Johnson took a deep breath.

He felt the circulation of the air, sniffing carefully at the smell of blood and decay carried by the icy breeze.

He loves it.

From the first time he rode on a giant horse, galloping through the jungles of Caliban with a new attitude and identity, he loved the feeling, the most primitive smell of blood flowing and corpses rotting.

It made him feel relaxed.

The Lord of the Dark Angels gently pushed open the door carved with countless blasphemous decorations in front of him, he knew what he was about to face, from the dazzling sculptures and portraits of the knights' castles of yesteryear, to the savage sounds of the deep forests of Caliban, to the roars, blood and burning that crossed the stars, what he had to face remained the same.

Iron boots filled with blood and broken bones stepped on the equally hard floor, and the door was pushed open when the cold wind pushed Johnson's shadow into the center of the hall, against the most terrible ...... Creature.

The genogen looked up, and at a glance he saw the monster that had been completely twisted and deformed.

Monsters, Behemoths, Cannibals......

The world calls them all sorts of things, but in his eyes, they have only one name.

Prey.

[Manipulator], in the vast sea of stars, there have been countless throats in countless worlds in endless fear and madness to convey this title, it was once the most terrifying of the countless shadows that Ran Dan cast on this galaxy, the most blasphemous of the alien army, it and its fleet: the wave of destruction containing the movement of a battle moon and a hundred capital ships, is enough to make Johnson personally plan, plan, and even bleed.

And now, it's time to harvest.

The end has come.

But not his.

——————

Johnson walked slowly, all sorts of anti-psionic energy adorning his armor rubbing against each other, and from time to time there was a crisp crashing sound, and the lenses of the souls of the Randan warriors that symbolized them were now mostly shattered, turning into scattered fragments all over his feet.

His pace was slow, steady, and the terrifying creature roaming the hall was limiting his speed: the most chaotic psionic energy that had gathered tens of thousands of wills had become some kind of invisible pressure, making every step of the protogen's life seem like a mountain on its back.

But that didn't stop him, and Johnson's gaze wandered over the distant monster, searching for an angle that could kill him.

It wasn't until he got close enough that he put on his helmet, so that the last weak areas were surrounded by layers of protection.

Ran Dan's Warlord, or rather, his newest prey, was slumped atop the throne and its staircase, its body already fused with its arrogant stronghold, like a python that had swallowed a steel pine tree alive, roaring in pain between flesh and metal.

Johnson could see that the distorted face, the already desecrated and ugly alien head was now being pulled wantonly, turning into some kind of horrific portrait that would make the strongest warrior lose his courage in an instant, and it was covered with flesh and blood eyes, which were constantly moving, emitting a series of changing roars, and when one of them caught Johnson's figure, in an unprecedented roar of excitement, all the dozens of pairs of eyes stared at him frantically.

The next moment, the most majestic offensive came.

It was the wanton howling and gnawing of tens of thousands of souls.

And the [male lion] is still some distance away from his prey.

——————

Invade.

Johnson felt that it was a frenzied offensive with no rules to speak of, but with his heavy strength, it was still enough for him to pay attention to.

The Manipulator has completely lost the ability to speak and act, he is like a large mass of flesh that is dying, but not dead, and still exudes a stench of flesh, which can only keep roaring and hissing, becoming a complete beast.

But even so, its only means of attack, the impact formed by the entanglement of tens of thousands of uncontrolled souls, still made Johnson's body tremble involuntarily.

The Behemoth-Slayer of Caliban listened as the most vicious of the dead wandered beyond his will, tearing at the barrier he had used to protect himself from his secrets, leaving a terrifying soul scar.

For a moment, he even felt like he was fighting against an equal opponent, and in the process of constant impact and resistance, countless souls screamed and pounced on his soul kingdom, and the anti-psionic devices were almost useless to these arrogant dead people, who screamed and crashed to make the ocean of consciousness begin to pour and boil.

And Johnson is still advancing, steadily advancing step by step.

He walked from the center of the shattered crystalline star to the monster's eyes until he could see every inch of it in detail.

Psionic behemoths with tens of thousands of heads and thoughts still screaming, struggling, roaring incessantly looking for a way to break through the original brain.

But it doesn't stand a chance.

[Enough. 】

Johnson raised his great sword.

Only one sword.

That's the end of it.

The huge head flew up, and along with the shattered blood and churning flesh, it drew a trace of crimson and bloody white in the shattered starry sky.

Johnson watched silently as the head of another giant beast crashed to the ground, a flash of color flashed in his eyes, a fleeting sense of immersion and satisfaction.

He's making the hunt.

He enjoyed the hunt.

——————

Blasphemous blood flowed to the ground, staining the steel boots of the First Legion's genetic protoplasm.

Johnson stood in front of the dead beast, and next to his ears were countless subtle sounds, that is, tens of thousands of alien souls were splitting and dying because of the fall of the dependents.

He didn't care where they were going, at least, in the real universe, within the reach of his blade, they were no longer a threat to the Human Empire.

The Genogen lowered his head and stared at Ran Dan [Battle Marshal] who had fallen at his feet.

With the disintegration of countless souls, this powerful wizard who had been plotted by despicable means finally revealed its true face: the so-called Ran Dan [Battle Shuai] was not a tall and sturdy individual, its body was rickety, like a curled dwarf, but even so, Johnson could still feel the majestic power of sorcery in it that no one could ignore.

He could also feel that with the complete death of this alien, its original majestic power was rapidly draining away at an incredible speed, as if it had been sucked alive by the land under his feet.

Instead of paying attention to these little things, he began to think about other, more important things.

This is something he has been thinking about for a long time, and the hunt just now with some twists and turns has made him pick up and continue this kind of thinking.

Perhaps, he needs a target...... Training object.

A controllable, powerful psyker.

Although he didn't have any great talent for the vast ocean, and he didn't have much interest, it was undeniable that there were as many wizards and psionic overlords in the galaxy as there were stars, and most of them had no idea of submission or submission to the Empire, let alone any kindness to humanity.

He needs to train, he needs more practice.

In order to hunt the aquatic behemoths, the knights had to learn how to get rid of the muskets and heavy armor that were useless in the rivers, learn the technique of direction and balance in the raging rapids, learn the rhythm and correlation between the high tide and the dry period, and finally, how to chop off the sinister heads of the aquatic behemoths with their great swords.

It was a long, tedious, and indispensable process, and for thousands of years, countless Caliban beast hunters had told everyone with their blood and sorrow that the greatest danger was never the cunning and minions of the beasts, but the knights' loss of respect, patience, and vigilance for the hunt itself.

A rushing current, a change in the direction of the wind, or a flock of frightened birds......

There are far more knights who have fallen to the claws of the behemoth because of these little things than those who have been defeated in a frontal battle.

Hunting is not a simple and reckless thing to do.

Never.

It requires complete preparation, the most complex, the least attentive and the most nitpicking.

He doesn't make those mistakes.

He didn't allow it.

When Johnson turned around and left the already worthless temple, he had already confirmed a new demand and goal.

He needed a psyker, a strong and safe enough sparring partner for him to experiment with how to resist and kill the sorcery overlords.

Just as he had practiced the art of fighting in the water to hunt down the man-eating beasts that lurked in swamps and lakes, he needed to understand the power of so-called psionic and sorcery, and understand their workings and powers.

He didn't expect to be a psionic scholar like Magnus, but he had the power, the plan, and the skill to kill a being like Magnus who broke the laws of physics.

He needed an imaginary enemy.

He could not be an Astarte, and preferably not, because an angel of death always meant trouble: among his heirs, he could not think of a figure in the spiritual realm if he gave him a great threat.

Some of the Astartes of the other legions may be able to do this, but their identities are sensitive, and it is difficult to carry out the secrecy steps necessary after the secret operation of the Dark Angel.

So, he stored the idea in his head for the time being, waiting for the right opportunity to reactivate it, knowing that he didn't need to handle it himself, he just had to entrust it to the right people: to multiple people, to listen to multiple reports and suggestions, just like before.

He walked out of the hall and watched as the five hundred people gathered silently at the door of the hall, seeing that the heir who had been ordered to leave had brought the mortal psyker and the warriors of the Second Legion with him.

Everything is going according to plan.

A cold sense of satisfaction and pride worked in the heart of the genetic proto.

This smugness lasted for a few moments, until a dark angel walked up to him in silence.

"My lord has ...... news from the Indomitable Truth that a new fleet is leaping from the Stargate, and their fleet is commanded by ...... Luther. ”

"The Indomitable Truth wants to know if this is part of your plan."

The Dark Angel asked questions, and soon, he was answered.

The low air pressure centered on the [Male Lion], which suddenly became gloomy, swept away in the blink of an eye.

【…… Luther? 】

Well, it doesn't look like it.

The Dark Angel lowered his head and didn't speak again.

——————

When Morgan first met Magnus, he was immersed in everyday arrogance.

When Morgan first met Perturabo, he was immersed in endless data and planning.

And when Morgan first met Johnson, she saw nothing but a sword burning with rage.

[Luther? 】

[I didn't order him to come.] 】

[That idiot! What's he doing! 】

The sound was like a decapitating greatsword, and drops of blood dripped down everyone's faces with every word.

The five hundred, all the five hundred, bowed their heads and silently, they stood to the left and right of Johnson, allowing the anger of the genetic prototype to burn in an instant.

And in front of this dead forest built by countless iron giants, the two silver figures that walked into the vision of the genetic prototype step by step were particularly dazzling.

Morgan let Hector go ahead, and she stayed in the shadow cast by the tall warrior, watching Johnson's silhouette appear little by little in her vision.

Then, there was a little accident.

When Johnson's furious gaze shot at them mercilessly, Hector's steady pace stopped for a moment, as if a small carnivorous beast was being watched by the top predator in the deep forest, his knees, calves, and even his head trembling involuntarily.

The almost fearless Astarte thus froze in the primordial under the gaze of the protogen, turning into a trembling mass of metal.

But Johnson didn't have time to deal with his strange appearance, and the knight king of Caliban soon walked over, and after a brief look at Hecht, he moved his gaze to the mortal who exuded the smell of witchcraft.

[Did you send the message?] 】

Johnson's appearance is reflected in Morgan's pupils: long golden hair and beard, emerald green eyes, hard brow bones and the bridge of the nose create a dangerous face, he wraps himself in cold camouflage and containers, but he still can't hide the anger inside, and there is something more primitive and pure......

Wildness.

Morgan smiled and curtsied.

Yes, Your Excellency. 】

[Well done...... You two, you're doing a good job. 】

The Genogen nodded, his attention obviously not focused here, his gaze casually on Morgan's body, but not further, which made him miss some kind of opportunity, which made him not notice something that was not quite right in the fleeting part of the mortal in front of him.

The wails gathered at the feet of this mortal in front of her seemed too loud, and her breath seemed to be carrying a dangerous dimension.

But Johnson didn't notice any of that.

He was burning with rage.

The lion's gaze soon focused on other places, his heart was enraged by some kind of offense, and it was burning with a flame that could consume the world: it was clear that there were people who disobeyed his orders and did not act according to his demands and will, and he did not care what caused them to choose to do so, but anything and offense would be punished.

As the sound of angry footsteps faded away, Morgan raised his head and watched as the [Lion] and a part of the five hundred people gradually disappeared into the end of vision, her pupils returning to dead silence and a certain smile shining.

She understood.

She understood what was burning in her heart.

That's a taboo.

That's fear.

It was the instinct of the soul screaming and being fully armed.

It was involuntary, the will to fight eager to do a good job in every means of defense.

That's the same kind.

She, with him.

Morgan, with Johnson.

In a sense, they are the same kind, beyond the so-called blood kinship between the genetic primitives, and more similar in soul and nature.

And what burned in her heart was the most natural emotion that would burst out after seeing a real, equally ruthless, equally indifferent, and equally unscrupulous [kind].

Is that......

Trying to beware of his instincts.

And......

Desire to triumph over his desires.

(End of chapter)