Eventually, Angelon collapsed five minutes before Nucheria was exterminated.

The unimaginable exhaustion and pain still overwhelmed the genetic protogen, and the fighting brother lying in his arms, swallowing his last breath silently, completely broke the inner strings of the son of the mountain.

The most powerful pillar that had long sustained him in his constant confrontation with the Butcher's Spike, and supported him to advance tenaciously under the pressure of high-ranking riders, gladiatorial arenas, and bloodthirsty desires, slowly drifted away with the wind along with Jochuka's increasingly ethereal form.

The moment he noticed that his little brother's fingers had become cold, numbness and confusion swept through the original body's mind, and even the roar of the butcher's nail seemed insignificant at this moment, because the soul in the pupils of the Nukerians was dead.

He could no longer feel pain, nor sorrow, his arms strong enough to shatter the chariot were hugged together, but he could no longer hold his brother's hand, his god-like majesty contorted together, but he could no longer shed hot tears.

The original body leaned forward, as if trying to find his fighting brother again in the frenzied wind and sand, but in the end, the great warrior threw himself into the air and fell to the ground like a hulking beast: hunched, his broad back trembling, and roaring in the sky, but only to hiss hoarsely.

Sorrow pierced the greatest gladiator like a sword, and Angelon forgot to weep, forgot to roar, forgot to look up at the city that was being destroyed in the fire: a wonderful sight that had appeared countless times in the most extravagant dreams of the son of the mountain, but when the dream came true, he had no interest in even glancing at it.

Yes, the city was finally destroyed, yes, the maggots, the high riders, along with their golden towers, were finally reduced to ashes, and yes, the great visions that they had never conceived when they raised their armies have finally come true today.

Everything was so wonderful and everything was incredibly great.

But what does all this have to do with him Angron?

His brothers, his siblings, and every one of his fellow human blood whom he had sworn to live and die with, were gone from him: all that the Son of the Mountain had loved, to whom he had attached, and to whom he had sworn to fight all his life, had drifted away with his fighting brothers.

Without them, Angron was nothing: he was a warrior, but he lost his fighting brother; He was a gladiator, but there was no place for gladiatorial fighting; He is a Nukerian, but now, even the world of Nukeriyah is about to return to dead silence.

Everything he loved, what he cherished, everything he swore to protect, was gone.

Even the ones he hated, the ones he accused, the ones he swore to take revenge, were gone.

"Nothing left......"

The genoplasm screamed as it slammed into the wind and sand above Nukeria.

It is sad that the son of the mountain spent the first half of his life in pain and sorrow: but even more sad is that now, even pain and sorrow are leaving him, and Angelon finds himself with nothing but the Butcher's Nail.

Now, what should he do?

What can he do?

There is nothing left for him to protect, nothing to be the object of his revenge, and even nothing for him to continue to destroy: then, what is the meaning of Anglon, who cannot protect anything, nor can he take revenge or destroy anything, to this world?

At this point in life, all he has learned is to protect and fight, revenge and destruction.

That's all the world taught him.

And now......

Angelon looked at his hands: he felt nothing but great weakness.

He didn't even have the strength to lift his hand, he forgot the instinct to breathe, he lay on his side on the ground, a dead corpse with a soul of his own, the distractions of the Butcher's Nail could not make his limbs move, and the disturbances of the outside world could not slip into his meninges.

There is only emptiness.

There is only extreme emptiness.

The original body was sluggish, and he didn't know what else he could do: to continue to lie here, to go to destruction with the world? Or heed the roar of the Butcher's Nail and rage at any blood-soaked creature until the strongest of them can kill him?

Or...... Or......

Or what......

Angelon asked himself in his head, but he couldn't give himself an answer.

So, he could only choose to lie there numbly, thinking of nothing, and let the manic storm of red sand sweep this small hill over and over again, and let those sharp stones slap on his back and neck, like a knife blade: those that hit his neck seemed to hurt a little more?

But it was in this pain that the original body felt that his body was numb, but he felt his will sluggish, but he felt a long-lost sleepiness, or a fainting feeling? Slowly welling up in his mind.

After the ultimate pain, struggle, madness, and sorrow, the only thing that Angelon's soul could leave to his body was the exhaustion that even the genetic prototype could not bear.

He had fought sleepless days and nights in the snowy mountains, he had fought against the will of the gods under the madness of the Butcher's Spike, he had torn his way forward in the greatest sandstorm in Nukeria: and now, when he finally stopped, the price of these miracles had finally found him.

In the emptiness of the primordial.

Angelon was tired.

He was finally tired.

He thought: sleep.

Or: escape?

“……”

That's it, anything.

Run, run.

He doesn't care anymore.

It doesn't matter anymore.

The thought of self-abandonment flashed through the primordial's mind like a meteor, slowly pulling down Anglon's heavy eyelids, and he fell to the place where his fighting brother died, the moment the gladiatorial city that had imprisoned him for his entire childhood fell apart.

Thereupon.

The original body has fallen.

Went to sleep.

And the first half of his life is over.

——————

"Everything, it's not pretty."

"Everything, it's not worth remembering."

Conrad curled the corners of his mouth and stepped forward, he looked at his fallen brother, and commented in two short sentences on the unfortunate first half of his life: In my heart, Midnight Ghost was probably the most qualified brother to judge Anglon's misfortune.

Behind him, the Raven Prince, out of instinctive awe of any Astarte warrior, was cautiously surveying Anglon's majestic form: the leather case in his hand, which he never left, had been opened, and the metal clasps and zippers crackled in the final gust of wind.

"Is he asleep, father?"

"Falling asleep, fainting, or falling into suspended animation out of biological instinct."

"None of that matters."

Coming to his brother's side, Midnight Ghost first crouched down, took off the iron crown from Anglon's forehead, who was no longer responsive, and then put it on top of his head, and then he couldn't wait to stretch his brow, and let out a sigh similar to emotion in a smile.

"Sure enough."

"It's better to be quiet in your head."

Conrad looked happy, and he hummed the out-of-tune Nostramo ballad, and then took one of Angron's arms, put it on his shoulder, and with a single force, carried the fighting brother, who was a full circle older than him.

Standing not far away, Sevita was incredulous by the striking comparison: he was sure that his genetic father, though somewhat skinny, was a standard Genoplasma stature, and that the Midnight Ghost could even be called a poor bean sprout compared to the majestic muscles of Angelon's body.

"You seem to be thinking something rude, Sai?"

“…… Cough. ”

The Raven Prince coughed, he blinked, and threw out the question in his heart to change the subject.

"Still, father."

"What the hell is it that can knock down a primordial like this?"

"That's, it's too much."

Conrad carried his brother on his shoulder, looked up into the sky, and waited for the arrival of the Thunderhawk that had come to meet them: until then, he didn't mind answering the confusion of the heir.

"Great exhaustion, or great emotional swings, or even psionic shocks from powerful psionics, and the ferocious artillery fire that can destroy the Titans: neither physically nor mentally, the Genetic Prototypes are invincible, but their spirits are generally weaker than their physical bodies."

“…… They? ”

"Yes, they: Conrad, your great genetic father, is invincible~"

“……”

"Your expression is rude, Sai."

“…… Ahem, sorry sorry ......"

The Raven Prince quickly lowered his head and stood quietly beside the Midnight Wraith, until they heard the roar of the engine as the Thunderhawk gunboat slowly circled overhead, looking for a landing site: in the midst of this loud roar, Sevita finally did not hold back, the last doubt in his heart.

"So, father?"

"What was it that knocked down Angelon?"

"Is it because of exhaustion? Because of sadness? Or is it because of something else: like the butcher's nail in his head, which I've heard is a very horrible torture instrument. ”

"Ah, you said to bring Angelon down."

"Of course it'......"

——————

"You have the invincible Nukeria in your box."

——————

【……？ 】

"I mean really, Morgan, it's so good!"

Conrad leaned back in his chair, raised a finger, and absentmindedly played with the used syringe: less than ten minutes earlier, he had used the Nukeria's special numbing to bring down his brother Angron, and the effect was so fast that even the Midnight Wraith himself could not help but marvel.

[So, you promised me that there was a way for Angelon to return to the battleship with all his beards and tails after the death of his last fighting brother: is that what you mean?] 】

"Tell me if he was dragged to the battleship with all his beards and tails?"

Conrad raised his head proudly: of course he would be proud, because when he stepped onto the deck of the Emperor Phantom from the Thunder Eagle with the intact Angron on his shoulder, even the sad and joyless countenance of the Lord of Mankind who greeted them was born with a hint of surprise.

"But, seriously, Morgan: have you found the recipe for this strange narcotic on Nukeria, I think it's much more precious than the so-called STCs."

[That's going to disappoint you.] 】

The original body laughed.

[My heirs have only found silver vines, gravity-defying boots, gravity-defying hand armor, sonic jammers, and matter-converting beams, as well as the recipes for the production of more than a dozen other strange weapons in the ruins of Nukeria: the Nukerians do not know the technology, and they keep these drawings in their treasure troves as ordinary treasures, which are especially easy to find. 】

[But the anesthetic: I really haven't found the recipe for this thing, but they did bring a few boxes back: the pharmacists under my command are studying the constituent elements, but I don't think much of them. 】

"It's also quite rewarding."

Midnight Ghost leaned back.

"But: forget it about my Midnight Lord Legion, those war dogs didn't even think to come for a piece of the pie when they saw your heirs looting technological artifacts so aggressively?"

[Their minds are all tied to their genetic fathers.] 】

The Spider Queen winked playfully, a wicked smile on her lips.

[But it's a pity: these little guys of the Twelfth Legion still have to stay on their warships and continue to scratch their hearts for a while: Angron is now on the Imperial Dream, waiting for our next discussion.] 】

"What are you going to do with him?"

[It depends on what the emperor means.] 】

"And what does the Emperor think?"

[I don't know, the Emperor is busy with something else right now: as soon as the war on Nukeria is over, he can't wait to summon my image director to his Imperial Dream: Seriously, I've never seen him so serious about paying his debts before.] 】

"I haven't seen it either."

Conrad grinned.

"Well, then, since our Father of Genes is still so indifferent to Angron's affairs, it seems that our poor brother can only count on you: maybe I maybe?"

Whoever he was counting on, he had to stay on the Emperor's ship for a while. 】

Morgan yawned: she was also feeling a great amount of exhaustion.

Although the war that took place in Nukeria only lasted an hour, the command of any war is essentially a very energy-consuming thing, let alone waging a war against the god of war in the territory of the blood god.

For Morgan, the past hour was no less than the fierce battle she had experienced in the Tux system: there she had faced the elite fleet that the Randan Empire had built with all its might, and the Emperor Randan, who was strong enough to confront the Lord of Humanity.

But at this time, at that time.

After the Battle of Taks, all the Lord of Avalon could do was to shrink down on the Indomitable Truth and timidly swallow his soul at the center of the Emperor's gaze, but after the war on Nucaria, Morgan was able to lie in his lounge and think about what she could do to relieve her exhaustion: maybe it would be a good idea to let Virgo give her a massage.

The original body touched her chin and thought in a lazy manner, which she keenly captured in the brief gap left after the war: when Morgan's gaze swept over Conrad, she even had the leisure to hook the corners of her mouth and tease her Nostramo blood relatives.

【Conrad~】

“…… Well? ”

[Do you want to pinch my feet?] 】

“……”

"Get out."

(End of chapter)