God Emperor’s Angel of Death

"It's better not to stay here, we are already late."

Those courtyards and balconies were crowded with people, and fat priests shuttled between the altars. , Accompanied by groups of assistants, the people about to be sacrificed wriggled in the sacks.

The wizards walked among them, some of them were unbreakable, entwining the whip in their hands vigorously, the huge deformed creatures stretched their limbs, the abdomen was swollen, and they staggered up the twisted stairwell, groaning. And gasping.

There is also a palace in the palace.

In some places, astrologers will refer to the oscillating galaxy and tilt their astrolabe towards the slit of the thick glass window.

In other places, alchemy warlocks worked hard in front of bubbling instrument racks. What's more, surgeons would sharpen their blades on a whetstone and then turn to the tremors tied to the table. silhouette.

Mysterious scientists with seven eyes scribbled the Earth Book on the stone tablet. Their quill pens were soaked in the blood of living people. The demonologists bound the screaming existence in the seven On the leaf tree, the air made a sound of peng peng because of its filth. Butchers wore bloody aprons and stride proudly ahead from the canteen. Primaris Apothecary was heavily suppressed by the many glass bottles of phage that had fallen and struggled. .

It's noisy, full of life, and lack of order.

Each piece of meat had acne and turned yellow, and every piece of stomach was loose and had burn marks.

Steam surging in the brass incense burner, and green flames ejected from the holes carved in the pulsating flesh wall.

These rooms are buried deep underground, embedded high on the spire of the on the verge of collapse, filled with life and death, and many things in the middle.

The two did not stop to observe these wonderful things, they continued to walk in.

Slowly, the lifeform gradually decreased, and they entered the area illuminated by thin candles, where the stones were wet and covered with a smooth seaweed coating.

The hustle and bustle gradually disappeared, and it didn't take long to see the unbreakable people like them, silent and gloomy, burying their heads in the most lifeless part of the plague city doing their own things.

"They are still as energetic as they used to be."

Ngarta couldn't help commenting.

"Volks has always managed well and organized."

"You listen to him very much, don't you?"

"Of course."

Now they arrived at a dangerous place, passed under the gate of on the verge of collapse, and came to an abyss connected by a rotten ropeway.

There are many vertical shafts, and circles of unnatural steam emerge from these shafts.

They can hear the machine running hong long long in the distance, and low screams-everything is echoing here in an incredible way, as if there is a block that shouldn’t exist Wall, or an invisible room.

Finally, they arrived at Inner Sect.

This door is modeled after the door of Makado the Handprinter. Although larger, these ancient Terra designs have been distorted by the indecent taste of the gods.

Two death shrouds stood guard on both sides, motionless, almost invisible in the disgusting darkness.

They said nothing, but as soon as the death knell messenger approached, the door opened.

"You are waiting here."

The order only allows him to enter, so Ngarta can only let his entourage wait outside.

"Understood."

Soon, he entered the inner temple.

He has only been here once before, and many people in Legion, even some of the highest level others, have never come to this step.

Only the original body speaks in person, other people are eligible to enter, and these words have always been rare.

It’s very cold here, with hoarfrost hanging on the ceiling in the distance, ice on the floor, dark pillars gleaming, swarms of flies crawling on the gloomy vault instead of buzzing .

Engarta walks through the long nave. Its design is Imperium Gothic-solemn, solid and heavy, so his footsteps keep echoing between the tall columns, send cold shivers down one's spine.

At the end of the nave, there is a throne, shrouded in shadows. Above the throne is a lance. On the lance hangs a low-hanging battle flag, which is inserted on the arch, and each pair is engraved The name of a world.

Many scrolls were scattered on the stone floor, frosted, and the words on them mixed the language of humans and Xenos.

The throne’s backrest is high, with grooves, and a pile of tattered skulls on top. Thick spider webs cover it, and swollen spiders are squatting in the center of the web.

The size of this throne is far beyond mortal imagination.

Engarta stopped, it was almost dark here, all the light and heat were sucked away by this place, sucked away by an empty heart.

The air is full of musty smell, like a prison.

"Welcome, Engalta."

The master of the throne made a deep voice.

Ngarta has experienced many things in his long service. He is not easy to be easily intimidated, but seeing Motarian is an exception.

The image of the original body is always so shocking-thin, haggard, unknown, even when he was a child, but since he was swallowed by the dark god, the last bondage has been Lifted.

He is now a giant, an extremely large corpse. The armor has been re-forged and plated with demon alloy. The gray muscles have further atrophied, clinging to the extra-large bones, and thorns and thorns have grown on the back. The stomata and the muscles on the shoulders are used to support the dilapidated wings behind the rags.

As he breathed, yellow-green steam spewed from an old worn-out ventilator, and Engalta saw his sunken chest rise and fall under the corroded armor and under the worn hood , A pair of dim eyes peered out through the shadows, pale handguards pressed against the armrest of the throne.

Ngarta bowed immediately.

"It’s so nice to see you again, Master."

Mottarian stared at him, wondering what these eyes were looking at What is always difficult, Engalta is very clear about the cost of ascension, he understands that although the original body has great power, he can almost only vaguely perceive the reality of the universe now, and barely persevere, just like all making this transaction. Like people.

As long as the time is long enough, most enchanters will become fools who only know how to howl, but this is a Primarch, one of the sons of the Lord of Humanity, even if they do Compromise, the unyielding indomitable spirit will still not die.

"I didn't foresee this..."

The sound of the original body was like the iron fence of the tomb being drwsily opened.

"I didn't foresee that my loving father would be so angry."

Ngarta remained silent.

"Spirit Race's life, Goddess Isa, is the treasure most cherished by my father. It does not allow her to show any flaws."

He giggled, which made him His neck shook, and the terrifying baubles on the armor rattled.

"We never knew about this, but now it is not a secret. The last piece of Isha's soul is in the world."

He coughed for a while, all over his body. Trembling, stirring the dust on the ground.

Ngarta is not sure if these words are spoken to herself, Primarch always likes to speak to herself loudly, and being isolated from the world for centuries has made him even more unique. Iism.

"I have resigned to my fate, I look at this, look at that, but most of the time I stare into the abyss...this is the choice I made, to abandon this boring little game , Leaving those old worlds and old wars to mortals, and turning to the truly great game."

His eyes focused briefly, and it seemed that he finally saw Ngarta for the first time.

"So, what good news did you bring."

"Master, after a period of reconnaissance, we sought the assistance of the Red Pirates, and finally determined that Spirit Race’s Craftworld Usvi briefly appeared in the Armageddon galaxy. This coincided with the time when the father's anger broke out. We are sure that the daughter of Isha is on Craftworld Usvi."

Motta Rian looked confused for a while, then recovered.

"Ah, yes, Hajimey Doton."

He leaned forward on the throne, and this slight movement caused one after another dust to fall on the roof.

"The imprisonment of those hungry ladies has been hiding in the network for tens of thousands of years. Why did they appear in Armageddon?"

"Not long ago, Green Skin Invading there again, it seems to be related."

"This will not happen to my hands."

"Green skin, yes, green skin..."

Motarian panted, and a long inhalation sound came from the ventilator's filter.

"That place has a unique meaning for Greenskins, they will not give up there, but what does this have to do with Spirit Race...Ha, it’s ridiculous."

"My lord, then what shall we do next?"

"This is your business."

Motarian waved his hand, as if driving away something annoying .

"Such a glorious task has fallen on your shoulders, no matter what you need, just go to other people, they will give you everything, and I... still have to wait."

Ngarta tried to understand what he said, but failed.

"Sorry, my master, I don't understand."

"No need to understand, do yours."

Ngarta thought for a while , Finally exited the hall slowly, leaving only this decadent giant still breathing slowly on the throne——

"Yes, it's windy..."