Anger, which is sweeter than a drop of honey, rises from a person's chest like smoke, boiling, burning.

Morgan remembered from which book she had read the phrase, as if it were a mottled ancient book on Ahriman's shelf, but she remembered it no doubt.

And at this time, she felt it just as clearly.

——————

Wrath......

She felt it, so clearly, so violently, so madly.

So...... Amusing.

——————

The silver-haired lady sat upright on the false chair, she unbuttoned her hair, her long silky hair running like a snake on her back and wrists, turning into armrests and chairbacks, and the tips of her hair became mischievous pets to pass the time when it was inevitably boring.

Morgan's eyes were half-squinted, his blue pupils hidden in the thick eyebrows, constantly watching the actions of the dark angels in front of him: Aracus was obviously an experienced commander, and after a brief hesitation, his voice echoed in the cold air, directing the dark angels to drag the space wolves to those places that would not get in the way, while the other soldiers of the First Legion were on the periphery, holding the key points in their own hands: the war was not over, at least not completely, In the smoke outside the fortress, the sound of intermittent firefights could still be heard.

Morgan even noticed that Aracios's attention was always focused on the remnants of the wall behind her, where the sound of the Gene Prototype was still fighting, and even Johnson could be heard shouting angrily from time to time: this was the biggest reason why the Dark Angels were honestly here, they were sure that their Gene Father was still safe and sound, and they knew that even if they rushed in, they would not be able to help.

In the same way, as soon as the fighting behind the broken wall ceased, Arachos would immediately cross the thin red line and go to his genetic father: he would not hesitate to even if it meant the possibility of a conflict with the terrifying psyker in front of him.

In the burning heart of the dark angel, Morgan saw this.

She certainly wouldn't stop it.

After all, just like in front of her only blood relative at the moment: Johnson, the Spider Queen's occasional waywardness and brutality in front of the First Legion is nothing more than a never-ending temptation.

It's just that in front of the Caliban Lion, who already knows Morgan, his blood relatives can naturally be more casual and willful because they have no secrets about him.

And in front of the First Legion, who didn't know much about Morgan, as a mortal henchman of the Lion King, a powerful alpha-level or even higher-level psionic person, naturally still had to maintain a certain degree of reserve and arrogance, and even relying on the gradual growth of the Legion Master's [arrogance], it was understandable.

And all the willfulness, arrogance and arrogance, are just the tentacles that Morgan has extended to Johnson and the First Legion.

Morgan always wanted to know and grasp how much of her authority, her degree of freedom, her status and identity, the maximum possibilities she could allow her mind and mind to act in this powerful collective, and whether she could go further.

After all, her instincts told her that she seemed to have a relatively long relationship with Johnson and the First Legion.

And it is precisely in this constant observation and exploration that Morgan gradually discovers an interesting thing: perhaps the Dark Angel is not as reverent as Johnson is to Magnus, nor is he like an ant like the Iron Warrior to Peturabo, but even the most arrogant Dark Angel veterans, their words and deeds are inadvertently moving closer to their genetic prototype, although they may not like him in their hearts.

The influence of the Genetic Prototype on the Legion seemed to be stronger than she imagined, and no matter what Astarte's sense of the Prototype was, they seemed to congenitally regard the cognition and behavior of the Prototype as some kind of natural truth and reality law.

For example, when the Genogen of the First Legion unabashedly professes his trust in his mortal advisors, Morgan can feel the respect and etiquette that prevails on the Indomitable Truth for her in the days that follow.

If until then, these veteran warriors had only acknowledged her psionic powers, now they were indeed expressing the closest thing to respect for Morgan's very being.

Obviously, even in the First Legion, where the image of the genetic prototype is not so strong, Johnson's words and deeds can still easily change the attitudes and thoughts of the vast majority of soldiers, which is like an imprint in some kind of blood.

Morgan secretly noted this.

She believes that one day, she will use this.

And this is just one of her gains during this time, using the Dark Angel Legion as a template, supplemented by a glimpse of the Thousand Sons Legion and the Iron Warrior Legion, Morgan analyzes the magical chemistry between the genetic prototype and the Legion in her heart.

She wasn't too worried about the harm of her actions: as long as she was still the blood relative who did the job well, as long as she was still the extremely powerful psyker, as long as she was still the backbone of the legion who walked in the center of the battle line and directly or indirectly saved thousands, if not tens of thousands, of Dark Angel veterans, her little wayward behavior would naturally be laughed at.

After all, whether in Johnson's eyes or in the eyes of the dark angels, there are thousands of emergencies in the galaxy, which are more troublesome and require full attention than the lazy willfulness of this Miss Persian cat.

Especially after Johnson showed his trust in Morgan, even the anti-psionic veterans around her have gradually dispersed, and Morgan can walk freely in the fleet, or carry out his own small business.

For example, the perception of emotions.

Thinking of this, Morgan couldn't help but feel a sense of comical logic about fate and success or failure, she really didn't expect that a whim after a failure would become a key thrust for her to grasp the first step.

Maybe she should thank the mortal, the gray-bearded old man Duran who died under her sword, what was his name?

Forget it, it doesn't matter.

She bowed her head, thinking to herself, and at that moment a violent thud came from behind her, like two huge hammers smashing through the rotten walls and tearing the whole room.

Morgan raised an eyebrow.

She looked up and saw that Arachos was watching her too, and the Dark Angel didn't act immediately, for the roars and battles soon followed by the crash sounded again.

Driven by curiosity, Miss Persian secretly probed her spiritual energy and observed some of the situation inside.

……

Tut......

Then, she reconnected to Arachos' gaze and smiled silently, emotionlessly.

[For the sake of certain established perceptions and glorious images in your mind, knight. 】

"I don't recommend you go in now. 】

——————

Fight.

A never-ending battle.

Needless to say, only fight.

No one compromises.

And no one backed down.

Johnson wielded his lion sword, almost numbly squeezing the last shred of strength out of his arms, his two hearts throbbing at an accelerated pace under the urging of his unwavering will, commanding every muscle and nerve to strike one more time, one more round, one more attack.

Both arms and legs were already as stiff as steel, as heavy as mountains, but the lion was stronger in will and steel, more stubborn than mountains, and he ruthlessly commanded his body: keep fighting.

On the other side, the situation of the Lord of Fenris is not the slightest optimistic: Ruth's limbs are already scarred, especially the wound on his right leg, which has obviously affected his rhythm and speed in battle, obviously, in the contest of swordsmanship and skill, the Fenris are far from being the opponent of his Caliban brothers, although he can also hurt his lion brothers, but compared to Johnson's counterattack, these injuries are not worth mentioning.

But despite this, rage and fury still sustained his onslaught, and each of his sharp blows forced Johnson to concentrate all his energy on the fight: the Fenris was far more burly and strong than his brother, he could take more damage, and his savage attack was effective even if it was just one hit.

Russ threw a heavy punch, rubbing the already tattered lion helmet, and smashed it against the marble statue behind Johnson, which probably weighed a ton, and in an instant, the precious exhibit was completely smashed to pieces with a blow from the original genogen, and while the masonry was flying, Johnson also seized the opportunity, grabbed Ruth's outstretched arm, and pushed his brother into the wall on the other side: and in all these moments, their other hand was also clenching their respective swords, constantly biting and trembling in mid-air.

The torrential rain poured down, mixed with the sultry breath in the dark red clouds, and constantly smashed down on the armor of the two primitives, and the already broken walls continued to disintegrate in the heavy rain, revealing the fragile interior, and even making this viewing platform less safe and private, but despite this, the two legion masters still had no intention of stopping.

Now, the battle was sustained by pure rage, they had long forgotten the cause of the fight, and the warrior's pure soul and anxious desire for victory sustained them, launching unthinking attacks again and again.

Johnson and Ruth, they fought and clashed, their tall figures lingering on the left and right sides of the platform, until there was another brief separation: the knight king of Caliban had managed to catch a slip in his brother's errand, and his blade had forced Ruth all the way to the side wall of the viewing platform: the place, damaged in the previous battle, had collapsed in half under the impact of the rainstorm, revealing the staircase in another room, and the space half the floor below.

Johnson rushed forward and continued to engage his brother with his broadsword, while at the same time, his other hand grabbed the black wolf skin on Ruth's body, but the sheer force tore the fur apart, leaving only the intricate rune pendant to fall to the ground with a clang.

Ruth seized the opportunity and slammed headlong into his brother, the two primordials grinding each other's swords back and forth with their faces almost face to face, slamming against the crumbling walls around them.

Finally, under the impact caused by another confrontation, the side wall that had long been unsupportable completely collapsed, and even part of the floor was involved, implicating the two original bodies who refused to take a step back.

Johnson and Ruth, at this moment, they twisted together under the influence of gravity and slippery friction, and the power armor between them had hooked together, and the two primordial bodies fell on the stairs like an irregular iron ball, rolling all the way down, smashing through the fragile building, falling into the lower space, splashing up patches of dust.

But at the moment they stopped, the two primordials who had separated again had already struggled to get up, and the anger in their eyes still did not diminish in the slightest, but the lion sword had disappeared in the chaos just now, and Kraken Devourer didn't know which one to roll into.

In the next moment, both men clenched their fists, and then, like pure beasts, they roared utterances and charge again.

This time, there is no art to fight, no rules of fighting, and the two once-great and intelligent primordials have become beasts driven by utter anger, and their only desire now is to knock their opponents to the ground and win.

The two men scuffled together, each of them waving their fists, the whip legs protected by iron boots were tiger in the air, the ground was full of slippery breath when it rained, one was not careful, and the two genetic prototypes both fell to the ground, and then, they didn't care to get up, so they tore each other on the ground, beaten, rolled around in the dirt, and smashed a fist in the face of the opposite side, adding their own spit by the way.

Blood was constantly dripping from the worn-out power armor, mixed with mud, and at this moment, neither Johnson nor Ruth looked like great people who could command the legion and the kingdom, but like two gangsters, two drunks, two fools juggling in the heavy rain.

Finally, Ruth, who was superior in brute strength, ate Johnson's blow hard, and then punched him in the temple, which was a successful blow, he completely broke the lion helmet, and even Johnson fell into a brief confusion and sluggishness, Ruth seized the opportunity, he struggled to get up, kept sliding on the muddy ground, and finally grabbed one of Johnson's arms and threw him out.

Johnson slammed against the wall, and for a moment he didn't get up, which was undoubtedly a good chance for victory, but when Ruth really stood up, he saw the puddle under his feet, and saw his condition: scarred, his hair was scattered, and the pain was tearing at every joint and muscle of him, and it was so painful that even his wolf skin had been rudely torn apart, and all that was left was nothing more than pieces of tattered garbage.

He looked at Johnson again: his situation was even worse.

……

……

What are they doing?

For a moment, the question crept into Ruth's mind, and then spread like a virus, and the wolf king of Fenris stood still, motionless.

He stayed for a while.

Then, he smiled.

A tidal wave of laughter came from the wolf king's throat, and it was a wave of joy and absurdity dancing in his chest, and he just stood there, laughing.

At the very least, he didn't seem to be angry.

Johnson staggered to his feet, most of his face covered in blood, but his gaze was still blazing like a torch.

What are you laughing at? 】

He stepped forward and stumbled into his brother, fists clenched.

Ruth seemed to be stunned for a moment before realizing that his brother was asking, and the wolf king was also struggling to stand, his body a little crooked at this time, because it seemed that one of his ribs was almost broken.

"Emperor's egg, brother."

Ruth laughed, laughing louder and louder, coughing as he laughed, constantly spitting out large patches of blood in his throat.

"What are we doing? Brothers? ”

Johnson shook and walked in front of the Wolf King, half of his body illuminated by the flames of war still burning outside, like a blood knight hidden in the darkness.

【Ling...... Vote or not...... Surrender? 】

“…… What? ”

[You, vote, no, vote, drop! 】

“…… What are you talking about? ”

[This! Be! A! Duel! 】

……

It's just insane.

Ruth couldn't take it anymore, he threw up his head and laughed heartily.

Whether it is the mission of the executioner, the Great Expedition, the diseases in the legions, the political entanglements between the primordials, or even the fate of the human race, they have all been left behind at this moment.

Fuck, crazy.

Both of them, both of them are crazy, they are just crazy together, like two brainless biggest fools.

Just like Magnus.

He laughed until he couldn't laugh anymore.

"Do you know what we look like now?"

"Brother, we're like ......"

"Two stupid big dumb melons."

Ruth spat out the words, and then, he thought about laughing again, laughing madly to the end of time for the sheer pleasure he hadn't seen in a long time.

Then, he saw Johnson's stumbling steps.

He saw the fist raised high and stained with blood.

He saw it......

"Bang!"

With a swing of the iron fist, the tall, unguarded body of the original body fell, and Johnson looked at his brother, at his silly face that was still smiling before he was knocked unconscious.

He spat out, and the last of his weak words slipped into Riemanrus's ears like a wisp of smoke.

——————

[You're the dumb melon.] 】

(End of chapter)