Chapter 50 Ship of Fools

What should I say to him if I meet him again?

Morse had never thought of this question even once.

Rather than meeting him again, he hoped that this absurd assumption would never become a reality; but if this unfortunate extreme really came one day...

Then it will come.

He turned around naturally in this cold space of pure gold, holding the gold, stone, bones, hair and dagger he brought out from Paradise in his left hand.

These objects that had not yet returned to deformation and distortion in the process of passing through the veil proved that he was still in the subspace.

The sound of the vast sea tide and all kinds of indescribable discordant sounds were far away, leaving behind eternal silence.

He raised his left hand and shook it across, leisurely and contented, even a little too relaxed.

This quickly made him feel like he was pretending to be in front of a beam of artificial sunlight, so he put down his left hand, his smile faded, and simply greeted the bright halo across: + How is your Earth recently? +

+ At war. +The man in the halo answered.

The glittering light blurred his expression in the most holy form. Morse could not see his eyes, nor could he recognize any possible emotions in his tone.

The man just stood there, speaking sparingly, and then there was a long and terrible silence.

The various sounds outside became a little louder, invading the pure gold space again, and bursts of low laughter and sobbing came from thousands of different souls, like waves beating against the towering barriers.

This was like a trigger, causing both of them to move.

The part of the entire space constructed by the other's power became more solid and solid, and at the same time, more spells supported the bottom layer of the space.

Morse no longer looked at the other party. He sat down, arranged the gadgets in order, and slowly trimmed them with one hand, while speaking as calmly as possible: +Is it the war you started again? +

+Yes. +

+Victory? +

+Yes. +

The metal and stone were reshaped into arrowheads, the bones were cut into shafts, and the hair temporarily served as feathers, although the mystical significance was far greater than the practical significance.

Morse engraved more symbols on the small arrow, which would be a useful prop.

Then he began to process the dagger.

Apart from those irrelevant factors, Slaanesh's aesthetic ability was indeed at the top of the endless creatures in the Milky Way. Just a short blade that was more than a palm long had already reached the pinnacle of aesthetics, even breaking the upper limit of beauty that mortals could imagine.

This was not only a comprehensive improvement of structure and proportion, overall and details, but the breath of the chaotic ocean also added the power extension of Slaanesh itself.

Morse did not destroy this precious attribute, but only engraved a few appropriate spells on the side of the dagger to enhance his temporary control over the dagger.

This silent and busy work seemed to construct a set of tangible systems in the silent golden light, which eased the cold meaning of silence itself and even brought a false harmony.

For a moment, Morse felt that this moment would last forever, and he spit on his own fantasies.

Soon after, a voice came from the golden light: + I heard you calling me. +

+ You obviously heard it. + Morse said.

+ You need help. +

+ It's not me who needs help, it's Perturabo - have you seen him? +

+ Yes. +

+ What do you think? +

+...+

Silence.

Half an hour ago, Morse wondered if the other party would change over the years. Now he knew that at least the guy was as easy to make people impatient as before.

He stabbed the dagger he had prepared into the ground.

The spell flowed, used to transform into another unique structure and shape.

+ Is that your masterpiece? A super son cultivated by genetic engineering? When did you want offspring? +

+... No. +

+ You can't answer three questions with one answer. +

He finally heard a human word that made the other party seem less like a stupid machine, except for the simplest affirmation and negation: + I created him. He is not my son. +

+What is he then? +Morse disagreed, +Another makeshift tool? +

+…No. +

Morse decided to keep his mouth shut.

His nonexistent heart was about to beat faster in anger because of this irritating and unhelpful conversation.

After all, he didn't want an answer.

He already had a crossbow in his hand, with a few beautiful decorations added to the design to match the artistic symbolism of the arrow itself.

Morse put the arrow into the empty slot and pressed it tightly. If he had two hands, he would prefer to draw the bow and shoot arrows; but the crossbow arrows could also be used.

The man covered in golden light approached him, stood beside him, and said nothing more.

The runes dispersed, revealing a hole in the pure gold space; behind the hole, deep and colorful colors reappeared.

Morse raised the crossbow, pulled the trigger, and the arrow flew out like a stream of light.

Far away, in the lush garden soil, a group of rotten creatures dancing hand in hand in a circle were pierced by sharp arrows, without even a single cry.

The spell that sent the arrows to the garden was just right in the process of crossing the abyss. The power of the Lord of Bliss lost its restraints and automatically spread in a strange form in the depths of decay, and the purple mist melted into a deep green.

Morse retracted his gaze, both to avoid being noticed and to avoid seeing more unbearable phenomena.

+The casualties of war will bring plague. +He said, pulling out the dagger on the ground with one hand, propping himself up, +I'll make some small preparations in advance. +

The golden man silently made way for him.

The power of the spell was further withdrawn and reorganized into a long chain with a hook at the top, protruding into the vast sea.

In a moment, the long chain hooked a heavy object hidden behind the golden light, and Morse smiled.

+Come and pull it. +

No more words were needed, the golden light burst into a more intense light, and the long chain was just right to ignite fire, and a miserable cry came from the end of the chain.

Morse immediately retracted the long chain, pulled a blue bird struggling to escape back by its wings, and in a flash, the dagger pierced the dark blue wings, tearing the fickle flesh and blood.

The next moment, the phantom of the blue bird escaped from the hook, spilling a stream of purple-blue liquid; the liquid climbed up along the dagger, and before it hit Morse, the dagger that should be discarded after use was thrown into the subspace by him to drift at will.

Morse shook his head. The actual damage was not so easy to cause. He had already done the limit of his current ability.

In any case, after finally completing a series of counterattacks, he felt that his mood was much better.

He turned sideways and briefly looked at the shining man.

Morse looked at this dazzling silent man for a while, and found that he was also unable to speak. His throat seemed to be blocked by a hurtful iron stone.

He insisted on not allowing himself to look away, and soon, he no longer allowed himself to keep silent.

The torture of being stared at by the golden light gradually became greater than the pain of opening his mouth.

Morse smiled, although he didn't think the other party could see any expression from his empty face.

He didn't know whether he should be sad about it. He didn't even have a heart to beat for it.

+Goodbye, Neos. +As he spoke, he suspected that he would see Neos's true form soon, and this suspicion forcibly prevented him from feeling reluctant to part with this brief meeting.

+Goodbye, Remus. +

He got the answer.

The space constructed by the spell gradually separated from the other party's power, like a boat floating up outside the warp.

Passing through layers of light and shadow space, he touched the smell of reality.

He looked around.

Burned ashes, broken beams, dead servants, and the deformed bodies of the tyrant's family.

No more veils and fragrant ointments, the illusory flowers and vines all returned to the soil and rubble, all the twisted darkness had retreated from Olympia, and the abnormal night returned its place to the bright day.

The sun penetrated the ruins and illuminated a small sailing ship made of gold and silver and inlaid with blood jade.

Morse recognized that this was a miniature model of the boat he had taken when he sailed to the Six Rings of Slaanesh before.

This fool's ship, carrying this bloodless and tearless nothingness, reunited and parted, left and returned.

Mors picked up six broken filthy crystals, and collected the remnants of the breath and twisted souls lingering on the corpses present, and put them all into the small sailboat.

The golden fire ignited, and the smell of corruption gathered on the small sailboat was completely purified and burned, and then the boat itself was burned.

A remaining soul showed a gentle phantom, he seemed to want to say something, but it seemed to be just crying.

Mors nodded quietly.

The phantom nodded to thank him, and then disappeared forever with everything in the boat.

After the purification was completed, Mors heard someone push away the dissuading soldiers, stomping heavily on the ground, and striding towards this place.

When the twisted and melted door was easily broken open and torn apart by a pair of huge hands, Mors realized a serious problem.

He has not rebuilt his body yet.