Flames rose in the darkness and spread as far as the eye could see.

The sound of explosions was everywhere, escaping in the thick fog, massive or hideous forms disintegrating and melting in the most violent weapons man could make, the air trembling, and the cruel wind of death carrying the smoke of gunpowder.

In the face of this hell, the First Legion only charged silently but ferociously, and began to officially start a bloody white-knuckle battle with the demons and traitors.

The time of artillery and tanks continues, and more deaths will be inflicted in the explosions, but they will not allow their blades to remain silent.

The unseen god laughed aloud in the bloody millstone, the corpses of the dead slowly rising and falling in the putrid blood, each collision and ripple forming one of the annotations to his name.

He looked forward to what was going to happen, he had seen it, but he was still looking forward to the arrival of this bloody war that would last for 10,000 years.

In the midst of the waves of chaos, He roared loudly and in His own name to praise the warriors who fought in battle, and He had never been more generous. Perhaps it's because, within the galaxy, no war has ever continued in this form, and has survived with this intensity.

It will last for 10,000 years. The evil god roared. And you will fight in my name!

Did anyone answer him?

"Forward!" Luthor heard a roar. "For Ruth!"

As the roar sounded, the old knight was still busy pulling his sword out of the chest of one of the Chambermen, blood splattering, forcing him to wipe his face again, his expression unconsciously turning into disgust.

It's not a good experience to get blood splattered on your face while killing, especially with the stench of this subspace. The old knight bowed his head and swung his sword and cut off the man's head.

A young face was over, his life was cut off, and he deserved it. He was destined for such a contemptuous death when he hung human skins and skulls on his armor as trophies.

Luthor took a deep breath and began to charge with blood on his face, trying to find the man who uttered the battle cry.

His body is not as good as the real Astarte, but that doesn't mean he can't share the glory in such a fight. He knew exactly where his limits were, so he just buried his head in killing, an attitude that worked well in war.

As the run began, his blood-soaked dark green cloak danced wildly in the ash-filled wind, and some sharp objects that shimmered silver flashed silently on the edge of the cloak for half a second.

A traitor who was busy harvesting the lives of the cathars saw his arrival, and Luther noticed him for the simple reason that he seemed much more normal than most of the Whisperers.

There weren't so many blasphemy on his armor, but he was still an enemy, and as you could tell from the eight-pointed star mark on his armor, he was also a believer in those four evil gods.

The man raised his sword at him and made an inviting gesture that was quite provocative. Luther's answer was only four streams of brilliant light that burst out from under the cloak, and the traitor reacted quite quickly, immediately blocking sideways.

Three of the shots were successfully blocked by his shoulder armor with his reflexes and experience, but the last one hit his flank, and the burning sight immediately appeared on the scarlet armor, and immediately expanded, far from end.

The man roared furiously and spat out a curse: "Despicable! ”

Luthor was indifferent to this, and even replied to his words rather politely—the cloak was jerked up, two silver rays of light flashed abruptly, and with a slight buzz, the body of the Bearer fell with a bang, and the head had turned into a puddle of paste.

The old knight didn't look at the corpse, and rushed coldly, but his left prosthetic leg danced quietly as it passed the corpse, and two grains of blood-stained silver light dragged down his fingers and back under his cloak.

He continued to move on, but a violent roar sounded in his ears: "For Ruth! ”

Luthor looked up and saw a pack of wolves without hindrance. They are battling a horde of demons, enemies with varied shapes and sharp claws, but wolves are victorious.

They surrounded a giant spider in the middle, weakening and injuring it and the other monsters that burst out of it and the darkness with a variety of weapons.

It wasn't the first time Luthor had met Ruth's wolves, he'd seen just how cruel they were in battle, however, it was the first time he'd seen them show grief in battle.

The old knight sighed silently, then slowly approached.

He deliberately slowed down his pace, but the power dagger that was privately gifted by the Lord of the Fourth Legion had long since returned to its sheath.

Seconds later, with a deliberate roar, Luthor joined the wolves in the fight—but it wasn't the only one he used to announce his arrival.

A crimson beam of light burst out of the cloak, sweeping away the darkness, scorching the air, and hissing through half of the spider's body, more than a beam rifle could do.

The wolves howled in unison, and one of them, especially strong, swung his axe at once, grabbed Luthor's wound, and slashed his axe into the wound of the thing. The spider screamed, but its form twisted strangely.

"Stand back!"

Luthor roared again - he had no other way, and if you wanted to communicate with the wolves, you had to do that. However, although he did so, he didn't really expect the wolves to listen, but the truth was always more than expected.

The wolves obeyed his orders perfectly, much to Luthor's surprise. But he didn't have time to care about it so much now, the old knight immediately raised his left hand, and thirteen silver rays of light shot out from under the cloak, hitting the wound on the spider's carapace with incomparable precision from a distance of tens of meters.

The horrible sound of flesh shattering rang out, and the spider began to dance its eye-piercing arthropods like a frenzy, and many demons were pierced, sliced, and smashed.

Between the splatters of flesh and blood, a murderous intent came to his face seriously, and the scarlet eyes of the demon, which covered the entire back, turned in unison at this moment, staring at Luthor, the initiator, while the old knight only pulled out a huge revolver from his waist with his backhand.

That killing intent was far from nothing, at least compared to a certain anger of Leon Al-Johnson many years ago.

He didn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

Six deep green deaths whistled past, all striking the spider's head, forcing it to stand still for a few seconds, and then the ugly head with its huge pincer jaws began to swell. At the same time, some strange sound came from inside its body.

"Lie down!" Luthor yelled. "All lie down!"

The wolves complied again - two of them who were even close to him even rushed forward and built a shield wall for him with their shields, and Luthor roared in exasperation and reached out to pull the two wolves to the ground.

They buried their faces tightly in the blood, and immediately a terrifying sound could be heard from the darkness that was sharp enough to destroy the eardrums.

Luthor slowly stood up in his tinnitus.

The wolves were talking to him, but he couldn't hear anything. He knew they couldn't hear either, and if they hadn't just fallen down, they would have gone blind by now.

It wasn't the first time he'd used the 'flash'' self-destruct feature, and Luthor already knew what these humble little things could do, but it was definitely thirteen of them he had blown up in one go.

It's too extravagant.

He shook his head, pushed the wolves away, and stumbled forward a few steps, but there was a strange fishy sweetness in his throat, and a sudden throbbing of nerves at the junction of his prosthetic limbs. The heat followed, spreading from one nerve to his entire body, and began to scorch his internal organs, bringing extreme pain.

The old knight gritted his teeth and fell to the ground, screaming in pain. His aging body began to remind him once again of what he really was.

Yes, yes, Luthor thought in a trance, I know I'm just a lucky mortal, but you don't have to torture me like that.

An icy cold wind came from behind him, and the tinnitus and the torment of his internal organs were somewhat subsided, and Luthor turned his head to look back and saw a face that looked unrecognizable in blood.

His beard and hair were covered in scabbed blood, which should have been supple, but now stiffened into clumps. The man looked at him with bared teeth and shouted, "Well done! ”

The wolves roared in unison.

Luthor looked at them in a slightly dazed trance, and a straight horizontal line suddenly flashed over their heads, illuminating everything. The light was the most blazing pure white ever imagined, almost as white as if you were looking directly at the sun at noon with the naked eye.

It cuts through the world of light and darkness, and also illuminates things in this moment. Soldiers, traitors, demons, corpses.

But that was just the beginning, and there were more lines like this that burst out from behind them, and the ground trembled and thundered one after another. Luthor and the wolves turned their heads together, and saw some great steel shadows in the scattered mist.

"Now we have Titans." Luthor heard the wolf who had treated him mutter. "It's good that the First Legion is rich, and all the Titans are equipped with volcano cannons. Do you still have a lot of stock? ”

"Why do you think it's our Titan?" The old knight instinctively asked.

Interestingly, he did not deny anything about the stocks of Volcanic artillery.

"I didn't say it was your Titan—" the wolf grinned. "—Thankfully, Sir Luther."

"Fortunately."

Luther stopped speaking and looked at him questioningly, trying for a name, but the man shook his head and spat out a barrage of Fenris. Then he opened his mouth again in Golgothic.

"I don't have a name anymore." He said, then tilted his head and raised his arms to encompass the wolves behind him. "I went crazy and lost my name, and I need to get it back to tell you what my name is."

Luthor frowned, but he didn't even show any dissatisfaction with this godly chatter, and he even patiently asked, "So, what shall I call you?" I need at least one salutation. ”

"Pastor." The man said. "That's fine, it's in line with my job."

Luthor nodded again, and twelve minutes later, they found Leon El Johnson at the front of the line, a hard request from the Lions.

The First Army is clearing the darkness of the ground of Terra with absolute firepower and superiority, and the battle line is not advancing in a certain direction, in fact, the First Army is active in all directions.

This has led to an interesting phenomenon in which more than five discrete wolf packs have been brought to the male lions in the four hours and twenty-eight minutes since the Dark Angels joined the battle.

"Ruth is dead." The lion said.

His first words made Luthor tilt his head slightly, but the priest in charge of talking to him only nodded calmly.

"We know, Lord Leon—"

"—the chief." The lion said. "I have received the words and permission of Gunnar Gonhilt to be part of the wolf pack until the revenge of Ruth is avenged, and I will hunt with you."

He uttered the words unequivocally, and the priest froze, and for a moment Luthor heard him muttering to himself.

"Understood, Chief." The priest bowed his head respectfully. "What do you command?"

"Close your eyes, Pastor. You all are. The lion said.

With a sword in one hand and a spear in the other, there was no sorrow or joy on his blood-torn face, only the purest enthusiasm for war. His words were confusing, but the wolves immediately did as they were told, without the slightest hesitation.

"Keep feeling, see?"

The priest opened his eyes after a tremble, his voice hoarse.

"What's that?"

"That's the Star Torch." The male lion said calmly. "Sigismund of the Fist of the Empire sent out a plea for help, he didn't say where he was, but he didn't need to. As long as you close your eyes, you can see the brilliance of the torch. It should have blinded us, then dried our brains, but it didn't, and its glow was unprecedentedly dim. ”

"So, for now, we have two strategic purposes."

"First, we kill all the enemies we see and unite all the forces we can. Second, we march towards the Torch to support them. ”

"The brilliance of the torch cannot be dimmed or shaken, priest. Because this catastrophe has spread throughout the galaxy, countless people are heading towards Terra, perhaps navigating the physical universe, perhaps in the subspace, and the Torch must remain stable at this time. I assure you that every drop of blood we shed for it is worth it. ”

"The wolves await your orders." The pastor said crisply. "When are you leaving?"

The lion smiled slightly.

"Now." He said. "We're all in this together. Wolves have always hunted together, priest. ”

He gripped the Bacchus Spear tightly, and the wind was cold, and his side face looked almost beastly. Luthor was silent for a moment, then smiled brightly.

This chapter is 4k, and there is another chapter, I try to write an 8k.

Still feeling like you have a low-grade fever? Not sure, there is no thermometer at home, it is difficult to stretch. The last one of the mercury was broken by myself ()

(End of chapter)