"Something isn't quite right."

As he said this, the Iron Destiny Steel—or the Hall of Omen on the Iron Blood, the Iron Heart's Hermit Thinkers were lying on the cold floor of the hall, only the psionic absorption circle connected to them was still flickering, and the pre-connected biological cables were constantly injecting some kind of life vitality shining with a faint goose yellow color into the bodies of the think tanks from Magna Dorn on the main wall of the hall to maintain the latter's existence. lest their physical bodies disintegrate into dust and dissipate into reality in an instant because they can't withstand the excessive spiritual pressure.

If it weren't for the Iron Heart's Company Commander Sklar, who had witnessed how these people had built this place bit by bit with very "normal" materials, he would have thought that this was the case with the warband brothers being attacked by some kind of targeted subspace conspiracy trap or demon.

The dreadnought's helmet-shaped sensor turned worriedly in the direction of the main mastermind, and in view of what he had seen and heard in the past few days on the Iron-Destiny Steel, the originally bold and careful Second Company Commander was about to carefully open his mouth to ask the other party after preparing himself psychologically-

"What's wrong?"

Lamizane was originally separated in the special isolation side hall of the hall by Peturabo on the grounds that "the layman just closes his eyes honestly and outputs your computing power and psionic energy, don't make trouble", but at this moment he was also called by Magna's anxious communication.

The Iron Warriors and Imperial Fists who had been summoned to guard the ritual on the outskirts of the Hall of Omens - well—everyone was still wearing the "Silver Skull" livery for some unique and tacit reason - stuck to their posts, armor ready, weapons loaded, and the genetically enhanced nerves and senses of the Space Marines were tuned to their best by the injected drugs and hormones that came with the Power Armor, ready to stop anything suspicious according to the orders of the protogen, no matter what it was, Or let something not run in.

"Something isn't quite right!"

Peturabo's face (God knows how Ramizane could see it on a dog's black-and-white furry saddle face) said solemnly again, and at the same time shouted to Master Kadure, who was trying to guide the ritual at the ritual node, "How are you there?!" ”

The old man, who had been elegant and easy-going, still looked elegant and easy-going, if we ignored the green tendons rising from his temples, the clenched back molars and the energy smoke clouds that escaped from the soles of his feet due to the violent infusion of psionic energy were constantly dissolving by the protective ritual circle on the floor of the hall like dry ice overflowing from a container.

Oh, and besides, his always handy golden eagle staff was now stuck in the center of the summoning ritual formation as some kind of "key", and now the already raging flames on the eagle staff had risen to a height of three feet, and it looked like it was still a little bit of a momentum to burn through something.

"I don't know what the hell is going to happen," Master Kadure's hood slipped off his head, his long white reed-like hair fluttering backwards in a mess blown by the psionic currents in the air, the old man gritted his teeth and gritted his staff, thin sweat began to float from his forehead, he struggled to keep the whole vast and complex circle running, "but I know with great certainty what is next!" ”

"What's the matter?!"

"Perturabo, you (High Gothic) don't come down and do something, this place is about to explode due to constant overload psionic surges!!!"

"The (crackling ozone accompanied by psionic lightning) phase of the Hall of Omens is unlikely to be overloaded! It was designed and perfected by myself, a true work of art constructed by (a surge of psionic energy suddenly grew larger, and a huge psionic airburst obscured the vocabulary here)! It had even been able to withstand the summoning ritual of the apparition of the King of Kings before! ”

"Alright! So did you take into account the amount of redundancy I can use?! ”

"You're ......! You're the one who can move and anchor even the Titan into subspace for many years! It won't be so difficult to fish out a genogen with a fixed anchor and a beacon on it in the turbulence of spacetime! How much more redundancy is needed?! Just one person! ”

"Oh my God, Terra! Why are you so much like him at this point?! Such unwarranted arrogance! Such unwarranted self-confidence! But have you ever thought that I (high gothic) might lack a body that can store so much psionic energy?! ”

"I have to dispatch all the energy flows and space-time flows here! Do you know how precisely this requires calculations and regulation?! I can't leave! I can't leave! ”

"Then why do you still have time to talk to me?! Ahem! The old man swallowed something he had coughed up back into his throat, twisted his staff half a circle, and the sleeves of his robe were blown up by the wind of psionic waves, revealing his lean and powerful arms.

"So I can't talk anymore!" Peturabo shouted, "I can't use the brain-computer interface right now!" I've got to give it my full attention! ”

Not again. Hearing this, Company Commander Skral immediately paused in his footsteps, and turned around with a blank face (although he didn't know why he could see it from the dreadnought helmet-type sensor) and moved away as quietly as possible.

The second company commander, who was concerned about his comrades and deaf to other things, planned to see if he could help his think tank brothers lie more comfortably on the floor, because it looked like they might still be lying here for a while.

The old man's solitary and easy-going output lasted for a while, but not for long—on the one hand, even non-think-tank personnel like Sklar could see that the situation was indeed starting to get a little out of control, and on the other hand, there was one of the biggest variables here who didn't know whether he wanted to help or felt that he couldn't be idle and maybe he could start to make a difference, and walked into the formation when his dog and some former imperial civil official were pointing fingers at each other—

Magna Dorn blinked in the wall and looked at Ramizane Kalosini as she walked by.

"Oh my God, Magna." Lamizan looked worriedly at the young Dorne as his steel wings and hands were fused into the wall with countless cables, pipes, and mechanical tentacles, "You don't look very good. ”

"No problem." The subject he looked at replied with a tone of electronics and steel that he didn't usually have, like a metal CPU, heat sink, computing unit, and memory singing a humming low-frequency and harmonious mechanical anthem, "Although my workload has reached 100%, the temperature of the main processing unit is still within the acceptable range. ”

The face that belonged to young Dorne had completely faded from the texture of his human complexion, and the psionic units and solder joints shimmered with a glowing blue aura on his steel-colored face, as if it was about to crack along the lines.

The eyeballs in his eyes had turned into balls of light that constantly skimmed the binary code, watching everything in the hall while fending off the ever-increasing onslaught of psionic energy.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I can hold on. …… I am the fist of the Empire, I am the Terra Janissaries, I am the cornerstone of all that is the Empire. ”

He whispered to him in a voice that only the two of them could hear, as a cold bolt of lightning sprung across Lamizane's back, sending him shudder.

"Roger Dorn will never fail in front of Perturabo."

Everyone present felt a new force rushing in and protecting their bodies.

(End of chapter)