Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

Three hits.

In the first strike, Angron slashed the traitor's chainsaw sword with a top-to-bottom slash, and the remaining lightning axe cut off half of the traitor's right hand.

In the second blow, he added a headbutt, and the ferocious and majestic force could have smashed his head directly. But Angron pulled back, he didn't want to let the traitor die like this.

The headbutt smashed through his alien helmet, and Angron heard the sound of cartilage breaking, and blood poured out of his helmet like a fountain. The traitor took a few steps back, as if not yet understanding what was going on.

The third and deadliest blow—the lightning axe was raised high by him, and Angron grinned and cut the traitor in half alive.

All of this happened within three seconds.

It wasn't over yet, he jumped high. The thick red cloak seemed to have transformed into the wings of some kind of creature, which helped him stay in the air for a long time - until his battle axe began to emit golden lightning, and devastating power fell from the sky. They coke dozens of traitors with precision and ruthlessness.

"Who is that soldier?!"

Between the battles, Insel asked loudly on the communication channel.

No one answered, only the chaplain of the chapter was still shouting frantically: "Slay all the enemies of mankind! Kill them!" Not only that, but the roars of the Cadian commissars echoed his words from behind. The two seemed to be battling each other for who had the loudest voice, constantly driving their respective soldiers into more frenzied battles.

Running counter to their original responsibilities, you know. The political commissar and the pastor were originally responsible for holding down the overzealous soldiers, so that they would not all be killed in a wave of charges because of the rush of blood... But now, these two can't wait to rush into the crowd. Go on a killing spree.

Especially the priest, who had a bolter in one hand and a chainsaw in one hand, pouring death rain while cursing traitors at the same time, and even shouting out his eloquent daily life on the communication channel in between these two events. Think about it.

After a few minutes, his captain of the guard came over and calmly gave his guess: "Maybe, a brother from the Black Church..."

"No, it's not like. His armor is too simple to have their style. Also, his weapon..."

Insel pondered for a while and decided to put this matter aside for the time being.

Now is not the time to worry about these things, there is only one thing that matters most at the moment: kill all the traitors without leaving behind.

It's just that they all ignored Angron's height more or less - the average Astarte is only about two meters and four, and some of them can grow to more than three meters high. But Angron is four meters tall with that armor, and the way he charges is hard not to be reminiscent of a tank.

"That weapon should be some ancient sacred relic, a terrible weapon."

There was amazement in the captain's voice. Technological development within the Empire is not very satisfactory after 10,000 years of development, but the Astartes still have the best of them - including some greatness passed down from ancient history. arms.

They have many previous owners, each a great hero. Those who are qualified to possess such a weapon will definitely not be an unknown person.

His guesses were inseparable, it was indeed a sacred and terrifying weapon, but not a relic.

"Keep fighting, Malish. There's still room for the traitors to breathe." There was palpable cruelty and determination in Insel's voice.

"I want to make the last bit of air in their lungs disappear, destroy their will and body, strip them of the last hope of survival..."

"Follow your will, Chapter Master."

There was a cruel smile in Malish's cold voice after being processed by the breathing grille. At this moment, a Chaos traitor jumped out from their side, trying to sneak up on them with the bolt gun in his hand.

The bullet was precise, heading straight for Incel's helmet visor. But Malish was unimaginably fast, standing firmly beside the Chapter Master, blocking the vile bullet with his shoulder armor. The movement of the bolt gun made the body of the captain of the guard tremble.

Immediately afterwards, he seemed to be nothing, and roared furiously, his voice making the steel beams above his head tremble: "You despicable mouse—!"

It is the duty of the Captain of the Guard to protect the Chapter Master, and they are usually the most seasoned veterans of the Chapter. Each of them is a good player who can fight one against ten, and all of them have served for more than five hundred years. Malish couldn't tolerate the situation where the Chapter Master was assassinated right under his nose, and he suddenly threw the power sword in his hand, so fast that the traitor couldn't even dodge.

A sword pierced through the chest - Malish ran away, and in the blink of an eye, he was in front of the traitor. The vitality of the Astartes is inherently tough, and the traitors who fall to Chaos have been strengthened a lot. He was pinned to the ground at this time and was constantly struggling to get up. It's a pity that Malish won't give him this chance.

He held the power sword cruelly, and lifted it sharply from bottom to top.

Blood spattered, and his anger subsided a little. Insel said calmly on the communication channel: "Enough, Malish."

He bowed slightly to avoid the enemy's fire, looking for his next target on the battlefield: "There is no need to be full of anger at their corpses, we cannot be what the enemy wants us to be."

"Well said."

A hoarse voice broke into their conversation, and Malish looked up and saw that it was the strange warrior. The armor that was cast in one piece was full of blood, but there was not a single scratch. He approached Insel with heavy steps, and Malish immediately returned to his Chapter Master.

Seeing this, the soldier stopped.

His hoarse laughter came from the breathing grille: "Yes, you are very competent."

"Your Excellency...?"

"It doesn't matter who I am," the soldier said lightly. "What matters is whether you and your soldiers are willing to fight another war."

"If that war is worth it, we will go." Insel replied calmly.

The soldier laughed again hoarsely, like a low thunder. It was only then that Insel and his captain of the guard realized how tall this man was - he was even taller than them!

They heard the warrior say, "I'm not asking a question, Chapter Master. And it's not a question of whether it's worth it...you're already at war."

"A war that is about to end."

"Do not."

The soldier denied his words, and Insel patiently waited for the next sentence.

"It's not up to you to decide whether this war ends, Chapter Master. It's not up to me either."

The warrior who was talking suddenly turned around and slashed horizontally, easily slashing a traitor lurking beside them. Insel released his right hand on the trigger and asked calmly, "What do you mean by that?"

"Let's ask questions after the battle is over..."

The enigmatic warrior walked away with heavy steps, and he charged away in another direction with a roar, and the earth even trembled.

The dirty factory on the lower level of the hive was the first to receive so many Astartes, and Insel doubted it could withstand such devastation. Once it collapses, the resulting chain reaction may cause the second-story buildings to fall to the ground floor, and at that point they face a much more serious threat than the traitors.

But the factory didn't collapse. Bandar's hive buildings were never known for their sturdiness, and no hive could be famous for its sturdy buildings.

However, after so much fire, explosions, Astartes charges, and all kinds of battles, the old factory that was chosen as the final battleground still stands strong.

Just like the people on Bandar Star.

like the children of the empire.

Insel closed his eyes and opened them again. His golden eyes were burning like flames, and the Chapter Commander exhaled softly. On his power armor, passed down from generation to generation, the Emperor's Prayer on his right shoulder seemed to be radiating light, illuminating the dark factory interior.

For the first time in his life, Insel took over the chaplaincy's job.

He growled, "For the Emperor!"

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You can choose when the war starts, but when it ends, it's hard to say. In the midst of a war that affects the galaxy, people can sacrifice their lives to control the direction of the war, but they can never really choose how it ends.

As Lucius felt at this time, he never thought that he would end in this way.

His bowels were going to be green with regret at this point - if he still had that thing in existence.

In the long-term torture of his own body, he gave up most of the unnecessary organs, or modified and tortured them to obtain a stronger stimulating experience.

Some of them were eaten by Lucius himself at some point due to his morbid pursuits, and some of them were used by him for other purposes. You wouldn't want to know what he did with all that stuff.

If I had to describe it, I could only use four words to describe his actions.

But, believe me, for followers of Slaanesh, this is just one of the more mundane sensory stimuli out of a million.

Lucius is no different from the devil now, and it is precisely because of this that he can still survive in a twisted form even though he lacks so many organs.

Not only that, but he can continue to spread the temptation and darkness from his master in the galaxy, but unfortunately, his mission seems to be over today.

On the Deep Destruction.

The interior style of the mechanical dragon is in the same vein as the Vengeance, and it is equally bright. Lack of those religious decoration styles, Liktor was still a little difficult to adapt for a while. But that's not what he came here for - the bottom floor on the Deep Destruction, in a small cell that was temporarily opened up.

Lucius, Lucius the Immortal. The champion of Slaanesh, the home-snatcher, a monster that respawns every time he dies in the person who killed him. At this moment, he was hanging in the air in a way that ordinary people could never imagine. The black light beam wrapped him firmly, and every inch of his flesh and blood was evenly divided and arranged in an orderly manner.

Lictor was even able to observe the eerie traces between his mutated bones, and the evil in the Warp had left an indelible mark on him. His power remains even deep in the marrow.

Falling so deep...and it's rare. If he hadn't really fallen into chaos, he wouldn't have suffered such an infestation. Lictor became more convinced of his own judgment - this is a natural scum, his fall is inevitable, rather than following his genetic father like others.

Some people fall because of blind obedience, but Lucius is not one of them.

He was very noisy at first, shouting blasphemies incessantly. It seems to be used to anger the captain of the shield guard and let him kill himself. Lictor had to admit that he was tortured enough by this bastard's limitless words, so the Shield Guard Captain took a compromise.

He's not torturing the pervert, after all, he takes pleasure in pain - so Liktor just sticks two knives between his vocal cords so he can't vibrate his vocal cords, let alone speak.

Lucius looked at the Custodian standing in front of him with resentment, the forked tongue kept flying in the air. Nonetheless, the sections of his body made the scene eerily terrifying and comical.

Until a golden light lit up in the room, Lictor bowed his head slightly to show his respect.

Lucius' eyes widened.

As if he sensed something, a thunderous sound hit his eardrums and dashed wildly in his brain. Then, he smelled the breath of 'sunshine'.

Lucius' memory was suddenly pulled back to when he was still a mortal, when he was not Astarte, nor the monster he is now. At that time, he was just a noble boy on the Chemos planet. He had smelled it more than once, on his freshly tanned bed made by the maid.

But this time it was much more violent, not the smell of scorched mites. It is the smell of his own body and even soul after it has been burned.

Lucius howled miserably, and the pain, beyond his comprehension, knocked him down in an instant—a Slaanesh champion who was fascinated by pain. It even made him scream unacceptably, and in a trance, he saw a pair of eyes that seemed to be burning.

Golden.

Like two living suns.

"Do not-!"

The thing named Lucius uttered the last scream of his existence in the world, his evenly arranged flesh in the air compressed in a golden light. There was a sour gurgling sound, and Lictor tried his best to stop the scene he wanted to look up at. Until a minute later, a small black ball fell to the ground.

Lictor heard He Shenyan's voice: "...take it, Lictor. When the time is right, it will bring us considerable benefits."

This is a blasphemy, what should the captain of the shield guard ask? But he didn't say anything, just picked up the ball.