You thought this was the end, didn't you?

You think that burning every world is the end, the end of crime, but there is no limit to human imagination. It's funny to say that we really don't have an end to killing.

Ultimately, perhaps because the human body is so fragile, there are suddenly more ways to kill, gassing, bombing, burying alive or having them kill each other. Even Astarte can be injured by a blade. What is the use of holding a blade and armor?

We have the protection of the gods

"yes." Sevita said. "But I have the fuck this."

He pulled the trigger, and the blaster erupted into a brilliant burst of fire in the dimly lit cabin.

One of the Bearers was beaten and staggered back a few steps, blood pouring from the torn armor, but he wasn't dead. There was still a pure, primal evil on that face, and the chainsaw sword whistled and slashed at him.

Sevita dodged sideways and threw the empty blaster out of the way, sending his foe stumbling again. And this step, for him, is enough.

Roaring, the First Reserve snapped the Whisperer's left knee with a hard kick, followed by a punch that landed him in the jaw with precision. There was a crisp cracking sound of bones, and he was still not satisfied, and after punching off the chainsaw sword, he grabbed the loose jaw with both hands.

"Click——!"

Blood splattered out, and Sevita sneered in satisfaction. His helmet was covered in blood, and even the eyepieces were smudged and glowed a dull red.

The Bearer waved his hands and tried to get rid of him, but not only did he not succeed, but he even caused even more pain.

Holding the chin, Sevita began to beat its owner with it, again and again, and again, and the muffled sound kept echoing. He continued to beat the Bearer until his head was completely deformed and swollen like a trampled melon.

"Go on." Sevita let go of her hand, letting the chin residue and flesh slip from her armor.

He turned, muttering to himself, picking up his blaster and chainsaw.

"Go on, you bastard, and keep talking about your theories about torture and the blessings of the gods."

He swapped into a magazine and stepped over the corpse.

"What about your gods?" Facing the darkness in front of him, he asked with a smirk. "Call them out?"

The corpse didn't answer, it naturally couldn't, but there were still a lot of living whisperers in the ship. Half a minute later, he killed the three Bearers who tried to answer.

They were forty-eighth, forty-ninth, and fifty, and their armor was so dirty that it was obvious at a glance that it was a lack of maintenance, and the MK3 was a waste to wear on them.

Sweating and laughing maniacally, Sevita dismembered them with a chainsaw halberd, and then immediately threw a string of grenades. The cramped space was instantly filled with explosions and heatwaves, stumps and severed arms flew everywhere, and a dozen slaves or the Whisperer auxiliaries and the like rushed out of the flames screaming.

Unfortunately, the first thing they saw was a grim visor painted in the shape of a skeleton and two red dots of light flickering in the darkness.

Sevita gently pressed the chainsaw's start knob, and it spun like a manic episode, the teeth spun, and the motor began to laugh maniacally.

The killing is upon return.

Sevita didn't waste time on the group, but he did give his chainsaw a treat, and he made each blade taste the blood of traitor's depravity and blasphemy.

If this weapon really had a soul, it would surely forgive him for sticking it into the ground these days.

Of course, it may not be, who cares?

Gasping for breath, Sevita began to continue towards the fourth engine room of the battle barge.

The Whisperers had been attacking almost two hours earlier, and they had rushed out of an asteroid belt and launched an attack on the combined fleet of the Eighth and Thirteenth Legions. Logically speaking, the radar should have been a warning, but the Whisperers have subspace magic.

Well, they have everything. Except for courage.

A bunch of cowards.

Sevita was content to insult her enemies in her own thoughts, but her movements were not slow at all. He ran all the way, leaving a little gift around every corner.

If a pursuer or a not-eyed man tried to pass through the trap he left behind, they would taste the incessant explosions, and the pottery steel could not protect them—as Conrad Coetzes had said.

Unfortunately, the galaxy is full of things that can easily destroy pottery steel, so said the Lord of the Blades, and we coincidentally wear pottery steel for the most part.

Sevita smiled happily and pulled the trigger, breaking the lock of a heavy door, followed by several slashes.

This doesn't fit the essentials of stealth combat, but Sevita doesn't want to care about anything right now. The coldness of the psionic energy had faded from his body, and it didn't feel good.

Over the past forty-two days, he had become accustomed to the convenience of psionic energy and the illusion of omnipotence it brings, and it was much harder to accept what was lost than to receive.

He was cranky, his mind frantically like the environment of the Whisperers' ships, and the Whisperers responded to him - half a squad of traitors rushed out of the corner of the hallway, led by the one with a promethium flamethrower.

Sevita raised an eyebrow, turned around and smashed the door into the engine room.

There were constant urgings and inquiries coming from his communication channel, most of them from the adjutant of the 1st Company, Moletz. Obviously, the lieutenant in charge of the command was not very happy with his solitary operation - but it was not a big problem.

Now it's just the stage of dissatisfaction, and it's still some time before he gets to the stage where he wants to punish him, as long as he gets his hands done.

Sevita raised his blaster and aimed it at the array of contemplatives in the engine room, and he was even in the mood to hum. The ballad has no name, it comes from Nostramo, it is low, long, and gloomy, and comes from a legendary vengeful ghost.

Sevita loved it, but he rarely sang it. It's a good song, but his voice isn't.

Smiling, he pulled the trigger.

A few seconds later, outside the door, the roars of the Bearers were approaching, but he walked unhurriedly behind the broken door, quietly raised his chainsaw, and still hummed the ballad in his heart.

The flames had begun to spread through the engine room, and the shrill sirens mingled with the unconscious wails of the Ponderor Array, all the more unpleasant, but Sevita remained calm. He coldly held up the chainsaw halberd, doing his waiting.

Half a second later, flames shot in from outside the broken gate.

"If you don't want to come out, die inside, you rat hiding in the dark!" Someone shouted outside. "You're ready to bury the engine! I'll kill you first, and then every one of your brothers!" ”

Sevita narrowed her eyes and sighed silently, disappointed by the sudden return of the Whisperers' intellect and reminded him of his psionic powers.

If his talent hadn't been sealed, then the enemy of this half squad would have been nothing more than a matter of thought. He could freeze them casually, then rushed over and chopped everyone to pieces with a chainsaw.

Or simply, just roast them with lightning and their armor and make them scream or twitch inside.

He had many ways to save himself from the current predicament, and all of these methods required a premise, which was psionic power.

But he doesn't have psionic powers now.

Sevita blinked, trying to try another way to break the game, but heard a discordant murmur.

More than ten seconds later, with a deafening explosion, smoke and dust filled the outside of the gate.

What had been the iron door to the engine room was now a deep pit, broken cables were releasing electricity, hot steam was pouring out of the broken pipes, and some mutilated flesh was hanging from the ceiling or the ground and hissing.

The corpses of the Bearers have taken on a more primitive form. It looks like dirt mixed with bone slag and armor fragments, dark red, with a disgusting texture.

Sevita smacked her lips, jumped over the pit, and left the engine room. But before he could get to his feet, he was slammed to the ground by a punch.

Morec reached out and pulled him up, took off his helmet, and threw another punch. This time it was a solid hit on the bridge of his nose, blood gushing out, and tears.

The physiological reaction made Sevita take a step back from her broken nose, looking embarrassed. The lieutenant looked at him coldly, and backhanded the helmet to one of the Nightblades standing behind him.

"Hello, big hero." The adjutant greeted softly. "How does it feel to leave behind your brothers and battle plans to be a lone hero?"

"I didn't leave them behind, I just changed the battle plan." Sevita said indistinctly. "Don't you see? I uploaded it to—"

"—yes, yes, I see, Sevitalyon, you idiot." Morets interrupted him impatiently and pushed him against a nearby wall, reaching out to straighten the bridge of his nose.

Sevita didn't make a sound, obediently causing him more pain.

"You know you deserve it, right?" Morec asked.

"Hmm." Sevita nodded. "There won't be a next time, I promise."

"It doesn't matter." The adjutant hung a smirk. "Everybody gets out of control at times, especially us. We're going to get completely out of control someday, so it's okay. ”

He turned and walked away, and Sevita immediately caught up with him. A helmet was thrown at him, and he took it with his backhand and hung it on his belt.

"I'm serious." Sevita said.

"Whatever you want, Severalion." Morec glanced at him calmly.

"One thing I learned early on is that war can change everything, but it can't change everyone's character. It's like our company commander, after so many years, how can his old-fashioned and seriousness have ever been worn out? Or Siani, who is always on the way to gaining an inch, and you."

"What's wrong with me?"

"You're forever tormented." The adjutant chuckled causticly.

"Your sanity always tells you what to do right, but sometimes, your sensibilities will ask you to go the exact opposite of your sanity, and your damn tongue-in-cheek"

"It's always pleasant to go against the odds, and that's why you'll always be miserable like this, Sevita Leon. That's why I don't believe your that there will be no next time, that there will be two if there is one, and there will be three if there is two. ”

Sevita silently and cautiously voiced her objections. It was a gentle shake of the head, which of course did not escape Moletz's eyes.

The adjutant gave him a slightly unpleasant look, pulled out his blaster, and backhanded three rounds to the corpse of a bearer on the ground. Two hearts, one brain. Flesh splattered, and he stopped and crouched down.

"I don't like to preach." He spoke coldly. "So, let's get down to business. Come here, Savitarion. ”

The First Reserve leaned over with a low brow.

"Look." Morettz held out a finger and pointed to a mass of jet-black flesh in disgust. "It's his brain, at least for the time being. What kind of people would have black brains, Sergeant Sevitarione? ”

"Traitor."

"Only half right." Morec withdrew his blaster, hooked it back to the side of his thigh, and reached for his combat knife.

He picked up the mass of flesh with the tip of his knife, and the Nightblades methodically cleaned up in the darkness - yes, if you ask, they enforce a complete policy of extermination against every gang-jumping Whisperer ship.

"Only a traitor who has been completely corrupted can do that." The adjutant whispered. "The corrosion of subspace is a gradual process, at least for the most part. It's like a spring drizzle, you can only realize their arrival when you feel the chill on your neck, and by then, it's already too late. ”

"That sounds a little poetic," Sevita said in amazement.

The adjutant sighed in annoyance: "What did I just say?" ”

"You say the corrosion of subspace is like a spring drizzle."

"No, I said your mouth is damn sometimes." Morets said coldly.

"The Whisperers are free to fool themselves with the so-called 'divine blessing' theory, but we all know what things look like in the subspace. But even a premature baby born from a cross between an Ogelin and an orc is no uglier than those things, they are horribly ugly."

"Are you off topic?"

Morec laughed angrily and brought the short knife in front of Sevita with his backhand. The latter raised his hands and wisely closed his mouth.

"Their corruption is deepening, Sevitharion." Morec said. "And the Whisperers take this as a blessing, they are fanatical believers in the first place, so, now think about it, what can a group of fanatical believers do to please the gods?"

He shook the short knife again, and the flesh was gradually sliding off the tip of the knife.

There is also a chapter pinch.

The late update is force majeure, and the author went downstairs to get the express and was created by a battery car.

(End of chapter)