A devastating wave of air emanated from the tower at the edge of his vision, like a volcano finally awakened from its slumber, and in the briefest of moments, sorrow and pain swept every inch of the battlefield as far as the eye could see.

Johnson felt the breath: every Dark Angel and Mortal Auxiliaries warrior around him, even the alien skeletons that had fallen to the ground and lost their heads, were all screaming in twist, twisting their spines with impunity, reminding him of the birth of such a terrible thing.

The Lord of Caliban was even stunned for a moment before he emerged from the arrogant illusion, his gaze swept over Coswayne's worried and distorted countenance, trying to ignore the illusions that were indistinguishable from reality, and to focus all his attention on what was in front of him.

But the genoplasm soon discovered that it all seemed to be useless.

Just a dozen kilometers behind him, rows and rows of artillery were constantly firing a barrage of steel that covered the sky, and the flames ignited the entire sky, and the deadly speed brought a thunderous roar, mercilessly smashing on the high walls of the Randan Palace, and large pieces of unknown metal slipped down like an avalanche, along with the corpses of thousands of alien soldiers who were lifted by the hot air waves.

But in Johnson's eyes, the precursor to this triumph was a disturbing look that no longer the cannons of steel, but rows of savage beasts imprisoned in the furnace, spitting out clumps of flesh curled up in bone and blood, piled up on the palace of Randan: a profane thing that beat like a heart, piled up of countless rotting flesh and wailing souls.

It's wriggling, it's tumbling, it's like an egg about to hatch, it's constantly putting a lot of pressure on the Caliban, as if something is going to come out of it in the next second.

“……”

The Genogen paused, and he spent a second observing the troops deployed at the forefront: the Calibans and the Dawnbreaker Bloods, which were clearly showing some signs of stagnation, while the Terra veterans of the two legions continued their offensive in oblivion after the briefest pause.

Seeing this, the First Legion's genetic prototype nodded in satisfaction, but he knew very well that he shouldn't continue to stand here: without the slightest hesitation, Johnson pulled out his famous lion sword, and the alien blood on it hadn't even had time to dry.

Behind him, the five hundred men, who had already lost a small part of their troops, drew their weapons in the same silence, followed their genetic father, and once again rushed towards the battlefield they had just left less than half an hour ago: everyone present knew that this charge would put an end to this already somewhat tiresome war.

The Lord of Caliban walked at the forefront of all of them, his emerald pupils as cold as icebergs, and countless visions of destruction passing through the edge of his vision, all of which were enough to plunge any Terra veteran into a frenzied despair, but not enough to shake the original genogen.

Johnson's idea was simple, as simple as a beast, but full of capable aesthetics: although he did not know why such an illusion had befallen him, nor why this subspace evil had come to the real universe, he was sure that if he burned the object of this illusion to ashes, as long as he ended this protracted war, those false beings would also be gone.

These visions are like a puzzle.

The lord of Caliban, on the other hand, is an Alexander the Great problem solver.

In the next minute, Johnson rushed into the most tragic front, and the banner of the Genetic Prototype set off a continuous wave of cheers among the First Legion, and countless blocked knights and orders spontaneously followed the side of the Original, merging into a mighty main attack wave.

Whether it's the Holy Terra, the Gramayans, or the Caliban, they all found a common identity and purpose in this moment, and as they followed behind the genetic protogen, even those chilling and ugly visions became as fragile as a mirror.

Only the most elite Terra veterans, who even remembered the glory days of the Six Wings and the Celestial Army, would look at their genetic father with indifferent eyes, and then carry out the plan that had been made on their own, and quite a few of them had even climbed the high walls of the Randan Palace, looking for a way to break through that subspace shield.

As for the terrifying visions that were enough to frighten the Astarte warriors, all that could be given to these inner ring veterans was the initial slight astonishment, and the indifference that followed.

After all, each and every one of them had witnessed more terrible scenes, created even bloodier hell with their own hands, and after the cold footsteps of the Serena Army, there were already countless corpses and ruins.

The Genoplasma had also discovered the maverick behavior of some of his offspring, and he had no intention of restraining their actions: Johnson was more concerned than anything else about how he could cut a gap in this alien version of the Wall of Theodosius that could end the war.

He soon fell into a completely immersive, single-threaded mind, unable to tolerate anything unrelated to combat: but in the final moment, the instinct of the genoplasm still allowed Johnson to summarize the current subspace wave into a brief message that he sent to his silver-haired blood relatives in low-Earth orbit.

Since there is something about psionic powers, let Morgan deal with it, she can always handle anything within her part: in the mind of the Lord of Caliban, this knowledge has now become some kind of truth.

But as he roared into the final battle, the Genotype of the First Legion ignored a tiny detail: the message he had sent to Morgan.

It seems that it has not been accepted.

——————

The air was trembling.

It was as if the tower was burning.

Conrad from Nostramo was swept away by a sudden wave of hot air, and the fierce storm pulled his long black hair mercilessly, dragging his cape, and the stench of bloody raindrops made him unable to open his eyes.

At the beginning of the storm, Midnight Wraith had to step back, leaving his position until he reached the twenty-second step, where the ferocious storm seemed to have become extraordinarily docile.

The Alien High Priest's intoxicating smile of blood, madness, hysteria, and shattered pieces of internal organs came along with the wind, and Conrad could clearly see what it was doing, and what was happening on the altar.

Above the boiling pool of blood, the darkest light and thousands of mournful wails were constantly spewing out, soaking every trace of air into the appearance of blood and death, as if every soul who had slept forever in this war had awakened in unimaginable pain, and had once again endured eternal suffering.

Conrad could see that countless vortices of energy were pouring into the abyssal maws that emerged in pools of blood, rapidly cutting through the skin between the real universe and the subspace, tumbling, boiling, flowing, condensing into an endless darkness, in which countless thick fogs were jubilant, shaping a great staircase enough to welcome a demon king.

Under the gaze of the progenitor, in the coughing up blood of the alien lord, the passage of that subspace grinned open its bloody jaw, and the elements that only existed in the darkest nightmares were salivating from it, and their eyeless and noseless faces looked directly at the progenitor, showing him a bloody smile, and then, these evil substances suddenly exploded, turning into countless disgusting creations like pieces of flesh digested by gastric juice.

Their minds have formed countless things that the genetic prototype cannot understand: whether it is a half-formed tooth, the limbs of an unknown creature, or the fangs of a beast devouring each other, they all tumble between repeated melting, fighting, and condensation, and finally evolve into a series of face sculptures like the faces of the dead, each of which symbolizes a face, a pale face that even if they have witnessed the future genetic prototype, they do not know who they belong to.

It was only at this moment that Midnight Wraith spread out his hands and let the Adamantite Claws, made by the best craftsmen on Holy Terra, completely float into the air, and the Genogen used them to strip away the black hair that was scattered across his face, pinning it behind his ears: one of the insignificant habits he had learned from his carrion blood relatives.

It was also a sign that the Midnight Ghost had entered a combat state, and it was only at this moment that he became truly serious, because from the moment the Blasphemous Vortex appeared in front of him, it belonged to something that the future had not revealed to him.

He had to be serious: just as in some other moments, he had to be insane.

The genogen looked up, and he watched quietly at the ever-expanding vortex: it was like a black hole, swallowing the alien pool of blood, but it was far from being filled, and the High Priest of Randan knelt before the deepest vortex, its limbs had been torn apart by the wanton wind, but it seemed to be unaware, and hysterical laughter was the only sound it could make now.

But Conrad could see clearly: a few cloudy teardrops flickered at the edge of the old alien pupils, and they were firmly occupied there, and even the storm did not sweep them away: fear, perhaps, remorse, but definitely not tears of joy, and the genogen was sure of that.

The Midnight Ghost moved slowly, and the closer it got to the storm, the more it felt the strange aura rushing towards it: it was a shattered soul, it was a burning future, it was a power that could make him feel absolute consternation and ......

Cordial?

A brief moment of doubt drifted through his heart, and a wild laugh from the depths of the subspace came, the tentacles of the gods clinging to the rift in the heart of the original genogen, the deep ecstasy of blue and purple, pervasive and entwined the borders of the Midnight Ghost, who longed for his subjugated soul: even if it was just a little.

“……”

Even Conrad had to spit out an extremely filthy curse: so filthy that if Morgan heard it, he would open his Nostramo head.

Midnight Ghost's pace quickened a little, but eventually, he stopped before the sixtieth steps: whether it was the stern admonition from Morgan in his mind or the whispers of grinding in his ear, the progenitor was afraid to take that step.

So, he looked at the alien who had only a little torso left.

"How much did you sacrifice?"

He asked, the voice piercing through the raging storm and reaching the alien's ear, and the mangled head, though only white bones and a little skin remained, could slowly turn its head and smile horribly at the original genome.

"All."

It's laughing, maybe laughing.

Soaked in subspace, its every move has long been unable to explain its true thoughts, and when the will that wanders in the darkness laughs, it can only laugh from the depths of its heart.

“……”

At this moment, Conrad felt that he seemed to have a lot of room for improvement in terms of visual fear.

The genogen grinned, realizing that the thing that was being greeted by the vortex was about to appear in front of him, because the reality recombination phenomenon was constantly appearing at his feet, as if the countless souls were crashing against the walls of the tower, expanding the field even wider: something big was coming, maybe it would only take a minute.

Midnight Wraith looked up, he felt the danger that permeated him for the last time, like a small beast trying to go to the river to drink, carefully observing the situation and movement around the grass by the river, he had to know if the thing he was about to face was within his ability to handle.

If it does, then the Nostramo people have only two options.

Run away: this is his instinctive first priority.

Either......

A new, previously impossible idea, crept through Conrad's mind: it was about courage and choice, about sacrifice and glory, in short, not at all like what a Nostramo like him could get.

……

If fate had arranged for him to die here, it wouldn't seem so unacceptable.

“……”

Conrad smiled bitterly, and as he watched the flowing subspace energy converge into a luxurious door worthy of any palace, he slowly lowered his body and took a charging stance.

As the last few rays of the storm gripped at his adamantite claws, the voice from the alien, the clear, painful, incomprehensible twisted sound, flowed into the ears of the original genogen, pouring into it.

——————

"It's all, you human."

"This is all we have, this is our thousand-year-old history, countless sufferings and perseverance, countless sins and flashes, countless heroic explorations and desperate efforts, all the power that can be gathered, they go around and around and come to my hands, and I just let them play their best role."

"Let them burn one last time."

This line is like a withered Ran Dan sacrifice, or rather, it should have fallen to the ground a long time ago, and there was no sound, but in the continuous surging of subspace energy, the dry bones that crawled slowly actually "stood up" with those palms that were broken inch by inch.

It stared straight at the door that was getting more and more perfect, and the frenzy and madness in its words made the genomorph frown subconsciously.

"I have foreseen this scene for a long time, human, I have long seen the curve of the future in subspace: I know that my emperor cannot win the war with you, and that the act of devoting all his strength to attacking the Holy Terra in your mouth is nothing but vain, nothing more than its wishful thinking, nothing more than a grand funeral that belongs to it, and no one will remember it."

"But I can't stop it, after all, it's the emperor, it's my lord! It's the creator of our empire! It pulls us out of foolish cannibalism and sows true hope and wisdom on our land! It allows us to see the planets beyond the world, and allows us to kiss the possibility of dominating the galaxy. ”

"It has given us everything, it has made us so great, it has made us rulers, nobles, civilizations destined to go down in history and never be forgotten."

“……”

"We should have been able to do it."

The alien corpse known as High Priest Randan, coughed, and in its increasingly distorted voice, there was some kind of flame that kept the genotype away.

"We should have kept our civilization alive forever, and let the reign of the galaxy be the manifest destiny of our race: it should have been, and it should have been without you."

“……”

"But now, we have failed, and we will be erased by you, and all our civilization and pride, all our hardships and sacrifices, our joys and sorrows, or our glorious epics, will be completely scorched earth, and you human beings will be completely erased from existence."

“…… No! ”

"It shouldn't be like this!"

"We are the destiny of the galaxy! We are the voice that should resound throughout the world! ”

"We're the ones who should stay! The one that should always be remembered......"

"By whatever means."

It spoke, laughing, and the face, whose pupils had long since been burned out, leaving only black holes, turned to Conrad and smiled miserably: the teeth were revealed with the loss of skin, and the burnt half-charred Achilles tendon clinged to it, like a roasted, half-cooked lump of flesh that had been forcibly cut.

"We should survive, humanity."

"Existence at all costs: not as our emperor said, as a pathetic remnant, lingering in the darkness at the edge of the galaxy, fighting with wild beasts for food, but in the very center of the galaxy, in the history books that will never be erased, we were half masters of the galaxy, we were once the chasers of the great destiny, we should always leave our mark, our voice."

"Since Ran Dan can never exist as the overlord of the galaxy, then it should at least exist as the nightmare of the overlord of the galaxy, and exist in the deepest nightmare."

"Compared with tens of thousands of years of lingering, I would rather have a raging flame before death!"

"I will do this, no matter what the cost, I will make my race a nightmare in your hearts, a lingering sorrow for you, an immortal ghost that will accompany your hegemony and forever reverberate over the galaxy!"

"As Slaanesh is to the spirits, I will use my whole race to awaken a new god, the most terrible, the most greedy, and the most intoxicated of all things reality, and I will curse you for eternity! Curse humanity! Let this being, who has awakened from its slumber, watch you forever with his eyes full of malice and greed! ”

"Remember when you flee in fear! This eternal curse comes from your greatest adversary, from another possible Lord of the Galaxy! From a civilization that has not succumbed to your iron riders. ”

"It used to be great!"

"It'd rather be crazy!"

Eventually, the alien High Priest opened its mouth: if it were a mouth, its laughter drowned out even the winds that had subdued, and the wanton madness reminded the Genogen of something very unpleasant, the one he had seen in the future apparitions, after being completely embraced by subspace.

Midnight Wraith took a deep breath.

"You've been to the depths of the subspace and believed the voices, haven't you?"

Conrad asked softly, his tone was absolutely determined, not confused, and he didn't expect to get an answer: after spitting out that crying and blood-soaked scream, the last shred of reason of the alien was torn to pieces by the laughing hurricane, and it pounced on the slowly opening door like a most humble maggot, as devout as a fanatic.

Behind it, in front of the genomes, the last layer of unbridled laughter had been stripped of its skin, and their laughter had become so clear and piercing that it came from the unsympathetic spectators, mocking the mesmerized harlequins on stage.

Conrad felt that he was one of the harlequins, but he didn't have time to dwell on these things.

The door opened.

The genogen raised his head, and he watched as the terrifying aura turned into a monstrous giant tentacle, and brutally peeled open the door, and the blue-blue fog swept away all the blood and soul in an instant, enveloping the ecstatic alien sacrifice.

Conrad saw clearly.

He saw a foot, or an iron boot without mercy: the same as the wild laughter in his ear, so similar that it made him creep.

The iron boot was raised high.

And then.

Crushed the alien's head with one kick.

——————

The wind was blowing.

The monster revealed.

——————

Conrad took a deep breath.

——————

He saw it.

He saw the formless body, thousands of huge tentacles wrapped around each other, tangled into indestructible silk threads, either inserted into pools of blood or pulling countless subspace energies.

He saw the cold pupils, colder than a white dwarf that burned indiscriminately and left only the hollow remnants, the sin of contempt for sacrifice and nobility, the thug who coveted civilization and empire.

He saw it, he saw it......

“……”

“……”

The silver strands, each one drinking the spiritual energy in the air.

The indifferent pupils kept flickering with pupils and crazy dimness.

The pale pink tongue gently licked the thin pale lips, hooking the weeping soul that fell to the corner of the mouth into the lips, dissipating into the boundless darkness behind it.

He saw it.

He saw Conrad's blood relative, the heir of the Lord of Humanity, the elder sister of Coetze, the genogen of the Second Legion, the lord of Avalon, the midnight ghost of the Midnight Spirit, slowly walking out from behind the gate, her feet on countless grievances and weeping, her aura more terrible than the whole war, her will more blasphemous than any future he had ever seen.

——————

Conrad saw Morgan.

A Morgan he didn't dare identify, dare not believe, or even look at him.

She exuded an aura that terrified him, and a ...... that made him tremble Cordial.

“……”

That's his blood relative, there's no doubt about it.

——————

Again, Conrad took a deep breath, he looked at the high priest of Randan, who had just been trampled on his head, and softly spat out a word that could not be said to be emotion, sarcasm, or admiration.

"You ......"

"It's a great thing."

“……”

“……”

"My sister."

"Your body and inner body are really more than I imagined...... It's going to be thicker......"

——————

Conrad was silent for a moment.

Then, he burst out laughing, and the claws of the Adamantite were tossed aside, and a drop of sarcasm and absurdity that belonged to the Midnight Ghost fell on it.

He raised his hand and wanted to point to Morgan's face, but after seeing the same face as usual, without sorrow or joy, Conrad was only stunned for a moment, and then laughed even more crazily and loudly, and his hoarse voice even worried his throat.

Midnight Wraith laughed and laughed maniacally, stumbling to the side, smashing an altar in a frenzy, and then sitting on the rubble like a stone sinking to the bottom of the water, and suddenly stopped his voice.

After a long time, an emotion from Nostramo quietly came.

——————

"So, I don't see a future for you: everything makes sense."

He spoke, not saying anything more.

——————

【……】

The Spider Empress was silent, glancing at her brother, but ignoring him, for she didn't have time yet: just as she didn't have time to deal with the alien souls there that hadn't been devoured, she couldn't devour them.

Too many Ran Dan's souls were pouring into her mind with fear, and the situation that had been balanced had a tendency to falter: she had to give up the impurities that could not be extracted by her, as before, and she had a corresponding goal right now.

The Lord of the Second Legion bent down and grasped the mangled torso with his own hands: the xenomorph may be dead, but the last of its soul still clings to the shriveled skeleton that remains, and given its importance in rituals, there is a job that suits it.

You know, the army of the Human Empire is still blocked from Randan's palace by that subspace barrier: what could be more suitable than the soul of the High Priest of Randan, and the cries of countless Randan's aliens, to shatter the last protection of this alien empire?

Thinking of this, Morgan even showed a smile, her gaze swept over Conrad on the side, and in silence she received a reply belonging to the Midnight Ghost: his mission was complete, and all the power sources that supported the subspace barrier had been destroyed in advance before he came to the tower, and now only the final blow was needed.

The Spider Empress nodded: If Conrad has learned anything from her in a few years of education, then the first thing is to be resolute in the task, no matter how desperate, crazy, or excited they are, they must be like machines, ensuring that the task is completed on time with quality and quantity.

Conrad learned this: Morgan could even be proud of him.

As for the rest......

Let's go back and talk about it, the Dark Angel's cannon fire has been resounding in vain for too long.

The Spider Queen's gaze withdrew from Conrad, who was hidden in the shadows, and a trace of guilt appeared in the turmoil and frenzy that Morgan could not fully control for the time being, and she grabbed the remains of the alien, snapped her fingers, and appeared in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the tower.

Behind her, the Midnight Ghost stood up in silence and came to her side, looking at his blood relatives with a new, new look.

He still didn't speak, just watched quietly, watching the Spider Empress raise the alien skeleton as a temporary prop, and between the spells that he had never heard of, but could feel its great power, the surging aura that lingered in the tower and even the entire battlefield also converged towards the two genetic primitives again.

They had not dispersed, and now they had no complaints about their new owners.

Morgan didn't say much, she lifted the alien skeleton, just as the warriors loyal to Augustus and Basilius in the ancient Roman Empire raised their javelins, and she aimed at the city walls, the most suitable place: there was the loudest shouting of killing, where the fighting was most intense, where the double-headed eagle banners were most numerous.

There it is.

Maybe it's the Golden Horn, maybe it's Cokporta, maybe it's the door that doesn't close.

[But anyway......]

[It's time for this to end.] 】

The Spider Empress muttered to herself, she threw her first and final blow in this war, and as countless souls roared out with her, she heard the admiration of her brother behind her.

"It's time to finish."

Conrad said.

Morgan didn't look back, she just nodded slightly, as a brother and sister, it didn't need more words of mutual recognition.

And in front of her vision, there was only endless light and blood, and the wild laughter of the gods of the Most High, who were cheering at her, like the vast lords cheering for the stars they held in their hands.

【……】

For some reason, Morgan came up with this hilarious metaphor.

She hated the analogy.

——————

Storm.

Growl.

Pain.

Disintegrate.

Everything was like a thousand hungry vipers, tearing at the few nerves it could still feel, like an unsuccessful anesthetic operation, dragging it into a hell called stagnation.

It seems to be flying.

It seems to be shattering.

It seemed to be striking, it seemed to hit something, as if it was, something very important......

But it can't remember.

It only saw the broken barrier, the fragments that should not exist in the real universe, it only saw the banner of Ran Dan, but they seemed to fall to the ground, it only saw the last warriors, but in their pupils, there seemed to be only consternation and despair.

“……”

It can't see anything anymore.

It seems to stop breathing on its own.

It seems to be aware of its death.

It seemed to hear laughter, the laughter of the gods, who had guided its path, who had led it to this day, and whose laughter had been in its ears since the death of its emperor.

In the past, it never understood them.

But now, it seems to understand.

The laughter, the laughter, the things it used to be a guide......

“……”

They don't exist, they don't exist.

——————

They were laughing at it.

They laughed at it all the time.

——————

“……”

“……”

"That's ...... Crack? ”

Coswayne opened his mouth and spat out the staccato words dryly, and neither the Terra veterans of the Dark Angels nor the Dawnbreakers like Bayar laughed at him: they were doing the same thing.

Everyone was looking up, everyone was looking, silence was spreading like a virus between the attackers and the defenders, and they all looked up at some corner of the walls of the palace, at some small tower that was once inconspicuous: now, a clear gap, a sign of a broken subspace barrier, a passage large enough for the warriors to kill into, appeared there so suddenly.

No one even knew exactly how it came to be: they just saw a meteor-like apparition and an explosion unlike any other.

At that moment, the entire battlefield fell silent, and both the Dark Angel and the Ran Dan soldiers were stunned in place, looking at the gap with fear, only the artillery fire behind them continued to play.

No one knew who had acted first: perhaps because of an extraordinarily loud explosion, perhaps because of an early roar of war, perhaps because of a bullet that accidentally misfired, or perhaps because of the footsteps of the veterans of the inner ring who rushed to the front, without the slightest hesitation.

When that moment of silence ended, when the warrior's mind fell to the ground, when the next second came, everyone, whether it was the soldiers of the Human Empire or the soldiers of the Randan Empire, roared, frantically, and desperately rushed towards that vital gap.

There was no need for command, no need for any scheduling, and everyone, as long as the warriors who could see the gap, spontaneously flocked to the small gate of Constantinople, and while the Spider Empress on the tower was regathering her strength, suppressing the chaos in her mind, and thinking about her next move, at the end of her vision, around her creation, an unprecedented bloody battle was being played.

A raiding party of Dark Angels and Daybreakers was the first to take over the gap, planting a tattered banner in the metal ruins, eliciting waves of cheers: but before the jets in their backpacks could dissipate, thousands of Randan soldiers completely overwhelmed the warriors who had gone first, and dozens of Terra veterans disappeared silently into the alien wave, along with a hundredfold number of enemies and a broken double-headed eagle banner.

But this was by no means the end of the battle, for at least a million men were pouring into this gap that could only hold one company, and the waves of slaughter swept in, and the fierce firefights were visible and intensified at any time, and countless warriors fell every second, their centuries of combat experience dissipated like snowflakes in the chaotic bloody hand-to-hand combat, and the raging screams even tore a vortex in the air, and at the center of the vortex were tens of thousands of death row prisoners imprisoned in armor and honor.

In the first few moments of the battle, at least fifty Daybreakers disappeared into Morgan's pupils, while the fallen Dark Angels were four times that number, and the Xenomorphs were at least dozens of times, the glorious armor of the Empire and the sharp bone spurs of the Xenomorphs fought for every inch of vital dirt until the warriors at the front fell, and the reserves standing on the walls did not hesitate to pick up.

I don't know how long this chaos lasted: maybe a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, and as Morgan suppressed the souls that had been stuffed into her mind, she was so slow with the passage of time that Conrad even became her silent bodyguard, until the pitch-black furious figure appeared in the field of vision of the two genetic protogens.

Johnson is here.

The enraged Lord of Caliban, who may have crossed the entire battlefield to reach a place that had already caused his legions heavy losses, rushed to the battlefield in endless cheer and despair like a god of war descending from the sky, without even waiting for his guards.

The first swing of the lion sword killed at least a hundred xenomorphs guarding the front, and in the next second, he killed all the fools who dared to stand in front of him, and even cleared a bloody land, and the dark angels behind him ignored the allies on the ground, and quickly advanced their battle line until more xenomorphs let out a desperate wail and blocked the First Legion with their bodies.

Johnson roared, furious, his rage harvesting the lives of thousands of Randan soldiers again and again, until they formed a hill that even Astarte had to climb, but even so, there was still a steady stream of Randan soldiers, fearlessly rushing to the genoplasms, staining the iron boots and blonde hair of the Calibans with their blood.

From the richly dressed senior generals and the Randan Forbidden Army, to the ragged Randan conscripts, every second, the genetic prototype has to kill countless opponents, and every second, he can only take a difficult step forward.

One second, two seconds, three seconds......

When her strength was restored, Morgan counted the carnage that had taken place in front of her: with their desperation and madness, Ran Dan had held back the Genoplasms for a full fifty-seven seconds, and they had earned fifty-seven seconds of life for their empire and race.

But, that's the end of it.

On the tower, Morgan held out his hand.

She smiled.

She sighed.

The corners of her mouth curled.

Her tears fell.

She sang an ode to destruction.

She destroyed the last barrier.

In her whispers, the last barrier guarding the Alien Emperor, the enemy who had succumbed to her in the realm of subspace, slowly swallowed his last breath.

Silent.

The genoplasm bowed its head.

She heard a whimper hidden in the subspace, a whimper coming from the ground beneath her feet, not sad or angry, just a ...... Helpless.

【……】

When Morgan looked up again, she happened to see a brief silence covered by a flickering sword light on the once unattainable walls of the Randan Palace, the metal manze was even more dazzling than the cold sun, and it was ten thousand warriors of the Dark Angels raising their blades and launching another charge against the Emperor's enemies.

They didn't have a war cry.

A charge is a battle cry.

In the next moment, the rolling black tide came overwhelmingly, and they carried the banner of swords, wings, and double-headed eagles, and mercilessly devoured everything that dared to stand in their way.

And at the front of this wave, a group of silent alien warriors, stopping their instinctive flight for their lives, stood in place, were silent for a moment, and then raised their weapons.

With roars and charges, they quickly vanished into the frenzy of the dark angels, never to be seen again, in the same place where they had stood.

Hanging high the Imperial Aquila.

(End of chapter)