The Emperor’s Angel of Death

Rooney Martel's soul was under the heavy blow of being abandoned. The hope of being rescued from this dark and **** tomb was extremely slim, but now it has completely disappeared.

His only faith now is his children, but he gradually forgets these two names, and the faces of his children are blurred in the fragments of memory.

The only thing that left part of his broken mind is probably due to faith and prayer.

As a plumber, he was trapped deep in the pipeline after the camp riots. For the first few hours, he hoped to support his sanity.

At that time Rooney also believed that the emperor manifested himself and a miracle came.

But rescue did not come, and the extinguished hope was worse than sheer despair.

At the moment of Rooney's death, he came up with an idea: The emperor has never pityed him.

What followed was even more blasphemous thoughts—perhaps something else might dominate everything.

In this last series of coherent thoughts, Rooney was overwhelmed by fear.

The thin thread of reason finally broke, Rooney yelled and crawled forward in the darkness.

His work clothes were in tatters, the metal cut through the skin, and the blood was bleeding from his callous hands.

Suddenly, he fumbled around and touched a living creature, which screamed and strangled his neck. Rooney tried his best to resist, feeling his cracked nails pierced into a soft place-the screaming turned into despair. He wailed, and the force that locked his throat gradually loosened.

Rooney was gasping and roaring, pushing and tearing and digging until the screaming and struggling fell silent.

But the darkness has not subsided.

Rooney kept howling, as if trying to dispel the suffocating silence with his voice.

He didn't know that he had just killed his former friend, but the other party had forgotten his name a long time ago. Like Rooney, he has become an animal succumbing to instinct in fear. He only knows about crawling and fighting...

...And chew.

Rooney started eating.

Two days later, the thing that used to be Rooney had forgotten too much. He didn't know where he was or why he was there.

He didn't know that he was originally a plumber, and he was in the huge refugee camp in the Red Sands Mountains. The entire camp's water supply relied on huge and complicated temporary water supply pipes, and he was the one who maintained it.

However, disaster happened.

The mental wound is so deep that Rooney has lost all his memories before the disaster, but he can still recall the situation when darkness fell.

Even in the first few hours of the trap, the survivors were still helping each other, still praying, and still thinking.

Rooney didn't know why he buried the pipe, he just heard the news of the riot from the communicator, and then there was only shouting at that end.

The entrances and exits of their pipelines were blasted, although small, they were enough to trigger a chain reaction.

The energy supply was interrupted, the lighting went out, and although the ducts contained enough air to breathe for several months, they did not carry any food.

Rescue never came. At first, the people who cooperated and helped each other began to scramble for the remaining supplies, and eventually faced each other for the meager residue.

Light energy brings advantages to survival. Soon, lamps and lanterns become more precious than food itself, and they become the target of everyone's contention.

And once the fight broke out in a small place like a tunnel, it was only a matter of time before darkness fell.

The fight left Rooney with bruises and fell into the abyss of despair.

Apart from struggle, life has no other meaning.

When the struggle was unable to proceed, the silence of waiting for death enveloped everything, and anger permeated this painful time.

The anger at the enemy, the anger at the fate, the anger at the darkness, the anger at the rescue that has not come in a long time.

When Rooney was still able to speak and understand the words, he heard anger spreading to the emperor in a blasphemous manner.

Rooney had never said such heretical remarks. Before his eyes, there was still a rope of hope hanging down from the sky.

He knew that someone was still praying, and it was faith that supported him and allowed him to continue to endure the torment.

But now, everything is silent, and the hope he no longer understands but desperately needs disappears without a trace.

He was grabbed by anger, and anger gathered in the round tomb.

It's not just him alone, it's the resentment of tens of thousands of people biting each other in despair, the fury that urges mankind to make the ultimate betrayal, the sublimation of many emotions after the heart is ashamed, and the cruel suffering of the unfortunate. The summary.

Depravity took the first step.

Rooney roared in the silence. He fell on all fours, climbed over the blood and bones, and climbed up the steep **** of rubble, using his bones and flesh and blood to madly dig the collapsed rock that sealed the tomb.

His mutilated lungs took a deep breath of dirty air, and shouted endless anger and resentment.

But the gods he had worshiped did not hear.

However, someone heard it.

The rubble was torn apart, a corpse-like face appeared, and black smoke surrounded his head.

"Come, release your anger."

Rooney responded with roars and screams. It stretched out its hands that turned into sharp claws and leaped out of its hiding place~www.readwn.com~ Outside, the smell of blood and smoke was permeating its nerves. And the one who released its existence, was holding his chest with his hands, moving his mutated lower limbs, appreciating all this with a cruel smile on his face.

The sky of the camp was shrouded in smoke, thick smoke billowed between the ruins, and no building stood intact.

Garmo Zejie strode the meteor and stepped across the ruined walls. His taste monitoring nerves filtered the diffuse smoke, separated the burning wood from the smoldering plastic steel, and separated the deflagration promethium from the charred flesh and blood.

There are a lot of flesh and blood here, the bones of refugees filled huge corpses, and hills of corpses stood everywhere, several meters high.

Garmo Zejie passed through the Death Canyon between the two corpse mountains. It was he who made all of this. The pulsating flames reflected on his purple and black power armor, and the symbols on it restrained the echo of blood and fire. Forged thousands of years of anger.

And the emblem on his left shoulder armor is two connected black ‘swastika’ symbols, representing the concept of the lost Second Legion that is invariable.

He walked through the ruins, everything he saw, heard, tasted was destruction, and the **** work was done well, but not enough.

After all, there is an entire galaxy that requires blood sacrifices, how can a mere planet be enough?

Then he reached the center of the camp, where it was once a small church. The biggest massacre happened around, but most of the corpses burned to ashes, so the pile of corpses was much lower than elsewhere.

The only remains of this church are the blackened stone foundations, like the bones of the slaughtered faith, and the charred frames are like broken ribs.

Tubek stood in the middle of the ruins, raised his arms, holding a staff in one hand, and a black crystal ball in the other, muttering in his mouth.

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