Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 422: Now give the camera and lights back to the beloved Fabius Bayer

The Vesalius, whose actual size and passenger capacity far exceeded those specified by her model, was in fact currently in a state of great chaos in many places.

There are currently at least five forces inside this warship, which is restricted to a certain extent.

Four of these factions are at war with one another, while one is lurking in the shadows, ready to offer its strange sword, olive branch, or lifeline in order to stir up trouble.

No one knows who they will belong to, who is the betrayer, and who is loyal to whom.

But one thing is certain: when there's fighting and rioting on a ship, there's never a shortage of bastards trying to take advantage of the situation, as is evident by the bodies hanging from the ceiling, freshly chained or by their own intestines.

Many of the crew had locked themselves in their bedrooms or small workrooms, huddled together, waiting for the commotion to pass and the ship to decide on its new master so that the crew could obey orders and continue sailing - or be turned into a pile of salvageable wreckage in the universe by an explosion that could come from any direction.

Fabius Bile, holding a cane of torture in his hand, strode hurriedly on the silently wailing Vesalius.

After narrowly escaping from the pharmacy, the smile on his face appeared and disappeared almost at the same time as his confidence.

An emotion that he had thought he would never feel again in his long life of dying and waking up again now lingered in his heart like a maggot on his tarsal bones:

This was truly a unique experience for a Child of the Emperor who was so proud that he had long forgotten that he was the Child of the Emperor.

It was as if the spotlight on him, as the genetic ancestor destined to become a proud new human race that would replace humans, was suddenly diverted by some other existence that he could neither control nor know.

Although this did not affect his past, present, future, and ongoing career and plans, it still made Fabius Bile feel a long-lost sadness.

A kind of sadness that comes from not being able to examine one's own greatness from a higher dimensional perspective.

A kind of sadness that even if you try hard to become the surgeon's hand, you still feel like the piece of meat on the operating table.

But this feeling did not affect him for long, as the "surgeon" behind him - a surgical backpack that had accompanied him for ten thousand years and was designed to be able to learn autonomously - let out a soft hiss.

Lines of readings about his body were sent to his eyes. His surgical backpack was awakening certain specific locations in Bayer's cerebral cortex through several mild electrical stimulations wrapped around his spine. Now several of his glands have begun to increase the level of hormones he currently needs by stimulating the corresponding glands and blood vessels, which has immediately cheered him up:
"Life found a way. How ingenious and fascinating. Evolution's path was untraceable and yet it came as a surprise."

Bile muttered to himself as he looked at the loyal, ape-like jar-born gathered around him and thought about all the things he had created.

These lowliest of creatures had long surpassed the expectations of their creation, and had developed a language and social organization that no one could understand without anyone knowing. The hounds, who were the basis of the new humans, had also spontaneously formed hunting packs, kennels, matriarchs, and other primitive social structures right under his nose.

He had learned from his previous lessons, and some of his children, who looked no different from the old humans, had already been carefully dispersed to planets with suitable ecological environments on the borders of the empire.

Even if he were destroyed now, his children, his new humanity, would be able to multiply, slowly and unnoticeably replacing the original inhabitants of the world, and then follow the Imperial conscription into space, into higher armies—

His creations can no longer be completely destroyed, and he disdains the title of God, which is only given by fearful people to comfort themselves. However, it is a foregone conclusion that he will become the creator of new humans and everything about them - culture, legends, and gods.

This thought undoubtedly gave him great strength and also made him feel more solid and relieved.

His lovely new human children will eventually make the original humans their meat, and the insignificant reward that Fabius himself will receive - the genetic ancestor is really a good enough reward for a humble doctor and researcher like him.

A series of huge explosions were heard from some distant deck or somewhere else, and the ship shook noticeably a few times, like a seriously ill person shivering.

His thoughts immediately jumped to another more realistic direction.

Although this ship was nourished by the waves of the High Sky in the Eye of Terror, gradually becoming larger and more suitable for his needs, and had been used by him as his own ship for many years, the Chief Pharmacist was now beginning to feel a little tired of it in addition to being annoyed.

"Alas! It's always like this." Bayer chanted like a noble ascetic who was tortured to the point of being unbearable. The faces on his human skin surgical gowns all wailed and cried silently and miserably to accompany his chanting. "There are always people who don't understand my actions, and use their low-level, primitive and animalistic brains and instinctive interests to understand me. My work is of vital importance! My work is not yet finished!"

"Eidolon, the idiot, also wants to take me back and lock me in his little cage to make more new warriors and pleasure drugs for him. It's always like this, there are always people who don't know how important the truth and the work I do are to this universe and want me to go back to do some boring and unworthy work."

There were other things he didn't say: Perhaps he should take this opportunity to leave the Vesalius, or simply let her overload the reactor after he left, so that Fabius could fake the news of his own death, quietly leave here, return to his base camp to resume his work, and be able to remain "dead" for a long time without additional disturbances.

As for the World Eaters pharmacist and the others who considered themselves his attendants, Bayer couldn't help but think of the last glance he gave in the direction of the others before he left.

They must be in great danger.

He sighed softly. Oh, his poor, faithful old Egli! And her cunning, agile, and promising twin granddaughters. What a pity. He should have asked her to hand over the twins to him so that they could escape together. If it was just to delay time, Egli herself would be enough.

As for other people who wanted to learn from him, it would be fine, but now that his first apprentice, Orland, had died, he didn't know when he would be able to find another person as useful as Arrian who could arrange everything for him.

But even after thinking about so many things, Bayer's brain and his surgical backpack tacitly refused to think too much about the silver figure shining with golden light that had just rushed towards them.

Fulgrim is definitely inside that machine.

Whether it was the touch of the soul, the details of wielding weapons or the small habits in the movements, Fabius, as the Astartes currently alive who had actually known the Phoenix Lord for the longest time, could be completely sure.

But the Chief Pharmacist was also extremely familiar with that face. He even had all the records of that face and its owner's body splitting from a single cell. He had cloned that face and his owner many, many times to meet the urgent and endless demands of the Phoenix Lord.

And the most important thing is.

If the soul of this intruder was actually Fulgrim's, then who was the four-armed, snake-tailed man living in the demon palace? Not only had he confirmed it before, but his daughter, Melusine, his most beloved daughter, also confirmed to him many times later that it was Fulgrim's!

Fabius's mind raced.

Could it be that the willful Warp Entity and his Crown Prince have come up with some new tricks?

If so, his faithful daughter would surely come and inform him soon.

And that...

Fabius frowned when he thought of the secret he had hidden deep in the secret room. He had too many secrets, and this one was too tricky to solve in this situation.

So let's get out of the hangar quickly, take the noise warriors there, and then let Vesalius overload the reactor.

He thought about it and began to contact his loyal driver-servant, Supervisor Wall, whose brain was now preserved in a transparent glass container and whose face was made of polished brass. People could see the working status of the brain connected to the visual nerves and life support systems through the transparent head. He was one of the few ship officers that Fabius thought was worthy of being enhanced by him.

Soon, Wall responded to his master's orders and began to issue orders in an orderly manner to the mutant tribes on the lower deck who worshiped machines and reactors devoutly.

Bile had always known Voel's services so well that once he left the ship, the Iron Hands, Eidolon's messengers, or any of Fulgrim and Ferrus Manus would no longer be a problem for Fabius.

In the face of the stellar-level heat of the battleship's overloaded reactor and the absolute cold of the void, all life will be equal.

--------

The Vesalius's side hangar had become a kind of "nest" where human machines, Eldar wraith bones, and Chaos tissue mixed together after centuries of growth catalyzed by various experiments.

He discovered early on that, compared to the Eldar psykers who were specifically used to guide the growth of wraithbones into the structure and size they required, the chorus and noise of the noise warriors, due to the same influence of the warp energy, could also accelerate and catalyze the growth of wraithbones.

Therefore, this place was originally given by Fabius to his guests, the Bulls of the Eighth Company and his noise warriors, and he was also going to take them as his new escort team to leave the battleship that entered the self-destruction program on a flying vehicle.

But it’s clear that there are a bit too many Supreme Beings who have the upper hand on the Vesalius today.

Fabius stared in amazement at the... ruins before him.

Before him, the intricate and deep forest of corrupted bones that had once been home to the Noise Marines of the 8th Company and their ape minions had been reduced to a field of scattered yellow and white branches and debris, like the shattered tree stumps of a primeval jungle that had been ruthlessly and efficiently cleared by excavators, loggers, and other heavy machinery.

"What happened?!" he shouted. "What happened here?! Where are Ramos and his singers?!"

"There are no singers here, traitor. Only the wreckage and ashes of a pathetic broken thing."

Several very heavy footsteps came from the depths of the ruins of the Bone Forest, and Fabius' eyelids trembled.

The mainly black figures of the Iron Hand descendants emerged from the ruins, some bright red blood and other liquids splattered on their masks and arms, which had not yet dried.

The leader, Malkan Ferros, stated calmly in his booming electronic voice, "Because the traitors here are too noisy, and the forest itself is too dense, so for the sake of convenience and speed, we increased the firepower a little bit, and threw some radiation grenades and other gadgets to entertain them. Obviously, their bodies are not strong enough to bear it."

One of Iron Father's metal appendages bent over and pointed to an inconspicuous pile of dark ash on the ground. The radiation and high heat had faded the pink coating of the Noise Marines' armor to almost all blacken it, which was why Fabius didn't notice any traces of the battle at first.

He searched anxiously in the remaining part of the Bone Garden, and he saw the central base, which looked almost intact, with no signs of being burned, but the contents of the bone cage were gone. Losing "that" was not a good idea.

"That" was the key to Fabius's relatively safe warp travel without the use of a navigator, and it was also one of the masterpieces he relied on to quickly leave and arrive at his lair, so he had to ask about it.

"Wait a minute! Where's my key?! Was my 'key' destroyed as well? My god, it's a work of art that is hard to replicate! A true treasure! You are a bunch of vulgar people who have no idea of ​​the greatness of genetic craftsmanship and flesh-and-blood art!"

"Key?" repeated Malkan Feroth thoughtfully. "There is nothing here..."

Then his servoskull calibrator let him notice the direction Fabius's gaze was following.

"You mean the blasphemous creature inside."

The Father of Steel pointed to a pool of yellow-white bone fragments and mucus on the ground next to the base, which was almost unrecognizable. It was a mixture of broken bones and mucus that was left after being baked dry, just like a broken bird egg with the eggshell, egg white and yolk scattered all over the ground, which was then baked dry with only a thin layer of protein scab left.

"If this is what you are referring to, the holy Ferrus brought justice and purifying fire upon this filth long before we arrived."

“Ferus?!!!” Fabius Bile’s eyes were full of stars, and the emotions that had been suppressed all the way finally began to burst out.

The Chief Pharmacist had never shouted so loudly with such sincerity, the long, spider-like limbs of his surgical backpack dancing wildly and the physiological readings suddenly soaring.

"Ferus?! That's not him at all!! You stupid pieces of iron! That's not Ferrus Manus! That's Fulgrim! Blind-eyed idiots!! Your Ferrus was dead a long time ago! Dead for more than nine thousand years! I saw Fulgrim chop off his head with my own eyes!"

"Oh?"

(End of this chapter)