.
"No. The lord treats me very well."
Gibson forced a smile.
"That's fine. I'll help you."
.....
15 chapter ahead in [email protected]/DaoistJinzu