"You're more punctual than I thought, Queen of the Witches."

"Just a moment ago, I almost thought I had failed: after all, most of us behind us had been lacking communication for too long, and the rift between our people was more terrifying than the terrible scars that erupted from the shattering empires of yesteryear."

“……”

"If you have something to say, say it! Prophet! ”

The rough voice did not come from the red-haired queen who surrounded the party, but from a conscientious servant beside her, a loyal, jealous, and ambitious handmaiden who bared her teeth at her host, as if to vent her jealousy of her master on him.

"Rest assured, Lady of the Comoros, I have arrived here for a difficult future and a great cause, in which you too have your place: from now on, perhaps, you will learn to be patient, to chew the grievances in your mouth into a bitter drink, and to savor the taste it gives you."

"If you keep nagging, I'm going to taste your blood."

The person who spoke on his behalf was different, but the voice and tone were no different.

Lilith-Heslapekos lifted her eyelids contemptuously and spat disdainfully at her former counterpart, her long, blood-stained rose-like hair, as tall as ever, almost falling all the way to the dust, like the softest bait to seduce anyone who dared to come to their door.

This is the most proud skill of the Witch Queen, who, for countless years in the gladiatorial arenas of the Comoros, has dreamed of victory by thinking she has caught the shortcomings of the Night Empress, and then crashed headlong into the deplorable and dead fool, enough to pile up a majestic spire.

The Queen of Blades, the Supreme Banshee of the Witch Cult, one of the most powerful individuals among the remnants of the Ancient Empire, is so mad, confident, and arrogant that Lilith proudly maintains the joy of hand-to-hand combat while all of her kind rely on ancient relics, twisted surgeries, and addictive drugs, not obsessed with drugs, not resorting to remodeling, or even disdaining to use more blades or weapons

For her: a barbed headband, a sports bra, stockings, and a thong were enough to support all her defenses, and the vast expanse of exposed skin was just a show off that she hadn't left a single wound in countless battles that were indistinguishable from suicide, all thanks to a piercing dagger and a curved broadsword.

As for more things, they are no different from burdens, just as in Lilith's eyes, the famous so-called prophet in front of her is no different from burdens.

Such a point of view is so direct and fiery that there is no concealment or concealment at all, and the host who invited the Witch Spirit Queen here did not say much about it.

The host, the Prophet, or rather, Eldrad from the Ark of Uth, maintained an astonishing etiquette and refinement, holding the Staff of Asmaar in his hand, and beneath that tall, ornate helmet was a thin face that remained almost eternally serious.

"You should have met my messenger, the Witch Queen, and you know the purpose of my invitation to you."

"Then you'd better say it again, Prophet."

The queen of the arena grinned, baring her sharp teeth.

"I never remember a word that comes out of the mouth of those weak birds."

"I see."

The Prophet of Uth was so calm that the Comorians were almost bored, and the equally fanatical, bloodthirsty, scantily clad followers who followed the Witch Queen began to look at the Uth Guardians behind Eldrade with the most obvious hostility.

The tension accumulated almost instantaneously to the point of triggering, but the two people standing in the center and really grasping the overall situation: the prophet of Usi and the queen of the Comorian arena, maintained the cold sobriety under their respective masks.

"I have summoned you here, for a commission, a commission to wield your blade and sprinkle the life and blood you love, about a successful raid and a terrible slaughter."

"Delegate?"

The queen of the Sect of Discord laughed silently: the fleeting smile was enough to drive countless rich and powerful people in the distant Comoros city crazy: the most elegant embodiment of the word death, the sexy and glamorous bloody work that Lilith wielded at her hand alone was a rare treasure among the Dark Eldars that only a few people could see.

So, behind her, another witch spirit stood up, commanding them with the slightest movement of the witch queen, and the tacit understanding that countless generations had enslaved.

"You know, Prophet, I don't need to be commissioned."

"If I want to taste blood, there will be a thousand arenas in the whole Comoros fighting each other for the seats that are open to me, and I can designate the best prey in the whole galaxy at will, and naturally there are a large number of slave trappers willing to serve me, as long as I stand in the gladiatorial arena, when have I ever lacked strong enemies and blood?"

"Only when I'm in the best mood and most interested will I team up with the lucky ones who have been selected to attack and slaughter in the land of mortal fools, and enjoy a relaxing holiday after a long absence, but like I said, it depends on my mood."

"Now, I'm not in that mood."

"I suppose your mood is depressed because of the lack of a strong man?"

Eldrad's voice was not so much a word of culture as a sentence without the slightest hesitation, and the offending truth made the Witch Queen raise her head instantly, her pupils exuding a horror like a hungry lynx, and dozens of witches behind her let out a roar of battle at the same time.

The voices and thoughts conveyed by the servants beside him have turned into anger in its purest form.

"I warn you! Prophet! Don't use your boring tricks on me! ”

"Do you think your prophecy has saved you? Do you think Usi's broken copper and iron can protect your head? If I wanted, I could take a piece of iron and cut off your eyes and mouth that didn't open the door! ”

"Do you think I can't do it!"

"Of course you can, ma'am, there's no doubt about it."

"Thou art the undoubted light of the light of the kind, the last distorted inheritance of the ancient spirit, hidden in the webs, and the remnants of self-depravity and endless decadence: no one can deny it, ma'am, nor can I."

"If it does discourage you, then I'm willing to apologize for what I did, and hopefully it won't disturb our rest of the conversation, like I said, it's important."

Eldrade stroked his mirror-like helmet, his words so flat and uncanny that it was impossible to tell whether it was a sincere apology or a cold-faced sarcasm, even though the Comoros blade, known for all the Ark, was only a very unsafe approach to his neck, but it still didn't disrupt his rhythm.

He knew that he saw the future, many kinds of futures, but none of them went wrong at this step: there were seven cases in which his envoys did not return at all, and in three cases, although his envoys returned, but his wounds were so severe and his life was in danger that he directly pronounced the death penalty for all subsequent activities.

But once things got to this point, once they began to meet, there was nothing to worry about: for the Witch Queen, no opponent would suffer more than Prophet Usi had expected, and he didn't have to worry about the demagogy of his words.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to continue our conversation."

Eldrade waited a few seconds, and he was not refused.

Everything was as he had foreseen.

Everything was like that...... The most terrible prophecy is the same.

The prophet of Uth gasped heavily in the depths of his heart, and at the thought of him glimpsing at that prophecy, his heart began to crumble continuously, and an unimaginable despair could not help but spread.

He knew that he had to stop the terrible future he had foreseen: whatever he needed to do for it, whatever he had to sacrifice for it.

"Listen to me, Queen of the Colosseum."

"As you sit in the blood of the dried-up weak, lamenting that the enemy is becoming weaker, have you ever wondered why this is happening?"

"Where you have not paid attention, where all the inhabitants of the Comoros have fled, where they have not seriously confronted, a child's play is being played out between every galaxy of the real universe, and that savage and short-lived race is once again pouring out of their so-called solar system, mercilessly destroying those who stand in their way, eager to re-establish their ruined ruins."

"They are enslaved and driven by a big lie, they are urged and guided by a fanatical dream, they impose pure belligerence and arrogance on the galaxy, longing that they will be the lucky ones who seize hope."

"But we have to admit that among them there are individuals, creatures that should not have belonged to them, who know the art of battle and war: this is the biggest reason why they are so rampant."

With a wave of his hand, the prophet of Uth unfolded a scene that seemed real to everyone: in the cold void, in the burning ruins, in the most vast and terrifying maelstrom of war, the monster called the Human Empire was devouring everything, brutally tearing apart all its opponents.

The unimaginable atrocities of war make the witches tremble with excitement, but their red-haired queen is looking at another, more important and unique individual: the tall, god-like warriors who are like towers of flesh and blood, easily crushing countless worthy opponents to ashes.

Eldrad's voice sounded, still calm, but unconsciously, there were some more induced fluctuations.

"You know."

"Genoplasma."

"Perhaps in Comoros, this was just a feast of conversation, a mockery of the Bloodling's crude of human technology: what ancient empire would have paid attention to everything in the real universe? These so-called human expeditions are, in the eyes of the Comoros, even longer than a formal feast and murder. ”

The prophet of Uth carefully controlled his words and instruments: in order to make his plans run smoothly, the videos depicting the heroic battles of the Genoplasms had been specially screened to show power enough to arouse Lilith's desire but also give her the illusion that she could be hostile.

It's a technical job.

Eldrad was silent, the faintest hint of repentance in his heart for deliberately murdering his kindred, but the thought of what he had seen, the thought of the ......

……

The hunger and thirst of the mortal world tore through the veils of the Spirit Ark, and hundreds of thousands or more of their fellow citizens turned into invisible screams......

The golden king was defeated in a game of chess, and a loud laugh clutched the Dark Prince's beloved daughter in his palm, longing for a feast......

The most despicable of kin-killers held the heads of seven brothers aloft, and one of the most terrible betrayals and lies opened up the darkness that swept across the galaxy......

……

……

No, no, no, no!

To stop everything he sees, everything he is doing now is reasonable.

Again, when the prophet of Uth convinced himself again, he heard the words of the witch spirit.

"Where are they?"

Eldrade smiled.

"They are scattered in all directions, and they are fighting on their own, my lady of the Comoros."

"But if you really want to know, I do know that there is a genogen who has just been reunited with his legion, and it seems that he is planning to travel to the Far Eastern Frontier of the galaxy......"

(End of chapter)