Traveling through the Warhammer world, but I didn’t cry

The pale blue feathers on Rocasna's body were removed, and new golden feathers covered Rocasna's body. These feathers exuded a pious atmosphere, but if someone could push the feathers aside and observe carefully, they would find that the roots of these feathers were indelibly blue.

"Okay, your new look is pretty good." Tzeentch was very satisfied with Carlos's work efficiency, clapped his hands and displayed a mirror in front of Rocasna.

Looking closely at the reflection in the mirror, Rocasna felt like those bad students who were depraved in the streets of indulgence in the university that could never graduate.

Golden color. He hated golden color.

Rocasna was still melancholy, Tzeentch raised his hand to tear open a crack, grabbed Rocasna's neck and threw him in.

"Do a good job, my student!"

In the dizzy world, only this sentence reached Rocasna's ears.

Waiting for the vision to recover and the dizziness to disappear, Rocasna touched his head and groaned uncomfortably.

The touch was a little wrong, a little rough.

Rocasna looked at his hands and found that his body had turned into a mortal's. His smooth and neat feathers had turned into simple and rough flesh.

Where am I?

Struggling to get up, Rocasna observed the surrounding environment. He tried to predict with his psychic eyes, but found that he could not pry the sea of ​​psychic energy. He could only gather a trace of power from the steaming water vapor.

This is the human nest. The dark and broken walls are full of smoke, rust and traces of mixed blood of various creatures. Fragments of more than a thousand or even ten thousand years ago can be found at the bottom of the nest. There are deformed and monsters living in this garbage pit.

Listening carefully, Rocasna heard the buzzing sound in the blocked pipe. He despised the coarseness of the ears of mortals, which made him unable to clearly distinguish from such subtle sounds.

Footsteps, at least 20 people, they are coming in his direction. No, the footsteps of these 20 people are heavier, and there are footsteps before them, which are the staggering steps of the old, weak and sick.

Is this a siege or hunting?

Rocasna snapped his fingers. He could have created a firestorm that could burn the city and destroy the earth, but now he could only create a fireball the size of a mortal's fist.

Helplessly covering his face, this fireball was not enough to light the psychedelic smoke for the succubus.

However, this light did have some effect. The people fleeing in the darkness moved towards the light while panting.

A group of people appeared in front of Rocasna. They were wrapped in rags and strips, and had protective gear made of various metal scraps.

Their condition was not good. Hunger and disease tortured this group of people. The person running in front was still intact, but the guy behind the crowd was injured and bleeding.

The steaming sweat, stench and bloody smell mixed together. Rocasna frowned. He was surprised that there were no followers of Nurgle in this group of desperate people.

Although the souls of these people were a little small and weak, they were barely edible. After careful torture and mixing, they could have a good flavor.

Rocasna felt a surge of hunger filling his body. He licked his lips subconsciously and felt something in his pocket calling him.

He reached into his pocket and touched a piece of parchment. He opened it and saw a line of words written on it.

"Help mortals."

What? Ask me to help these sick people in front of me? Rocasna suspected that he had seen it wrong. When he wanted to take a closer look, the words on the parchment disappeared, leaving only a poem praising the Emperor.

Rocasna was silent for a while, and he took the parchment back. He took a step closer to the crowd with a fireball in his hand.

Every time he took a step forward, the crowd took a step back. These people who make a living at the bottom of the hive city are afraid of bandits, and they are also afraid of psychics.

"Oh! Where else can you run to! You should feel extremely honored to sacrifice your flesh for the Emperor!"

More than 20 armed bandits surrounded the crowd and Rocasna, with automatic live ammunition weapons in their hands and daggers and cutting knives made from chainsaws hanging on their waists.

Behind him was a backpack, on which was a stick made of wood or steel, and several human heads were stuck. Some of them had been stripped of flesh and blood, leaving only clean bones. Some of the heads should have been newly installed, and blood was still flowing from the broken neck.

The crowd fell into panic. They were at a loss in the face of a psychic and a group of bloodthirsty bandits. Helpless cries came, and several people were determined to struggle. They had just run a few steps when their legs were broken by bullets, and then a harpoon was shot, inserted into the struggling torso and violently dragged away.

"Death is coming! No resistance! Give everything to the Emperor!"

This fanatical and bloodthirsty roar reminded Rocasna of the believers of Khorne, but he did smell the smell of faith in the Emperor from these bandits.

Rocasna threw a fireball at a bandit, and the power of the fireball was greatly reduced. It was just a ball of condensed flame thrown at the bandit, and neither explosion nor melting could be created.

"Damn it. The spiritual energy here is too thin." Rocasna cursed inwardly, and then rushed towards the bandits.

He had to complete the task assigned to him by Tzeentch.

The bandits opened fire at Rocasna, and the firepower inevitably affected the crowd. The already chaotic and tense crowd ran in all directions, and Rocasna grabbed a sharpened steel bar from the corpse and barely used it as a spear.

Although the Great Demon of Tzeentch is good at magic, if he insists on close combat, it is not impossible to make a few gestures.

I can't beat the bloodthirsty maniac, but I should have no problem bullying you mortals.

Rokasna raised his hand to raise a shield, blocking the attack of homemade bullets. The steel spear in his hand was inserted into the gap in the armor at a tricky angle. The tip of the spear broke through the leather jacket under the armor and pierced the victim's throat.

The spear was pulled out, and blood spurted out in streams due to the pumping of the heart. Luokasna did not stop moving, using the complex environment and psychic shield to run through the hail of bullets. The spear in his hand had already killed nine bandits.

These bandits were not frightened by the casualties. They pounced on him more fervently, using bombs to limit the space for Rokasna to dodge.

Damn it. These guys are so fanatical. Luokasna felt in trouble. His body had already been scarred by the fragments produced by the explosion.

Luokasna tried to catch his breath. He was a little out of breath from moving in this dry and dry space with a lack of spiritual energy.

The sound of slight recharging sounded. Rokasna looked up and saw a clean hell gun aimed at him.