Julius was running as hard as he could along the passage.

The sound of metal footsteps echoed in the empty corridor.

The priest's scepter, the Word of the Word, and the rosary on his belt swayed back and forth with the rhythm of the run, striking his power armor with a click-la-rat-rattle.

The communication channel was still filled with a distracted noise, but he still insisted on calling out to the Warband Leader and Elder Kadomo.

Space Marine's modified heart and lungs are fully supplying his muscles and breathing needs.

Turn the next corner and it should be!

The psionic energy began to surge, and he was about to shout at the chaos he expected to see, but—

Nothing.

What appeared in front of Julius Robert Omar was still the long, empty, gray corridor of the Destiny Steel, glowing red from the man-made sunset.

Is the pharmacist's workplace so far away?

The think tank apprentice glanced at the time.

Fortunately, it wasn't long before the departure, and there were still nine minutes left, and he would definitely be able to catch up.

He frowned and began to run as hard as he could.

In the blood-red twilight, the black shadows of several birds flapping their wings passed by.

——

Is what is happening now really real?

Or are we all caught up in a bigger illusion – like a spider's web before it eats its prey?

It was the last thing Besack thought of before his trachea and half of his neck were sliced open like a hot knife with butter.

"Pong Dong!" The Iron Warrior's body slammed down, crimson blood flowed freely on the ground of the Iron Blood, and somewhere in the distance, something roared excitedly.

He received blood, and He wanted more.

Offered by someone who should have been offered to him 10,000 years ago.

The man who emerged from the vague fog had short white hair and white-blue eyes like blazing star cores, a blaster pistol on his belt, and his sword in one hand.

Parogov - no, it's not him, it's not the calm and urbane novice pharmacist.

This is an impossible person who appears in an impossible place through a shell that could not exist.

Each part of the Crystal Labyrinth sings of a hundred million new variations as its ruler ecstasies over the newly emerging thread of fate.

At this moment, the faces of the young Imperial Fist and the original Imperial Fist overlapped through ten thousand years of time and space, and finally froze on a noble and resolute face.

Roger Dorn broke through the fog and continued to walk forward with determination.

——

Dasadra had thought that the word miracle had abandoned them 10,000 years ago, but now a miracle had happened here and before his eyes.

Even if his naked eye clearly told him that the white-armored figure wielding the power sword in front of him with extraordinary and furious swordsmanship skills and power was just a person who had only officially become a full-fledged space soldier for a long time, lacked combat training, let alone combat experience, and looked like nothing but that face, and could not be-

He blinked again, and the sharp data of the orniths warned him that what he was going to face, what he was going to fight in person—

Terra's Praetorian Guard, the seventh Genotype, Master of the Imperial Fists Legion, Perturabo's eternal rival who wants to defeat completely, and the Iron Warriors' long-standing nameless hate: Rog Dorn.

It's worth it.

Dassada gripped his weapon, the oppression of the original body did make it difficult for him to breathe.

On the other hand, the mere realization of being able to attempt to attack Roger Dorn himself made the blood boil all over the blacksmith's body.

"I never thought I could do it, it's better than anything I ever imagined!"

"Wearing strong armor!" He roared, raising his power hammer.

"Heart is like steel!!" The remaining Iron Warriors raised their weapons and rushed back towards the white figure in the middle, like a wave of steel crashing against the reef.

Weapons screeched, explosions rang out, power swords were used like chainsaw swords, and long swords wrapped in energy fields smoothly drew deadly flashing arcs in mid-air.

Explosive bombs, hammerheads, and axe blades have left traces of attack on the cobalt-white power armor, and these tiny scars, they're accumulating.

After all, this is just an ordinary set of power armor, not the indestructible Auric Armour of the original itself, but it doesn't hurt, Roger Dorn can still fight, and the Imperial Fist is still fighting.

The swept blade split all the limbs in his path, and a clearing appeared around him of spilled blood, blood-stained fragments of terracotta, and severed limbs.

The battle was fierce, but the Iron Warriors showed no sign of backing down, for everyone had discovered the obvious fact that supported the will of the attackers.

That is, although the genetically engineered body in front of him is unimaginably perfect for ordinary humans, it is not the demigod body of the original body.

The Seventh Primordial descended and did not possess his usual weapons and armor, which is why all Iron Warriors realized that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Their attacks were even more frenetic, coming at the Imperial Fist from all sides.

The rock is here, and the steel wave is relentless.

The opportunity soon presented itself.

In an instant, due to the sluggish feedback of ordinary power armor, the besieged target revealed a flaw.

An extremely small, fleeting flaw that could not have been used as a fulcrum for an attack by a collective of extremely experienced veterans - but unfortunately, it was an attack party made up of all the Iron Warriors from 10,000 years ago, and they caught it-

Every Iron Champion alive is shaken by the supreme reward they are about to receive.

The beings behind the curtain had begun to applaud.

"The Primordial is above, for the glory of you and the Lord of the Earth!!"

An angry battle cry rang out from behind the broken gate, and the shadows lit up with the tongue of fire of a twin blaster, which struck the Iron Warrior in the ribs as it tried to sneak up on him, knocking him to the ground.

Roger Dorn manipulated the young husk to turn around and knock the rest down, then kicked the last of them away.

Who is it?

He lifted his eyes.

A limping black figure walked out, scarred and missing an arm.

"Father......!"

The Astarte gripped his blaster tightly with one of his remaining arms.

"It's you." He remembered the son, and though for some reason the remnants of his son's features on that face were fainter and more vague than he remembered, Roger Dorn remembered him.

"Felix."

Wail!

Congratulations! Dear readers! You read this chapter at breakfast

Did hee hee feel a new surprise to accompany you through today?

Because today is the first day, the update time is relatively early, and the rhythm of noon + afternoon will slowly resume

(End of chapter)