The Emperor’s Angel of Death

The old spirits use a self-made product called a dream maker. The function is to make the attached creature dream. On the one hand, it can judge whether the creature has autonomous consciousness. On the other hand, the dream can actually extract more real information, although Most dreams are bizarre.

Upon contact with the nerve, the jellyfish's tentacles begin to flutter, and the tiny segmented claws squirm forward, expanding, spinning, and twisting until they fill the entire incision.

When dreamers create dreams, they also copy the host's brain patterns and store them in their cores.

Thoughts, memories, and dreams will all be downloaded into its core piece of spiritual bone for easy transmission. This is a more elegant way than simply dissecting brain matter, and it will not waste materials.

But suddenly, the dream maker twitched, and then a greenish liquid began to flow back down its tentacles, and the old Spirit Race could see that the inside of it was corroding and collapsing with the naked eye.

"It's kind of interesting to actually activate the self-destruction mechanism in this situation."

Although the dream maker was expensive, the old Eldar cared more about the material. He quickly picked up a few needles, stuck them in the gap between the brainworm's carapace, and took out a few black needles and stabbed the back of its head.

Soon, the green corrosive liquid was no longer secreted, but the dreamer became almost a puddle of mud. Fortunately, the material hugged, otherwise it would corrode itself.

"It seems that it will be safer to start at the genetic level."

"Master, Master Beartram of the Black Descent Society came to visit and said something important."

When a voice passed through the door, the old Spirit Clan straightened up. Although his expression was impatient, he knew that the other party would not come to him if he was okay.

"Understood, let him wait."

After all, the old spirits walked out of the operating table and came to the corridor outside.

It's a whole other world compared to the clean and tidy operating room, where wandering monstrosities and the occasional grotesque creatures stalk the darkness, their cries echoing through the cavernous corridors, scrambling for piles of junk and metal. Fragments and tussles, many upside-down, sightless, curved predators above the caves bit the wobbly limbs sticking out of rock crevices, revealing short, brutal lives in dark madness amid glowing fungal lighting.

In addition to those deformed artificial life, the guards here are also very bizarre. They have human-shaped torso, the legs are replaced by wheels or orbital mobile devices, equipped with multiple metal arms, with syringes and blades on the tips, Saw or other surgical and dividing instrument—the creature's parts have lost their color, blisters have developed from disease, and the wheels are covered in aged blood.

They are constantly on tour, occasionally cleaning up dying or dead creations.

But without exception, all living or non-living creatures crawled on the ground like maggots and trembled when they saw the old Eldar.

Old Eldar walks through a **** of filth and filth with their hands behind their backs, even if the surrounding environment is enough to drive ordinary people crazy—the walls of flesh pulsate blood vessels and underdeveloped organs, and the blocked passages are even worse. Like the guts of some kind of beast rather than corridors.

After walking through this area, he came to a relatively less crazy place. There are pale-skinned slaves everywhere, most of them are Eldar, and some humans. Although there is a regular and regular supply of fresh slaves, most of them are Slaves are actually products of self-reproduction.

They breed in the dark like mice in this den, living short and cruel lives, often interrupted by sudden violence.

The old Eldar didn't care about them, he just needed some labor and the occasional raw material.

Soon, he arrived at the place where he received the guests, a warm little tea room.

The furnishings here are very simple, a huge chair that can make him lie down, a small coffee table, a few chairs, and a few crazy paintings on the walls that ordinary people can't understand. Soft warm light.

The vice president of Black Descendants, who had been standing here for a long time, bowed his head respectfully after seeing the old man push the door and enter.

"Grandmaster Lacarte, disturbed."

The arrogance and independence of the Haemons are outstanding even in the Comoros. It is the highest courtesy of a consul to make an ordinary Haemon to give a good face, but to make a Haemon master bow his head, then It is something that all the Dark Eldar never dare to think about.

However, there is such a person, all the Haemonics have to respectfully call the Grand Master when they see it.

He is Urian Lacarte, the lord of the haemophiles, the first haemophile in the Comoros, and in a sense the founder of the current haemophile art.

If there is anyone in the Comoros who can afford the word "high morality", then there is only Urian Lacarte, and even Victor, the overlord of Comoros, can only be a humble person in front of him. younger generation.

Urian Lacarte's prestige not only comes from his strength as the first Haemonger, but more importantly, as a witness to the end of the Eldar Empire and the Great Fall, Urian's past is too ancient to be tested. In a sense, he is most likely the oldest Eldar in existence.

From the lowest slave of the Dark City to the supreme overlord, the name of Urian Lacarte is unknown to some, a horror monster in a bedtime story, and for others, they would rather be under the bed. The monster is a fact and I don't want Urian Lacarte to be a real existence. No matter how strange the ancestor's temper is, the entire upper class of Comoros does not deny that this ancient haemophile is an outstanding man. pain artist.

Urian Lacarte was also bound in the conspiracy system of Comoros and enjoyed a high position, but he had no desire for power, and his thoughts had completely detached from the struggle for power and prestige, leaving trivial political quarrels behind. Brain, even in order to avoid those power struggles contaminating himself, he chose to live in seclusion most of the time, only his trusted disciples and a few consuls knew where he was.

But this does not mean that the Haemophile Grandmaster will avoid the world. Anyone who knows him knows that Urian Lacarte is synonymous with dark nature, so that some people regard him as a demigod representing suffering. Any damage to the Great Grandmaster. The idiot of interests, just like being destined for the future by a real vicious **** of vengeance, the ending is extremely cruel, and Urian Lacarte's character is really uncertain, and it is difficult to find the reason for any killing.

Therefore, although the other party behaved very harmlessly at this time, the vice president of the black descendant did not dare to take it lightly. He had studied under the great master for thousands of years. At the beginning, there were more than 20 apprentices with him, and in the end he was the only one. One came out of this cave alive.

No one knew the horror of each other better than him.

"Biltram, long time no see."

The Grandmaster Haemophile had a genial smile on his face, and his tone was as friendly as he was taking care of his younger generation. Then he came to the huge chair and sat forward.

Immediately afterwards, a man walked in with two teacups in his hands.

"Stop standing, sit down."

"Yes."

Sitting carefully in the chair, Beartram did not drink tea, just waiting for Urian Lacarte to speak.