"They don't want to win." Fogrem softly told his brothers. "These things are just appearances, and what they really want is sacrifice. Tactical, military, mobilization of troops. They didn't care about any of these things, they just wanted to sacrifice to their gods. ”

No one answered his words, only Ferus Manus cast a gloomy glance, and the dark blood light in the sky was faintly suppressed above their heads, bringing with it a kind of oppression that ordinary people could not bear.

Exhaustion, thirst, and hunger haunt everyone, whether you're an Astarte or a mortal, and the sensation roars in every part of your body.

You need to pay attention to this issue! They roared. Give us food, give us drink, give us rest!

And they can't give anything.

The volcano cannon began to roar and continued to roar. It's been ringing for eleven minutes.

Rewind the clock to three hours ago, two primordials arrived with their respective armies.

On one side are the Dark Angels and Space Wolves led by Leon El Johnson, as well as the remnants of other troops and legions. On the other side were St. Giles and his sons, and some who were inspired to join them along the way.

So, at this point, a question arises. Where is this? Where is this place?

No one can give an answer, because it's just a wasteland. Aside from the wreckage and ruins left behind by the war, it is just a sneaky demon realm shrouded in darkness.

Isn't it ridiculous to say that this is their destination, the place where the Star Torch is located?

The Desperate Fort is a magnificent complex of buildings nestled in the Himalayas. The Hall of the Torch is located on the highest floor of the Fortress of Desperation, and is heavily guarded by a view that is unimaginable to the world.

How could it be such a dilapidated ruin?

But facts are facts, as long as you close your eyes, you can see the light of the star torch shining softly, extremely dim, as if it will be blown out by the breeze in the next second.

So they began to wait here—to be more accurate, at the behest of Léon Elchanson.

The lion only revealed the reason to his brother, but the others didn't really need the reason. They were all tired, even the dark angels.

The timer inside the helmet showed that it had been less than five hours since they joined the war, and their bodies had the opposite opinion. Can tight knees and stiff muscles make Astarte so tired after only five hours of fighting?

The answer dissipated in the wind along with the whispers of the dead, followed by the simple thought of only obeying orders.

Just give us orders, sir. The soldiers said this to their commander. And the commander went to the others for help, to Astarte, and Astarte to their company commander, their brothers, and finally to the original body

And the order of the original body is, wait here.

So, what else is there to say?

Of course, the wait was worth it. Because just thirty minutes ago, three other primordials had arrived.

Fogham, Ferus Manus, Chagatai. So many primitives, so many armies.

The auxiliary corps was re-established, and the infantry regiments and armored divisions were once again fully manned. The commander began to look for the gunner, the loader began to nominate himself, and the infantrymen began to ask each other who had any smoke left.

The Iron Hand reported to their father and returned to the company. The Imperial Fists spread their hands and let the servants check their armor for them, and spontaneously formed a battle formation again. The white-scarred motorcycles roared, the Blood Angels began to assemble slowly, and the huge army of the First Legion filled the entire position in black

They all know in their hearts that this is the time.

So Leon Aljonson gave the order to have the volcano cannon aimed at somewhere and start bombarding. There was no door there until the first beam of light belonging to the volcano cannon hit. Ashes suddenly rose up, and a stream of blazing white light struck a gate that had long been destroyed.

The glow of gold suddenly emerged from the scattered ashes, and the torrent of volcanic cannons seemed to power it rather than try to destroy it. Half a minute later, the entire giant door was revealed, twenty-five meters high.

The Emperor, with his head closed, looked at them with pity on it, a sword in one hand and a scale in the other.

This miraculous scene quickly stirred up waves in the crowd, some in tears, some clenched their weapons, some kept silent, but others chose to talk to each other at this moment.

"The door will be opened soon." The lion said.

He held the spear tightly, but closed his eyes and didn't look at anyone.

"But we don't know in advance what's in it." St. Giles replied worriedly.

"I can be a striker." Khan smiled reservedly and patted the hilt of the White Tiger Broadsword.

"You've always wanted to be a striker, Chagatai, but not this time." The lion solemnly rejected his brother's offer. "I don't want to use conventional tactics, and I don't want you to tear apart our enemies with the same speed as usual. As St. Giles said, we don't know what exactly exists behind this door. ”

Chagatai thought for a moment, then nodded. He stroked his long beard and asked, "So, how should this matter be decided?" ”

"Let's run over it." The lion opened his eyes and said. "Do not disperse the battle, do not separate the infantry regiment and the armored division, and do not stage the drama of Astarte going deep alone, and the auxiliary army covering behind it. We have Titans, all sorts of heavy firepower that are still well ammoped, and they can only be forced to face us from the front. ”

"Good." Ferus Manus said gloomily. "I like this strategic direction."

His silvery, glittering hands crossed in front of him, gripping the Furnace Breaker tightly. It lay flat on the ground, and the hammer was still wrapped in blood.

"Perhaps." Fogham spoke again in a thoughtful tone. "We'll see it again."

"Who?" St. Giles asked.

"You'll know." The Chemus man said, his tone sounding smiling, his long bone-white hair still burning like embers, and there was no smile on his face. Then he looked at Ferus Manus.

"If it does come back again, leave it to me."

Gorgon bowed his head slightly: "But if it's another one, I'll do it." ”

"Riddle conversation." Chagatai shrugged at angels and lions. "I suggest you get used to it as soon as possible, the two of them are talking about things almost only the other can understand now, and I don't want to ask them to explain it for me."

He finished the joke to himself, then laughed and stepped aside, the White Scars ready for his motorcycle.

"Flanks, Chagatai!" The lion shouted at him.

"I see."

Khan replied calmly, and drew his knife, placing it gently on the ground. He began dragging it until he rolled over and got into the car, and its blade was still deep in ashes.

"Ready." The lion said again.

His tone was ethereal, and the focus of his gaze was in the void. St. Giles looked at him suspiciously, not knowing who his brother was talking to. And this question is irrelevant, because the door is already open.

It opens as silently as it appears, as if it doesn't exist in reality. The golden door finally fell into darkness under the continuous bombardment of incandescent beams, and blood-colored mist swept in.

The soldiers grabbed their weapons and began to stand on guard. As the muzzle of the tank had already warmed up, the lion glanced sideways at his empty left-hand side, and suddenly raised his sword and spear together.

A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, and St. Giles suddenly felt something creep up on his back. He frowned, and in that familiar tremor he saw the emperor's face.

A face that was bleeding and tearful.

"It's time, St. Giles." He said with a smile. "I wish you a victory."

The father's face dissipated, and the angel looked up wordlessly, only to see a swirling whirlpool appear in the burning sky.

He frowned, catching a glimpse of the shadows of several steel behemoths in the deep black storm. He wanted to say something, but the blood mist had completely engulfed the huge coalition army. When it dispersed, the wasteland became barren again.

All that was left of the established position were fortifications and stacked toolboxes, and there was no more than a single figure, only the dead wind blowing by.

——

Roger Dorn removed one of his helmets and looked inward. This helmet was not any of the models he was familiar with, and he found an acquired compartment on the right side of the helmet.

With a flick of his fingers, Dorn's mezzanine bounced open, and a folded roll of parchment fell out, and he reached out to catch it steadily. He slowly spread it out and began to read it carefully, memorizing each name on it.

There is no number, no rank, only a name and a short self-introduction. Sometimes it's a roll of parchment, sometimes it's pieces of iron, sometimes it's a fragment of a bone. The inside of the helmet is a chosen place to be placed, but it is sometimes found on the inside of the shoulder armor.

The breeze blew, and the blood-red hadn't bothered him for at least three centuries, but day and night no longer rotated, only night and the moon were there overhead.

He returned the helmet, then stood up, bent down, and dragged the red and blue body into a pit he had pre-dug.

Dorne knew how to dig a good tomb, and although he didn't have the right tools at hand, that didn't stop him from creating some - he made an improvised shovel out of some fragments of Astarte's armor.

It didn't have a grip, but it was enough for it to do the task that Dorne had designed for it.

The wind whistled, and the boulder turned from the front of the buried tomb to the next corpse. His steps were resolute and unhesitating, until a peculiar smell came from the wind.

Roger Dorn jerked his head back and began to look out at the boundless red sand.

He smelled the promethium flames.

Updated.

The next plot can be raised and watched until the Chinese New Year, so the perception will be much better.

(End of chapter)