Hunger.
Pain.
These were the most direct sensations, and also the most destructive instincts. Even a newborn Gene-Seed Primarch could not perpetually resist such a frenzied, immense power.
She felt it: hunger.
And pain, a pain from within her brain, appearing and disappearing, annoying.
That filthy yet incredibly delicious soul named Erebus had not been able to soothe the void deep within her Soul Sea. Instead, it had completely unleashed the ice-bound ice jam, like the first rain of early spring.
Hunger, this most primitive instinct, roared relentlessly in her mind, demanding to be satisfied.
Morgan frowned.
Amidst the roaring, she clearly heard distant laughter intertwined, a laughter neither male nor female, filled with an indelible charm and thirst, like a wicked sycophant mocking the king it had poisoned.
In that deranged laughter, she could also faintly hear some low whispers, like a hypocritical mother lamenting her sacrifices and hardships, and demanding her submission and joy as a matter of course.
And with each passing second of that laughter, her hunger expanded, continuously destroying her reason, yearning to transform her into some unspeakable beast.
She had to resolve it, or at least find a way to temporarily suppress it.
Souls.
She could hear that voice craving something. This craving had now become the best motivation, urging her to stagger away from her original spot and eventually walk towards the desolate battlefield ruins.
— — — — — —
Under the blood-red sunset of the savage world, Morgan walked.
Even the most deranged, most unconventional artist in the galaxy probably couldn't imagine such a scene:
A baby walking in the dead of the cold wind, she strolled through the ancient battlefield, a hot, newborn heart advancing amidst countless white bones, like a priest inspecting his temple.
And before this bone priest were countless bizarre snowflakes, seemingly drifting in the air with the mournful wind, unwilling to melt for a long time.
But upon closer inspection, one would find that these so-called "snowflakes" were not pure white, but countless screaming, distorted faces, each representing a wrongfully deceased soul on the battlefield.
Some were pure white, like innocent guardians, while others were the ultimate opposite, black, exuding a chilling aura of tyranny. Many more were mottled mixtures of black and white—regardless, they were all now just powerless and resentful nothingness.
Thousands of distorted souls drifted before Morgan like this, spinning, wailing, cursing, and damning this extraordinarily born infant in an unrecognizable language, for they had died for her.
This was truly a feast.
So, she extended an invisible hand, easily grasping one, carefully observing its sharp exterior and hideous face.
Although her memory was still fragmented and blurry, as if some irresistible force was preventing her from tracing her past experiences, her innate knowledge reserves unhesitatingly opened their doors to her: a glance at the meal she was about to enjoy, and her mind automatically identified the owners of these souls:
They belonged to some kind of Xenos.
The thought of "Xenos" stirred up waves of murderous and destructive impulses in her heart, and with this impulse, the throbbing pain in her mind intensified, making her frown involuntarily.
Suppressing these chaotic thoughts and temporarily blocking out the distant laughter, Morgan closed her eyes and quietly threw the Xenos soul into her mouth.
The taste was barely passable, far less delicious than Erebus, but it filled her hunger, and the pain in her mind seemed to have lessened somewhat.
So, this was the 1st.
— — — — — —
The 14th.
The 15th.
The 16th.
Morgan licked the corner of her mouth.
She sat in the center of the ancient battlefield, clutching those delicious soul-food. At first, she devoured them voraciously, but after feeling slightly full, she slowed down, beginning to carefully savor the taste between her lips and teeth.
The Primarch's superhuman thinking ability gradually unlocked and flowed as energy continuously poured in. She spent some time reviewing and organizing the thousands of memory fragments and chaotic knowledge in her brain.
As her will became clearer, the Primarch's soul could even temporarily float away from her body and ascend into the sky. From this excellent vantage point, Morgan began to observe the world she was in, and quickly understood everything before her.
She looked out and saw only ruins, desolation, and barrenness. What was once civilization had turned into corpses and smoke, scattered across the vast land and burning forests.
This world had once been vibrant, until the weapons and malice of war utterly destroyed it. She strained to look into the distance and only found the blurry silhouette of a village on the horizon, but it was already engulfed in thick smoke.
But that was not her concern. What she needed now were clothes to cover her body, means to protect herself, and souls, more souls. She needed to consume as many of them as possible to alleviate the throbbing pain in her brain, to satisfy her endless hunger, and to gain more knowledge and power.
Those people in strange armor, calling themselves Word Bearers, wanted to harm her, and their number was unknown. She had to use every method to protect herself.
The 67th.
The 68th.
The 69th.
These Xenos souls were fragile and delicious. As she chewed them handful by handful, she could extract a hint of sweetness from them. And now, such delicious treats were everywhere in the sky, drifting above layers of white bones, emitting the wails and screams of their final moments.
After swallowing another surge of souls, Morgan moved her limbs and found that they could now withstand running and throwing. So, she picked up a dagger from the shattered corpses, swung it twice, and began to advance towards the densest area of bones.
A moment later, she was wrapped in a tailored piece of clothing and a few miscellaneous trinkets. After satisfying her most basic sense of modesty, she continued her feast.
The 251st.
The 252nd.
The 253rd.
Driven by instinct and hunger, she continuously devoured the wailing souls until she herself could no longer count how many she had consumed, until the ocean of her consciousness faintly emitted a sound of temporary satisfaction, until her spirit finally replenished its energy enough to discover the true gems among these souls.
Peeling back the wall composed of thousands of wailing bodies, Morgan discovered three interesting things.
These were three particularly large souls. Compared to their pathetic, mud-like counterparts, they clearly maintained a physical form similar to their living selves. The two whiter ones glared at her, while the more sinful one could barely conceal its fear.
"We can talk."
The pitch-black Xenos, like a slave master, had barely uttered its plea for mercy when Morgan's fingertip unhesitatingly pierced it. She threw this wailing creature into her mouth, feeling that its taste was closest to that of Erebus.
"You sinful beast!"
Witnessing this scene, the well-dressed white Xenos finally unleashed a venomous curse.
"The Council of Seers knew of your coming long ago! The greatest Supreme Seer trembled for your dark future! We mobilized all our Guardians and Rangers, Fire Dragons and Howling Banshees, even mighty Wraith Constructs!"
"This should have killed you, should have ended your lowly and filthy life, utterly strangling your destiny on the edge of these savage stars! If not for these ignorant fools, these unwitting kin, and these damned, corrupt degenerates of Commorragh! We would have succeeded long ago!"
"You daemon's lackey, tyrant's puppet, vile beast, I know what you depend on! You, like those desperate, pathetic races, have become His servants and slaves, abandoning everything for even a moment of your master's pleasure!"
"Our blade was but a step away from you, until your master intervened! He saved you, making our souls your sustenance!"
"Do you know His true nature? Do you know your pathetic, ridiculous future? You..."
Its curse had perhaps just begun, but Morgan's patience had already been worn thin by this vague, hypocritical rhetoric. Her consciousness spread and danced like a sharp blade, instantly piercing the Xenos' body. The Xenos' companion or guard tried to sacrifice themselves to block, but the result was merely two screaming souls simultaneously vanishing into Morgan's Soul Sea, never to be heard from again.
Hmm... it's sour.
Compared to the sweet deliciousness of Erebus and other murky souls, these whiter, strange souls were either bland as water or sour and hard to swallow.
But they were indeed effective. As the last sounds of these powerful Xenos disappeared from Morgan's consciousness, she felt that the unbearable hunger also vanished with them. The severe pain in her mind gradually subsided, eventually reaching a completely negligible level.
Subsequently, the Primarch felt weary.
She looked up and saw that the sky was now overcast. Soon, accompanied by a furious hurricane unlike any seen during the day, rain and hail the size of entire bodies fell from the clouds, mercilessly striking the ground, destroying large areas of corpses and jungle.
Clearly, this savage world indeed lived up to its name.
But before that, the Primarch had already returned to her own small world, a circular fortress built of metal and branches. It remained a reliable barrier, able to protect her body temperature from the cold of the night.
Thus, after a final check of the safety around her resting place, Morgan quickly fell asleep. This time, no one should disturb her again.