Destiny Steel

Hall of Omens

The magnificent domed hall, secretly built from special materials and according to drawings designed by the Fourth Primordial himself, is now shrouded in silence, with not even the lightest dust floating in the air.

The milky white artificial moon moves quietly against the massive background wall, signaling to everyone that the night is coming and falling.

The current director of the Hall of Omen is now being treated in the apothecary's workshop, while the other keeper who has the key to the place, his apprentice and vicarious priest, has not returned.

Therefore, to be honest, there is indeed a serious shortage of manpower on the Destiny Steel now, so much so that in the eyes of others, there is no one on duty at such an important part of this ship and the "Silver Skull Warband" on the surface.

But that doesn't mean that the security is weak, unlike some of the decks or houses of worship that no one cares about, given the frequent connections that have been inseparable from the subspace since its inception, and the large number of "relics" that are about enough to summon a dozen Inquisitors or some of the more ruthless warriors elsewhere - with sorcery books, raw materials, and so on, there are plenty of self-discipline measures, as well as multiple safety devices that can be activated from the outside.

All the passages on the Destiny Steel were silent.

Most of the crew members who had been re-recruited from the previous port had seized precious time to sleep at the end of their duty, while others were firmly tied to their posts in the sense of the noun or the physical sense.

The regular footsteps of Astarte's mixed patrol of the Hoop Robots echoed through the empty ship's passage.

All in all, this is a time when no one will be able to wander through the tunnels of the Destiny Steel, the Iron Blood, and the price of wandering is likely to be a "gun" of an automated security turret or a robot.

For the vast majority of people on this ship, it was just another ordinary day.

——————————————————

The silver moon slowly moved to the middle of the lapis lazuli-colored sky.

The doors of the Hall of Omens have changed uncannyly.

The incantations, patterns, and colors that were layered on top of the gate began to change, flow, distort, and rotate, and the images of a million worlds passed by eternally in just a few moments, and the relentless knowledge of a million worlds swarmed, making this purete gate of top material and craftsmanship also began to emit an overwhelming flash, but it could still hold on, so that after the first wave of attacks, it seemed that the invisible attacker was becoming more and more irritated by pride and hatred, The second surge of power was more violent and unrestrained—

A tiny button is pressed.

The door flashed a little, a quiet and mundane glimmer.

Peace returned to the door.

With the roar of psionic energy full of anger and irritation that gradually faded away, the hurricane of the vast ocean was ruthlessly suppressed, just like a human using a plastic box to hold a beetle flying around the house, seemingly simple and easy, but there is a certain certainty and overwhelming energy.

Cha.

Cha.

Cha.

Magnus—panting, weak, trance-like, hollow, tattered, Magnus swooped out of the void and fell to his knees in the center of the Hall of Omens.

He looked scarred and almost translucent, flickering in the silvery moonlight, the edges of his form shimmering with a burst of light, and his whole being was like some kind of shattered fragment cast by an old, worn, malfunctioning projector far from the sun.

The fifteenth legion's original armor was tattered, and the fragments of a masterpiece of curly ivory, horns, strong muscle patterns, and a thousand of the most beautiful gold and gemstone character patterns hung barely on his body, and Magnus's clothing was also miserable, except for some strips of cloth stained with glittering psionic blood.

The crimson and gold giants seemed to be immersed in some kind of terrifying memory for a moment, a huge scimitar made of Prospero's metal hung from his belt, and a huge work made of psionic skin and other rare materials hung from a gold clasp on the other side of his waist.

The hall was still quiet, and mortals were immersed in ordinary dreams.

"What a mess, Magnus."

A strange voice sounded, alarming the cyclops.

He struggled to his feet, trying to gather a few shields or other spells for himself first.

The Supreme Ocean did not respond to him, in fact, it did not matter what it was, wild or malicious, untouchable remorse or nightmare power—nothing, nothing but nothingness in the darkness.

The shattered phantom flickered even harder.

"You can't use those spells here, so save your energy."

There was some kind of electronic noise mixed in with the voice, and the Cyclops immediately recognized that it was some kind of vocalization device used in place of speech.

Cha.

Cha.

Cha.

The Fifteenth Primordial suddenly realized that the gentle movement he had just heard was not a hallucination.

A creature that he was completely unexpected, appeared in front of him from a corner of the hall.

The sound was the tip of a paw walking across the hard ground.

He could probably recognize the creature, as he was both a warrior and a knowledgeable scholar.

As a result, the whole situation is now becoming more and more treacherous.

Magnus couldn't believe his eyes at the moment, and he raised his scarred Prospero scimitar in an attacking stance, trying to make himself look a little more imposing.

"What are you?" Magnus asked warily. "Who are you?"

"You can put down your weapons first. - By the way, your attack stance is still so flawed. The visitor said slowly, and the Crimson Lord noticed that the reason why it was speaking so slowly was because it still needed to type words.

"You can't hurt me with it, and I have no intention of hurting you at all. Magnus. ”

Between the lightning and flint, an indescribable throbbing of wonder was transmitted along the thread into Magnus's illusory form, and he realized that it was right, so he lowered the tip of the scimitar, but did not put it away.

"Who are you? Where is this? Afterward...... What happened? ”

"Great question." The other replied, "But this is my territory, and before you ask questions, maybe you should listen to the questions of the owner of this place?" ”

"So at least let me know first, where is this?"

"Of course."

The other took another step forward, exposing his bright tan almond eyes and elegant and intelligent plush black and white face to the bright silver moonlight.

"Welcome aboard my flagship, Iron Blood, Magnus."

The Lord of Prospero let out the most terrifying suffocating sound he had ever been conscious.

Wail......

Wow ponies are so hard to write than I thought......

Are there any monks from the Thousand Sons Legion, raise your hands and let me see your support......

(I have to refuel a little...... ）

It's broken, it's chaotic, and the title of this chapter doesn't show up anyway

Think, let me try to change the title to a generic point

Can I see the title now? (How do you feel that the title is still taken away by someone, annoyed)

(End of chapter)