Looking up at the sky, Lorga Aurelian felt a breeze blow across his fingers. He sat up, his newborn heart beating in his chest, as if urging him to do something, and he would rather wait a little longer.

It took him a while to come back to life, and it wasn't a good experience. Vulcan's elaborate scheme forced him back into darkness, but the four gods reacted differently, not just rebuke

He comforted himself with these words, after all, it is better to react than to ignore them completely.

After a while, the Great Speaker stood up with the golden scepter in his hand and sighed on the broken glassy earth.

"I told you—" He looked down at the charred corpse. "—this will not come of it, Vulcan, but you are so stupid that you would rather turn a deaf ear. I am immortal, the eyes of the gods are gazing through me, I am their eyes on the world, and I will live forever."

He shook his head in pity, half-knelt down, put the golden staff on the other side, and began to gather the remains.

The gray-white powder and ashes were carefully picked up by his hands and piled up next to the corpse that was still braving the heat.

He did it with great care and care, as if the bloody battle with Vulcan had never happened—it was not, but it did not affect Loja much.

He did die for a moment, but he was soon alive again. His body was filled with surging black aether that connected him to the spirit of chaos.

Perhaps the current Loja Aurelian should be called the embodiment of darkness more than the title of Great Speaker.

After a while, he had finally buried the ashes that had been part of Vulcan's body under the remains of the Lord of the Fire Dragon, the golden staff still beside him, and the air suddenly began to tremble.

A series of syllables that did not belong to any language came out of his mouth, and the world suddenly went dark. The heavy clouds that had been scattered by the artillery fire were now back, gathering in the gloomy sky, obscuring out what little sickness sunlight had left.

The splendid ocean that belongs to the subspace begins to surge magnificently, smearing on a dark curtain. At this moment, the very few people of Makulag, who still dared to look up to the sky, fell into great fear.

They are witnessing a beauty that most of the human race has never seen before, but that is not a sign of luck, because the only thing behind this beautiful sight is death and destruction.

In nature, beautiful colors often represent danger.

Luo Jia closed her eyes, her fists clenched, and her mouth still chanting.

His voice was like a ballad, contained in the Eightfold Way, the power of the rhythm was priding at the weak foundations of the world here, and the power of chaos greedily sniffed the scent of the world of the living through him, and he was unaware of it.

He's still thinking pityingly—I told you, brother. I will die, but I will be born again.

For you, death may be no different from a coma. But in the meantime you will be unarmed, you will face a terrible fate, I am not lying.

After a few moments, the song was finished. The Colchis slowly opened their eyes, and the pupils were gone, leaving only darkness. He reached out and grabbed Vulcan's stump with such force that the already fragile remains began to shatter like flying ashes.

As the wind picked up, his skin began to glow like the sun, illuminating the whole person almost transparently. If anyone can watch here at this moment, they will find out what a terrifying truth is hidden under Luo Jia's skin.

What came out of the light was not bones or flesh, but thousands, tens of thousands of nightmarish creatures. They lifted up his skin, and when he used his strength, writhed beneath it, creating horrible dents or bumps.

For example, at this moment, he stared solemnly at his brother, gathering strength to try to make him see the truth, but his face was changing.

The face that belonged to Lorga Aurelian had been skewed to a terrible point, and a pitch-black, unsure blood or muddy liquid trickled out of his seven orifices.

Dripping to the ground, it turns the glass into black stones, and when it spills the air, it makes cracks appear, and the dark shadows dance and writhe in it.

The Great Speaker laughed happily, his skin trembling, his flesh moving, his bones long gone. He was like a clay doll, without any ego.

This is the truth, but he alone cannot see it.

A few minutes later, the wind had formed a storm, and no one was able to enter it.

Holding Vulcan's hand tightly, Lorga began to formally invoke the power of the gods—as always, his prayers were answered.

In the midst of angry heat waves, indulgent warm currents, diseased pus, and changeable galaxies, Vulcan's remains began to be covered in radiance.

It was at this moment that Perturabo stepped off a fast attack boat.

He had an elite army of no small size around him, their armor covered in blood and dust, both from the corpses of demons. The desire to kill is still lingering in the bottom of my heart, but I can't take another step beyond the thunder pool, and reason has become steel.

The Raider stopped at the edge of the storm, unable to go any deeper, and the power of the machine was finally exhausted. Perturabo looked into the distance in silence, the storm mixed with the strong smell of blood destroying his sense of smell.

It was blood-red, but faintly glowing with an unsettling golden light. The combination of such complex scenery created a swirling distorted light on Perturabo's retina, which was extremely disgusting.

But he had to stand here.

Over the past forty-four minutes, more than eleven detonation signals have been sent to the Iron Lord's Warframe. This is the only one who must be allowed to come in person, for Vulcan's signal is also here.

Peturabo tried to call, but was never answered, and he knew that his stupid brother might have done something that no ordinary person could afford, and that he had incurred some consequences that no ordinary person could bear

This matter annoyed him a little, and he had only been instructed, and his tone was even close to an order, but he still got such a result. Vulcan's actions amounted to disobedience, which could not be tolerated in war.

But Peturabo cannot blame Vulcan for disobeying the orders of his failed manager.

He even wanted to laugh a little - if he had come by himself, I am afraid that he would have chosen to ignore the words of a manager like him.

But there is another reason for this, and that reason is called determination.

After seeing what was in the subspace, Vulcan made up his mind, telling Perturabo that he would do whatever it took to prevent civilians from coming into contact with or being harmed by these things.

His determination was heavy, but the Lord of Steel was not too relenting.

He knew, of course, that the Emperor might have told them countless lies about the truth of the empire and the affairs of subspace, but even if these lies were combined, they were not enough to compare with the horrors of subspace.

At this moment, all the important locations throughout the city of Maculag, whether they are places of interest or military barracks or municipal buildings, are buried and installed with all the powerful explosives possessed by the people of Macullag.

There are also orbital weapon launch platforms, and after gaining clearance, Peturabo manually manipulated three separate launch platforms and aimed them at the city of Maculag.

They are just the beginning.

Once the three weapon platforms are activated, many of the packets that have been prepared will be sent over the internal network to the shared thinking space of all servos.

They will wonder about the sudden extra data, and if one of them clicks, all weapon platforms will aim at Macurag for at least one round.

If the Combine is defeated, all of these backhands will be activated immediately, without the slightest hesitation. Even if someone senses that something is wrong, the Iron Warrior, who has already been transferred to his assigned position, will ensure that his plan goes smoothly.

The jade is burned, that's all.

Yes, there are civilians who will die for this. Those who don't have time to move to underground shelters will also die, and their heirs, and their brothers' heirs, will probably all die.

This means that the Lord of Steel will once again stain his hands with the blood of the loyalist, and he will break his oath once and for all.

But it doesn't matter.

He didn't care, his hands were already bloody. Thirty years earlier, looking at the galaxy, who doesn't know that he is a sick general, who likes to let his soldiers die one by one, and likes to make their deaths worthless? He's that kind of person, it doesn't matter.

What's more, instead of letting the Bearers drink the blood of the innocent and transform them into monsters of the subspace in eternal torment, it is better to let them die as loyalists.

Anyway, he has his own infamy to resist.

If Robert Killiman is going to hate him afterwards, then hate, this is the way it should be, and it is the reward he deserves. If the surviving Makullag wants to scold him for making them lose their homes, scold him for not missing this sentence.

If Eltros is going to appear, come on.

"Activate the final line of defense." Perturabo commanded, his tone very calm, as if it were just small talk.

He still couldn't see what was inside the storm, but he could vaguely detect something through his intuition. His orders fell to Dantiok, along with Garro, Atellus Numeon, and Valentus Dollo.

They came from the court of Killiman and gathered together as if they were about to witness something. But none of them understood who Perturabo was saying this to, until the sigh of Fricks the City Breaker could be heard in the communication channel.

"I see, my lord." The commander of a company of the Iron Warriors said. "May you return victorious."

"Let's talk about it later, Frix, can't you fix this problem? Always like to say things that don't matter."

Perturabo sneered, and strode into the storm, carrying his hammer.

Dantiok immediately instinctively wanted to follow, but was firmly bound in place by an order.

"Retreat now, all of you. Go to the city and fight and assist civilians and living forces in retreating underground in preparation for a second round of battles. All must obey my orders, and those who disobey will be expelled from the Legion and never again be allowed to fight as Iron Warriors, Death Guards, Salamanders, or Ultramarines. ”

"You don't have the authority to do such a thing!" Atellus Numeong shouted. "We obey only our Father!"

"You can try it, Atellas." Perturabo's voice sounded hoarse in the communication channel. "I am the commander of the Coalition Army, and in this war, my power reigns supreme. Tell me, are you going to disobey the manager? ”

The salamander pursed its mouth tightly and looked at the war blacksmith as if asking for help. The latter, however, avoided his gaze and returned to his tackled boat with a hardened heart, and began to maneuver in manual mode.

No one could see his expression, the iron mask obscured everything, except for a pair of burning eyes.

Valentus Dollo sighed and gave orders to the Ultramarines. At this moment, the only person left was Garo, and the death guard could only show a crying expression when he met the salamander's gaze.

"I can't disgrace him, Atelles." Garo said.

"Now you don't have any supporters, do you, Company Commander?" Peturabo asked.

He sounded a little smug.

Unfortunately, Atellus couldn't confirm if this was real or if it was his delusion. Because the Iron Lord's voice had become somewhat choppy, the noise that had been generated by electromagnetic waves had now been replaced by the soft howls of monsters.

In a trance, Atellus Numeon saw a picture before his eyes, and he even felt that Perturabo was walking alone in purgatory.

"I beg you—" Atellus Numeon spoke again, making one last attempt.

As it should be, he was denied.

"—I'll rescue Vulcan." Perturabo whispered. "We are about to face a dark time, Atellus. We will return to ignorance and barbarism, and in such a world Vulcan will be more useful than me, and he can make the empire go further. ”

"Our Father will never agree with you, and neither will I. If things really turn out as you say, humanity needs an iron-fisted ruler even more. ”

"Don't deny me." Peturabo said. "I see farther than he does, and I see farther than you. I'm always right. Cruelty and coercion may give us a momentary victory, but if we need to walk into the light, we need people like him. ”

"So, let's go."

He hung up the communication without question.

Atellus Numeong clenched his fists and listened to his heartbeat. After a brief silence, he resolutely left with his brothers.

The storm is still there, and the people are gone. Above the orbit of Macurag, within the tormented point of Mandeville, a fleet was leaping forward.

There is also a 6k chapter that ends. Maybe 7k? Up in the air.

(End of chapter)