Alexander scrutinized the hazy figure who called himself Sanguinius.
It was a figure with dove-like wings, at least four meters tall, glowing and radiating Warp energy.
Severe height abnormalities, scales, feathers, or animal fur growing on the body surface, body surface glowing, two additional appendages, bestial features, causing localized Warp anomalies.
Noticing Alexander's gaze, the winged figure of Sanguinus couldn't help but chuckle:
"You're using that standard to examine me?"
Oh, and the necessity of questioning the degree of mutation... three moderate mutations, two severe mutations, and two extreme mutations.
Total score: 129 points.
Purifiers, come quickly! There's a blasphemous, shameful mutant here! Alexander silently grumbled in his heart.
"Do you want to use that standard to examine the one on the Throne?"
The winged figure of Sanguinus couldn't help but shake its head and say:
"According to this Administratum standard, both my father and I would be considered extreme mutants, scoring at least fifty points.
Oh, I'm afraid, besides a few minorities like Guilliman, not many of my Primarch brothers would escape."
Listening to Sanguinus' joke, Alexander smiled and nodded in agreement:
"According to the Administratum's standards, the Emperor and many Primarchs would all have to lean against the nearest wall, put their hands behind their backs, and shout loudly: 'I am a shameful mutant!' 'I am a shameful mutant!' waiting for Purifiers to perform efficient incineration."
Listening to Alexander's words, the winged figure of Sanguinus couldn't help but let out a soft laugh: "If I were to say that to an Inquisitor or an Imperial Cult Priest, what do you think would happen?"
"Then I'm afraid I'd be facing white phosphorus immolation," Alexander shrugged.
He glanced towards the Corpse Guild.
After Mont and Marquite entered the Guild, a faint, corrupt smell seemed to rise from within, looking chilling and terrifying.
"Do you want to go in?" Sanguinus asked, gently fluttering its wings.
Alexander shook his head, reaching his hand into the four-dimensional pocket on his belly.
Mont and Marquite walked down the corridor of the Corpse Guild.
The gloomy corridor was covered in thick moss and decaying fungi, with mushrooms growing from the cracks, wriggling like chunks of flesh.
And among the moss lay decaying but unvanquished corpses, their pale eyes wide open, their gaze following the two men's footsteps.
Mont and Marquite chanted a seven-syllable incantation.
Their aura and the incantation made the corpses believe they were companions.
If anyone else had entered this corridor, they would likely have been instantly torn to shreds, dying as nutrients for the moss and fungi.
"Brother, ahead is the office of the Corpse Guild's branch director."
Mont stopped before a richly decorated, heavy door.
The door was carved with layers of skull patterns, symbolizing human purity.
But among those skulls grew layers of rotting, wriggling, colorful fungi, as if hinting at the corruption of purity.
Marquite nodded slightly and pushed open the door.
Behind the door was a spacious office.
The walls were covered in various ornate carvings, depicting the Corpse Guild's pale business of corpse retrieval.
One wall had been modified to embed a man-sized ceramite safe, which seemed to also house a low-power stasis field.
Marquite guessed that the ancient artifact they were looking for might be in the safe.
But he quickly retracted that guess.
Because beneath the grimy window was a large desk, and a woman in a pale, confidential dress lay in a comfortable office chair, her eyes tightly closed.
She wore a long gown as pale as death itself, a corset carved with skeletal symbols, and her face was covered by a white veil hanging from a golden coronet.
But even through the veil, Marquite could see her sickly complexion.
Pale and bloodless, covered in various spots and pustules, with disgusting saliva dripping from the corners of her mouth, and dry, bluish veins, seemingly devoid of blood, covering her face like withered vines.
She seemed to be afflicted with a hundred diseases.
And in her hand, she held a rusted, twisted, decaying triangular dagger; living flesh and blood tissue, rotting and squirming, protruded from the decaying, crumbling metal blade.
That was a weapon infused with plague, carrying the power of corruption, forged in that lush garden where only decay and rebirth existed.
This was what Mont and Marquite sought this time.
Marquite carefully walked to the side of the pale woman with her eyes closed, and reached out his hand towards the triangular blade in her hand —
Splat!!!
The triangular blade cut through the air, bringing with it a putrid stench. Marquite quickly retreated, narrowly avoiding being cut by the rotting blade.
"No!!!" A sharp, piercing sound came from her decaying vocal cords.
The pale woman moved her stiff body, slowly rising from the chair, and opened her tightly closed eyes.
Her eyes were like those of the deceased, pale and dim, yet one could faintly sense the madness surging within them.
Marquite quickly chanted the seven-syllable rune.
"No!!!!"
Marquite was met only with a roar full of frenzy.
Beside Marquite, the cheerful voice of "Angel" rang out.
The voice told him that the ritual had failed years ago due to the Governor's bombardment.
The out-of-control, roaring Warp energy had not only infused the triangular blade but also partially overflowed into her body, plunging her completely into madness and loss of control.
Marquite quickly dodged the triangular blade swung by the pale woman; the wriggling flesh on the blade made him perceive danger.
"Ugh!!!" Marquite vomited a putrid digestive fluid, splattering it onto the pale woman.
Her dress was instantly corroded with holes, and white smoke rose from her flesh, revealing stark white bones among the decaying flesh.
However, the woman's movements were unaffected, becoming even more frenzied.
Marquite felt a terrifying malevolence from the blade in her hand.
Mont cut his wrist, and toxic, corrosive blood splattered onto the pale woman.
However, the pale woman dodged and leaped, thrusting the triangular blade in her hand towards Mont's throat.
Her unparalleled reaction speed was beyond natural; Mont only saw the rotting blade transform into a sharp insect sting in the air, shooting towards his throat.
Sizzle!!!!
A scorching beam of light pierced through the office window, melting the glass and striking one of the pale woman's legs.
A brief, small explosion erupted at the point of impact of the light, and the scorching flames instantly melted half of the woman's leg.
"Lasgun?" Marquite exclaimed.
Mont reacted even faster; he dodged the blade aimed at his throat, and with surprise, looked out the window and shouted: "Leman Russ?!"
But before his joy was complete, several more lasers shot from a distance, landing in different parts of the Corpse Guild.
One of them grazed Mont's cheek, causing a small explosion behind him.
Mont looked utterly bewildered.
"Why the hell are you shooting me too?!"