Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

【A serious person who is learning magic in Marvel】【】

Litosis felt that he was having a hard time breathing right now.

He ripped off the collar of his clean uniform and walked up and down the room. His breathing became heavier each time—the news he had just heard made him even a little unable to think smoothly.

What is 'going to another universe to colonize'?

He understood every word the two men said, and Low Gothic was not as obscure as High Gothic. But when they were spoken together, Litosis couldn't understand it.

"Literally, Captain."

The tall officer said patiently: "It's normal for you not to understand, but I can tell you that what we said is not half false. This is a new expedition, and you are about to be our first choice."

"As long as you agree." The short man answered. "Then what do you think?"

"...what if I say no?"

"Your memory will be erased, including everyone on this ship who ever knew of our arrival. Any trace of it will be erased - and of course what I'm saying to you, and if you refuse, you will Forget all that."

"I can't think of a reason to refuse," said Litosis, watching them. "I promise, when do we leave?"

A smile appeared on the face of the tall officer, he stood up, and his body gradually became slender, even a little transparent. Like sparkling water.

Seeing this scene, Litosis was horrified—could it be that I was deceived? His worries and vigilance, although necessary, were not correct. The short officer raised his hand to signal him to calm down.

"Don't worry, Captain Litosis. It's just the latest teleportation technology, otherwise we wouldn't be able to get to your location in three hours. It's a long way from the Terra space station."

"Teleportation technology? Terra Space Station? Wait, it only took you three hours to get here from Terra? It's impossible!"

"Ah, I forgot that you have been away from Terra for three years... It's just a little bit of scientific and technological progress, and this kind of technology also comes at a price."

A smile of longing and pride appeared on the face of the short officer. "As for the Terra Space Station, when you see her with your own eyes, you will understand how powerful that is."

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Similar things were happening all over the empire's territory, and soon, a group of absolutely loyal talents with different abilities and means were gathered.

However, as the initiator of the plan, He Shenyan was not actually in the empire—he was conducting a field trip. He is still quite attentive to the plan he made himself.

After all, they are completely unfamiliar universes. If he doesn't go to investigate and find out the general situation there, he will send them there rashly, then his behavior is not much different from murder.

After politely communicating with the World Bulwark of the first world, it allowed the mage's actions.

The complex concept of colonization means nothing to the World Barriers, they exist only to prevent those ancients who exist among the endless star seas from seeing the fragile world.

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【A serious person who is learning magic in Marvel】【】

As for colonization, that kind of thing is even good for them - the more people inhabit the world and the better it develops, the stronger they become. The world's barriers and the world itself are both prosperous and damaged.

However, when he entered this world, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. The information he got after scanning the world with his mental tentacles was beyond his expectations.

Here... can't match the demanding world of 'there is a small fight but it is generally stable' - after thinking for a while, he suddenly burst out laughing.

For the Masters of the White Tower, this place may really be considered safe. It's that his standards aren't clear enough... But if that's the case in the worlds he's traded for, he might lose a lot.

He Shenyan turned his head and stared at the stars shining in the dark vacuum. He narrowed his eyes - sometimes, disasters are man-made.

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The gunshots were loud.

John used to dislike the sound of them, but now he wished to make the gunshots noisier. He even wished that the valley would be filled with the roar of guns—even if he would be deaf, John wouldn't care.

He leaned out of cover and pulled the trigger with rage and an emotion he didn't even understand. The recoil was perfectly controlled by him, the flames at the muzzle exploded, and the thirty rounds of bullets were quickly vented.

The brainless corpses who tried to climb the hill he was on were smashed by bullets and fell to the ground. Some had their heads smashed and died on the spot. Others dragged a small half of their bodies and still crawled towards him.

"Oh shit!"

Seeing this, he cursed. While reloading, he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He put the gun aside and grabbed two grenades from the crate that had been opened to the side.

A few seconds later, a huge explosion sounded down the hillside. In film and television dramas, the power of the grenade is usually inaccurately depicted, and there are even scenes where the door is used to block the explosive power of the grenade. But in fact, the frag grenade's damage to the body is devastating.

Not even those things are immune—they may have lost their minds, leaving only a bottomless thirst for their own kind, but in the end they're still in the flesh.

John didn't understand why the world had become this way.

A month and a half ago, he was an ordinary retired soldier, returning from the Vietnam War. Apart from painful memories and injuries, he brought nothing back, and he was even scolded as a murderer by the civilians of his own country at the airport when he returned home.

He wanted to retort at that time - I am not going to join the army myself! Nor did I ask myself to be trained to be a killing machine!

But he chose to remain silent because he knew what he had done in Vietnam. The longer he was there, the more he understood what they were doing.

It was not a so-called just war, but a naked aggression.

But what can he do? John Rambo - a homeless man, a ghost, wandering the land of America in the grip of an anti-war frenzy.

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【A serious person who is learning magic in Marvel】【】

He didn't know what to do until the world suddenly collapsed before his eyes.

It was late one night, and Rambo was huddled in the back alley of a bar. He had wandered for a long time and knew how to choose a decent place to spend the night. He still remembered that he was wearing a thin blanket at the time. In October, the weather had turned cold, but fortunately he could still bear it.

However, it was still so cold that his teeth were chattering. He tried his best to fall asleep, but as soon as he closed his eyes, the scene of war appeared in front of him. Those killed by him, those killed by others.

The earth was trembling, and the mud roared and stood up, turning into a boiling furnace, involving all of them. The melted flesh sprinkled on him, covering his vision, making everything blood red, as terrifying as hell.

He opened his eyes, and his body trembled—not from the cold this time.

Rambo raised his hand and wiped the fine beads of sweat from his forehead. He unzipped his jacket, pushed aside the blanket, and leaned against the corner. The cold wind whistled past, making him even colder. Rambo knew this would cause him to catch a cold and even a high fever.

Maybe he will die, who will take care of a homeless man lying on a street corner?

But he doesn't care, just die.

Just as he was giving up on himself, the back door of the bar was opened. His position was far from the door, and Rambo's eyesight was quite good. He saw a man help a woman out of the bar. The two should not be very old.

The woman was blond, her steps were vain, and she looked like she was drunk. The man kept patting her on the back to comfort her, and a few words blown away by the wind drifted to Rambo's ears.

"Jenny, it's alright...you say you're not feeling well? I know, that guy gave you strong whisky...hey, it's alright, just drunk, I'll take you back Home, my car is on the opposite side."

He shook his head and was about to stand up and move his body when he heard a scream from the alley - Rambo got up immediately, it took less than half a second, his brain didn't even think about it, everything seemed like Instinct response.

He bent down, his hand already gripping the combat knife at his waist. However, the picture that appeared in front of him was not the robbery he imagined, or something else.

but **** itself.

The woman pushed the man to the ground and lay on top of him, her hands and half of her cheeks were stained with blood. The man continued to scream in agony, but his struggles were to no avail. The woman quickly lowered her head and bit his cheek.

With a tear, a piece of **** flesh was torn off.

Rambo stared blankly at the picture, and for a while he forgot to move - he was beginning to be confused, was his mental state deteriorating? Is this a hallucination? This... what the **** is this?

When he returned to his senses, the woman had been stabbed through the head with a combat knife. Her skin took on a bloodless pallor, as if it had lost too much blood. There was still blood on his lips.

Rambo didn't pay attention to such small details, he almost vomited, he thought he killed people under the influence of illusion. A sense of guilt surged into his heart instantly, and drove him to the town's police station, where he tried to turn himself in.

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【A serious person who is learning magic in Marvel】【】

However, the moment he stepped into the police station, he realized that he was not crazy.

The whole world is crazy.

The corpses of the officers littered the ground and corridors, and the eerie sound of chewing came from the sheriff's office. Rambo, clutching the dagger in his right hand, pulled his revolver from a dead police officer.

Moments later, a gunshot, then more—and then, a month and a half later.

He and a group of survivors built a camp in this valley with resources from several military vehicles, and lived a very difficult life. They lacked food, except for bullets. Rambo rarely returns to camp unless supplies are exhausted.

He only eats one meal a day, compressed biscuits have long been the norm for him, and Rambo stays here, doing his job.

kill.

These terrifying monsters, the walking corpses that still have the appearance of the past, seem to know where humans are hiding. They gather, and every few days, a large group arrives in the valley. The gunfire here never stopped, and Rambo seemed to be back on the battlefield unknowingly.

The gunfire of the m16 continued to echo in the valley, as if it would never stop. Instead of venting his anger, he used a single burst, killing the still-moving corpses one by one. After another half an hour, after making sure they all stopped moving, Rambo would not leave the bunker.

He would shovel their bodies out of here and pile them down the hillside. Their corpses could also serve as some sort of alternative shelter. The walking corpses moved slowly, their knees stiff. They don't run, but they never tire, and proper blocking is necessary.

After finishing his work, it was already six o'clock in the afternoon. It was about to get dark, and Rambo groped behind the bunker. He spent ten minutes at the foot of the mountain setting up a suggested early warning mechanism.

Several iron basins were stacked on a tree, suspended by paracords, the other ends of which were tied to wooden stakes that went deep into the ground. He scraped the middle of the paracord with a knife, making sure that it would warn you if it was touched.

If someone, or something, tried to pass under the hillside, the iron basin would fall, and the loud noise was enough to wake him up. Besides, he doesn't actually sleep for long.

After doing all this, Rambo leaned against the cover wearily. There were still smudges on his face, but he didn't have the strength to clean them up. Right now, he just wants to sleep.

I beg you, God, to stop me from seeing those terrifying visions. UU reading www.uukanshu.com I just want a peaceful sleep.

- There is no God here.

A voice suddenly sounded in his heart, Rambo suddenly opened his eyes, and rolled away from the spot. He was breathing heavily, holding the m16 in his hand.

He looked around, and it was dark. A disturbing chirping of birds could be heard in the distance. The air in the valley was unpleasantly damp and bloody—so close to that Rambo was about to scream.

"Who's talking?" he asked, trembling.

The voice seemed to laugh, and he said to Rambo rather gently: It doesn't matter who I am, you can't understand the form of my existence and how I speak to you for a while.

It doesn't do you any good to say this now, you just need to know that I have no ill will towards you, John Rambo. I'm just telling you the fact that there is no God and there is no heaven.

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【A serious person who is learning magic in Marvel】【】

Rambo knelt on the ground weakly, the m16's muzzle was aimed at him for no reason, his eyes were full of tears, and even his breath was trembling. He's been waiting for this day for too long, he's finally gone mad, and he must end himself before everything is irreversible...

Yet the voice said again: Cheer up, Rambo. You're not crazy, and it's not your hallucination.

Rambo didn't answer him, he stared blankly ahead. The voice sighed helplessly, a golden light flashed between the dim mountains and forests, the sun had already set, and this golden light was definitely not the sun.

Rambo stared blankly at the golden light, his expression almost solemn.