[In addition to that, I think Carthage must be destroyed, sprinkled with salt, and then ......]

“……”

"Smack!"

After unconsciously saying the same words for the sixth time, the queen of Avalon was stunned at first, and then slapped her forehead mercilessly, her face gloomy.

Such a move made the mortal operators who were busy not far away look at each other, but the Spider Empress did not care about their reactions: as the battle continued, these mortals had taken several turns to rest, and now these were all replacements that Morgan did not recognize.

Not to mention......

The Lord of the Second Legion looked silently at the nearest mortal to him, the mortal servant she never knew, loyal to the Dark Angels: he sat there, working unnoticed, leaving only a focused side of the genoplasm.

But Morgan could see clearly: the mouths, perhaps six, or nine, were scattered on the side, large and small, and whispered to her the staccato verses.

They speak of Carthage and Constantinople, they depict extinction and decay, they ridicule the scene as a rehearsal of what is to come on Sacred Terra, they sing the praises of the death of the Empire, of the savage rebirth, of the Holy Betrayal......

They never stop.

【…… Tsk......】

Morgan rubbed the corners of her eyebrows, and deep down in her heart, the being called Reason was running as best as it could, roaring like an old engine to maintain the calm individual known as the Spider Queen, who could and must exist.

No...... She couldn't do that......

She couldn't kill these mortals, these were just illusions, but a subspace vision that such a terrible war was going on to a certain point, and it was bound to lead to it......

Killing summons blood, pain seduces pleasure, piles of dead bodies are enough to bring corrupt dark green to life, and when all of this happens in unison, the most cunning of gods must have been hidden behind the veil.

Nothing strange.

These are nothing more than their tricks, nothing more than the aura and filth they inadvertently exude when they peek into the real universe, and they are not worth her attention or fear.

She couldn't hear the voices, she couldn't hear the roars of the depths of the Sea of Souls, because it wasn't the time for them to come into the world, and they would never come to her.

She couldn't feel the sticky tentacles emerging from her spine, caressing her shoulder blades and neck, soft fingertips ruffling her earlobes, letting soft whispers from the Silver Palace flood into her mind.

She couldn't hear the small chuckle flowing in her ears, the sharpest and most distorted long laugh, born and dyed from nine inexplicable throats, with countless dying cries converging into a mockery.

It taunted her, mocking her children for a senseless death on the surface, and that with every beat of the second hand on the clock, nine Avalons would fall forever.

No one will remember them.

Not even she.

【……】

【……】

[Enough! 】

Thousands of whispers didn't seem to be as lethal as this taunt.

Morgan covered her face, her nails dug deep into her hair, like the sharp claws of a male lion grabbing the mane of another male lion, and a trace of purple appeared in the original blue pupils, making the original indifferent face of the genetic prototype become hideous, and the originally plain eyes became chaotic, and in the stunned eyes of the mortal servants around him, it flashed, and the terrifying aura was reluctantly retracted by the ruthless reason of the Lord of Avalon at the moment when it was about to sweep the entire command room.

Morgan stopped there, paused for almost a second, before letting out a long sigh, casually glancing at the mortals beside her, ignoring the increasingly distorted faces in her eyes, and waving her hand to signal them to continue their original work.

As for the genetic prototype itself, the gaze full of violent emotions was re-transferred to the war hammer in front of her: thank God, with the continuous advancement of the battle situation, when Zhuang Sen attacked the Randan Palace, her workload was finally less.

The sheer strategic superiority made the fleet's fire support less important, and most of the ground forces began to carry out alternate recuperation operations, and the workload of the Spider Empress decreased with the stagnation of these two aspects, and she could even ignore some minor things and throw them all to the mortal officials around her, because the amount of data in these secondary times has been so low that mortals can barely handle it.

On the tenth or fifteenth day of the siege, the Spider Queen could finally pause her work for a moment and take a good look at the rhythms of the subspace around her: they were active enough that even the Psionic Queen had to deal with them with caution.

It was only at this moment that there was a trace of bitterness in Morgan's heart: the days of peace seemed to have lasted too long, and even the monsters in her heart had not made waves for a long time, and in such comfort, she was even a little unaccustomed to it, and she was now walking on thin ice.

But Morgan didn't have time to examine her own insensitiveness, for when she withdrew most of her will and began to examine her projection in the sea of souls, a rather strange feeling, like a flood in early spring, swept over her somewhat hindsight: she didn't know if the slow half-beat of these psionic senses was the work of the subspace gods, or because of her exhaustion, or both.

But in any case, when the Spider Empress began to examine her subspace projection after a long time, she discovered something that was definitely not in her mind: it was a line, a thin red thread, which had no end or source, but tugged at her soul out of thin air, and the other end of it disappeared into the subspace filled with wild laughter.

By tugging at the red thread, Morgan could hear the countless wails of death: a staggering number of wails, and far from human wails, more like some kind of alien that she was already familiar with, some kind of alien that was about to be wiped out.

A very bad guess began to brew in Morgan's mind: she had to admit that it was crazy, but when she thought of the laughter of the gods that had suddenly appeared at this time, and the riddles that Vashtor and Tuchucha Engine had told her, she had to admit the possibility of this guess.

【……】

Morgan was silent for a moment, she quietly looked at the thin red thread that tugged at her soul: it was so fragile, it seemed to be torn off at will, but the energy and desire on it were so powerful that even Morgan couldn't do anything about it for the time being.

And......

The Spider Queen's conscious tentacles caressed the wailing red thread: she could sense how many delicious souls there were on it at the slightest contact, enough to raise her strength to a level she had never had before.

And now, she's so ......

Hunger.

【……】

It seems to be something that is hard to resist: instinct is always hard to resist.

But......

Greed was bad, she knew, especially when the whispers of the gods echoed in her ears, and her greed might be the scene they longed to see, maybe it was the new one in their countless great and boring chess games.

Morgan blinked, and she glanced at the battle in low Earth orbit: most of the human warships had fallen into a state of idleness, and they retreated backwards to ensure that the vanguard of the space wolves could successfully land on the world beneath their feet.

There wasn't much to worry about: the fighting on the surface was still raging, but the big picture had been finalized a few hours ago, and the last shred of suspense had been lost, and even the real-time casualty reports from the Dawnbreakers had not been recorded in her for a long time.

She seemed to have plenty of time.

Morgan sighed.

She lowered her head and once again let her willpower be completely immersed in the waves of the sea of souls, this time, she took out all her concentration and calmness, against the red thread that involved her soul, because the pull from it was getting stronger and stronger.

She knew what the red thread was going to do: it was going to drag her away, it was going to drag away the Spider Queen's will and body, like a fishing net dragging away a big fish in the sea, pulling her to another place, and that place, most likely, was the burning world beneath her feet.

【……】

Morgan wished he could resist the terrible pull.

But......

——————

She's hungry.

——————

“……”

"Is the ceremony complete?"

"My legs are already a little numb."

Midnight Wraith was slowly fiddling with the starter in his claws, his movements cautious: after all, the only button on it was the result of his hard work in the last dozen or so Terra standards, and he didn't want anything to slip through the cracks of the work he had worked with his sweat.

The Genomorph stood upright, like a marble-carved statue, and he hadn't moved for a long time, staying in the middle of the long staircase: more specifically, the fifth hundred and ninety-ninth floor.

Conrad never went further: in his limited knowledge of subspace, he knew the four symbols of depravity and power, and he had seen their power again and again in the future.

Conrad wasn't sure if he could resist the power of the numbers, so he chose a very cowardly approach, one that best suited a poor coward like him.

"When you're faced with something extremely powerful, extremely malevolent that you probably can't compete with, there are only two options you can do: go crazy or run away."

"And I'm obviously not crazy enough."

Grinning, Midnight Wraith whispered to himself for his cowardice, recounting the knowledge and theories that he didn't know when he had learned and had resided in his mind, and he hated that he had been influenced more and more.

He seemed less and less like a Nostramo.

Conrad turned his head and glanced out the window boredly, his eyes shining in the light of thousands of cannonballs, like moldy stones piled up next to a campfire, an abnormal color that had broken away from the sludge.

He watched quietly for a moment as the new offensive by the Caliban, and from the somewhat empty tower, he could even hear the battle cries of the dark angels, most of whom had an incorrigible Divine Terra accent, sounding indistinguishable from the bloodthirsty murderers.

He listened for a moment, thinking of it as a new pastime, and when he finally got bored, turned his head, ignored the blasphemous countenances that kept appearing on the altars, and focused his gaze once again on the unsuccessful alien mongrel, he was a little disappointed to find that the fellow still had achieved nothing.

The High Priestess of Randan, still continuing his grand cause: whispering those flawed spells incantations incruciously, he almost plunged his body into a pool of blood that could drown an Imperial Knight Mech.

Conrad watched with interest the alien's every move, even though it was less than a hundred meters away from the original genogen, and he could end it the next moment if Conrad wanted to.

But he didn't do it, just like the alien didn't pay any attention to him, these two strange lifeforms, obviously mortal enemies who existed in the same room, ignored each other's existence for some strange reasons.

Midnight Ghost waited quietly for the arrival of the so-called ritual, and his fearlessness was due to two reasons that were superimposed: first, in the future he saw, he really should be a spectator, a wonderful backdrop that could change the plot by simply existing, because his mission had been completed long before.

Before coming to this tower, the Nostramo people were not idle: when the Randan army in the palace was frightened by the genetic protogen, it was difficult for them to find the irreparable catastrophe that existed in the power system.

The huge subspace energy stance that sheltered the Randan Palace had been weakened to the extreme by the Midnight Ghost, and all its sources of energy had been carefully destroyed by Conrad, although the genetic prototype was still unable to launch the final blow against this subspace creation, he had indeed completed the task assigned to him by fate.

In the face of the future that is like a phantom in the water, because of the departure of the Spider Empress, the Midnight Ghost chooses absolute trust and support: after discerning the reality of the future he sees over and over again, he even sees this imaginary future as more authoritative than Morgan.

Obviously, the Spider Queen's education still didn't completely turn Conrad's thinking around: at the very least, Midnight Wraith was still a loyal believer when it came to believing in the future.

This is the main reason why he chose to stand by and watch: the future he saw did not make him choose to stop the alien's actions at this time.

And the knowledge he has learned also proves this: just by relying on his knowledge of the language of Randan, Conrad can clearly hear a series of so-called prayers from the mouth of the alien high priest, and the chaos and complexity of the subspace energy gathered above the tower is enough to make any subspace scholar laugh and be generous.

Of course, Midnight Ghost was never an expert in the subspace realm, but his constant presence at the Spider Queen's side made it clear to him that it was all just a ridiculous joke, just a comedy show that allowed those wild laughs to appear.

Look at the high priest of Randan, who has given everything, I am afraid that the alien does not know what kind of pitiful and abominable appearance it has become: the expensive cloak has not been cleaned for a long time, it is full of foul-smelling germs and mosquitoes, and the ornaments that should have been neatly arranged have long been scattered everywhere, and they cannot exert real effects at all.

As for itself: the head was so thin that only a skull remained, even the most basic teeth had been lost, and the most subtle words were nothing more than an incomprehensible bunch of whispers, like the murmurs of old age.

The Midnight Ghost had never seen what subspace could really do, but he felt that the pathetic alien who was in front of him at the moment, constantly muttering about the so-called [Evil God], [Curse], and [Eternal Tribulation], seemed to be the best answer that Subspace could give him.

“……”

Compared to such a fate, it seems that it is not bad to be a madman?

For a moment, Conrad pondered the question as he carefully calculated the passage of time and the illusion that the future would reveal to him: he had never known what the High Priestess had summoned would be, but he was sure that it would not be what the alien wanted.

But this curiosity still urged the Midnight Ghost to stay here, watching the alien sacrifices above the ten thousand people of the past, like a wriggling maggot, crawling, twisting, and issuing meaningless so-called curses on the altar covered with filthy blood.

And behind it, the magic circle was indeed constantly running, a very powerful, but not so desperate and trembling aura as the Midnight Ghost did stand out more and more clearly in the circle.

Finally, Conrad slowly showed his claws, and he stretched out his long, excessive tongue and licked his lips, looking forward to the next minute's activity.

Is it a comedy?

Or a hunt?

It doesn't matter, he won't be a picky eater.

Midnight Wraith laughed, and just behind him, in the exterior visible from the tower's windows, the heavy gray clouds were being mercilessly peeled away, and falling meteors signaled the arrival of new reinforcements.

At all costs.

The war will come to an end within one Terra standard hour.

In any case, I will end the main plot of this Randan War in the next one, and I will collapse first if I continue to write......

I always feel that this plot is inexplicable...... Meaningless (covering your face)

Whether it's subscriptions, comments or my personal status, there has been a trough, and it feels like my whole book is going to be finished if I continue to write, so let's hurry up and end this plot, I'm going to write hard about my daily life, and I'm going to see your comments and subscriptions hard.

Sadness......

(End of chapter)