Emperor's Bane

Chapter 49 Script
【Mourning, bleeding, and death. 】

Morgan whispered.

It's like a young mother whispering in the ear of a sleeping baby, and like an old teacher's last instruction to a student who has gone away: this voice is soft, but not mixed with any emotion; this voice is warm, but exudes Facing the severe cold of death, this voice is real, but it is as illusory as the moon in the water.

At least to Zahariel, Morgan's voice is so contradictory, weird and real.

The Caliban patted his shoulder armor. There was currently nothing there but a decoration representing the First Legion. This made him inevitably disappointed, but this loss was fleeting: there were more serious things that needed him. to face.

Morgan continued to whisper, she poured out complicated sentences somewhat casually, and as she whispered, her fingers slowly slid across the direction of the skyline.

It's not quiet there.

The dark angel's superhuman hearing can hear those extremely noisy voices, which are countless roars like beasts, rumbles like waves, wailing and swearing like hell, mixed with the infinite gloom of weird horns.

It was an attack, an attack that had not yet caught their eyes. One of Ran Dan's overlords or a group of warriors were driving countless cannon fodder slaves, perhaps tens of thousands of people, or even more, rushing towards They rushed forward, and Zahariel could even hear the boundless land of the desert trembling involuntarily because of their rush, countless stones and sand dust bouncing wildly on the ground, telling ominous omens.

Then, he saw Morgan pouring out the last letter to the ground, as if he had finished reciting a poem.

Then, he saw 【Fog】.

Fog, it appeared at the end of the field of vision, at one end of the skyline, this invisible killer was not as slow as its companion, it paced from one end of the skyline to the other at a speed visible to the naked eye, just Like a gentleman walking in haste.

Zahariel suddenly felt a kind of tension, which was the physical instinct that Astartes would burst out when facing unimaginable threats, and now, looking at the slowly moving wall of fog, Every knuckle and every brain cell of Zahariel was trembling and excited involuntarily, hissing loudly to prepare for battle.

The Dark Angel forcibly moved his gaze away, and turned his gaze back to Morgan. He longed to see the exhaustion and panting from this psychic lady: but what he really saw was Morgan's fingers casually Carefully playing with her silver-white hair, she seems to be thinking about whether to trim the excessively long hair. She is like a daughter enjoying the afternoon sun in the garden, carefree in the mist of water and the fragrance of flowers and plants. Carefree.

[Are you ready, Your Excellency Zahariel. 】

She said, with a kind of triumphant joy and showing off in her words, and this question made Zahariel's body shrink uncontrollably,

The Caliban raised his head with great effort, listening again, and looking far away again.

He knew what he should hear, he should have heard a whole army of Jan Dan's slaves marching, he should have heard the symphony of thousands of sword blades colliding with each other, he should have heard the sound of tank tracks and cannon tires scraping across the ground. Indentation, the dying throes of thousands, if not tens of thousands, of slaves should be heard.

Just now, he heard it.

Just the second before Morgan confided the verse.

but now……

The neighing of beasts.

Armor crushing.

The low of the horn.

A death cry.

He was in a hurry and didn't hear any more.

……

so quiet...

Quiet as if nothing ever existed.

Zahariel broke out in a cold sweat.

The Caliban company commander turned his head slightly stiffly, passing through the recruit company that was covered in a brief moment of confusion and shock, his dark eyes turned to a remote corner of the team, where a group of out-of-fit people stood. warrior.

Those are three slightly tall dark angels, their whole bodies are tightly wrapped in hoods and robes, leaving only those huge weird guns in their hands, but through the superman perspective of Astartes, they can see Harrell could still vaguely see the dense engravings and medals of honor on the shoulder armor of these mysterious people.

The Caliban turned his head, remembering the conversation he had gone through earlier.

------

"I oversee the mortal psyker, recruit."

"You don't need to know the specific matters, just act as usual."

"But first, we have to pass the actual combat test, whether she is really a controllable psyker comparable to an alpha level as stated in the Thousand Sons Legion's letter."

"You are in charge of this matter, recruit, I will be responsible for monitoring and recording, and there are some last resorts."

"Remember, everything that happens here, whether it matters or not, whether it succeeds or not, whether it makes you feel resistance and denial, even makes you put these ideas into practice, it will go straight to the [Xiong] Lion] himself."

------

Zahariel closed his eyes.

Although he is still just a [new recruit], he already knows a lot about the rules of some legions.

Why Morgan?

Because in the Sabis galaxy, for some reasons that he has no right to know, the Dark Angel Legion needs a powerful psyker, preferably at the alpha level.

Why not Ahriman?

Because he is a Thousand Sons, one of the most trusted figures of the Primarch of the No.15 Legion, if he is lost in the Sabis galaxy and in the plans of the Dark Angels, it will cause a little trouble, and [Lion] I always hate troubles that do not bring benefits.

That's it.

"alpha..."

In the communication between only two people, Zahariel could hear the whispered affirmation of the Terra veteran hidden under the hood. What is strange is that he heard it from the iceberg-like words. The vibrato of fear.

As a psyker who has not yet developed his potential, Zahariel can actually understand the fear of veterans.

Those mortals who don't have much spiritual talent can't understand what [alpha] really means in the spiritual realm.

Damn it, he always thought it was a clerical error of the Thousand Sons Legion, after all, it is basically impossible for an alpha with such good self-control to exist.

There was a sound on the communicator, and Zahariel could hear the hidden veterans wearing something, maybe a bracelet with a mechanism, because he heard the sound of steel buttons snapping, click and click.

As a psychic user, Zahariel felt his psychic power being suppressed forcibly every time that voice sounded, as if a whole mountain was constantly squeezing his spine.

He couldn't help but bend down, suffering from the suppression of this instinct painfully, and he was not alone: ​​the lady who was graceful and luxurious just now was more miserable than him now.

Then, he heard the sound of adjusting the angle, and the mental burden on him was significantly reduced. In contrast, the mortal lady next to him obviously bent her body.

Zahariel frowned involuntarily, and then he heard a voice from the communicator.

"Don't be impatient, this is a necessary step."

"Your temporary mission is over, recruit. Next, we will take away this psyker. You and your people only need to guard this camp."

"Good luck."

------

Zahariel's face was stiff, he turned his head a little guilty, and looked at Morgan.

This silver-haired lady with admirable ability and attitude is already a little thin, and her finger bones and wrist bones are obviously protruding. Compared with the Astartes, she is like a large doll, and even makes people I feel that it is too exquisite to appear on the battlefield.

At this time, this thin lady began to sweat involuntarily, and large drops of sweat began to leave her forehead, which stained the corners of her hair, blurred her eyebrows and eyes, and her originally comfortable breathing became blurred. Confused and heavy.

But it was this face that was suppressed for no reason, this weak, innocent, pale face that should have been sad and resentful, when looking at Zahariel, it still showed a very reluctant smile.

[Is this a necessary precaution?Your Mightiness? 】

She hooked the corners of her mouth, raised her brows slightly, and almost spared no effort to show a soothing smile, but it seemed that her physical strength was exhausted immediately.

Zahariel watched her hang her head, beads of sweat dripping from the tips of her hair, staining the ground in a dull, irregular circle before the veterans even got here.

The Caliban raised his hand, and he wanted to say something, but his tongue was bitter: Thinking of the oppression he felt just now, and thinking about two such oppressions piled up on a mortal, he I feel that any words I have are pale and powerless.

【No problem, Your Excellency...】

In the end, it was the oppressed woman who comforted him.

【I have adapted a long time ago, I should have adapted, but in the freedom of the Thousand Sons Legion...】

She seemed to want to say something more, but the veterans had already stepped forward and took her away, and a Stormbird was staying in the open space far away, waiting for them.

Zahariel stood where he was, looking up, just watching, watching the Stormbird lift off, move away, and finally disappear completely into the air.

Sometimes, maybe they did go too far.

For a moment, Zahariel thought so.

------

Morgan opened his eyes.

She was a little dissatisfied, a little... angry.

The last time she felt this way was when she was woken up by that guy named Erebus, but now, the shackles on her wrists and ankles aggravated it.

She still lowered her head, because at least two veterans of the Dark Angels were staying in the cabin, and Morgan could feel their guns pointing at her. breath.

She controlled her sweat glands, sweating as a thin woman should sweat under the circumstances, as she performed in front of Zahariel, and the projects were so simple that she even found them boring.

So Morgan closed his eyes again and began to think of something.

She was a little uncertain about the sudden change of the dark angel's attitude, and her psionic senses could keenly perceive everything around her, whether it was physical or spiritual.

So, she looked through the memories and thoughts of those dark angels as a matter of course.

Oh, those special instruments, guns, and bullets certainly had an oppressive effect on her: almost as much as a ladle of water has an effect on the whole sea.

It took Morgan about three seconds to process it all: rummaging through the memories, sifting through the contents, and then stringing them together, reading and analyzing, all in two seconds.

And the last second is her laughter after reading.

Morgan smiled, not a smile of joy, but a mixture of sarcasm and anger.

------

In this world, in the Sabis galaxy, the Dark Angels are planning a big drama, a drama that will change the script and actors anytime and anywhere.

But Morgan didn't like her role in the scene very much, and she decided to make some changes.

In the spiritual kingdom, Morgan rubbed her chin, her detection crossed the barrier of space, looking for opportunities in the boundless desert.

Soon, she found:

A [Legion].

A 【Devil King】.

A team of [Warriors].

There is also a [pass].

With a little control, they can even make sense in one scene.

As Morgan thought about it, he almost casually invaded the driver's subconscious.

------

【Meet on a narrow road】.

【One man guards the gate】.

Oh, and the classic [Heroes Save the Beauty].

She likes it, likes it very vulgarly.

While laughing at himself, Morgan casually crossed out the roles of several Dark Angel veterans from his script.

　One point of correction here: Ran Dan’s celestial class warship is named [Battle Moon], not [War Satellite]

　　
　
(End of this chapter)