Makado –

Someone is calling.

The Palm Sealer opened his eyes, his thoughts surging like lightning, and he began to search the chaotic Terra for the place of the one who called him.

This was not difficult in the past, but now it is different. Today's Terra can hardly even be called a world, it has many forms.

She's still the ancient Star of Water, but she's also a completely arid planet, the throne world of humanity, on which the Palace of Terra shines alongside the other nests, ruling over them as their masters.

But neither perspective comes from the 'now', at least, not from the present that Macado wants. He threw the past aside and forcefully used his psionic energy to clear the fog in front of him, with only one thought in his will - the present must be found.

He had to find the one who was calling him now.

So he passed through Terra when the vengeful spirit had just fallen, Terra when the torch had not yet been ignited, and Terra when the sun had not yet been rekindled after the war

Everything was fleeting in his eyes, and everything burst into his mind in an indescribable moment. Machado shook his head in a trance, and viscous blood gushed out from the corners of his eyes, flowing downstream.

The Lord of Humanity has borne enough for him, and even He cannot fully bear this part - He is a shield, but it will eventually wear out, and those like Machado who hide behind the shield are destined to be injured.

The Palm Seal swallowed a mouthful of blood with a dead breath, reached out and grabbed the scepter beside him, and forcefully drove the force again to move on.

The chaotic Terra that existed in the endless time and shattered space roared again and again.

Some were sixty-five barren fragments, unreconstructed, while others had been properly cared for, and the twenty-five hour rule was observed on which the vital instruments of the stellar torch and the survival of mankind were once again erected

The information revealed by these futures is enough for anyone to stop, but Macado is an exception. He knows very well that the future can be changed, and the future is by no means predetermined, otherwise how would they turn the past around and win?

He can't stop at these places with distraction, and besides, who can guarantee that this flashback with 'hope' and 'future' is not his handiwork?

The Palm Sealer gripped the scepter tightly, and in the unobscure underground room, his eyes lit up as bright as stars.

So the fog was torn apart, the picture was burned, and the sound of feathers scraping was fleeting, and the golden flame followed, grabbing it and incinerating it to ashes. The Palm Seal angrily denounced it, and it truly arrived at the 'now'.

The present they are in.

His thoughts hung high above all of Terra, and Machado let out a groggy sigh.

It was impossible to gauge how much time had passed, and his body told him that it had only been ten seconds or so. But his spirit has spent millennia, if not 10,000 years, broken in those repeated cycles of Terra.

Exhaustion weighed down on his spine like a heavy mountain, forcing him to let out an unbearable sigh from his throat. And that was just the beginning, the call hadn't cleared his ears yet, and he still had a chance to find the man.

So he started looking for him.

In the darkness, he clenched his staff, and his soul began its long journey like a living man.

He passed through a burning trench and saw the Imperial Fist and the Iron Warriors fighting side by side, a rare sight, but this was one of the futures the Emperor had envisioned for them. It's hard to say that it's not ironic that it's been done in such an ingenious way.

He looked at the Lord of Steel, a piece of steel that had lost too much had been beaten into its present form by the blood of cruel fate, full of cracks, but could never be destroyed.

He looked at the boulder again, and took it all in silence, for all the suffering was worth mentioning.

Then came the Sons of Dorne from 10,000 years later, who could no longer leave Terra. There may be seats to leave, but they are no longer theirs – only those who have left can afford to leave seats.

Destiny. The Palm Seal cynically scolds it, feeling deep sorrow for these warriors.

He turned away, drifting coldly in the snow, the corners of his robes already lit by golden flames, his lord protecting him, in a sense, with him.

Not Him, but just the Emperor, just his friend.

The Palm Printer followed the sound and rushed into a boundless sea of blood, a murderer long gone, but the wreckage was still there. He quickly recognized that it was the remains of the Hall of the Torch.

Its existence in the material realm has been fixed by the Emperor, and the spirit of the Aetheric Sea is burning, and its mere existence means hope, and it is pure hope, a hope that cannot be interfered with by the false god in the chaos—something that belongs only to human beings, and he has no right to touch it.

He was wounded by the blade, he was persecuted, He shed His blood for it, and He had to pay for that blood.

Machado stared distractedly, and soon found some dead forest leaves that didn't exist on Terra, and his soul grabbed them, and in a flash his form, he fled into a forest.

Dead leaves are crushed by wheels, and plants and trees are blackened by gunsmoke. An army was taking a brief recuperation, supplies and replacement parts piled up in every corner of the forest, and even the remains were cautiously shrunk back in sight.

The Bearer steadied his presence and began to confirm the state of the army—if he could, he would bring the good news to his lord later. But he was discovered, and the weary but spirited soul of Riemann Ruz discovered him.

So, under the guidance of the Bacchus Spear, the Lion, the Angel, the Khan, the Phoenix, and the Iron Hand were all aware of his arrival. They still couldn't see him, but they could feel his presence for a short time through the transcendent perception they were born with.

So the lion asked.

"What's your mission, Palm Sealer?" He asked crisply. "Are you here to take the five of them? They're still being treated, I'm afraid you'll have to wait a little longer. ”

Makado had the heart to answer, but he couldn't stay here for long—it wasn't Terra after all, it was just a cross-section of the lion's terrible talent.

His father had placed this stolen authority in the shell of Leon Elchanson, but the lion was not sharp enough in this regard, and he did not know enough about his talent for the time being.

Machado was forced to leave, and in the end he could not even utter a word. He rushed into a whirlpool full of vengeful faces of the vainly dead. They spiraled upward, creating storm after storm in the sky that would never be stopped.

These storms were supposed to hurt the ships supporting the fleet, and the first to suffer damage were the Nightfall and the Glory of Maculag, but fortunately, the Lord of Humanity had already planned for it, and the chaotic Terra was well suited to his use of small methods that would otherwise not be on the table.

In this cunning way, he placed them one by one in the quiet and calm past, undisturbed.

They don't need to stay in Terra anymore, support has arrived, but there are several other wars going on in the Celestial Realm near Terra, and the Mountain Formation and the Imperial Dream will need their support.

Machado saw very well that in a little while, La Endymion of the Wanfu would ascend to the Glory of Macurag and relay the orders of the Lord of Men to all the crew members on board.

We've got it all figured. The Palm Printmaker thought gloomily, his face full of anger. Now let's taste the bitter fruit that you have brewed for the sake of watching the show.

This incident made him feel a brief relief, but the question was, who was calling him? He'd searched most of Terra, but he still hadn't found the voice's owner.

He had no choice but to continue his search, a cacophony echoing in his ears, countless battles taking place in the burning wreckage.

Angron is leading his war dogs to meet the tide in the lower hive of the palace, and Robert Killriman and his army of Ultramarines are facing off against the best army of the Whisperers in the outer walls of the palace.

The bastard in the skin of Lorga Aurelian is back, manipulated by the darkness and standing proudly before the Lord of the Thirteenth Legion.

Corus Corax and his silent Raven guards are scattered throughout the battlefield, using similar tactics as the Midnight Blade. Point-to-point, one-on-one group hunting, one hit and immediately escape, even a demon can't afford this terrible price.

But they are endless, and Terra is strengthening them. There's war, there's change, there's decay, there's joy – there's everything here, so they're starting to be unreasonable, and they're becoming incomprehensibly strong.

It was so hateful that the Palm Seal felt a terrible anger rising up in his heart - how many years had he not had such a rich emotional response?

But that wasn't the end, the real anger came when he saw the salamander standing side by side with the Death Guard. It was fighting Vulcan, and it used Motarian's form

The Palm Seal gritted his teeth, forcing himself to put the idea of using psionic energy to support the battlefield behind him, and he had to find the man who called him

Then, he found, or rather, he was found.

The soul of the Palm Seal paused, and saw an echo that was repeating itself in the darkness.

The owner of the "Machado" voice called weakly. "How's it going?"

The Palm Seal walked over in silence, propped up a corner of the boulder with his scepter, and told him, "We are winning." ”

Sisyphus turned his head with blood on his face and smiled: "Really? That's fine, how long do I need to hold on? ”

"Longer." Machado closed his eyes and said. "A little longer."

"I'll do my best." Sisyphus replied with a smile.

The update is complete.,A total of 10,000.,I'm not sure if I can update it tomorrow.,If not, I'll notify in advance ()

In addition, by the way, this chapter recommends a BGM, Sisyphus, from Andrew Bird.

(End of chapter)