The Emperor’s Angel of Death

When he died in her hands, Marcu trembled.

Even through the dimming vision, he still noticed the damage to her helmet and breastplate—the armor had torn apart, allowing some smelly alien blood to flow out.

He only managed to graze her a few times with more than forty explosive shells from his heavy explosive gun. Although there was no direct hit, the explosion burned her-even if it did not maimed her as he hoped.

"Go to sleep."

She stroked him with her voice, gentle, but somehow taunting.

Markushen grabbed the spear that pierced his chest, pulled it hard, and moved half a meter closer to her, feeling the harsh rubbing sound of the metal rod, rubbing against his damaged chest cavity and scorched. meat.

"Go to sleep."

She spoke again, and put on a laugh, which was a deep and melodious laugh, which only made Markushen's teeth bite together harder.

He grabbed it again, pulled it again, but barely moved—power and blood were running away from him.

She swung the spear back, and the pain when she withdrew was far worse than the brown crackle when she pierced in.

There was nothing to support him, and Makushen's legs stiffly fell to the ground, and the sound of the impact of his armor echoed in the air.

For a while, he lay down like a fetus, trying to breathe in the air that he couldn't breathe.

His eyesight has turned gray on the edge.

She walked past him, waking him up with the swish of her boots.

In his sight, she was just a vague figure, but the training allowed him to see the specific information he needed.

Accompanied by a roar of hard work and pain intertwined, Makuchen moved at the fastest speed in his life, and faster than ever.

He swung out the short sword in his hand, intending to pierce Lord Phoenix's right leg.

But his strength has been lost too much, making the blow seem slow and weak.

"Poor pest."

She laughed, turned her head and pierced his chest with a spear a second time.

Ma Kuchen grinned at her, his last breath almost disappeared, and the soldiers of the Eighth Legion stared into the eyes of Lord Phoenix and said the last words.

"Haha, you can never catch the prophet..."

Then, the fire of his life burned out.

———————————

Lukovus landed in a dusty mist, one of his arms was gone, and his armor was damaged in many places.

But he was still alive, and Lord Phoenix could not kill him.

Valer ignored the Raptor, standing in the rain, breathing filtered air in the sealed armor.

"I saw them."

The Raptor spoke.

"They crawled westward out of the surface on the battlements."

Valer immediately started running, Lukovus was smiling, and the Raptor's engine regained power.

After a few seconds, Lukovus attacked the rubble from behind, grabbed his shoulder guard and lifted him from the ground.

Valle doesn't like flying, but he doesn't like any bird of prey-but this is undoubtedly the fastest way.

"Ok?"

When Talos first saw Valler, it was not that the apothecary was thrown roughly to the ground from above.

The pharmacist finally landed on both feet, and Lukovus landed more calmly, his claws grabbing the curved and sloping battlement wall.

When Valer stood up, Talos approached the pharmacist.

"I want an answer, Valer, I want it now."

"My explanation may take some time."

"Are Septims and Ottavia still here? In this world?"

"They should be gone, and it will take time to explain."

"Brother, we lack a lot of things, such as ammunition and hope, where is the Diablo?"

"It may never come back."

Valle answered regretfully, but Talos did not show any disappointment.

"Everyone move into the bunker, don't let her find out, act now, Valle you come with me. Start to explain."

Cyrion began to run wild in the rain, his boots crunching on the rocky ground.

It is not difficult to find a shelter in this huge fortress. Although it is a prison, it is actually more like an abandoned city made up of gravel and inclined walls.

He ran for a few minutes and finally stopped, and came to a ruined slope, where the wall was the barracks, next to the battlements.

The lord at midnight began to climb up, his handguards knocked and scratched on the stone, the stone was too smooth in the rain to catch.

"Have you noticed that when we lose a war, it always rains? The gods have a strange sense of humor."

Cyrion’s sneer, no one answered a word.

Valer spoke afterwards, but only to Talos.

"This world is a grave."

Talos responded softly.

"For the legion, for the hundreds of spirit races who died there tonight."

Then the prophet connected to the public channel communication.

"All the fierce claws, all the souls of the Eighth Legion, this is Talos, if you are still alive, answer me."

Only a silent answer, the cold passing through the communicator made Talos feel as if he was yelling at the cemetery.

Maybe Macarion was also dead, the thought made him shudder.

For a while, Talos just looked at his tactical retina.

Charles, Markushen, Uthas... everything faded gradually, everything fell silent, everything was gone.

"Valel, this is not me. I doubt if there will be a prophet who will stand up and unite the Eighth Army, but if there is, it won't be me. I can't even unite with the First Claw.

"Hey."

Cyrion interrupted him immediately.

"Even in the best of times, we are a group of difficult people to get along with."

"I'm serious, Valer, what you expected was not me, not me... Look at me, brother, tell me, do you believe that I can unite thousands of murderers, traitors, thieves, and assassins? I actually Unlike what they thought, I don’t want to be one of them anymore. They deserve to die! This has always been a shortcoming of the Legion, so we deserve to die too."

"Your loyalty to your brother is commendable, but you are too pessimistic."

Valer tried to appease the prophet.

"Do not."

Talos shook his head and took a step back.

"I'm telling the truth. When it comes to this'prophet', in the era after the rebellion, we still have many such legends, which we call the melting pot omen, although some company commanders have never confirmed these. , But whether this is destined or not, I am not that prophet."

Valer nodded, and Talos saw his thoughts in his brother's pale eyes.

"Pharmacist, you have considered another option, I am sure."

"This concept has been with me since I gave you a physical test."

Valer took off his helmet.

"If a child has your genetic seed implanted in his body, then he will have all the qualities to be a strong prophet."

"You are guessing."

"Yes, but it is a good guess."

Cyrion cursed them on the ramp.

"If we really want to go, can we go now?"

Lukovus also climbed the ramp, but Talos and Valle did not move.

"Do you know what the Primarchs said to me a few hours before his death? He said that in the years after his death, many people will claim to lead the legion, and many will claim that they are designated by the Primarchs Successor, but he doesn't care at all...I hate this legion, Valer, do you really believe that I care about what happens to you when I die?"

The pharmacist stood motionless, and Talos took a breath.

"Sometimes, I can almost feel the feeling of Primarch, Valer, the war will last forever, and at the same time, we have to endure betrayal... We hide, we run, we raid and ambush, we sip the enemy’s blood , We also suffered endless cannibalism, my mother died in front of me, but I didn’t know her face! In the last century alone, I killed my own nineteen brothers, almost all for this Ownership of the sword, or a stupid duel for wounded pride! I don’t want to unite the Legion, I hate the Legion! Not because of what it is, but because of what it makes me into!"

On this dying night, Talos could finally speak out of the anger he had buried in his heart for ten thousand years without any scruples.

He, Talos Valcoran, has always hated Lord Midnight, hated the Eighth Legion, and hated himself even more.

Valier still didn't say a word, he didn't seem to be shocked, but he didn't have the desire to speak at all.

"Now, there is only one thing I want."

As Talos said, he tore up the emblem of the Eighth Legion and the winged skeleton with his bare hands.

This move shocked both Cyrion and Lukovus, because in the past, such a move meant rebellion, which meant that the soldier was about to abandon his identity and his belonging.

"I only want the alien head, I want to put it on her spear, in the center of the ruins, in the name of Talos."

As he said, he turned and walked towards the ramp.

"I must get it, Valle, you better hide it, whether I am alive or dead tonight, you are welcome to come for my genetic seed when the dawn comes."

Valer stood in the rain ~www.readwn.com~ and tried his best to restrain the urge to follow.

"Talos--"

Suddenly, the voice of the pharmacist was blocked.

The Prophet looked back and found that Valle's body suddenly began to bleed, and the tip of a black spear protruded from his chest.

In the next second, the pharmacist began to roar. This was the first time Talos heard such a loud noise from Valler's mouth.

After that, he covered his **** mouth with his hand, as if he could stop the blood of life gushing from his mouth.

But the spear suddenly pulled out and threw him back.

"Uh..."

Valer shook half-dead, and the bionic leg gave off a crackling spark of protest-its fragmented system tried to restore balance.

When Valer fell,

The remaining three midnight lords have begun to run at full speed.