Markarian strolled past the flight deck of the Star Castle. The key systems of the Hell Eye were basically controlled by the Empire's warriors, but there were still some key parts under the control of the Red Pirates.
Emergency escape areas are one of them.
The two groups of Astral Knights fired respectfully and cautiously from a distance while protecting the Dauntless flanks as they advanced, their bolters tearing at the shattered enemy lines.
The resurrected warrior had no idea of their names, but he recognized the armor some of them were wearing - they bore the many scars of the tribulations the Broken Eagle warband had endured and survived, and he still recognized them. Recognize.
But the warrior wearing armor is no longer the familiar person.
For Wuwei, the greatest sorrow is that things have changed and people have changed.
The passion and fanaticism brought about by the battle quickly cooled in the immortal body, and he now felt particularly unfamiliar with commanding these strange warriors as the Astral Knight "The Lord".
In the past, they fought because they harbored long-forgotten hatred, and the soldiers of the Eighth Legion screamed curses that had long since ceased to be uttered.
And now, those warriors who wear their armor serve for the Emperor who was once abandoned by Markaryon.
Dark thoughts, these dark thoughts were disturbing his mind.
The feet covered with armor and claws of the Dreadnought crushed corpses with its huge weight, and the multi-melta cannon on its right arm kept firing, blasting holes in the Red Pirates' defense line one after another.
These people were attracted by his huge figure and rushed forward regardless of their own safety, just to destroy his sacred mechanical body.
Maybe there was a part of him that wanted them to succeed, just a small part, a region of his mind that remained deathly quiet when the fighting happened.
There is no joy here. The War Philosopher has never experienced joy in battle, but the pleasure of battle can make him focus and concentrate on external affairs.
Now, that focus has died along with who he was, like the cold sarcophagus shell of his body.
At this time, an armed servitor equipped with four chain saws that made screaming sounds rushed towards the Dreadnought. Markarian grabbed it and crushed the servitor to pieces with his indestructible lightning claws.
When the electrified power claw blade crushed the machine servant, the sluggish body was immediately evaporated by the moving electric light. Then Markarian ignited the flamethrower in the center of the lightning claw, covering the semi-mechanical monster in liquid fire. Among them, the flesh and blood part is roasted.
The next moment he was throwing the body into the enemy lines ahead, bemoaning their indifference to the sophisticated killing techniques.
My dear Primarch, this war was a waste of the Legion's talents.
It hadn't been long, but he was beginning to tire of fighting for the Empire and the Emperor.
"Macharion."
Suddenly, a voice came from the communication network.
It was a struggle for him to use the communicator properly instead of cutting into the armor's external loudspeaker, not helped by the fact that the war was heating up.
"I am Sevatar."
Hearing this name,
His melta cannon had already reduced one of the red pirates to molten slag, and the remaining parts fell apart into the crowd.
"First Company Commander, shouldn't you be here too? You shouldn't wake me up just to kill everyone for you, right?"
"Markarian, it's time to leave. Now go to Area 1-17. There is a Thunderhawk there. We are waiting for you there."
"Us? Who else?"
"Malek and the others."
Before he could finish his words, pain penetrated his whole body like a ghost, accompanied by a soreness. Markarian's real body was thinking in the container filled with liquid, and he felt the silky secretion covering his face. Severe nerve pain washed over his pale remains.
The red pirate who tried to pierce the chain saw into the knee joint of the Dreadnought was quickly smashed into a pile of mud. Markarian rotated his axis and straightened his lightning claws. Several red pirates who tried to attack were immediately knocked back. among their companions, and were shattered to pieces.
"Where are we going?"
Markarian roared, his pain surfacing across the comms network.
"Sai, you feel very strange to me now. There are too many secrets in you, just like the original body tortured by hallucinations. I can no longer see through you."
"Ha, Macharion, you're talking like you could see through me before, we're going to—"
When the next few words were spoken, Markarian's mechanical body froze, allowing the enemy to knock his iron coffin with weak firepower.
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely true."
"What about these Astral Knights?"
Markarian arced his lightning claws in front of him and unleashed a wall of fire from his flamethrower, while the two squads beside him advanced with bolters and swords under his protection.
The enemies in the emergency escape area soon collapsed and began to scramble to escape, fighting for the use of the last few shuttles.
Some red pirates even pointed their guns at their companions who were fighting side by side just now.
After that, the Dreadnought slowed down, slowly.
He turned around and watched.
Noise surrounded him, noise that was unheard over the rolling of his joints and the roar of his weapons.
The physical bullets hit his shell like a heavy rain.
"They have the ability to clean up this mess."
"But they are about to face Huron."
The Dreadnought's power furnace roared louder as Markaryon reengaged, and the loudspeakers on his hull blasted loudly as he roared in Nastromvin.
"If he can't even deal with Huron, then he's not qualified to be that... Don't worry, they can at least get back alive. Time is running out, so evacuate quickly."
"What tools do we use to leave?"
"There is a disabled pirate ship nearby. I have a way to get it moving again."
"Okay, I'll come right away."
Just as the elite of the Eighth Legion quietly evacuated the battlefield, Malakin on the Mother of Tears was already in a dilemma.
The enemy's firepower is increasing, and most of our own capital ships have been damaged.
Distraught, the Abyss Watcher turned his head to face a mortal team member whose name he had no intention of remembering.
"The current status of the squadron's reorganization?"
The officer, wearing an outdated military uniform, stood straight and checked the display control panel.
"The battle damage rate of the Blood Wing Squadron has exceeded 60%, and the battle damage rate of the Golden Spear Squadron has exceeded 70%. Only the Light of Baal Squadron has a battle damage rate near the 40% red line. At present, each squadron has been reorganized and can be dispatched again. Two rounds.”
Malakin stepped forward, making a sound of armor scraping.
"Why is the battle damage rate so high?"
"Confirming, sir."
The officer picked up the microphone clipped to his coat.
"This is the command deck, now please—"
Malakin never understood the way mortals displayed fear. He just watched the officer's face turn pale and his heart beat louder and faster like a drum.
Obviously, it's bad news, or bad news that mortals don't want to be told.
"Some combat aircraft pursued too deeply and entered the enemy's air defense fire network. Sir, the flight commander is... correcting it."
"Order them to stop attacking, immediately."
The officer delivered the order, and as he listened to the reply, he swallowed and tried to speak.
The response from Flight Control was swift and furious, some of which the mortal decided not to tell the Chapter Master.
Suddenly, other voices intervened.
"grown ups."
Malakin turned his head, surprised at the rising discomfort in the mortal's mouth.
"explain."
"Captain Soshyan wishes to speak with you directly, saying it is the most urgent matter."
"Open the channel."
"Brother Malakim."
Soshyan's voice echoed on the bridge.
"We have taken control of the Star Fortress."
"Your Majesty, the Emperor."
Malakin breathed a sigh of relief. Although there were various accidents in time, the plan was still followed according to the steps.
"Brother Malakim, now you have to make way for Huron."
Hearing Soshyan's words, Malakin pursed his lips.
Of course he knew what the next step in the plan was.
"Brother Soshyan, I hope I can participate in the last step. I will hand over the command to Brother Lothar."
"Understood, brother Malaki, I promise, Huron is yours."
"Thank you."
After the communication was closed, Malakin took a deep breath and gently pressed the bloody blade at his waist with his slightly trembling palms due to excitement.
"Huron...don't die before I come."
