God Emperor’s Angel of Death

Besides the plague planet, people don't mention the death guard mansion too much.

Except for some very large and impressive vague rumors, even most people in the eyes of fear know very little.

In fact, outside the boundaries of this hell, almost no one really understands it.

For the people of Imperium, the name Mortarian only represents a kind of vigilance to the past, apart from this is meaningless.

And this is exactly what the Lord of Death wants.

To understand this, one must first understand the character of the Primarch, even among his fallen brothers, he is also a complicated person.

You can't describe him bluntly with anger, unlike people who can bluntly describe Anglang, the king of slaughter, and at the same time he does not have the desire to control the priest King Luo Jia.

Compared to most of his brothers, Mortarian has more of the past, and according to him, it all came too late and was too unacceptable.

He was the last Primarch to succumb to the Dark Gods, and the last Primarch to reach Terra to participate in the siege of the city.

According to widely controversial rumors, he was also the last Primarch to evacuate Tyra.

For Mortarian, contradictions, conflicts and opposition are more than anything else. His heart is full of hatred—for his father, what happened to him, against Imperium, and against himself.

The world in which he was fostered has poisoned him so deeply that even if the God Emperor treats him in a different way, he cannot remove the scars in his heart.

The death knell Engarta knows these things, it is no secret in Legion, and it will not reduce the respect of Ngarta to his master in the least.

In his belief, "harm" is not something to worry about-it should be celebrated, cultivated, and expanded if possible.

They understand that attempts to prevent corruption will only bring the greatest disappointment, but the corpse stray dogs do not understand-there is no need to shut it out. Learn to embrace it, learn to use it, or you will fall into a long and exhausting failure.

Nevertheless, Engalta is still very anxious.

Time has passed for a long time, although the passage of time in the eyes of fear is strange, but if measured by the rotation of the plague planet, it has been at least several centuries.

Legion has become accustomed to silence, accustomed to doing his own things.

Typhons, that intolerable puppet, became the famous leader of many of them in the empty years, although many of his successes have never offset his excitement in the older generation. Raised doubts.

"We know exactly what you did to us."

Ngarta thought while walking.

"We will not forget."

He and the ferryman Mawson went there on foot. It took them a long time because the terrain was deliberately rugged and difficult to walk. .

They meander along the steep shoulder of the spire, sometimes forced to walk down, where the air is dense and mutants drive many mortal slaves.

They strode past the altar full of decay and squeezed past the creeping pile of flies. Here you can see the always spinning mill wheels, and the wet ground under their feet is full of bones. .

After a long time, the terrain began to rise, the black soil was damp and shiny, and the dark leaves spread out around them.

The devil made a si si sound to them from under the warm shadow, a pool of stagnant water was boiling disturbingly, and the huge monument was swaying by the side of the road, blown by the continuous strong corrosive wind. Severe wear.

Finally, they saw a very heavily guarded castle.

The steep side wall of the fort rises from the deep green valley. It is several hundred meters high and has no handrails.

This place is like a mountain, its terrain is high and uplifted, far beyond all practical considerations, and reached the arrogant and conceited crazy realm.

The towering spiral towers are crowded with each other, lanterns hung on the spires, and stone steps are coiled on the inclined flanks of the hall, sometimes leading to somewhere, sometimes ending in a mass grave or smoky. land.

Here is the decaying church of the gods, empty in it, rising up like an abandoned tomb. In the air, incense is mixed with the sweet smell of the dead, the dying and the resurrected.

"You will never be able to fully adapt... how huge it is."

The death knell envoy looked up at the fortress and sighed.

"It is said that it is still getting bigger."

The ferryman echoed with the voice, and it seemed that he didn't have much interest.

"Only God knows what's going on."

This is the palace of the Lord of Death, full of supplicants, messengers, wizards and prophets, and battlements that stretch for several kilometers There are countless mutants and demons squatting down.

The pilgrims lined up to the gate, so many that they filled the causeway that spanned half of the continent.

The priests of the Rotten God preached to them endlessly, and their screams were interrupted by the broken bells from time to time.

The pilgrims stared outside from their shabby hoods, hungry eyes waiting for one of their brothers to fall, so that they could chew on a little cartilage that night.

Above their heads, spaceships and gunboats floated, leaving puffs of smoke in the hot aurora night sky.

Apart from this, only the sound made by the floating shroud is as weird as the sound of a whale, shining like a mysterious midnight ghost.

Engarta doesn’t need to emphasize his existence here. When he and the ferryman walked towards the gate, the crowd spontaneously stepped back and made gestures symbolizing three on his chest, even those with The demon of the infected whip also stopped and stared at the death knell.

The blind haulers stopped trembling, the truck filled with soft fruits swayed on the greasy axles, and the mutants stared at them with big shiny eyes, gasping for breath, long. A string of saliva came out of Fang's mouth.

"Is the scale always this big?"

Ngarta looked at the crowd with interest and asked.

"Yes."

As the ferryman said, he walked slowly to the gate.

"I never know why they came."

"The reason is the same as ours."

A signal is sent, and then the iron shaft starts to rotate.

"But only we can get in."

The gate, like everything here, is a clumsy imitation.

It is said that they are seven centimeters taller than the Gate of Eternity on Terra, only seven centimeters.

Motarian did many similar things-basically trivial things, as a mockery of fate, for example, the turret is slightly higher than the Imperium Senate, and the city wall is also steeper by seven degrees.

Nevertheless, the effect is impressive.

The fake door was dragged by a group of mutants with iron chains, and it took ten minutes to open it.

Only then will the dark interior of this mansion appear.

A pile of on the verge of collapse, half ruined rotting stones, piled up in a disorderly manner, the higher the pile, the higher the pile, the entangled each other, forming a fragile and bloated city. Like a brood of thorns stuck high in the clouds.

There is a layer of mist around its foundation, boiling on the black surface, leaving stains on the rocks.

Great Demon roared from the arcane prison buried deep in the magic tower, shaking the wet ground all the way to the center of the world.