Chapter 393 The Fangs Have Arrived

In the upper nest of the three-way chaos at Engili Spaceport, this piece of land ravaged by war, once had tall manors, birdsong and fragrance of flowers. Although it was not justice or kindness, from the perspective of the empire, those nobles who maintained the huge deep space port as promised like their ancestors were not evil, but chose to obey Bandertar's rule for the sake of profit and avoid harm.

And now it seems that their biggest mistake was not to die when Bandertar arrived, and they have been enjoying a few decades of illusory life in vain, and finally ended up being called traitors, and then being killed by rune warriors or imperial guards, or psychic wizards, or guards corps, or the Inquisition.

Once they valued dignity the most, and now those manor ruins buried under the moist soil are the manifestation of their family's dignity, compared to its value, compared to the rotten soil, it is not much better.

It can be said that their names were doomed when Bandettar sounded the drums of war. They only had two choices: to die with honor or to die with shame. They were all conscientious, there is no doubt about that, but they were no longer decent compared to those who died for the Empire, unless they also had a son who served as a heroic captain in the Empire and returned home with glory, and it happened that this child had an inexplicable complex relationship with the winner of this war.

However, in the end, the war still destroyed everything. Although this statement has a bit of historical nihilism, they were actually just dead, turned into souls, dust, and nothing. When the heretics set foot here again after about a year of standard Terra time, they had gone with the wind.

This place is destined to be a chaotic place. Now its owners are the Red Corsairs and the Imperial Guard, and this pattern is about to change. It has been less than a year. It is too fast for the long and cruel universe. It is just a blink of an eye. For powerless mortals, it is too fast, but only one tenth of their conscious life.

War broke out again. Above Garland's fortress, which he thought was indestructible, the Thunder Eagle's bombardment passed through the unprotected fortress. The military shoes tied with ropes in the fortress were blown up and spun around and around, and finally trapped themselves on the ropes.

Its owner was a mortal cultist who was firing at the anti-aircraft gun next to him. This group, which had been demonized by the empire for many years, still maintained the tradition of their hometown, hanging shoes on ropes in mid-air, letting the shoes take the punishment on their behalf, so that his disaster would be eliminated.

However, this custom seemed to have little effect. When a bomb turned into a flash from the muzzle of the Thunder Eagle and fell at his feet, it was embedded in the red metal of the adamantium-like like a nail hammered into the ground.

So far, he could still carefully see the beautiful structure of the bomb and the beautiful tail wing, and this picture became his last memory after a burst of strong light.

However, the death of mortals had nothing to do with Gareth. He had already left the camp. He rode a heavy motorcycle and left the area under the protection of his adjutant and personal guards. He left when the first wave of the wolves' attack came, because they all knew that this camp lacking space marines could not resist one of the most powerful founding warbands in the galaxy.

He did not believe in mortals, and at the same time he deceived mortals. He told his servants to hold on until death, and asked him as a commander to see the ammunition here empty and the blood flow here. Whether they could capture any beast, the gods would favor them.

But the reality was that he left the camp after he finished speaking, from a tunnel dug early, and he activated a timed corrosive gas bomb, which could melt the outer layer of ceramic steel, creating a weak gap in the joints of the space marines' armor, allowing the poison gas to enter through it.

He expected those things to hinder the pace of the Space Wolves, even if they had a slight hesitation in the pursuit, it would be a success, and the mortals only made them feel that there were traps in this place, and for Gareth, those mortals might not be as valuable as the dried meat on the trap.

When he looked at the fortress again, he saw the skin and flesh like fried potatoes, like a chef carving a flower knife on his fortress and then putting it into the boiling hot oil pan. The explosion suddenly lifted up the broken metal, carrying some of the melted materials of the poison gas bomb that was detonated in advance, such as soil, mortals, or fragile ordinary metal or plastic tools.

Those complex colors and countless war resources became part of this not-so-gorgeous fireworks show. Gareth felt as if he was in another world. If he stayed, then there would definitely be a part of his flesh and blood in those things, and his most regrettable thing was just his temporary research room with various equipment.

He looked helplessly at the place where the external forces trampled on him, just like an eel that left his cave. In his life, there was no high or low life, and the bacteria or viruses that could nourish him were all the same. Even his brothers were just tools for him. A genius like him had such paranoid emotions before he became a space warrior in his home planet.

But this does not mean that he has no emotions. On the contrary, his emotions are very strong. It is precisely because he despises ordinary people that he is wholeheartedly devoted to the existence of Blackheart King and Valtex, making them the most needed emotional support in his life.

It is his ruthlessness that has made his emotions rich. It sounds contradictory, but when the Space Wolves destroyed the camp, the emotional attack caused by those dead brothers on him may be far less painful than the melting of the blade he often used on the operating table.

At the same time, this twisted man was extremely glad that he was not a warrior. He could abandon those honors in a very short time and choose to embrace something more rational, that is, to survive. He installed poison gas to destroy his research results, prevent the Space Wolves from obtaining the Red Pirates' intelligence and any virus specimens, and let those wolf cubs with fangs and claws get nothing, just wasting bullets and weapons reserves.

However, this is more of self-consolation, because no matter what, the Red Pirates lost more this time, a long rest area, a large amount of supplies, and a large number of test subjects. They have lost the initiative so far.

A large number of long teeth pierced into his neck like fangs, biting off most of the Red Pirates' vitality. He could only go to Oneus Praid, the former Red Scorpion, to warn and help him stabilize the front line.

He was like a venomous snake, hiding in his own pile of fallen leaves, waiting for the next opportunity to attack. At the same time, the dirt kicked up by the motorcycle flew past his armor, bringing him an unbearable pessimism about the current situation. He understood life too well. Even if he was a space warrior, he would be nothing more than a thing turned into dirt by bacteria after a thousand years. However, he had the responsibility and obligation to live until the day he died for Huron's great plan, until the curse of the gods was no longer effective.

In the low roar of the engine, the army went outward from the endless horizon until they could no longer be observed, and at the same time bid farewell to their honor and victory, temporarily.

The winner of this attack was the Space Wolves. They were like the beasts they represented, ending the battle with great power and saturation bombing. Even so, Gunnar Red Moon felt that the war was too simple. He stood on the outside of the transport gunboat, looking at the ruins and the remains of mortals on the ground, until a pungent smell brushed across his nose, very thin, almost colorless and tasteless, but he could feel it.

It was a vague feeling, but he was sure that something was there. He asked the wolves to apply the ancient Fenrion plaster made by the rune priests on their breathing ports before jumping off the fighter plane. The fangs did the same, and after most of the Space Marines landed, they felt an uncomfortable tingling sensation on their skin.

Gunnar Red Moon understood the situation instantly. He saw that the mortal bodies on the ground had not yet rotted, and immediately asked the fangs to start looking for those poisons. They had a sensitive sense of smell, which was the gene given to them by the Primarch Russ, so it was not difficult to find that thing.

And Gunnar Red Moon also deliberately let the damn pharmacist leave. He had already known the great name of the corpse lord Gared, but he needed to deal with the eternal worms more, let Dan.

He needed a camp so that the Space Wolves could safely transport the special rare sonic bombs to the front line, stable and reassuring, so this absurd place was still valuable to him.

While the tusks were dismantling the equipment in an orderly manner, the captain also walked into the facility. He quickly found the laboratory of the pharmacist Gareth, in the dark underground explosion-proof area.

There was an independent engine here, embedded in a thick layer of adamantium, with bright light and a cold touch. The walls showed a sickly white-gray color in the reinforced metal layer. At the same time, the smell of blood mixed with detergent made Gunnar Red Moon, who had a sensitive sense of smell, feel sick.

He looked at a mortal body lying on a cold operating table, disemboweled, with bottles and jars, sulfuric acid toxins, scalpels and saw teeth. Although many bottles and jars fell to the ground due to the bombing of the Space Wolves, this place can still satisfy most people's fantasy of a horror laboratory.

At this moment, he opened the file cabinet inside the laboratory of this place and looked at the research reports written in High Gothic. He was very concerned about a part of the report on the current situation of the Red Corsairs. It mentioned Gareth's research on the deterioration of Astartes genes and how he understood why Astartes could not be as perfect as their Primarch.

The Space Wolves were also troubled by genetic problems. Their werewolf disease made countless brothers crazy, just like the Black Rage of the Blood Angels. He couldn't help but look through this thing that should be given to the Inquisition, but he was also the Grand Captain of the Creation Chapter, and he had the right to read his own spoils.

Moreover, Gunnar Red Moon's knowledge was also among the best in the Grand Company. There might be few people in the entire galaxy who could catch up with the manuscript of the genius pharmacist and the research of Gareth, the Lord of Corpses, but he was not among them.

He soon witnessed Gareth's atrocities against the Space Marines. He dissected many loyal Space Marines, even Red Corsairs who had lost their combat effectiveness, or War Lords who were killed in internal struggles. He had countless materials and gathered unprecedented, huge records of Space Marine body dissections in the tens of thousands.

He even disassembled the gene seeds himself, whether they were high-quality or low-quality. After a lot of practice, Gareth found that even the most loyal Space Marines, or the purest non-mutated warriors, had defects in their genes, and such mutations were greatly affected by personal circumstances.

For example, warriors with personalities close to the original body or strong willpower, or even psychic abilities or simply high genetic compatibility, will have more "excellent" mutations, while on the contrary, those mutations will lead to "inferiority" of warriors. However, no matter what, regardless of personal needs, such mutations will always exist and have nothing to do with personal subjective will.

And the genes of the Red Corsairs come from the Primarch Roboute Guilliman, the Ultramarines, who theoretically have the most stable genes. However, the long-term release of the unstable area of ​​the Maelstrom Warp has caused them to have irreversible gene collapse and mutations. However, such mutations are different from mortals being affected by the Warp. In theory, the Space Marines have perfect psychic resistance.

Gareth soon realized that this mutation was not caused by psychic power, but that the so-called "mutation" existed in the essence of genes. When the Emperor created the Primarchs, they had already...

Gunnar Red Moon was fascinated by it. He grasped the record with more and more force, but he suddenly found that the handwriting of this thick record became blurred from this page, and the kraft paper began to disintegrate and turned into something like dust in the air.

"Damn it!" He smelled the irreversible smell of rotten toxins in the air belatedly. The ancient plaster applied on his nose relieved his physical burden, so that he didn't notice that something was eroding this research report.

Fortunately, he did not see the second half of the report, which was that Gareth realized that the Emperor had the ability to create "perfect" Space Marines that would not mutate, but he deliberately input the energy of the Warp in order to make those warriors more specialized and more in line with the appearance of war.

In other words, Gareth believed that in the eyes of the Emperor, the Space Marines who used a lot of Warp help and had filth in their genes would inevitably be destroyed on a large scale after the Great Crusade, but he deliberately injected Warp psychic energy just to allow the Space Marines to help him rule the galaxy, and this was the cruel Corpse Emperor, an emotionless, disgusting tyrant, the evil god that coerced humans.

Of course, it is hard to say whether Gunnar Red Moon would believe in such heresy, but just looking at the explanation of the Imperial State Church to the Emperor, the Space Marines who would mutate and could not reproduce were undoubtedly "failed" "non-humans"...