The Emperor’s Angel of Death

In a heartbeat, Dietrian's built-in processor reminded of Calad's facial appearance, service record and every modification of his armor in the past three hundred years.

"Thank you very much, your information is very useful for improving the situation, so where is the Talos of the First Claw?"

"The First Lie Claw is fighting the enemy in Hall One, what's the matter?"

"I have discovered and resolved the flaws in the function of the void shield. I now need the captain's orders and guards, come—"

Calad's voice link suddenly broke down, and then his voice dispersed in a fierce howl, and then there was another movement of heavy objects falling.

Dieter's heart tensed, and he realized that something was wrong.

"Carad? Carad of the Sixth Claw?"

Soon, another voice took over.

"This is the Faroven of the Sixth Claw. We are retreating from the landing port! Anyone who is still breathing in the stern area will gather with us in the new black market."

"The one who just talked to me was—"

"For the sake of the gods, you can shut up first, Bishop! The Sixth Claw is retreating, and Karad and Yertus have fallen."

Another voice responded intermittently.

"Farovan, this is Xia Kurus, confirm once again if Karad has fallen."

"I saw it with my own eyes. These screaming alien **** chopped off his head."

Dietrian listened to the conversation of the legionary soldiers as they defended, and Dietrian finally decided to resolve the matter with his own hands.

He traversed the chaotic deck through a concealed maintenance tunnel and reached the third damaged launch tower.

This one was nearly 500 meters away from the first one, like a pile of molten metal fragments, the cracked fragments almost pierced into the scorched shell of the ship.

Because of the impact of the enemy’s landing equipment, the hull of the ship underneath is more like a desert of eroded steel.

Dietrian had a feeling of despair for the first time in decades. This emotion was too strong and abrupt. Back when he was an ordinary mechanical priest, this emotion may only be produced by him. Defective organs.

"Lakuna Absolutus."

He began to contact his assistant.

"grown ups?"

"Bring the last crew to the last damaged spire, I will take care of this myself."

Lakuna Absolutus stood beside his master, his own red hood trembling in the void of the vacuum, his face with a chrome-plated visor like Gutera, expressionless and incapable Judge his thoughts.

His voice seemed to come from a coin-sized sound film sewn into his throat.

"Understood, but how do you deal with this, my lord?"

Dieterian laughed because he always laughed, and his role in this incident left him with no other options.

"You heard your mission, let's go."

Suddenly, he shuddered when he received the message from the cabin.

"Do not!"

The mechanical bishop finally lost control of his emotions completely, and roared loudly.

"This bunch of deadly monsters!"

"grown ups?"

"Damn it! The engine stopped.

"My lord, and the Void Shield—"

A new voice came from the channel linked to him,

"—It's declining."

When Dieterian was in desperation, the lower deck was even more uneven.

Lucifers, the Eye of Weeping Blood, did not restrict himself to the deck like his hunting herd.

Although he can't run like he used to, his actions are now more agile and amazing, completely like that kind of four-legged wild race.

His hands and feet hit the grille of the deck with a beastly rhythm, like an ape, or a wolf, a warrior who has not looked like a human for many years-but he has never thanked the empire for genetic modification, and Later, the subspace was upgraded.

Most of the soldiers of the Eighth Legion believed that Lukovus might have the strongest will to survive among his brothers. He refused to die for their cause and refused to stand firm in a hopeless battle. Not to mention that he himself is not suitable for fighting in open areas.

He doesn't plan to die yet, so let his brothers embrace this senseless madness, and he enjoys his life with a very rational principle-even though it is distorted.

So when he fled from the battlefield, he was not ashamed.

Out of his urgent need for self-preservation, the propeller on his back sprayed out a thin cloud of cold smoke.

The thrusters rumbled with flames very efficiently, pushing him into the air.

Now he only needs a space to jump and lie in ambush on the echo of the dying curse, which is not very loyal.

In the news, the first fierce claw is still reprimanding the raptors for their retreat.

"Let them complain."

Volasa chuckled, his laughter reduced to a hiss of contempt.

Both of them were close to the ceiling when they ran away. The others had dropped sharply to the end in the past few months. The most tenacious and brutal survivors of the Weeping Eye ran away on the walls and gates. .

The ship trembled again, and Lucfors had to attach his limbs to a piece of metal to avoid being thrown off.

"Do not."

Suddenly, he stopped.

"Wait."

The Eyes of Weeping Blood paused synchronously, and the hunting group silently hung upside down beside the leader: a short meeting began in a three-dimensional space.

Volasa tilted his helmet, looking like a bird, each of their demonic masks sprayed with two rows of tears.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

"You go."

Lukovus gave his order with an excited scream.

"Retreat to Hall Two and reinforce the Fourth Lie Claw."

Their muscles are tightened by the instinct to obey orders.

"how about you?"

Volasa asked back, but his leader only howled silently, like a rotting crow, and then he turned to him on the way they came.

The Eyes of Weeping Blood looked at each other as their leader leaped into the corridor, running along the ceiling.

Instinct drove them-the hunting group either hunted side by side or did nothing.

"Go!"

Lucfors urged them on the channel ~www.ltnovel.com~ In the silent silence, they reluctantly obeyed.

"Go ahead!"

Dieterian has never been able to spin himself so fast, even if he is still dragged down by the slow logic algorithms in his body.

He has deployed four auxiliary arms, activated and let them stretch from his back.

These are based on the replicas of his arm, each holding a square block of data and integrating them into a protective chain.

At this moment, the mechanical master cannot trust the speed and precision of the servants, and the task of driving them to assist the maintenance here more effectively falls on Dietrian's own shoulders.

The four slave workers reacted to the slight movements of the data controller in his hand, and each of their twitches and breathing were driven by his will.

During a period of pathological twitches common to lobectomies, the servants lifted the main beam into place and welded it with welding rods, and then worked to rebuild the destroyed external power spire.