Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 293 I will witness his death
Electric sparks were struck, once, and again.

The technological whiplash of chemistry and physics is ruthless and cruel.

Let the dead rise from their graves and bear the burden of fighting for the living.

Life-sustaining nutrient-rich feed ooze is poured down the already shrunken throat, and a certain unpleasant compulsion of powerful chemical stimulants combined with synaptic shocks and invasive biochemical stabilizing agents begins to re-emerge. Get active.

Annoyingly, but predictably, he was tired and irritable at being awakened from his eternal sleep.

He was too exhausted, too tired.

He opened his withered mouth and waved his stumps desperately, but only pushed the tube open, and the cold and viscous amniotic fluid poured into his lungs, and he began to scream breathlessly and weakly.

------

After the control lever was pulled down, the endless screams from the connected speakers echoed throughout the reflection hall, its sound waves mixed with the echoes of ancient war machinery, surging and impacting on the surfaces of various objects. As they watched, the newly arrived Machine Spirits from Mars and other Imperial forge worlds whispered uneasiness.

"Well... although I have only witnessed the scene after a pharmacist awakened Dauntless and spent time with a few Contemptors, but."

(*I think it’s pretty good. He used to follow the rules and was sad for the spring and autumn. Although he is suitable to be a disciplinarian, he is much boring and indifferent.)
"No one asked you.—Answer my question, Bishop."

The screaming sound came from the fearless sarcophagus.

He even just changed his appearance to a larger and taller form, but did not lose the human outline - of course, the additional mechanical arms and some tentacle probes are all necessary and common equipment tools - but Dietrian is indeed still in human form, and he has not even equipped himself with too many heavy offensive weapons. This makes him look like a thin and tall man when wearing a robe that reaches his feet.

Lamizane looked at the full-metal figure wrapped in a robe with his now completely dark eyes with almost no whites - it was strange, although Dietrian was fully capable and justified in the past hundreds or ten thousand years. Transforming himself into a fantastic body as large, intimidating, and aggressive as the rest of his Martian brethren, he didn't.

In addition to replacing most of his biological organs, nerves, and flesh and blood systems with an exquisite combination of crystals, mechanical gears, metal pipelines, and skeletons that are more in line with his philosophy and closer to the Ohm Messiah, this mechanical priest with equally rich experience and experience Other than that, there are no particularly eye-catching changes.

"It doesn't matter if you say so, Your Highness."

(*You can remove the should, I can taste the taste of his exhaustion, despair and pain here, the fermented reluctance, the bitter responsibility, the sweet and bitter fantasy, and the sweet despair.)
"That's right, Your Highness, please don't worry. This situation is actually very common in the preservation and use of such objects. In addition, according to the data and instrument calculations, the biological condition of this object is within the allowable range, Your Highness , or as people usually say, stable and normal.”

"What about his mental condition? Is this considered normal and stable?"

"But is this normal? He sounds like he's screaming right now and it should be in pain, really painful."

Now in front of them was an imprisoned Dreadnought. The driver's adamantine sarcophagus was particularly sturdy and gorgeous. It had an expensive style that was incompatible with the entire warband and ship. On it, a hero was handcrafted to defeat three different people. Picture of the legion company commander.

The followers of the God of Machinery paused for a short while, thinking about how to use appropriate words to express his suggestions or opinions to His Highness, until Talos, who hurried here to stay with their genetic father, finally couldn't help it. Growling lowly at him.

"Lord of the Night, I never ordered you to do this, how dare you. - Look at him! Listen to his scream! Don't say you don't understand human emotions, Dietrian . Lou Frix is ​​right, you understand it better than most people - you can even make a 'scream' thing! Misrepresenting his pain does you no good. But you did this to him, you forcibly retained him, and then secretly relocated him into a Dreadnought behind my back! He is a glorious warrior, and he should have received the rest and respect he deserves!"

The soul hunter's gauntlets clenched, and his obvious hostility made Dietrian arch his back slightly, but the skull face on the prophet's helmet made him look as cold and ruthless as ever. "He is not this object. His name is Markarian. We honor him as the War Philosopher of the Legion, the true commander of the 10th Company, a great hero. He is our Company Commander Markarian, not ·This object! Let him rest in peace——"

"Okay, okay, Talos, don't worry, okay? I will take care of it for you." Lamizane subconsciously put a pale and skinny palm on the prophet's skull helmet and touched it—— Well, I still avoided those human material products quietly——

(*You look like you are treating a murderer, villain, thief and robber like a child. Ha, then you are waiting to hear the sharp comments from my sharp-tongued heir——)
But unexpectedly, the soul hunter's passionate roar paused, making an immediate impact, and then a grunting or similar sound came from under his skull mask, and the breathing grid distorted his original timbre, making the words spoken The words sounded like low, indistinct beastly guttural sounds.

"But at your command. My lord." Finally, he suppressed the words and then closed his mouth tightly.

At this time, the mechanical bishop finally came up with some words that he thought were suitable and that these powerful gods liked to hear.

"This item, I mean, War Philosopher Markarian, can still serve you and the Legion in the future. By applying forced neural whipping and correctly giving enough stimulant doses to stimulate to maintain the level of brain and nerve vitality, he can His movements are properly controlled so that we can put him into the field."

"Are you speaking of some euphemism for torture, Bishop?"

(*These practices are commonplace in the Legion's autopsy rooms - Talos's words and actions sometimes remind me of Sevatar.)
"They can indeed be used for torture sometimes," Dietrian admitted, "but I can accurately-"

Lamizane stopped his words with a gesture.

"Well...it seems there is no better way."

(*I will witness his death.)
He stepped forward - in the blink of an eye, he reached the console in one hundredth of a second. Dietrian, who was the first to realize what he was going to do, let out a terrifying howl. Instantly kills or stuns a mortal, but those present either don't care or have a helmet.

"No—! Please! The consequences of the awakening ceremony being interrupted are irreversible! This will break my oath! Please—!"

And Talos stood quietly, with the tip of his sword hanging down and pointing to the ground, lowering his head slightly as if to say goodbye.

The intricate wiring between the Fearless and Awakening Ceremony consoles was torn off, and the crackling electric sparks scattered like a beautiful golden bouquet.

The screams of agony stopped.

For a moment, there was no sound in the hall except the unacceptable murmur of the Mechanic-Priest.

Wuwei stood there quietly, motionless, without any movement.

Talos's head dropped lower.

"Ave dominus nox."

(End of this chapter)