Dietrian's internal processor recalled Kalad's facial features, service records, and every modification to his armor in the past three hundred years in a heartbeat.
"Thank you very much. Your information is very useful to improve the situation of the battle. So where is Talos of the First Claw?"
"The First Fierce Claw is fending off the enemy in Hall 1, what's wrong?"
"I have discovered and analyzed the flaws in the void shield function. Now I need the captain's order and the guards to come-"
Kalad's voice link suddenly collapsed, and then the sound dispersed in a burst of intense howling, and then there was another sound of a heavy object falling.
Dietrich's head tightened, realizing that something was wrong.
"Kalad? Kalad of the Sixth Talon?"
Soon, another voice took over.
"This is the Farrowen of the Sixth Talon. We are retreating from the landing port! Anyone in the stern area who is still breathing, assemble with us in the New Black Market."
"The person who just spoke to me was——"
"For the sake of the gods, please shut up, Bishop! The Sixth Claw is retreating, Kalad and Yetus have fallen."
Another voice responded intermittently.
"Farovan, this is Xia Kurus, checking again to see if Kalad has fallen."
"I saw it with my own eyes as these screaming alien bitches ripped his head off."
Dietrian listened to the conversation of the legionnaires during the defense, and Dietrian finally decided to solve the problem personally.
He made his way through the tangle of decks via a hidden maintenance tunnel to the third damaged engine tower.
This one, nearly five hundred meters away from the first one, was like a pile of molten metal fragments, the cracked fragments almost poking into the charred shell of the ship.
Because of the impact of the enemy's landing equipment, the shell of the ship underfoot was more like a melted steel desert.
For the first time in decades, Dietrian felt something like despair. This emotion was too strong and abrupt. Back when he was an ordinary priest of the Mechanicus, this emotion might only have arisen from his overwhelming emotions. Defective organs.
"Lakuna Absolutus."
He started contacting his assistants.
"grown ups?"
"Bring the last group of servitors to the last damaged spire. I will handle this myself."
Lacuna Absolutus stood beside his master, his own red hood shaking in the vacuum of the void, and his face wearing an Ancient Terra-type chrome visor, expressionless and incomprehensible. Judge his thoughts.
His voice seemed to come from a coin-sized sound piece sewn into his throat.
"Understood, but how do you deal with this, my lord?"
Dietrian laughed, because he always laughed, and his role in this incident left him no other option.
"You heard your mission, let's go."
Suddenly, he shuddered when he received the message from inside the cabin.
"No!"
The mechanical bishop finally lost control of his emotions and roared loudly.
"These damn alien bastards!"
"grown ups?"
"Damn it! The engine stopped.
"Sir, there is also a void shield——"
A new voice came from the channel linked to him,
"—is decaying."
While Dietrian was in a state of distress, the lower deck became even more uneven.
Lucofus of the Weeping Eye did not confine himself to the deck like his hunting pack.
Although he can't run like he once did, his movements are now more agile and amazing, completely like a four-legged wild race.
His hands and feet tapped the deck grating in an animalistic rhythm, like an ape or a wolf, a warrior who had not resembled a human for many years - but he had never thanked the empire for its genetic modification, and Later subspace upgrades.
Most soldiers of the Eighth Legion agreed that Lukovus probably had the strongest will to live among his brothers, refusing to die for their cause or stand his ground in a hopeless battle, Not to mention that he is not suitable for fighting in an open place.
He doesn't plan to die yet, so let his brothers embrace this senseless madness, and he enjoys his life with a very rational code - albeit a twisted one.
So when he ran away from the battlefield, he had no shame.
Out of his urgent need for self-preservation, the thrusters on his back emitted a thin stream of cold smoke.
The thrusters rumbled and erupted in flames very efficiently, pushing him into the air.
Now he just needs a jump space to ambush on the dying Cursed Echo. This is not a very loyal intention.
In the message, First Talon was still scolding the raptors for retreating.
"Let them complain."
Vorasha chuckled, his laughter degenerating into a contemptuous hiss.
Both of them clung to the ceiling as they fled, while the remaining survivors of the Weeping Eye, who had been decimated over the past few months and were the toughest and most ferocious, raced their way through the walls and doors. .
The ship shuddered again, and Lukovus had to cling to a piece of metal with his limbs to prevent himself from being thrown off.
"No."
Suddenly, he stopped.
"Wait a moment."
The Eyes of Weeping Blood stopped simultaneously, and the hunting group silently hung upside down beside the leader: a short meeting began in a three-dimensional space.
Vorasha tilted his helmet to look like a bird, two lines of tears spray-painted on each of their demonic visors.
"What's wrong? What happened?"
"You go."
Lukovus gave his order with an excited scream.
"Retreat to Hall 2 and reinforce the Fourth Fierce Claw."
Their muscles tightened with the instinct to obey orders.
"how about you?"
Vorasha asked back, but his leader only responded with a wordless howl like a carrion crow, and then he turned back the way they had come.
The Weeping Eyes eyed each other as their leader bounded into the hallway, racing along the ceiling.
Instinct drives them—the pack either hunts side by side or does nothing.
"Let's go!"
Lukovus urged them on the channel.
In wordless silence, they reluctantly obeyed.
"Do it, do it!"
Dietrian has never run himself at such a high speed, even if it is still hindered by the slow logic algorithm in his body.
He had deployed his four assist arms, activating and letting them stretch out from his back.
These are replicas of his arms, each gripping square chunks of data and integrating them into protective chain-like shapes.
The Mechanical Bishop could not trust the speed and accuracy of the servitors at this moment, and the task of driving them to more effectively assist the maintenance here fell on Dietrian's own shoulders.
The four slaves responded to the slightest movement of the data controller in his hand, their every twitch and breath driven by his will.
In a morbid convulsion common to lobotomists, the servitors lifted the main beam into place and sealed it with welding rods, then worked to rebuild the destroyed outer power spire.
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