🤗 Please if you find any incorrect names let me know in comments so I can fix themÂ
When the so-called [Overlord] beheaded, or rather, literally devoured, the last head of the Dark Angel, Morgan could finally discern its true nature.
It was mist, an ominous, blood-red mist.
It was exactly like the vile chapters of evil that eternally tormented her mind. Or, perhaps, they were fundamentally the same, merely different facets of a single die, indistinguishable in nature and method.
If I were to succumb to those blue and purple whispers in my heart, would I also become like this? She watched the [Overlord] slowly approach, sinking into silent contemplation.
Reflected in Morgan's pupils was the sight of Rhandan, once the greatest warrior, now transformed: its arms and legs were still incredibly muscular, but its once enormous, hideous head was now shriveled beyond recognition. Its sharp fangs could no longer utter words, only drool incessantly, like an idiot.
Its blood flowed without any sign of stopping. Although it had already spilled so much blood in its slaughter, its own blood was still not spared.
The increasingly bloated head of the great hound had drained its last vestiges of martial courage and strength. It barked triumphantly, yet still craved more, never satisfied.
Morgan watched it, watching the deep red mist that once surrounded this abomination, and now completely occupied its entire body. She sniffed gently, catching the scent of blood and brain matter.
[War, Slaughter, Savagery, Hatred, Destruction, Fury, Skulls, Deathmatch, Bestiality, Valor...]
As the blood mist drew closer, pressing in, countless words accompanied the roaring fury of the Savage God. They slammed repeatedly against Morgan's will like angry warhammers, then dissipated into nothing before the Primarch's thick psychic barrier. The vicious woman furrowed her brow. She rummaged through her memories and knowledge, searching for the meaning of these words and their true nature. She searched one by one. She confirmed one by one. Her brow furrowed ever deeper.
All things exist in hierarchies. Emotions are no different.
Joy exists in hierarchies; a smile and ecstasy are incomparable. Hatred also has hierarchies; some hatred only requires a single punch, while other hatred demands generations of relentless entanglement until one side is utterly obliterated. Likewise: gratitude, disdain, apprehension... all emotions are like this.
Morgan was unsure how she truly felt about this overwhelming blood mist: fear? Disdain? Or merely apprehension? It seemed to be a mix of all three. But one thing she was certain of.
She narrowed her eyes, and an invisible sharp glint flickered at her fingertips. With a graceful flick, she severed the sharp claws extended by the surging miasma, leaving only the endless roar of fury echoing in the Sea of Souls. The moment she unleashed her psychic power, this roar seemed exceptionally loud.
She did not dislike this will. She detested this divine voice that extolled war, slaughter, and reckless destruction. Just as this savage god also seemed to detest her.
Power unimaginable to mortals continuously gathered at Morgan's fingertips. She hesitated for a moment, then, almost arrogantly, unleashed thousands of invisible scythe-blades, scattering the previously overwhelming blood-red mist in the blink of an eye, leaving it no longer as it was before. The furious roar grew louder and more terrifying. It seemed ready to pounce at any moment, tearing her to shreds. In fact, she could feel a destructive force preparing to do just that.
Then, another long laugh resounded. It was a laugh of incomparable seduction, intimacy, and depravity. It came from all directions, swarming into an army in the blink of an eye. She had guessed correctly.
The enraged war-cry and the depraved laughter clashed above the invisible firmament. Even the endless howling winds of the desert temporarily died down due to the collision of these two titans. They fought, they contended, they wielded blasphemous powers beyond the imagination of mortal beings against each other. This conflict seemed to be both the first time and to have played out countless times before. It seemed to last only a second, yet it also seemed destined to stretch to the end of time.
It was not until a third force belatedly arrived, another long, piercing shriek, like countless twisted eyeballs and tentacles breeding in the void.
The three fangs of the gods thus intertwined, fighting and killing each other without restraint: brutal offensives, cunning evasions, laughter mixed with pain from injuries… A continuous stream of wild laughter interwove, eventually forming a gradually receding net, until they vanished into the farthest corners of the Sea of Souls, no longer visible to anyone.
Morgan looked up, gazing as those beings she currently could not confront, nor even directly behold, gradually disappeared into the furthest reaches of her will. She knew that these three forces were far from showing their serious intent. This was merely a slight diversion for three of the most terrifying entities. When their boundless will was projected onto countless individuals, these three blasphemous gods from the void assumed insignificant postures and powers, passing their endless emptiness in this nameless corner.
Yet, despite everything, she still smiled. She smiled for this sudden, opportune moment.
Everything before her was not her doing. However, when she realized that an unknown entity, one as terrifying as the blasphemous evil gods in her mind, was lingering for this battle, a desire to provoke and observe naturally sprang forth in her mind. She knew it would be fine, because the moment she unleashed her psychic power, the blue and purple mists once again surged from her heart. Even when the thought of provocation entered her mind, she could hear that twisted laughter.
Morgan's smile lasted only a moment. Everything that happened before her eyes proved that the gods were not a unified entity. At the very least, when the unfolding events did not alarm them, they did not mind facing their own kind with hostility and antagonism, even viewing such internecine strife as a way to pass the time. This time, she had drawn this conclusion. This was enough.
Her life was still long. She almost instinctively knew how much time she possessed to gradually understand her nightmare. To delve deeper, bit by bit. To analyze, bit by bit. To try, bit by bit. One day. She would achieve her desires.
As for that poor wretch… her gaze shifted to the former [Overlord]. As the crimson mist around it dissipated by her will, the greedy great hound could only feed ever more frenziedly on its host's blood. This abomination, originally a mix of dark red and dark black skin, now had large patches of pale marks on its arms.
It knelt on the ground, its eyes finally regaining a rare hint of clarity. Morgan silently watched it. She had no desire to end its current suffering. But it didn't matter; someone else did.
Hurried footsteps came from behind her. Morgan didn't even need to turn around to know what was happening. Clearing away the thick smoke that permeated the entire battlefield, a smoke that seemed to never completely dissipate, Hector finally arrived.
By the time the new star of the Second Legion arrived, everything was already over. He looked at the bridge, the burning bridge. Endless thick smoke and raging flames enveloped it, like a slowly opening gate to hell. Countless demons occupied the other end of the bridge, engaged in a revelry of blood and the last of the wounded, an obscenity unfit for the mortal world.
[Continue forward.] The voice echoed in his mind. Hector did not reply, nor did he falter; he simply advanced quietly. He knew to whom this voice belonged.
Thus, at the command of that voice, he moved ahead of his squad members and arrived here. He traveled in silence, not even confiding in the trusted Lord Chiron. Hector advanced, gripping his longsword. He smelled the scent of battle. But before that, he still had questions, many, many questions, for which he desired answers from that voice. He knew she would answer.
Finally, he reached the very center of the bridge. Before him was a monster, a distorted mass of flesh that bore a faint resemblance to his impression of [Rhandan]. It looked as if it had been abandoned by a capricious god, transforming into the purest form of monster: without shape, without thought, even without meaning.
[Kill it.] The voice came again. This time, exceptionally close. In fact, he could see her. "Lady Morgan." The Dark Angels called her that.
She leaned against a pile of mysterious objects Hector didn't recognize, clad in a binding suit covered in runes. It was a wide-sleeved garment, predominantly white with stark black runes. Below that, Morgan herself wore a blue-black long skirt and riding boots. She sat casually on the heap of strange carvings and shackles, her knees bent, supporting her arms. She then fixed her gaze on her chin and long silver hair. Her cyan-blue eyes glanced casually at him, then bestowed a smile.
Hector looked at her. He looked at this being who inspired his respect, reverence, closeness, fear, confusion, joy, terror, and even a hint of anger. His…
[Attack, Hector.] She spoke.
[Victory does not favor the hesitant.]
[Neither do I.]
Hector still wanted to say something. But before he could, he had already charged towards the monster.
It was a torture. For both sides.
Hector had never fought such a powerful and crazed opponent. Perhaps the arena did not lack more powerful Astartes warriors, but contests between battle-brothers were always civilized, understanding the basic ebb and flow and etiquette. But this… thing before him, its only actions were desperate lunges, and endless roars of agony. He could even see the true head suffering in endless distortion and regret.
Kill me! It roared, even pleaded. Hector did not answer. He merely drained every ounce of his strength, throwing himself into every fatal clash and struggle. This indescribable thing before him changed ceaselessly, from claws to fangs, from a snake-like tail to a head covered in sharp horns. With every passing moment, its offensive transformed. The slaughter continued, seeming to stretch into eternity.
And Morgan merely watched. She watched the tall silver-armored warrior fight, watching him match countless assaults, relying on primal strength, sharp instincts, and increasingly solid fundamentals, as he contended against the twisted monster. Morgan's gaze even briefly shifted to the strange abomination itself. The moment she looked, the so-called [Overlord] transformed again into a two-headed octopus, wielding eight fanged tentacles.
Chaos Spawn. The term flashed through her mind. By the time she tried to grasp it again, it was already gone. And just as she momentarily lost focus, the battle ended.
Hector's longsword avoided the sharpest points, allowing a sharp claw to carve a hateful gash across his breastplate. Blood began to flow, but as he had anticipated, he withstood the blow. Then, with remaining strength, his blade swept a half-moon of light through the air, precisely grazing the [Overlord]'s head. The already shriveled, unrecognizable head immediately fell to the ground.
That head, the [Overlord]'s final will, thus dropped into the blood and mud. The light in its eyes gradually faded, and its fanged mouth opened slightly, uttering a single human word. "Well fought…" Then, there was no sound.
But Hector had no time to dwell on it. The monster had not died. On the contrary, its body was uncontrollably swelling. The massive hound-like head continuously roared, howling its final resistance. And at that very moment, a black shadow suddenly plunged into the center of the battlefield. From that illusory reflection, several torrents of blazing fire shot out, incinerating the colossal monster into a constantly struggling mound of ashes in the blink of an eye.
Hector's eyes widened. He looked incredulously at the unknown disruptor, and then he saw Dark Angel after Dark Angel emerge from within. The First Legion's designated Terran standard time had arrived. Now, they were here to take over Andrew's position.
Several Dark Angels, wielding meltaguns, resembled old farmers harvesting wheat. With unwavering resolve, they utterly incinerated the twisted monster into ashes. The others, armed, headed towards the other end of the burning bridge. There was one last individual. He glanced at Hector, like an old man looking at a neighbor's mischievous child. Then, he walked towards Morgan.
"Lady Morgan."
[It is I.]
"Now, we have a new mission that requires your assistance."
[Ah…] Morgan hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, she smiled, having largely guessed what was coming.
[I would be delighted to assist.]
Hmm, after reading the comment section, I noticed some people saying my plot was dragging and repetitive.
So, in a fit of pique, I flipped through these few chapters...
Hmm... you're right (covers face).
Therefore, let's accelerate the plot.
I'll try to bring out the Lion King within five chapters. I don't want to write war scenes for a while.
By the way, ever since the "four rounds of recommendations" a few days ago, this book hasn't received any new recommendation notices, nor any on-shelf reminders. Do any veterans on Qidian know what's going on?
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