Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

More than a bolt from the blue, it was a bolt from the blue.

The expressions of the seventeen Astartes were rapidly turning into a dazed one, and their superhuman minds seemed unable to accept this shocking fact in an instant. He Shenyan never expected them to accept this kind of thing for a while - for example, this is equivalent to making you recognize your father again.

Considering the influence of the Primarchs on their respective children, this matter is probably more serious than re-identification.

The mage raised his head and stared at the relief on the church ceiling.

The sculptor himself has good craftsmanship, and he sculpted many scenes of Astartes against the devil in a vivid and vivid way. This church is the only remaining original product on the planet, and it has not been changed by the mage.

After a while, Ezekiel opened his mouth, as if there was something stuck in his throat, his voice dry, and the common language of the empire, Low Gothic, seemed almost like High Gothic. Generally obscure.

"This... my lord, do you have any evidence?"

He Shenyan looked at him, and his resolute face was inevitably shaken at this time. He shook his head: "I can't tell you more specific things, but I can reveal some... um, a small guess."

"The destruction of the home planet will result in the loss of files, and in a large-scale battle, the losses are heavy, and it is not uncommon for all veterans to die in the traditional era."

He tapped his fingers on the wooden tabletop of the bulletin board, and said thoughtfully, "The history of the Chapter is lost, and you are covering up your flaws tightly, and it is normal to be unaware of what happened to you. Things. But...I'm still surprised you guys think your Primarch is Guilliman."

As he spoke, he actually laughed, and his words were more like talking about the Primarch of the Ultramarines, rather than referring to a surviving Primarch. Such an attitude inevitably caused some Astartes in the audience to be indignant.

He Shenyan had a panoramic view of these things, and he did not comment, but said lightly: "You will all have to accept this matter sooner or later—in addition, you don't have to hide your secrets so carefully. On this ship , no one can call you heretics."

There was absolute confidence in his words, almost arrogance, and he seemed to ignore the Inquisition at all.

Ezekiel took a deep breath: "Sir, forgive me, who are you?"

"Who do you think I am, who I am."

The mage said that while standing on the notice board without hesitation, the light blue fluorescence on the outer layer of the battleship shone on him through the stained glass, and his face was blurred for a while, only two golden flames were still burning firmly.

Ezekiel fell into a trance, and there was a tingling in his cerebral cortex, and then he actually 'saw' something directly.

Next to the man, there was a figure made up of pure white light spots, with huge wings on his back, and Ezekiel couldn't see his face either. Just felt a look that combined love, pity, guilt and pain, like substance. He stared blankly at the empty direction, and almost burst into tears.

A huge grief completely attacked his heart, and Izikir was almost out of breath. He stood up in a rush, his helmet fell to the ground, and rolled on the dark red carpet. His brothers stood behind him, looking nervously at their company commander. Then, they found, he was bleeding and crying.

Two lines of crystal blood slowly slipped from his eyes, and Izikir fell to his knees weakly, screaming in pain as if his soul had been torn apart from his throat—the sound made one wonder if he was dead. . Because only souls who wailing in **** can be so miserable...  

He Shenyan turned his head, there was nothing on his right, but the mage nodded there, showing a slight smile, as if saying hello.

Two minutes later, Ezekiel was back on his feet.

Those two lines of blood and teardrops were still on his face, as if condensed, they gradually penetrated into the skin, leaving two dark red and hideous tears, and even made his skin hiss in the process.

But Ezekiel seemed to be unaware of this. He came to He Shenyan and knelt on the ground on one knee: "...Is that him?"

"I don't know anything." The mage winked at him, and then said with a smile, "It seems that you have a good talent... In addition."

The smile disappeared in an instant.

"Crimson Blades, 3rd Company, I call you on this ship in the name of the Empire - we're in enemy siege, maybe without support, we may die tomorrow. And maybe no one even Will you know that we have fought here for the Empire, will you?"

Ezekiel and his brothers looked at each other.

Their answers don't even need to be explained.

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No, I am not a traitor.

Jiva Doren sat in his room. According to his special request, the intelligent circle on the ship arranged for him an empty room without any furniture.

There aren't even lights here, and it's more of a prison than a place to rest.

Givaudan was in the cell.

He closed his eyes tightly, the veins on his forehead bulged, and he gritted his teeth, as if he was enduring great pain-after the battle, he discovered a fact that was difficult for him to accept.

The Butcher's Nail is gone, but its effects are not so easily eliminated. Jivaldoren was completely unable to contain his rage during the battle, and he was always in a strong tendency to self-destruct. already dead.

He completely abandoned the defense, just swung the old chainsaw sword with all his heart, and attacked the demons frantically. He ignored their claws and weapons, their power and strange sorcery. Even the venom spewing from their depraved lips was ignored by the warrior.

All he desires... is death.

And the fury didn't end even now after the battle, as long as he was talking on the communication channel, Jiva Doren discovered it. He kept biting his tongue, rubbing the wound with his canine teeth, the blood and the constant little pain made him a little used to the anger.

Jiva Doren now wants only one thing: sober up, and then die for the Empire to wash away his shame.

He can't forget the Legion when he was still a war dog, and the Legion after that.... It was fine to live in the dark before, but now he can think normally without the butcher's nail, but he can't stand it anymore.

A gap cracked in the tightly seamed wall, light from outside the bridge penetrated, and a tall figure walked in.

Angron looked at him and suddenly reached out and pulled him off the ground.

"What was your performance in battle?"

"The Primarch, I..." Givaudoren was so ashamed that he couldn't say a word.

Angron didn't let him go easily, he stared at Givaudan sternly: "Are you a coward, Givaudan?"

Astarte suddenly raised his head, his eyes were red: "No, I'm not!"

"Then why do you act like you don't care and want to die?" Angron scolded him angrily. "Your duties and service are not over! You have not been declared medically dead, and you are still able to swing your sword - tell me, Givaudron, are you a coward?!"

"I'm not! Primarch!"

"No, you are!" Angron looked at him angrily. "What I saw was a coward hiding in the dark and complaining about himself, a trash who didn't even dare to take responsibility and would only run away!"

His roar resounded throughout the room: "Death is his gift! You can only end your service when you have done your duty, Givaudron! Your service is not over, your service has just begun! "

Angron reached out and grabbed his shoulder: "Look at me!"

"Your brothers have been corrupted by the demons of the Warp, their noble form has now become profane and inferior, and the will of the beast is no different - you may be the only one of them sober, and only you can end their misery fate, and now you only think about whether you can die selfishly?"

Givaudan looked at him, at this Angron from another universe. There was no trace of the Butcher's Nail on the back of his head, but the anger that filled his face was still genuine.

Givaudon was silent for a long time before he spoke with a trembling voice: "But, I am a traitor, the Primarch."

"You're not, Givaudron." Angron let go.

"The World Eater Jiva Doren is dead, and now standing here is the captain of the 1st Company of the World Eater - the Legion will rise, we will rise from the ashes, the shame and betrayal of the past requires us to Repay with blood! With your blood, with my blood, with the blood of the enemy!"

Angron looked at him and said word by word, "Soldier, your service starts now."

Like instinct, Jivaldoren collided with his feet and stood up straight. The gray light faded away from his face, replaced by a sincere expression like a newborn - he replied firmly and calmly: "Yes, Primarch!"

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"Looks like your conversation went well?"

Angron bumped into the mage on the deck, and the first question he asked made the Primarch's face a little uneasy.

"...You overheard our conversation?"

"Perhaps it can't be described as eavesdropping, Angron, both of you have quite loud voices. For a mortal like me, it's hard not to hear." He Shenyan said solemnly.

Angron decided to skip this topic, never known for his articulateness, and instead went straight to another matter: "What do those people in the Crimson Blades say?"

"I have to remind you again, my friend." The mage's face became a little weird. "They are loyal, do you need to change your title?"

His cryptic words made Angron frown, and before the Primarch could figure out what his veiled suggestion meant, his vision was filled with white light—a winged soul stood before him, curious. looking at him.

"......"

Angron took a deep, deep breath.

"It seems that what our father said is true. It turns out that there is a parallel universe." He smiled gently, with a kind of kindness on his illusory and real handsome face.

"You can't pull me into this illusion without permission." Angron's tone was cold, not surprising considering what Sanguinius had done to the Empire in another universe.

Prejudice is one of the most deeply ingrained human habits - even in the primarch, it is difficult to change. These superhumans possessed the Emperor's might, stronger than the mortals, but they were still not free from the shackles of emotion. Rather, they have the strongest emotions.

"I just wanted to talk to you, and I noticed that you have a deep prejudice against my children. A conversation should help us solve this little problem." Sanguinius still smiled, not taking Anger Lang's cold tone took it seriously.

"I know what you're trying to say, save yourself. Until they prove themselves, I won't—"

"—According to your logic, the brother I have never met, you have to prove yourself first before I can trust you."

Sanguinius floated him around with his logic, and he blinked: "You know, you have done a lot of great things in the history I know well."

"...Aren't you dead?" Angron started the topic again.

Sanguinius' smile turned a little sad: "Yes, of course I'm dead. Sanguinius is gone and can't come back. But I can still have a little spirit floating in the warp, just Let's make a final contribution to the empire."

fart.

Can 'a little bit of spirit' bring me closer to the illusion? You liar who doesn't make drafts...Angron glanced at him and said impatiently, "Let me go back when I've said enough, I don't have time to spend with you."

"Don't worry, my brother."

"I'm not—your—brother." Angron gritted his teeth and pulled his voice long.

The angel was indifferent: "You can't change this established fact, Angron. However, since you don't want to hear me call you that, then I won't force your ears."

"Listen~www.readwn.com~Angron. The Emperor knows what the mage and you want to do, but he can't come or contact you in person. There are too many fathers in this universe. Something needs to be cared about - the chair's torment on him is deepening, and I'm skeptical. …forget it, when I didn't say it."

The angel's voice became illusory, and Angron felt a thrust. He was pushed out of the illusion, and only Sanguinius' words echoed in his ears: "Remember, be careful in everything."

Angron lowered his head and opened his right hand. A pure white feather was lying in the heart of that generous palm.

"That archangel is really generous..." He Shenyan was a little surprised.

Angron threw the feather to him casually, thinking with his toes that he knew that this thing was definitely not for him, and he didn't have such despicable thoughts of embezzlement.

He just asked, "Generous?"

"yes."

The mage bowed his head with pity, looked at the feather in his hand that shone with a faint light, and said softly: "If you can do this to a group of children who don't know your identity, maybe I shouldn't call him generous. "