Makado could smell a very noticeable burning breath, but it wasn't the smell of flames burning demon corpses, or promethium flames.

Actually, it was the smell of his own skin burning—his psionic energy was spiraling out of control.

The consequences of witnessing a deity ascend to the gods are staggering, and at first they are not obvious, but soon they are fully revealed. If he dared to look down at his palm at this moment, he would see the cascading ashes burning again under the effect of the heat.

The palm printmaker suddenly thought of a cold joke that was not very funny.

Flames burn things to ashes, so, what is after ashes burn?

Answer: Machado.

He laughed, though not so obviously. His sight is still there, his perception of reality is still there, so the pain is everywhere. Pinprick-like pain wells up in my mind, like a tidal wave that never stops.

However, he didn't care, just urged the psionic energy again.

Someone far away in the remnants of the network shouted a warning call, but Macado replied with a single syllable.

Now, only he can do it.

When the gods go to the killing fields, they will destroy hell with their own hands.

When his lord must hold his breath and concentrate on overcoming the waves of chaos.

When everyone is fighting, dying—only Machado the Palm Seal can bring them more information or information, can relay words to each other, and can put commanders and soldiers back together.

Only he can carry the weight of the entire empire at this moment and become one of its cornerstones.

Again. As in the past, he stood side by side with the man in the golden armor, standing on the deserted continent of Terra and looking at the stars.

Just start all over again. Machado thought. He was still laughing and didn't stop.

His thoughts began to rise, and his psionic energy turned into a protective shell, carrying him into the vast ocean of thousands of sons, the terrifying nightmares of human stargazers, and the shattered dreams of countless wise men for thousands of years.

He saw the horrible picture again, and this terrible ocean was never kind to him. The subspace's fury turned into a terrifying fright of flies coming at him, and Machado swept away them with a wave of his imaginary sleeves.

A venomous snake hissed at his feet, pronounced his name, and cursed.

"Machado! You will die without a place to bury! ”

It annoyed him.

The Palm Sealer distracted a little attention and quietly pressed it to death in place—in the past, of course, he wouldn't do such superfluous things, but now it was different, and he felt a strong sense of freedom.

This feeling of lifting the burden off his shoulders and regaining his heroic ambition brought back to him that little bit of vitality that was already rare in his youth. With this precious vitality, he continued to rush forward, and in a short time he saw his lord.

The laurel-crowned barbarian of Eurasia clutched his wounds weakly, burning his strength to keep the last remaining memories of Karil Lohals alive while he had to let one of his dead heirs fight in the golden waves of fire.

They all saw each other, and Machado could even see his own reflection in the eyes of his lord who were now glassy—a young man in a white robe, but with a pair of calm eyes that were unwavering.

They greeted each other briefly, then said goodbye.

There is no need to talk, everything can be explained clearly with just one thought.

He pounced on the golden heatwave, which hurt all the harmful insects, but did not react to him in the slightest, and even seemed gentle. The Heroic Spirits watched in amazement as he drifted by, and only a few could barely recognize who the fleeting white shadow was.

He drifted to the front of the fire waves, and soon found the fourteenth son of the Lord of Men.

As always, a giant among giants. The armor hung like a molten melt, and thunder lurked in a drifting cloud, dancing fiercely behind him.

His face was hidden under a white hood, and what had been a withered white spot had taken on a pure color. With a bright lantern in one hand and a scythe of golden flame in the other, he reaps the lives of demons.

In front of him, they had no choice but to flee, for this was not the present world where false life could be obtained. If you are killed here, you will really die, and you will not have another chance to be reinvented.

"Motarian."

With a little relief that only he knew, Machado called out to the Lord of Death in the midst of the golden flames in his original voice. The latter responded immediately, but the voice sounded like a distant echo.

"How did you get here?" The dead demigod asked with a little sadness. "Could it be that Terra has ——??"

"I've never seen you so emotionally exposed before." The Palm Printmaker replied with a joke and quickly explained it without annoying riddles. "Terra is still alive and will always be. It was your father who asked me to come to you. ”

"He's hurt."

Mortarian gripped his scythe, his voice suddenly furious. The thunder is rolling, and the children who used to live in the shadow of their fathers now have their own majesty.

All his life, he rebelled. Later generations may comment that these rebellions are meaningless, but they all make annotations for the moment. Every time you endure, every time you carry a load, every time you roar at the evil god between life and death

Machado smiled reassuringly.

"It's only temporary." He said. "He's the emperor."

Yes, this wound will heal one day. In his heart, Macado said.

"I want to know about Terra." Motarian said again. "Here, I can't see things in reality, and my father doesn't tell me, so he doesn't have the energy to talk to us at all."

"It's hard to tell you where it is now, but we're still fighting." Makado said. "Moreover, we will continue to fight until complete victory."

- Well, so do we. The dead demigod said.

His voice formed a rolling thunderclap in the sea of chaos, and the clouds were thick.

It's just that remnants don't matter anymore, quality is far more important than quantity. The most valuable and upright qualities of the genetic prototype named Motarian are here. He is worthy of his name, and worthy of anyone.

Machado nodded in acknowledgment and immediately left. He's a messenger and he's going to talk to a lot of people.

It was as if at this moment, he had left the golden heat wave and the dark green corrupt miasma, and had entered a blood-red wasteland.

The wonders of subspace are endless, but few are so violent. Under the gaze of the scarlet sky, Makado saw the man he was looking for, but the man did not see him. This is a matter of course, and there are some things that once taken away, they will not be possessed again.

The blind Crimson King was smiling.

"It's you." He turned around in the middle of the killing, his fists stained with blood, and the demon corpse that had been torn in half alive was casually thrown down by him. "Hello, Machado."

"Hello, Magnus."

The greeting of the Palm Seal ended in a myriad of roars, which came from the sky. He looked up and observed Magnus's enemies with the rules and habits of man.

It was a terrifying group of armored demons, huge in size, with tattered wings, but with an aura that covered the sky and the sun, and it was by no means alone. There were so many of them that it was almost desperate, but they only made Magnus's smile soften.

The flames flickered, and in the chorus of the dead in praise, Magnus raised his hands.

Behind him, two forces were fighting each other, one wearing more stubborn armor and a crazy face. The other side was similarly mad, but even colder, and there weren't many people with weapons, but everyone could summon flames.

Such a battle is terrifying, and Machado knows in his heart that without the intervention of external forces, these two forces may be entangled until the end of time. Even if there's no time to talk about it here.

However, he now wondered more about what Magnus would do.

The answer didn't keep him waiting.

Magnus began to recite his real name—the true names of the demons—in a way that transcended words.

It wasn't the knowledge he had dug up in the past, of course, but he stood with the dead in vain. In the past, he was one of the perpetrators, and now he has vowed to avenge them, and the dead have been rewarded.

The bonds of hatred rose in the boneless place, beginning to retrace endlessly across the vast ocean until the names were passed back from time that did not exist, and the murdered revealed the name of the perpetrator to the Avenger with red eyes.

A real name is spoken, and a magic circle appears in the sky, and although it does not fully achieve the desired effect in the power of Chaos and their masters, it can temporarily slow down their movement and even the speed of thinking.

And that's more than enough for Magnus.

He lowered his hands, and a burst of fire suddenly lit up behind his closed eyes. Machado heard a low, loud voice, a spell from the distant past, from a time when the stars had not yet been discovered

Then the second, the third, the fourth—all the time, spells based on vengeful wrath surged out of the void, and Magnus didn't keep his hand, and he didn't need to.

This is where hatred and revenge go hand in hand, his power is endless, and his killing is endless.

However, there was a roar of disgust in the sky, and a scarlet eye that dominated the sky stared downward, with an insatiable thirst for blood and disgust at Magnus's spells.

"Don't like it?" The Crimson King asked. "Then you can get down and fight me."

His words surprised the bearer, and the evil god strangely turned his anger into joy, and in a roar, he generously bestowed a blessing that was engraved on the end of Magnus's blood-stained robe.

"You've changed a lot, Magnus." The palm printman spoke with emotion. "But you-"

"—People can only grow if they have experienced loss." Magnus replied calmly. "And I've lost almost everything, Machado."

"Maybe not everything." Machado replied thoughtfully. "You still have some children still alive, Azek Ariman, Iskandar Kayan, Phosis Taka."

"I'm no longer Magnus, the original body of the Fifteenth Legion, Machado." The Crimson King actually acted indifferent, but his fists were slowly clenched.

"Standing before you now is just an avenger, a carrier of the vengeful desires of the dead in vain, a substitute."

He paused for a moment, then shook his head suddenly.

"It's time for you to leave." The former fool said quietly in the killing fields. "I heard the voice on Terra."

He made a categorical judgment.

"Someone was calling for revenge, but the voice didn't belong to the living, it sounded like Fogham's voice. But you and I both know that Vogrim doesn't need to call. ”

Machado nodded heavily, and his vision returned to his body. He was proficient in many secret techniques, and such techniques were only easy to grasp. He opened his eyes and saw Konstantin Valdo.

"The Palm Print."

The marshal of the Praetorian Army greeted him, his spear still shiny, leaning in his arms. His right hand hung over his chest like charcoal. Two planks, a rag, such a crude medical treatment appeared on him, it was very strange.

"How long have I been gone?" Machado stood up slowly, his body still old, but the vitality he had brought back had not faded.

"Sixty-five minutes." Waldo said. "I hate Motarian's numerology, but there are so many of these coincidences."

The Palm Printer looked at him in amazement.

"What's wrong?" The Marshal of the Forbidden Army asked expressionlessly.

"You just seemed to be kidding."

Valdo shook his head, his lips curled secretly, "He's with us, it makes me feel. Complete. ”

"He's in the tunnel." Macado retorted. "What's the matter with you, Waldo?"

"I'm talking about connections." The Janissal tapped his temples with a slight ostentation, and his performance surprised Macado even more.

"You seem to have a strange optimism all of a sudden, Waldo."

"He revealed to me our destiny, our ultimate destiny."

Slowly, mercilessly, the Golden Armor Guardian drew a terrifying smile on his face. Machado knew that in the darkness around him, there were more Troop warriors exploring the area.

Terra has been transformed, and the vengeful spirit has drenched the land, turning it into a living hell surrounded by darkness - and the Praetorian will not be shaken by this.

"What fate?" Makado asked.

He already had the answer, but he still had to ask.

"Defend him until we prevail for him." Konstantin Valdo proudly declared. "We will stand beside him. From the beginning, to the end. ”

The Palm Sealer nodded, was silent for a moment, and suddenly uttered a joke: "Now you will be more hostile, from his sons." ”

The leader of the Ten Thousand Men laughed rarely, he had long been broken, but now he was whole again—to make him whole, in fact, there was nothing to be paid for him, only that his lord had given him a mission.

The Palm Sealer closed his eyes again and connected his thoughts to the sky.

There, an angel splits the clouds and descends into hell.

Update is complete, add 1k more, and wake up to 9k update.

(End of chapter)