Dissipating, everything is dissipating, becoming a nothingness that cannot be seen or touched. Light is swallowed, then shapes, and finally sound.

With the thud of the ship's fall, things in front of Roger Dorn's eyes began to distort.

He wasn't in the middle of the fall, or even on the edge, but the turn of events still found him. The boulder opened his eyes as darkness descended, and then flames ignited.

The ground shook, obsidian polished smooth enough to be used as a mirror covered the muddy flesh, and narrow walls rose from scattered dust to envelop him in narrow corridors. The mutated skull hung from the stone wall, the top of the skull wide open, and torches stuck in it. A rancid smell spreads from their burning.

Dorne looked down and saw a blurry silhouette.

The smooth obsidian reflected his own form, but it was a twisted spectacle, the flames on the walls dancing and his appearance changing with it.

The skin dissolved, revealing its true face, a demonic face with two horns spiraling on top of its head. A highly abstract skull symbol glittered on the forehead, reaching deep into the bone marrow, and the bloody light was terrifyingly blooming, scarlet, and eyes like torches.

Dorne lifted his foot and ran over it.

Hoarse hiss can be heard in the communication channel, and someone is trying to contact him, but without success.

The instrument is reporting an error and has been going on for a while. Judging by the repeated error coding, there is only one reason why the communication line cannot be successfully established, and it is very simple - the signal is out of order, nothing more.

Dorne didn't care about this, just walked slowly with the Stormfangs in his hand.

Hailing from his hometown of Inwitt, this chainsaw sword was patiently crafted by those hard-working craftsmen in the snow and ice, and it was a truly terrifying weapon.

Only the Primordial could wield a weapon of this magnitude with one hand, and its teeth and motor were specially designed to shred almost anything, including adamantite gold. Therefore, if an enemy appears, he is not worried.

Even if he is alone now, even if the fortress he built has been completely destroyed.

Of course, Dorn recognized the fallen ship, and he could tell where it was at the center of its fall. Its destination is the Royal Palace, which is the entire Himalayas and the vast majority of the continental plate occupied by the Royal Palace.

It had fallen, so the palace was in ruins, and the well-prepared fortifications and fortress buildings had naturally been reduced to nothingness.

It doesn't matter, though.

He is the fortress. The last fortress.

Dorne turned, and he smelled a rotting stench far greater than before.

"Hello, brother." Horus Lupecar greeted with a smile.

Boulder slowly lowered the chainsaw sword in his hand.

"Huh?" Horus raised an eyebrow in rather surprise. "Why did you lay down your arms?"

Dorne looked at him indifferently and did not speak. The contempt in his eyes almost turned into substance.

"Ah, you're still so sharp," Horus shook his head wistfully. "You know, Rogge? On the way back, I kept wondering what had brought us to where we are today, and I couldn't come up with an answer, but I saw you—you to be exact. ”

"I saw the horror of Terra before I ordered the ramming, and even though we were floating in subspace, I saw it - how can you get those civilians to go into battle with guns?"

He asked, as if questioning, with a hint of anger in his eyes.

"Where's your backbone, Rogge?" He asked. "This is a battle of honor, and this battle belongs to the true warriors. I can tolerate you filling your battlefield with mortal auxiliaries, who are weak but part of the war, but why would you involve civilians as well? ”

"Why not?" Dorne asked calmly.

"What are they used for in war?"

Horus asked a rhetorical question, and immediately began to ramble as if he hadn't spoken so calmly to anyone in a long time.

"Most of them don't even know how to shoot properly, so it's a waste of their weapons. Tactical gestures and tactical literacy are all zero, not to mention their poor combat qualities. ”

"You're literally sending them to their deaths, Rogge. You put a gun in each of these civilians, and then you drive them into battle and let them go to the most dangerous places to be killed. Too inferior, brother, too inferior. It's not something you've done in the past, what exactly have you been through? ”

He asked sincerely, his eyes full of regret.

He still thinks of himself as a brother, a good general. It was as if they were not in hell now, fratricidal and fratricidal, but were debating war in a quiet room.

It's like in the past.

"You go and die." Dorn replied unusually calmly.

The apparition of the artifact laughed and dissipated, and he turned away and moved on.

He had long since learned from Vogram what had happened on board the Vengeful Spirit, Horus Lupecar had long since died, and his spirit, soul, and memories had been completely consumed by the evil creatures of the subspace.

The thing that was standing across from him and talking to him just now was just an impostor. Beneath the skin lies an infinite amount of chaotic power.

You don't need to see, you don't need to smell, you don't need to touch, you can easily notice it.

And none of that matters.

It can steal his brother's body, steal his name, steal everything from him. It can be used to wage war and can displace countless people and shatter their bones in the flames.

But Roger Dorn will avenge his brother.

He will avenge Horus Lupecar.

In the darkness, the stubborn stone walked alone with his head held high.

——

"Fareafriar!" Fogrem roared heartbreakingly.

Then he swung his sword—a flaming sword that slashed through dozens of demons in unison, and the flames immediately began to scorch the flesh and cling to it, bringing their souls to the gods for judgment.

Phoenix is still not happy about this.

His skin, which was once as white as a pearl, was now so white that it made people shudder, his face was bruised, his handsome face was completely distorted, and he could not see the elegance of civilization, only the barbarism brought by violence.

He clenched his teeth, blood and saliva dripping from his mouth like an unconscious, wild beast. Flames boiled in his eyes, scorching his soul for a moment, his flaming white hair swirling with the movement of his footsteps, ash spilling from the ends, hanging upside down and floating into the air.

There is no end to the souls returning from hell and whispering, wailing, crying, screaming, urging, and roaring in his ear.

Avenge us, avenge us. This is your destiny.

So he roared out a name again.

"Sepatas!"

The blade fell, and black flames rolled. The ground melted and cracked. Ghosts climbed out of it, millions of bony hands, holding hideous pieces of white bones in their hands.

They rose silently, their hands held high, and handed the pieces from the bottom of hell to the earth, to the top of Fogham's head.

They were close to putting the fragments on top of his head to forge a crown, only to be crushed back into the world of the dead by a wisp of darkness lurking inside the phoenix armor.

It roared at them menacingly, warning them not to do so, not to put on the Avenger's crown for the human named Foggrim, even if it was still broken and not yet whole.

As much as it would love to see it, it promised Karil Lohals, so it will keep it.

The ghosts regretfully dispersed. After all, they could not resist the demon named Larhe.

Fogrem didn't know anything about it, and he still kept the oath he made when he made the contract. He will avenge every person who died in vain until the end of time.

Their names crossed his mind, and their grievances and endless resentments poured into his heart. Under all the pressure, the phoenix has long forgotten where she is.

That's why he's indifferent to the fall of the vengeful spirit. If he had even a little bit of sobriety, he would have noticed a change in the environment, but he would not have been able to sober up on his own.

The spiral of hatred has long enveloped him.

Macado regretted this.

The Palm Seal's psionic energy enveloped his soul and fluttered, the vengeful spirit had fallen only a minute ago, but he had seen all of Terra in that time, seen tens of thousands of deaths, and he didn't even perceive any burden.

He had never been so bold in using his psionic powers. Once upon a time, out of prudence, he had been suppressing himself. Until now, until his lord asks.

The Palm Seal Holder sighed and stretched out his hand, clenching his fists lightly in a gesture beyond the mundane. The psionic light erupted suddenly, enough to make a mortal's momentarily ascended power shine through his fingers, but the blue light was half golden.

Machado watched this speechlessly, knowing that his lord was still doing his best—he had asked him to leave it alone, but the golden-clad giant shook his head weakly.

The light bloomed, like the scorching sun and snow, and melted away all the demons. Their flesh hissed, sarcomas sprouted from their bones, nerves spread, and their corpses surged and twisted, forming a vast web of flesh and blood.

They want to continue to exist until Machado has to leave, so that they can continue to drag Vogrim into revenge, so that he can never come to his senses and never do what he really wants.

The palm print's eyes froze, and the anger hidden in his heart finally exploded. Even if it was only for a moment, it made them completely dissipate - but his power could not kill these evil spirits in the true sense of the word.

They are fragments of the gods who were born to turn the world into hell. His current behavior can only be regarded as driving them out.

But that's enough, he's bought time.

The Palm Sealer clenched his fists once more, digging deep into Vogrim's heart with all his might, just to find the last piece of clarity - his efforts were not in vain, and in the midst of a horrific picture of high abstraction, he found the Chermoth.

He was in a corner obscured by darkness, staring silently at his memories. In front of him was a stone wall, and images flashed over it, of a giant bathed in blood furiously slamming into another with an axe in one hand.

It was Angrand, and the palm printman could see it at a glance. He sighed, bitterness welling up in his heart. Although he had long known about the sacrifice of the Sons of the Mountains, he could not help but be shocked and deplorable when he saw it with his own eyes.

"Fogham." The Palm Printer calls softly. "It's time for you to wake up."

The phoenix jerked back, its white hair flying, and its eyes dancing with rage. The dull red and the sinking black turned into entangled flames of rage, and there was no trace of the violet of the past.

He gritted his teeth and it took him a moment to recognize Machado. What was once as pure as a jewel is now like a beast, mad.

"What happened?"

He asked hoarsely, tears of blood slowly flowing from his eyes, sliding down to his chin and forming a winding path of blood, like the terrifying pattern that the ancient Norse berserkers of Terra had only smeared on their faces before going into battle.

The only difference is that Berserkers do it to terrify their enemies, while Foggrim is not.

He just hated his incompetence.

Machado sees all of this without giving any evaluation or advice, only simply narrating.

"The vengeful spirit has fallen on Terra, coming with chaos magic. It was an altar in its first place, and now it resonates with Terra. It's integrated into Terra, and, increasingly, becoming a part of Terra—"

"—is it there?" Fogham interrupted him suddenly. "Is it here, Machado?"

"It's here, and it's right here." The person who holds the palm print tells the truth. "In a few minutes, the Spirit of Vengeance will be completely integrated into Terra, and the altar will be stacked on top of each other, and there will be no Terra or Vengeful Spirit from now on. But you can't see it. ”

"Why?" Vogrim asked.

His expression was calm, not the slightest dissatisfaction, as if he was just asking a very simple question.

A wry smile finally bloomed on the face of the palm printmaker.

"Because it doesn't want to." He said.

"I'll find it."

"No, you can't. And even if you could, you wouldn't be able to beat it. It is the common choice of the four false gods, and it is also a door to chaos that exists in our world. It is the hand of the revenge spiral that is now spreading across the galaxy that it has created, and the spiral of hatred has begun with it."

"So?"

"So you can't beat it." Makado said. "You need reason to fight it, just as humans need reason to fight a beast. But the moment you see him, you will completely lose your mind, and those who died unjustly will completely crush you. ”

Fogrem was silent for a few seconds, tears still streaming down his wrinkled lips. However, when the silence ended, he laughed.

"Maybe, maybe it's really like you say, Machado. However, you got one thing wrong. ”

"What's the matter?"

"Humans don't fight beasts by reason." Phoenix said.

He raised his hands, and the black flames ignited, and the blades gathered. The wind swept in, blowing his gray hair, and the end began to light and die like a burn. In the blink of an eye, they were back in the real world.

The phoenix gasped and fell to its knees, feeling a wave of weakness like never before. and eerie enrichment.

His hands were too tired to lift, but the strength in his body was endless.

The more tired he felt, the more he felt the inhuman, cold power—a call that earnestly wanted him to throw away his skin, his memories and everything, and become a true beast for revenge.

No, not now. He said to himself.

He looked up and saw a drifting shadow.

"Machado."

"I'm here." The Palm Printman replied, his voice changing, but the Chemus seemed to be unaware.

"How did it and the Vengeful Spirit get to Terra?"

"Subspace jumps, they've been preparing early in the morning. Jumped directly from the far end of the solar system to Terra's low-Earth orbit and began to fall. ”

"And it can't come alone," Fogham muttered as he rose from the ground. "In other words, in addition to facing its attack, Terra also has to deal with attacks from the sky."

"I don't think we have to worry about that." Makado said. "The Mountain Formation and the Emperor Dream have already been prepared, and the major cosmic defense lines arranged by Rogge in advance can also attack and support."

There was a golden glow in his eyes, and Fogham saw it clearly, and he could no longer pretend to be calm. He closed his eyes and bowed his head among the burning corpses.

"Father."

The light flickered, and Machado's form quietly dissipated, revealing his true face beneath it, a pair of tired and sad eyes looking at the phoenix, the light was warm, shining on his shoulder, like a response.

Vogrim knew that the Palm Seal had already left the moment he woke him up, and that it was the Emperor who answered those questions in his place.

"I'm sorry, father." The Chemos said with their eyes closed. "I didn't accomplish anything, I failed everyone."

"Don't blame yourself." Said the Lord of Mankind. "No one will blame you."

The phoenix didn't answer, but just stretched out his hand, seeking support like a blind man. The emperor instinctively stretched out his right hand and gave him support. The phoenix clung to the hand like a man in the water grasping a straw. He lowered his head, reluctant to say anything more.

After a while, hot tears slowly fell.

"They're coming." The Emperor spoke quietly, gently, but also weakly. "Your brothers will be there soon, but I can't see where they are. Especially Ruth, a reckless wolf who should have done what I commanded, and now he has taken off the reins."

"What did he do?"

"Sacrifice." The emperor said. "Probably so."

"Then he's just like us, father, and I don't think you should blame Ruth for this."

"I never blamed him." Said the Lord of Mankind. "I'm the one to make the mistakes, and only I'm responsible—so let it go, Fogreem."

His support faded away, and so did his voice, like thunder above the clouds, with endless anger in it.

"Kill it." Imperial Order.

The phoenix opened its eyes and smelled a terrifying stench, with colorful wing membranes slowly opening and vibrating in the darkness.

Two cloudy white eyes appeared in the darkness, and a giant wrapped in rotting armor slowly appeared in front of him, with a huge wound in his waist, as if he had been wounded by a knife. He seemed weak, and he was surprised to see Vogrim here.

"Ah, that's more than I expected." He took a deep breath, a hoarse echo from the respirator, as if he were speaking in hell. "Brother, long time no see."

"Don't call me that." The phoenix raised its sword, and the black flames burned.

"Why not?" Motarian asked.

The phoenix replied with a sword.

This chapter is 5.3k, and there is a chapter pinch.

(End of chapter)