Chapter 84: Late Family Love, Better Than...
After just a second of eye contact, the Ork god-head on the left roared madly.
"I can't take it anymore! Let's get him! Waaaaaaaagh~"
The cunning Ork god-head on the other side was also ignited by battle-lust.
"Waaaaaaaagh! Get him! Take his seat!"
"What a big git! Waaaaaaagh~"
Gork and Mork immediately transformed into a green maelstrom and charged toward the distant figure.
"Are you guys insane?!"
"What's insane?"
"I don't know! Never mind! Waaaaaaaagh~"
The entity upon the Brass Throne rose and charged directly into the fray, and even the owner of the tentacles was not spared, the Ork god-heads constantly hammering into their opponents.
"Yes! Brilliant! Bite them in their weakest spots!"
"Don't bite his butt! Why are you rewarding him?!"
Francis shouted from his distant vantage, scratching his head in frustration, wishing he could join the brawl himself.
At that moment, countless daemons rushed forth from cracks appearing throughout the space. They had received divine guidance, commanding them to capture someone here.
"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"
"For the Prince of Pleasure!"
Simply by capturing one individual, the Gods would elevate them; this was a golden opportunity!
A large contingent of daemons, having been summoned, arrived at the scene and searched around for some time, only to find Francis standing there, looking fresh and vigorous.
The originally excited daemons instantly appeared crestfallen. The daemon running in front quickly spun around and roared in dismay:
"Everyone RUN! The pleasure-devouring devil has pursued us here!"
"Run! For pleasure's sake, retreat!"
"..."
Some newly arrived daemons had no comprehension of what was transpiring and stood confused, asking questions, until they broke free from their bewilderment.
Simultaneously, they noticed that Francis appeared unable to move, and malicious grins spread across their features.
"It's merely alarmist nonsense~"
With that declaration, they continued advancing toward Francis.
Francis's scalp prickled at the sight. The Gods only knew what would happen if he was slain here. His heart pounded, and at that moment, he heard ancient horn sounds echoing around him.
"Waaaaaaaagh~~"
It was the call of the Orks!
Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!
Countless Ork souls manifested around Francis. They were all clad in elaborate armor, clearly no ordinary boyz.
They grinned, revealing sharp tusks, and all raised their right hands, extending their thumbs, then rotated them ninety degrees counter-clockwise.
"Fight!"
Massive green energy enveloped Francis, he could move again!
"Waaaaaaaagh~ Defeat Khorne, seize the toilet, the world belongs to the Orks!"
"Waaaaaaagh~"
Francis roared, and the Ork souls all raised their weapons, charging toward the daemons.
"Gork said Orks should be able to fly!"
Following Francis's declaration, countless Ork souls began using their... propulsion to perform three-dimensional maneuvers, wielding dual blades.
Each strike was precisely aimed at daemonic vulnerabilities, especially one lean Ork who danced his dual blades with fierce momentum, easily slaying hundreds of daemons.
Even when daemons unleashed flames, he dodged swiftly.
"Can you stop swinging around—"
Before the daemon could finish speaking, its head had already departed its shoulders.
Francis held aloft the daemon's head and roared: "Blood for Gork, skulls for Mork! Waaaaaaagh!"
"Waaaaaaagh!" The Orks excitedly brandished the heads in their hands, some belonging to daemons, some to other Orks.
Countless Ork souls swung back and forth through the air while daemons continuously hurled weapons at them.
Khornate daemons: "..."
It was the first time they had fought without claiming a single skull.
Soon, Francis led everyone through the daemonic horde to the location of the Brass Throne itself.
The throne's main body was cast from massive blocks of brass, every surface radiating scorching heat, as if freshly removed from a divine forge, burning perpetually. The brass surface was covered with ancient runes and Khorne's marks; these sigils continuously wept blood, which dripped down the throne's edges to collect in pools below.
The Brass Throne stood hundreds of meters tall, towering like a mountain. Its base was constructed from the skeletons of countless fallen warriors; among the bones were Orks, Chaos cultists, daemons, and even human remains.
The Ork souls gazed upward at the throne, unable to perceive its summit.
"Brother, thiz really can'tz be movedd~"
"I say we should do somethinz elze."
"Agreezz!"
The Ork souls regarded Francis, who stroked his chin thoughtfully.
Since they had come all this way, they had to accomplish something.
"Hehe, since we're already here, let's carve 'Orks Woz Here' on it"
"And how about prying off a piece of brass as a souvenir? Maybe we can make something out of it."
Upon hearing this, they instantly felt it was very Waaaaaaagh-worthy!
"Waaaaaaagh! I say that'll work!"
"That'z rightz!"
The Ork souls cheered, and each began scribbling upon the Brass Throne, crookedly inscribing the phrase, "xxx Ork Woz Here Waaaaaaagh"
"I said carve, not... that!"
"You're disgracing all Orks!"
Francis immediately intervened, halting some of the Ork souls' indecent behavior. What if they provoked genuine wrath?
He then led everyone in searching for removable components from the throne, but everything proved incredibly durable, truly worthy of being a God's seat.
"Such a small piece is useless."
Just as Francis examined the palm-sized fragment of brass in his hand, wondering what could be made from it, dazzling golden radiance swiftly approached from the distance, instantly illuminating the scene.
"Release him."
The Emperor's arrival shattered the balance. The three parties, still locked in combat, immediately ceased hostilities.
When Khorne's attention turned toward the throne, the Ork souls had already made a propulsion-fueled escape from the scene, leaving spores scattered across the ground.
The three parties then turned their collective gaze toward the Emperor.
"Oathbreaker, we are reclaiming what is ours."
"Oathbreaker, him—I want him."
"Do you wish to fight as well?"
Francis swallowed hard, secretly concealing the brass fragment behind his back.
He didn't arrive early or late, but only when Francis was about to profit. Surely the Emperor wasn't here to claim a share, was he? No way?!
Considering this, Francis couldn't help but shake his head, but before he could speak, he felt tremendous suction suddenly pulling him away.
"What the hell are you doing~"
The Emperor didn't address these entities at all. He seized Francis and fled, tearing open the Warp with a gesture and plunging through.
Khorne: ???
Slaanesh: !!!
Ork Gods: ??!
They completely failed to comprehend what had just transpired: a golden flash suddenly manifested, snatched their prize, and then vanished.
Francis was gone, and the two Ork god-heads resumed fighting each other over whether to continue pursuit.
The farce swiftly dispersed.
However, when Khorne settled back upon the throne, at the very instant he sat...
Creak~
"Hmm?"
When he rose again, then sat once more...
Creak~
"Hmm?!!"
Khorne examined his throne closely.
Subsequently, countless new storms erupted throughout the Warp, interspersed with terrifying roars...
...
One second later, back on Terra.
When Francis opened his eyes again, he found himself within the Imperial Palace.
The roars from the Warp continuously echoed in his hearing.
"Francis, you... You're awake."
Magnus's somewhat weakened voice emanated from a nearby throne. He looked up to see Magnus slumped upon the seat, appearing two sizes thinner than before.
"What happened to you? How did you end up like this?"
"Were you sucked dry or what?"
Francis asked in great surprise. How could he have changed so dramatically in such a short time?
"Hehe~ It's for the Webway! It's all worthwhile."
Magnus was quite content. He could sense that this was Francis's unique method of showing concern.
Soon, under Magnus's explanation, Francis realized he had been unconscious for several months! The battle was nearing its conclusion, and even Terra's infrastructure was being gradually rebuilt by the Iron Warriors.
Just as Francis prepared to continue their conversation, the Emperor approached, interrupting them, and extended His hand.
Francis circled the Emperor's palm, examining it from every angle, left and right, up and down.
Finally, he stated seriously: "Esteemed Father, your hand is perfect. Especially your career line is remarkably long, though your marriage line isn't particularly auspicious."
"But it doesn't matter, the end of one relationship means a new one is about to commence. Please don't be discouraged~"
Emperor: "..."
"The item."
"What item? What are you discussing? I don't understand at all?"
Francis pondered deeply and emptied his pockets.
"Nothing?"
Seeing this, the Emperor was not courteous. He simply gestured lightly at Francis.
Clatter~
All items upon him automatically fell away, and then, with another gesture, the brass fragment concealed in his undergarments was extracted into the Emperor's hand.
Ouch!
Before he could recover from the discomfort, he heard the Emperor's benevolent voice once more.
"The Dark Eldar instigated this entire affair. Currently, they reside deep within the Webway."
"Francis, you should be capable of transforming into a Dark Eldar as well, correct?"
Upon hearing this, Francis's heart sank. He was in trouble; the Emperor had set His sights upon him.
[End of Chapter]