Lion.

Knight.

Butcher.

Chamberlain.

Dagger.

Greatsword.

Forest.

Forge furnaces.

As Leon-Johnson dragged his broadsword as he walked slowly, a myriad of words burst out in an instant as he paced, rushing through Morgan's mind like a tyrannical wave crashing against a fragile cliff.

It's an instinctive, uncontrollable judgment, a silent scream of all the senses in the body in the face of danger.

Dangerous.

More terrible danger than Magnus, more than Peturabo, more than any character she has ever faced.

Through the slit in the helmet, she could see Johnson's half-squinted eyes, like a male lion roaming in the afternoon sun, his turquoise pupils moving at will, shooting out a dangerous light.

Morgan reacted almost instinctively.

She stretched out a hand and poured out a few notes, and a violent hurricane whistled out from her fingertips, engulfing the temperature and air of the vast field in the blink of an eye, turning into waves powerful enough to destroy the mountains, causing the space that had been strengthened by anti-psionic devices to erupt with overwhelming sounds.

Johnson raised his eyelids and watched the storm that tore through his armor and skin, his frozen countenance not changed even a bit by the ferocious wave, and the genetic protogens of the First Legion only flipped his wrist, grabbed his greatsword, and swung a blow from the bottom to the top.

The claws of a beast tore through the tough linen, and a gruff sound exploded through the arena, marking the deathbed wail of the psionic winds of the Astarte team.

[I said...... Full. 】

[Whatever it takes, whatever it takes, you'd better understand these two words.] 】

Johnson looked up, and in his field of vision, Morgan was gone.

Then he heard a slight laugh.

[As you wish, Your Excellency. 】

After the wind was strangled, Morgan's figure had vanished in place, and Johnson rolled his eyes to spot her on the far other side of the arena.

In the sight of the genogen, Morgan took a deep breath, and the frozen frost spread out from the corners in all directions, the temperature in the arena dropped at a speed visible to the naked eye, the frost-white ice swallowed up the edge of each blade, and the drastic drop in temperature invaded the cracks in the armor, stabbing the senses of the genotype.

Johnson spat out a long string of hoarfrost, and with the obvious cooling, he could feel a slight lag in the joints of his arm, and the genogen gently turned his wrist, and the sensation disappeared.

Very good.

He looked at the psyker in the distance, waiting for her next move.

——————

At the other end of the arena, Morgan snapped his fingers, letting an invisible shell protect his body, and frowned.

At the sight of Johnson's giant-like body, she almost instinctively began to whisper about the biochemical psionic powers: overloading blood, popping hearts, or letting blind darkness sweep over the senses of enemies, these physical-focused spells are best suited to such indestructible opponents.

But the next moment she reacted, such a method is useless for Johnson, the same genetic prototype, Morgan knows very well what kind of vague nature is contained under this human skin of her and Johnson, it is a strange creation that cannot be explained by any medical knowledge, it is Frankenstein who walks in the interstellar age.

Looking at Johnson in the distance, Morgan sighed.

The aura entrenched in the Ice Realm, which was large enough to freeze an army, spiraled up in endless space, like a dancing girl lifting the hem of her skirt and suddenly exploding on the staggered ice marks, spiraling out a thick wall of fog that obscured the entire arena.

Then, Morgan choked off a strand of hair and began his own plan.

——————

Johnson's eyes narrowed.

Although the fog was powerful enough to disturb the senses and instruments of the Astarte warriors, the lion's consciousness penetrated it without any significant resistance.

Through the mist, his consciousness grasped where Morgan was......

……？

…… More than one?

Front, rear, left front, right front...... Even the ceiling directly above him was filled with Morgan's almost unique cold aura, as if she had split a thousand ways in an instant, enveloping Johnson.

And in the next moment, Johnson knew that his hunch was correct, because thousands of attacks had already attacked him from all directions.

From the mist, the gates of Hades were opened by snickering thieves, and the whirlwind of death came from thousands of miles below, its whimpering with the most terrible power, intent on destroying everything before it.

First of all, it was lightning, it was thunder, it was the sound of heavenly punishment falling from the sky, accompanied by the rumbling sound and swept up millions of man-devouring currents, like the thunder gods above the wilderness raised their palms and clenched into crackling fists, inexorably trying to destroy the world, countless clouds and storms were wrapped and smashed down, accompanied by the most savage roars and singing.

And even more dazzling than the light of thunder and lightning was the flame, the ice-blue flame that never went out, it emerged from the endless frozen land, burning the deadliest heat on the lowest cold, like a joyful execution queen walking among her dead subjects, it screamed, and formed another ice-blue storm of heat, so that the endless space constantly jumped in the two poles of cold and heat, and thus converged into a sharp leather whip, torturing the joints and skin, not stopping even for a moment.

In the aftermath of the most intense firestorm, the air was filled with a smell of corrosion and foul odor, and only dark arrows were seen coming from the farthest corners, and as soon as the ordinary rain of arrows met with the blazing storm, it melted into a vicious stream in an instant, rushing at its target from the most insidious angles, the boiling bubbles and distorted air spoke of its power, and even Astarte's power armor had to succumb to the most corrosive turbulence.

Thunder, flames, corrosion, these three storms rampaged through the never-ending wall of fog, they swelled like gluttonous monsters, and in a few breaths they became behemoths that could squeeze the entire space and flog any individual, and every corner would suffer from this triple baptism, inescapable and inescapable.

And if that weren't enough, at the top of the room, there was the last net, a net that was slowly tightening, a net interwoven by invisible threads that covered the dome of the entire space, revealing the edge of the threads, enough to tear apart the peaks and legions.

Everything was formed in a few breaths, and in a single breath of Morgan, a smile, and a soft sigh, she stretched out her finger and clicked, and the time of these few breaths was deleted, and those vicious currents completed their expansion mission in an instant, becoming a nationwide instrument that pressed against the genetic primitive.

Johnson's blonde hair danced strangely from the few seconds it vanished, and he closed his eyes, moving his feet in the turbulence of thousands of manic, hot, or sour currents, letting the temperature shift back and forth between dry and freezing, leaving horrible scars on his power armor.

And that's not enough.

He opened his eyes, only to see that the swords, spears, and halberds that should have been placed on the edge were flying with the wind, and they stabbed the ground fiercely, and the endless ice was enveloped in them in an instant, and with a strange light, these weapons exploded like swollen birds' eggs, and out of them jumped out of them a dozen of the most deformed beasts that were purely driven by psionic energy, and the shortest of them was ten meters tall.

Johnson laughed, the corners of his mouth raised at a most stingy angle.

He looked up and watched it all.

The once vast arena has become a realm of purgatory that can only exist in the poems of endless heroes or hell: endless ice erodes the earth, releasing cold air hundreds of degrees below zero all the time, making his joints rattle occasionally.

Above the eternal realm of ice, the storm is like the whisper of death, wrapped in three arrogant forces, the thunder that falls from the sky turns into a tomahawk that destroys all things, the flames that sweep over it devour reason and body temperature, and the vicious filth flourishes in every corner of the sight, turning into thousands of sharp arrows that corrode his armor.

He turned his head, dodging the air-tearing slap, and then almost carelessly swung a knife that sent the meter-tall beast's head tumbling to the ground, frozen and corroded in the blink of an eye.

Killing and death completely aroused the ferocity of these psionic beasts, and these high-rise monsters roared incessantly, casting huge shadows, and in the wind, in the flames, in the thunder, in the rotten water of arrows, they pounced on Johnson.

The genoplasm watched it all.

He was laughing.

He was laughing from the bottom of his heart.

——————

When all this happened, the strand of hair that Morgan had pulled out had just fallen to the ground.

She blinked her dead pupils as she felt Johnson wander through thousands of deadly torrents of psionic energy, cutting off the heads of the behemoths one after another.

These little tricks might have wiped out the lives of a thousand Astartes in a matter of moments, but they were still too simple for such a dangerous genotype.

After all, it's just some involvement.

A glint flashed in her blue pupils, and she finally seized an opportunity as Johnson cut off almost all of his heads and ran towards the last and greatest psionic beast.

A flaw, no matter how small, is just a moment of preoccupation and no time to care about it when you devote all your energy to hunting and slaughtering.

That's enough.

Her soul was screaming, and the longbow that had been ready to fire couldn't wait to fire, shooting the sharp arrow of the spirit.

There were some difficulties, some obstacles, but in the end, she succeeded.

She entered Johnson's memory, his heart.

——————

Forest.

She saw a forest.

——————

She looked up, but she couldn't see the sun.

I only saw the dark green towering giant tree, which obscured all vision, leaving gaps in twos and threes, leaking a few rays of light like five fingers that were not together.

Everything is dim, but it doesn't seem to be so dim, and there seems to be some kind of light in the forest that covers the sky, so that people can see everything here clearly.

She rolled her pupils and began to observe everything around her, there seemed to be no living creature in the dense jungle, but she could hear the heavy breathing of the giant beasts, and she could feel the eyes of countless predators wandering over her skin.

But that's not the point, it's ......

Call......

A call, in the depths of the Caliban woods, in a corner that Johnson remembered, there seemed to be something calling to her, to her darkest side.

That seems to be ......

——————

[You! 】

【In!】 】

【What to do!】 】

——————

The hugest, most surging, and most irresistible force swung out like a tsunami, and Morgan's soul didn't even have time to think about anything more before it was suddenly knocked out of Johnson's world, and the wounded soul fragments roared all the way back to his body, and the bloody blood came out of his throat at once.

Rage.

Rage burns in the body of the genotype.

His eyes widened, his muscles bulged, the corners of his mouth pulled up, the roots of his teeth exposed, and his brow curled to release the most terrifying strength and will.

He turned, roaring and swinging his blade, an endless storm of steel unleashed with his rage, and the purgatory realm that could destroy a thousand Astartes trembled and fell apart under the boundless rage.

While Morgan was still suffering from headaches and coughing up blood from the impact, the black figure had rushed in front of her from the very center of the arena.

He lowered his head, his face had returned to seriousness, only the slightly wrinkled cheeks and the messy arena behind him told him what had just happened.

For your own sake, you'd better be clear about what you're doing. 】

Johnson watched the offended mortal in front of him regain his footing before he spoke slowly, his voice like a living iceberg.

Morgan looked a little wobbly, but she managed to hold her feet and bowed.

Execute your orders, Your Excellency. 】

Confusion paused on Johnson's face for a moment.

[Unscrupulous means. 】

[Whatever it takes. 】

As you commanded. 】

[As a psyker majoring in the psychic system, usurping and playing with memories is the most common and proud trick we use in battle, and if it is in a real battle, this will also be the deadliest part. 】

[Since the task I was given was to simulate the most realistic psionic battle scene, then I would naturally choose this kind of detection spell, because this is the things and dangers that will appear in real battles. 】

[An order is an order, and since I have received an order, I will do whatever it takes to carry it out.] 】

[Although it means danger.] 】

Johnson grimaced, his countenance looking no different from what it had just been, except for the ripples that had wrinkled with rage that seemed to have disappeared with time.

He seemed to want to say something, but in the end he didn't say anything, but even so, Morgan could see that he didn't seem to believe his words at all.

After an unknown amount of time, Johnson turned around and returned to the center of the arena.

His new orders also came with the bloody wind.

[Continue.] 】

(End of chapter)