The Most High King of Silence, Szarak, Sotek, Menak, Neshirak......

Golden Mandala, Solenamus, Gidrin, Sanatos, Dedrazak's Bone Kingdom......

The Battle of Heaven, the Star Gods, the Deception, the Sad Fate, the Great Vengeance, the Children of the Enemy, the Past, the Future, the Perished, the Eternal, the Fearful......

Fear of the Dead...... Fear of the Dead...... Fear of the Dead......

The arrogant self-description, the glorious proof, the cold record, and finally the reverberation of the miserable madness: this is what Morgan saw in the depths of the megalithic tablet of Yemenga.

The tall stone tablet was written in dense arrogant words, like a huge scroll that had been longed for eternity at the beginning of the carving, and on the huge black stone surface that covered the top of the entire nest, the dark green runes brought the pride and loneliness of ten thousand years ago.

Clearly, countless mysterious, savage epochs ago, a great race once stood here, perhaps countless times more glorious in their hegemony than the empire of humanity, and easily held the entire galaxy in their own hands, with the power of gods enough to sustain them in the greatest dreams and wonders of the universe, and enough to help them fantasize about immortal kingship: until the day when the fate of all great races befell them.

Throughout the self-esteem, glorious exposition and praise and description of the dynasties and the Crown World, there are muffled words about decline that quietly appear, in the most obscure corners of the stagnation after the glory, of the end of the road brought about by internal contradictions, of the war, of the great, victorious, and wrong wars that cost them everything, of the war that burned the heavens.

One after another, one after another, one call, one unity, this is the stele's carver's boast of his race; Being outnumbered, playing tricks on fate, and falling short is his hasty whitewash of defeat and retreat; And it wasn't until the description of this battle in heaven stretched all the way to the very end that the [living gods] that they had unleashed by their own hands were described with a few strokes.

The Dreadors cursed the liars with all their vicious language, and haphazardly erased the contribution of these gods to the war, to whom they threw their tragic fate, and wrote in unimaginably detailed pages how they slain the high gods one after another with their strength, courage, determination, and wisdom in the years following the war in heaven: evidently they regarded this as the greatest pride of their race, And a real pinnacle.

But just as it grew after a fruitful autumn and the bitter cold of the winter winds, the feat of killing the gods did not bring a new round of glory to the dynasty of the Feared Dead, and those [sons of the enemy] were killed, and their strength and rise were not inferior to those of the original Fears, and in the face of an unstoppable wave, this ancient race also made a choice.

[Sleep, wait, revive.] 】

The Lord of the Second Legion whispered these words to herself, ending her reading of the long scroll in front of her: although she did not recognize any of the dark green characters on the stele, the memories that once belonged to Heydrich in her mind were inexplicably familiar with them, and the fact that most of these descriptions from countless eras ago were presented in images similar to paintings, made it easier for Morgan to read most of the contents.

She even saw a brief star map of the Milky Way at the end of the inscription, which was half ostentatious and half pragmatically depicted the land of the Empire of the Dreadnought, with countless suns and worlds as small as grains of sand to highlight the grandeur of the greatest crown worlds.

And on the side of these crown worlds, there are engraved standards that symbolize power, whether it is Szarak as the head of the dynasty, the bloody and terrible Menak, or the staggering wealth of Nishirak, and ......

Morgan frowned, she slowly reached out and stroked the area on the east side of the star map, under the washing of ten thousand years, those dark green runes have become blurred, but she can still see the symbol of the eastern galactic power.

The Sotek dynasty, the Dreadnoof or the third overlord of the space necromancers, is located on the far eastern frontier of the galaxy, in the vicinity of Avalon.

【…… Tut. 】

A big trouble.

A long-lost emotion, which had only been used when facing Emperor Randan, hit Morgan's heart at this moment, although she knew that this kind of thing was far from being irreparably bad, but she felt a heartfelt hatred at the thought of how much trouble and changes this symbol of grandeur would bring to her plans.

Especially when she was now in a strange ancient city that suppressed her soul and spiritual energy so much, this hatred made the already more and more emotions of the Lord of the Second Legion begin to unnaturally rise without wind and waves, and the vicious anger that had been suppressed began to test the dam of reason, waiting for the moment when the flood would be monstrous.

But, as always, Morgan kept them down and maintained the supremacy of reason.

At that moment, countless plans began to be born in the mind of the genotype, but in the next moment they were quickly abandoned, and the once brief understanding of space necrons was dug out of the remote corner of memory, and the more memories were made, the more frowning the progenitor's brow became.

Eventually, when the golden light that could be called for help slowly flashed through her mind, the genogen spat out half relaxed and half gave up, and stopped its meaningless worries.

Why should you be alarmed?

After taking a moment to sort out his feelings, Morgan stroked the stone tablet that glowed with a faint green light, and began to comfort himself: these ancient races had been sleeping for tens of millions of years, with no sign of their imminent awakening, perhaps they had all fallen asleep, or perhaps they would continue to sleep for countless years, staggering the dozens of epochs of her life.

I hope so...... As it should be......

Morgan closed her eyes, but just as she was comforting herself, she heard a sound that broke the harmony, the sound of the huge stone door in the doorway being moved, which filled the vigilance in the heart of the genogen.

Most likely, it wasn't her heir who made the sound: the genotype knew very well that the closer the space to the inside of the Yemenga megalith, the more the silent repression of the soul and psionic energy became, as if it were an unreasonable anti-subspace stance that disgusted and expelled all living objects.

And when they walked to the door of this room, only Morgan himself could step in, because even Lana, who was most eager to follow the original body, had to admit that the heaviness of this room was enough to endanger Astarte's life.

So, the Old Guard, obeying the orders of the genetic protogen, remained outside the gate and formed the last line of defense: they could not be the ones who made the sound.

So, who will it be?

Before the prototype turned around, her brain, which was more exaggerated than any computing instrument, lit up the question, and then, Morgan happened to see the scene: with the ancient mechanism and instructions running for some reason, the thick door that was originally open between the prototype and the old guard fell heavily in milliseconds without anyone reacting, and the black stone of unknown material separated the mother and the child, abandoning the prototype in a deep darkness. Only the cold glow of the dark green runes and large shadows were left.

The silence of the astonishment lasted less than a second, and the most chaotic shouts and voices rang out outside the gate, followed by a violent roar, the sound of all sorts of weapons being poured down on the gate, and the almost roaring dispatch of the chief old guard.

And just as the Dawnbreakers were trying to break open the door with all their might, there seemed to be a very unusual explosion in the distance, which foreshadowed a long-planned attack: Morgan knew this, for in the shadows in front of her, figures in broken human skins were emerging from the shadows one after another, standing in front of her.

The genogens recognized them, she recognized the dark-skinned killers, and in the memories of the spirits she devoured, the creatures called the Mandela, creatures that even the lords of the Comoros had great respect, free to roam through any shadow, hunting for the heads they desired.

It seems that this time, their prey is a genoplasm.

The Lord of the Second Legion flipped the axe in her hand, and it took her a moment to count her opponents in the shadows, and she couldn't help but frown when she spotted the figures surrounded by dozens of Mandela assassins.

["The Decapitator" Gala Zoka.] 】

"You've heard of me?"

Gerazoka didn't speak, but his question was accompanied by a latitude that was beyond the real universe, and he recalled it in front of Morgan.

The pitch-black pupils seemed to be more terrifying than the dozens of Mandela Assassins combined, and the four arms of the Blood Servants' altered arms each held a giant blade capable of killing Astarte with a single blow, the Decapitator, the chief of Mandela, and one of the most powerful and terrifying dark spirits in the galaxy.

Morgan smiled.

[Decades ago, you were the enemy of my blood relative Vulcan on the star of the Nocturne, and you escaped under the hammer of the enraged Vulcan: such a feat, it is hard not to be remembered. 】

[So, what are you doing in such a big fight in a world of space necromancy? 】

"I don't care about anything else, but my purpose is simple."

The decapitator pushed aside the Mandela clan in front of him and walked to the distant opposite side of the genotype, smiling, without the awe of the galaxy's apex predator.

"I'm working on a great project, human, and this plan requires skulls, inexhaustible skulls, the skulls of those appointed people of special value, and your skull, is the most important of them."

Can I have the pleasure of listening to this boring plan? 】

"That's none of your business, human."

"You just need to remember: I need the head of the god of pleasure closest to the galaxy."

"And you, that person."

In the face of these resolute words, only the coldest smile appeared on the face of the genetic prototype, she listened to the increasingly impatient knocking sound outside the door, and determined how long it would be before her heirs were needed, and then she realized that she had to deal with these little cubs by herself.

Well, although in this space, she can't exert much psionic power, but ......

Morgan flipped the axe.

Enough is enough.

You know, most people make the mistake of common sense and ignore the fact that Morgan is indeed a psyker who knows all the world, but without that powerful psyker......

She's also a genetic proto.

——————

"Hold your ground!"

"Stay calm!"

"The original body is behind you!"

Hector roared, bleeding, and fought: it was not a contradiction, for since he had made his way back to his position on the high platform, countless excitements and pains had burst out of his body one after another, like an ugly cliff that had escalated after the winter snow had receded.

The dark green sword trembled excitedly in Hector's palm, and its activity even greatly strengthened Morgan's strength, and with his large hand, Hector crushed the thin skull of another alien, the third opponent he had killed, and his huge body made all the intruders regard him as a valuable prey.

However, Comororan soon realized that he had chosen the wrong target, especially when the first two airship motorcyclists were crushed to pieces in a savage collision with Hector, and all the Black Muses scattered in an instant, and began to look for other prey, without the slightest intention or courage to continue to defeat this fierce enemy.

Hector gritted his teeth, and the two crazy impacts in a row made him feel like his entire left shoulder was almost crippled, but under this extreme pain, his brain, like every dawnbreaker present, fell into unprecedented calm and thought.

He began to observe, as a company commander and commander, and soon discovered the problem: although the Daybreakers had a numerical advantage, they encountered another kind of obstacle, and with the attack of the Spirit Clan, countless traps and hidden mines broke out in this strange city in an instant, and these insidious tricks that had not yet had time to be investigated really delayed the footsteps of many Daybreakers, so that the defenders on the high platform were not even as numerous as the attackers.

Obviously, this was not an abrupt attack, but a premeditated ambush, and countless traps used ancient technology that is now incomprehensible to mankind to hold back the thousands of Astarte warriors who had returned to the defense, and although this delay would not be too long, it was still enough for the best part of the invaders to carve a winding path through the first line of defense of the Dawnbreaker with the huge air superiority brought by dozens of warplanes and airship motorcycles.

The speed of the various flying blades from the Comoros was such that only the best Terra veterans could barely catch their tracks, and with this advantage and the fleeting time difference, hordes of raiders and ravages broke up the Dawnbreaker's array, fragmented them, and handed them over to the roaring beasts behind them.

The clawed dinosaur's claws are sharper than a single-molecule blade, enough to gouge through the bulkhead of a ship, the Aetherhounds cross the subspace through phase shifts, tearing at their prey, and the most terrifying of the Ogul monsters, which can bite through the protection of the Terminator Power Armor in a single bite, its skin is as hard as iron, but it is so soft that even the sharpest sword can't start.

The people of Comoros unleashed hundreds of these beasts onto the hammers, and behind them the twisted abomination of the Blood Servants, these monsters converged into a wild scourge that plunged the Dawnbreakers stationed outside the stele into an erosive bloody war, and had no time to estimate that the true elite of the Dark Eldars had taken the opportunity to break into the monolith.

Graceful succubi, who maintained their demeanor on the bloody battlefield, deftly skipped over the shattered lines of defense and rushed into the innermost without hesitation, followed by a variety of scalp-numbing Comorian elites: flying scourges, heavily armed Nightmare swordsmen, and even a giant Tantalus, the greatest engine of war the Dark Eldarns could pull out.

In the minutes that the outermost Dawnbreaker was in chaos and reorganization, erosion and blood, these countless aliens rushed into the huge passage of the Yemenga Monument that was 100 meters wide and tens of meters high, and began to test the tenacity of the next line of defense, and behind them, Hector also began his own wild run.

Hector didn't run to the megalith, he believed that his fighting brothers would be able to hold the line, and he needed to do another important thing: there were countless Daybreakers trapped in traps and blockades, and the 23rd Company Commander decided to reverse all this, he set his sights on the last twisted abominations, these creatures several meters tall seemed to be irritable and destructive, and if he could kill the tamers who controlled them, he would be able to lure these monsters into the trap area, Break through the barriers that plague the Daybreakers: and the pressure on the defenses at the gates will be drastically reduced.

Having made up his mind, Morgan's pride shouted all the way, attracting a number of lone Dawnbreaker warriors to form a makeshift assault team, and at the moment of skimming the high platform, Hecht's gaze briefly collided with Diarmuid fighting in front of the gate, who nodded, and then pierced the heart of his second opponent, and many corpses had fallen beside him, both Astarte and Xenomorph.

Hector knew that he was nowhere near as agile as Diarmuid and could not catch the aliens who didn't want to fight him, and his large size made it impossible for him to deal with these extremely nimble opponents.

Then, he needs to play to his strengths and avoid his weaknesses.

For infantry, he can't.

But he's good at dealing with behemoths.

——————

"Don't be impatient, stay here."

"Put them all on."

"We have to play what we are good at."

Cortés and Josimus commanded the elite of their respective companies, stationed in a line of defense far from the rear: in their positions, the Old Guards could already be seen at the rear.

The Dark Eldar attack woke the two company commanders in the first place, but before that, they were already struggling with something else and were on their guard.

"Still can't contact them?"

Zosimus frowned, his psionic energy was so suppressed in this space that he couldn't even cross the walls to connect with his fighting brothers on the other side of the building, and Cortés on his side did the same.

The moment the cries of battle came from outside the gate, the countless doors in the megalithic tablet fell in unison, as if they had been uniformly dispatched, not only temporarily depriving them of their genetic protogenes, but also causing other equally bad results: at least a thousand or so Daybreakers who were exploring other dimensions were trapped inside, and it would take a little time for them to dig open the gate or find other exits, and what they lacked most now was time.

Under the dual effect of well-designed traps and blockades, only more than 2,000 of the 5,000 Daybreakers were able to snipe the raid of the Dark Eldar elites inside and outside the megalithic monument at the first time, which was obviously not enough, and the shortest confusion appeared in the defense line under the heavy blows of the powerful Eldar fighters and airships, which was enough to let those Comoros elites who had been fighting for thousands of years find the opportunity.

The raider bikes and the Scourge with wings screamed in mid-air, and the craziest killers even stood upside down with their handlebars while racing at high speeds, stabbing Astarte's throat with a specially fitted blade mounted on their legs, and although they fell to the ground like crows in front of the swift reflexes of fire, each xenomorph had already done terrible damage before they died.

And beneath them, the heavily armed Nightmare Swordsmen, the most ruthless and skilled killers in the entire Dark Spirit Clan, rushed at the dazzling enemies with their faces blank, wielding the sharp blades of Qi people, becoming the main reason why the defense line could not be closed in time, these thousand-year-old veterans who were not afraid of death and the best swordsmen under Morgan's command fell one after another, contributing the bloodiest performance of the entire battle.

And in the madness and pull of these two, the real killers and deadly figures: hundreds of witches, succubi, and queens of various Kane sects, form an unstoppable storm of bloody roses, wielding all kinds of strange weapons, maintaining an extremely graceful dance step, constantly dancing and advancing on the Astarte defenses, without the slightest intention of stopping, because any unfortunate person who is disrupted by the dance will be torn to pieces by the blades of the sons of Morgan in the next moment.

And among all the waves of aliens, Lilith's fiery red hair color is the most obvious ray of light, all the blasters are pointed at the queen of the Sect of Discord, all the blades are eager to cut her throat, but none of them can succeed in achieving their goal, Lilith dances in the sea of corpses and blood, she and the succubi around her are faster than the warplanes, piercing most of the defenses of the Daybreakers in the blink of an eye, burning the flames of war all the way to the front of the old guards.

The only one who could compete with her on the battlefield was Bayar, who had just arrived, and despite the distance between the Chief Swordsman and Lilith, his record was terrifying: three Nightmare Swordsmen had already fallen at the feet of the incredible Chief Swordsman, and he was clearly in a state of sufficient strength for the most frantic fights.

But none of this could stop the tide of the battle from slipping into the hands of the Dark Elveons: although more and more Daybreakers were pouring into the battlefield from the passages on both sides, they still couldn't do anything with the group of fighters above their heads, although they didn't understand why these alien fighters were not affected by this ghost city, but everyone understood a simple truth.

As long as the Dark Elves held air supremacy on the battlefield, victory was impossible: especially when the greatest Tantalus Fighter was in the skies above everyone, and its single launch could kill more than ten fighting Nightmare Swordsmen.

But it was at this time that Cortez and Zosimus finally prepared the means for their counterattack.

"Is that okay?"

Cortez looked at the powerful think tank next to him, second only to the Mother of Genes, and after receiving a nod from Zosimus's pale face, he injected a tube of needle into the latter's neck, not forgetting to whisper instructions.

And by the time Zosimus opened his eyes again, the world had changed.

Sluggish.

Everything was so slow in his eyes, his battle brothers, the flying explosive orders, and even the Spirit Clan fighters and airships that were once too fast for his naked eyes to catch them, all of them were like insects in amber at this moment, stagnating to the point of solidification.

The Chief Think Tank took a deep breath, he could clearly feel the sound of every wisp of air being caught in his throat, as if he could see everyone's face, but he didn't have time to feel all this, on the arm that had already been raised, Zosimus did his best, and began to call out his psionic energy, and began to call out the seemingly ordinary individual missiles around him.

He knew that these things were actually not simple, and that they were Golden Age relics that Cortez's predecessors had spent a lot of money to snatch back from the aliens, with a little less.

Zosimus looked up, his will calling for the wildness of the missiles, and quickly zeroed in on every psionic flying engine he could see.

Launch.

He gave the order, and in the next moment, a heart-rending pain resounded in his mind, and the chief think tank only felt that all his proud psionic power was instantly sucked out with the launch of the missile, and even his soul was left with an extremely heavy ripple because of it, and more pain was something he could not feel: because in the next moment, he fainted alive because of the lack of psionic energy and the pain of rejection to the extreme.

But his mission has been accomplished.

Cortés held his unconscious brother to his death, and with a sense of blood-soaked pleasure, he carefully watched the miracle and victory before him.

An unbelievable phenomenon accompanied the launch of these relic weapons: although the missiles had only just howled out of their respective launchers, the moment they were launched, all the Elven fighters in mid-air exploded and collided at the same time.

Huge amounts of warped energy wielded on these pitifully low-defense alien creatures, most of the blasphemy engines exploded into brilliant blood in mid-air in an instant, and the rest were also affected by the heavy attack and the flying shockwave, their immaculate balance was completely shattered, and the originally coherent killing team suffered unimaginable suffering in less than a second of imbalance: their speed was so fast that they couldn't even adjust in time, The abrupt halt of an airship caused a devastating mid-air crash on all the Elven warplanes and airships, and the people of Comoros fell from mid-air one after another, their lives disappearing in the next second under the furious swords of the Daybreakers.

An indescribable dead silence began to spread among the ranks of the Dark Eldars, and these xenomorphs who had been captured in the real universe for thousands of years certainly knew the meaning of losing air superiority: in the next moment, except for those who rushed to the forefront of the army of witches and a very small number of Nightmare Swordsmen, all the Elven elites couldn't help but stop breaking through the battle line, and their eyes began to wander uninterruptedly, ready to find a way to escape from the front that had been penetrated.

It wasn't easy, for Hecht's roar of victory could already be heard outside the gates, and after slaying one giant beast after another, he managed to unleash countless battle brothers, and hundreds of Terra veterans tore apart the monsters of the Comoros in a wave of rage, cleansing the battlefield with unimaginable speed: perhaps in a few minutes, they would have no way to escape.

As more and more Daybreakers began to pour into the battlefield, and the greatest advantage was completely destroyed, the people of Comoros realized that they had no advantage in this short battle that lasted only ten minutes, and those who were not completely insane began to gather under the command of Tantalus, the largest fighter being the last remaining air power of the dark spirits, relying on its chariot-like blades that could shred the Astarte warriors, they could still kill them.

But in the few seconds when Tantalus was flying low to avoid the scourge in the air, a figure that none of the Comoros soldiers noticed seized the opportunity and jumped on top of Tantalus with countless alien corpses under his feet.

Bayar didn't do it immediately, he gracefully brushed the blood from his sword and glanced at the Tantalus pilots in front of him: just now, these aliens had killed several of his long-known comrades by dragging the hull scythe with their powerful engines.

The Chief Legion swordsman smiled the most kindly.

"Good evening, dead people."

——————

By the time the massive Tantalus twisted and fell, many of the Dark Elves had broken away from the battle and formed a breakout team of hundreds of people, eager to escape.

But again, there was a smaller, but still more than 200 elite troops, with pure flesh and blood and fanatical mentality, breaking through the last line of defense before the Old Guard.

Rana stood in front of the battle line that had been prepared for a long time, his eyes bewildered by the strange fanaticism of these dark elves, as a veteran who had fought these terrible aliens in the solar system, the chief old guard knew the power of these Comoroan aliens, and they knew their nature to bully the weak and fear the hard.

But apparently, there seemed to be some different kind of fanaticism in front of them, their pupils flashing with the twisted madness that would occur when stimulated by drugs, or a cold light that only flickered when they were extremely calm: but none of this mattered, the attitude of the Old Guard was only one.

Rana swung his sword, leaving behind the men necessary to break the damn gate, and all of the Morgan guards were armed and ready to meet these formidable opponents who could make it all the way here.

And farther away in their field of vision, as the true power of the Daybreaker gathered in the roars of Bayard and Hecht, the Lady of Victory abandoned the aliens and stood on the side of the Empire once more, perhaps in another ten minutes or so, an army would arrive: but Lana would never pin her hopes of victory on them.

After becoming the chief of the guard of the genetic prototype, he has unknowingly developed this arrogant mentality.

And the facts will prove that his strength is worthy of his arrogance.

The battle between the Old Guard, the Succubus, and the Nightmare Swordsmen was a bloody harvest, with more than twenty of the bravest men on both sides falling in unison in the first moment of the battle, and there were few Nightmare Swordsmen left to kill them, the last of them bleeding to death and fall to their last prey.

On the corpse of the Nightmare Swordsman, the agility of the Succubus and the steadiness of the Old Guard roared hoarsely at the same time, and the blood of Astarte and Xenomorph spilled together, making this quiet temple more savage and brutal than the entire battlefield.

Lana's left arm was pierced deep by Lilith's blade, but he wasn't without a worn: just as the Queen of Discord was shining brightly because of her brief victory, the Old Guard's sword tore painfully, leaving a terrible scar on the Witch Queen's psoas muscles, a thin red thread that stretched from her chest all the way to the right side of her lower abdomen, turning Lilith's fleeting joy into raging rage.

In her rage, she even forgot her original purpose: as all the sorcerers performed a mad blood dance and fought and retreated deeper into the monument, the Queen of Discord poured all her strength into the battle with Rana, and like a blood-colored cuckoo, she snatched the agility of his left arm, stabbed his right leg, and left a near-fatal scar on the side of his face.

Rana struggled to resist this invincible opponent, and for the first time, the nearly two-hundred-year-old veteran of Terra felt the absolute crush of experience and skill, but despite this, his mind was still calm and terrifying, and he was able to shout orders to the old guards to hold them back while ricoching off another attack: the witches were apparently retreating towards a remote room with a strange door that fluctuated.

But it was this order, and Rana realized that he had underestimated the Queen of Discord who had lived for an unknown amount of time: at the moment of the words, the thin blade slashed through Lana's right arm in an impossible way, brutally eating his entire right hand, and with another vicious leg blow, the Old Guard flew out heavily.

But just as he was about to smash against the wall, he felt an extremely warm light, and he felt that damn door finally being slammed away by a powerful rage.

He heard the voice of the primordial, and Lilith's trembling instincts.

Morgan returned to the battlefield.

It's over.

[It's bad enough to let that decapitator escape, look what you aliens are doing?] 】

A few ominous traces of blood stuck to the skirt of the original body, from the dozens of Mandela assassins in the room.

Like a whirlwind, Morgan instantly arrived in front of the Queen of Discord without anyone seeing it, which did not use the speed of psionic energy to plunge everyone present into a kind of silence, and everyone realized that they seemed to be underestimating something.

The Dawnbreakers are the excitement of humiliation.

Xenomorphism, on the other hand, is an even more indescribable ...... Fear.

But the genogen didn't care about that, she glanced at Lilith casually, then raised her hand and waved it slightly.

"Smack!"

The crisp sound meant that the two arms of the Queen of Discord were broken in unison, and she was knocked to the ground, losing the strength to fight, like a dilapidated doll, and fell weakly at the feet of the genetic prototype, telling the weakness of the ancient glory in front of the demigods.

And as the Lord of the Second Legion snapped his fingers and pinched to death one by one any aliens in her eyes, she grabbed a breath of Lilith and smiled.

You all deserve to die, don't you? 】

[But you, but you peculiar alien queen.] 】

[It seems to have other uses.] 】

Morgan smiled, her smile was one of terrible rage, a madness that longed to tear apart the perpetrator after a great loss.

But in the madness, the Lord of the Second Legion still had a trace of reason, which reminded her of a thought and need she had long ago.

When she looked at Lilith, that thought seemed to be added to the last.

The original laughed.

She looked at the alien queen.

And then......

I thought of my torture chamber.

(End of chapter)