The Emperor’s Angel of Death

The battle barge "Yongye" traveled steadily in the void. Its huge engine kept running at low speed. The frigates accompany it lightly and shuttled back and forth in the investigation area tens of thousands of kilometers wide.

The bottomless void reflects the blue-gray appearance of the Evernight, like a wolf on the hunt, the thick armor on both sides is decorated with ice-cold skulls.

This huge ship had just emerged from the subspace a few hours ago, and the aftermath of the shutdown of Geller's position still exudes a dazzling white light, illuminating the hull made of fine gold.

The command bridge of the Eternal Night is located behind the huge ship, surrounded by high towers, ship bulwarks and inclined turrets.

The Void Shield ripples like a tulle on the glass portholes several meters thick, and underneath are the crew of the bridge. They will do their best to ensure the normal navigation of the ship and make all its systems operate perfectly.

The space inside the bridge is huge, and the center area of ​​the battleship has been carved into a cave-like hall more than two hundred meters long.

Most of the top of the hall is transparent, and lenses like the entrance to the physical universe are arranged in a grid made of steel.

Below it is an open platform surrounded by cranes, and each crane is patrolled by war regiment servants armed with weapons.

Further down is the middle deck. Most of them are mortal crew members. Most of them are crew members and mechanics wearing pearl gray robes. Of course, there are also rebound gangs. They wear explosion-proof armor and transparent visors on the metal deck. Step forward.

There are openings in some places on the deck floor, which reveal the structure below the deck below.

Crowded tactical workstations gathered here: rows of trembling Thinker computers, and servants crowded in the dim ditch.

Many machine servants are tied to their terminals by cables. There are a large number of pipelines on their backs or faces, and the patch-like gray skin that emerges from them is the last remaining human being.

The way these people serve is different. Now they are slaves whose brains have been removed, forever shackled by the machinery that sustains their lives, performing that numb and dull task over and over again.

Above all levels, the command seat is located at the rear of the bridge hall.

This is a hexagonal platform protruding from the arched wall. It is ten meters in diameter and is surrounded by heavy steel handrails.

In the center of the large platform is a slightly raised platform, and in the center of the platform stands a throne-a heavy and angular seat carved out of solid granite.

It is so huge that it is difficult for mortals to sit, but it is not a problem here-because no mortal has ever dared to step on this platform.

It has been empty here for several hours, but as the Everya is close to its goal, all this will change.

When the supporting piston began to retract back and forth, the giant gates behind the throne made a hissing noise.

Then they opened up suddenly.

A behemoth walked through the gates.

Mazar, the lord of the death temple, the commander of the ascetic clan, wearing his massive armor, strode up to the high platform.

This awesome warrior wears a finely crafted power armor that looks like a skeleton. The chest emblem is made of long ribs bent and twisted. The empire flying eagle with its wings spread looks like a high above the throne and gazes at the bone corridor. Every part of the arm armor, leg armor to the neck armor was shaped into the shape of a skeleton, and the armor made a menacing low and regular buzzing sound as he moved.

He behaves slowly and calmly, showing caution and dignity in every move. The bones that are trophies are constantly swaying on the huge shoulder armor, and the back of the armor is draped with a cloak full of bullet holes.

The battle commander's face was as shiny as tanned leather, and the plump jaws were wrapped in two tufts of dark sideburns, as shiny and neat as predator hair.

No one knows the actual age of the dreaded battle commander, but most people guess that he is at least 700 years old. It may be the age of the empire’s many battle commanders, second only to the age of the leader of the Holy Blood Angels Dante. Ancient hero.

There were other giants who came with him.

Astador, the priest of death, was dressed in black armor like a forge, and his face was hidden under the monotonous mask of the ancient helmet.

Hauganders, the fourth company commander of the battle group and the lord of the fleet, wore a battle-scarred armor. His rocky gray hair was braided and hung over the neck guard. Because of the custom of the home planet, this hairstyle is used in Ascetic warbands are not uncommon.

The door slid and closed behind them, closing the platform on which the trio was located.

Under them, the deck creaked under pressure.

Magyar looked at the sensor bitterly, and the wrinkles on his forehead were as deep as gray mountains. .

"Are we there yet?"

The sound gushes from his chest, like a rhino engine that is starting.

The monks in the battle group believed that he didn't need to raise his voice even in the fiercest battle.

"soon."

Astador said softly:

"We will be at Nathan Four soon."

Magyar grumbled and sat down on the throne.

As a giant almost three meters high and two meters wide, his movements are very easy.

The battle group commander's low brows were locked together, and his green eyes flashed with clarity and alertness.

"It's so boring."

He said impatiently:

"Damn it, do we really need to spend time on this kind of entertainment."

Generally speaking, as they grow older, Astartes will become more and more reticent and serious, but Mazar is an exception.

Perhaps it is related to the battle group's tradition-eating the flesh and blood of the enemy. Whether in battle or in daily life, he maintains a kind of fiery passion, which keeps him from getting low in the passing of years.

Of course, occasionally there will be some kind of inauspiciousness.

Once there is no fighting, he will easily fall into depression.

For him, life without a goal is a fragmented job~www.ltnovel.com~ Hunters need some real prey.

"Captain, we are going to visit a group of heroes."

Hauganders said, his body leaned forward slightly, as if he was checking the visual feedback of his helmet.

As soon as the voice fell, a semi-circular display screen surrounding the command platform slowly lowered, flashing and starting.

A brown-red planet leapt into the field of vision, increasing every second, but the picture was still a bit blurry and distorted due to the distance.

"Nathan 4 has received our request to enter the port."

As the fourth company commander was talking, he carefully checked the data sent at the same time as the image.

"After entering Star Harbor, we will take the Thunder Eagle to their monastery fortress."

The images kept coming back, Mazar stared at them, and his mood began to slowly change.

"They built a monastery fortress on it?"

"should be."

Magyar leaped up from the throne with a smile on his face, implying some malice.

"If I remember correctly, the Soshyan Commander is still a recruit who has just served for less than fifty years."

The hazy image became clear, and the planet's surface entered the field of view. The dark brown was mixed with dirty orange stripes. It looked like a rusty iron ball in the universe.

"If the information is correct."

"Young people now have two brushes."

He then let out a savage laugh.

"A battle group with only thirty people left, can rebuild monastery fortresses, and dig naval corners."

He looked at Astador and then at Hauganders, his eyes glowing with excitement.

"I can't wait to meet him!"

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