The gunship took off as the battleship carrying it passed close to the planet.
In the cockpit, a figure in black armor was looking at the track of the new Badab, warning lights washing over his vision.
The planet looked like a lump of disgusting yellow fat pushed through the smoke, its orbit shrouded in debris and gleaming banks of twisted metal.
There was no doubt that there had been a great war here not long ago.
He corrected his course to ensure they would not approach the warning zone, then locked onto the primary target and pushed the engines to maximum output.
Even though he was wearing power armor and locked into the pilot's gear, he felt the hammering sensation of reaching full speed as the pressure increased.
"Warning, the current engine operating status and movement trajectory will cause damage."
The mechanical beep rubbed his ears, but he ignored it.
He hadn't asked the meatless tech-priest to tap into the gunship's communications, but it would inevitably have done so, and for a human being who had supposedly been stripped of emotion for the sake of pure logic, that man's The predictability was outstanding.
"The probability of reduced engine output is currently 85.21."
After a moment, the mechanical voice added:
"estimated value."
He didn't reply, which didn't make sense.
The target in front of us is rapidly approaching, and the outer guard warships that serve as the first line of defense for the Ghost of Destruction are growing from a distant dot to a metallic outline projected by starlight.
Then he threw the gunship into an irregular spiral trajectory and saw the two warning runes on the helmet flashing from yellow to red.
"Activate combat display."
He talks and the space around his body becomes a network of blue, red and green arcs representing potential targets.
Of course, they did not include warships - he suspected that even if he fired at the smallest warship, the other party might not notice it at all.
"Auspices and multiple targeting arrays have locked onto us."
"Sending identification signals."
"obey."
The Tech-Priest hummed in response:
"It is recommended that we reduce our speed, adjust our course to a stable trajectory, and turn off our weapons."
"No."
He answered coldly, without pause.
"Send a signal and see if they still feel like their best course of action is to blow us out of the void."
The outer guard warships have now turned into towering cliffs blocking New Badab's sight and the light of stars. Waiting in the distance are the inner defense warships, and in the center of their formation is the huge and angular Ghost of Destruction. Clear outlines.
Obviously the Huron fleet suffered some losses, but it was not devastating. Moreover, the pirate king obviously had reserve forces hidden elsewhere. At least two heavy cruisers and a battlecruiser in the fleet were not at his place. The collected red pirate fleet is being compiled.
He suddenly pulled the gunship up, flew out on a zigzag trajectory, and then flashed back to the spiral state. The target locking voice kept appearing in his ears.
He waited while feeling the familiar feeling of the body in the armor being pulled by G force.
He missed this, missed the control of man and machine, and the sense of crisis echoed in his consciousness, which made him feel reborn and made him forget what he had lost.
At the same time, the dance in the Red Pirate's gun sighting system has another meaning.
Cut in, weapons activated, aim activated, and if they dare fire, let them die.
It's a message, a statement that means something - don't confuse strength with power.
Of course, he didn't want to put this kind of thing into practice.
"The opposing warships have deactivated their targeting."
"very good."
"They're sending us their regards."
"Give me the microphone."
"obey."
Static buzzed in his ears, then faded away.
"The Blackheart King's warships and warriors welcome you, distinguished envoy."
The voice paused for a moment, and those in the cockpit thought they recognized it, its harsh timbre and sharp words used to excite rather than show politeness.
Kelkus, of course.
Not the Hurons, not yet, not until they could confirm why they were here.
"Where are you from?"
Kelkus' voice asked cautiously.
Behind the black visor of his helmet, the man gave a dry laugh.
"I come from the Warmaster."
He replied.
The other party was silent for a few seconds, and then asked in a more humble tone.
"Your Excellency?"
The visitor chuckled, like a midnight ghost, and then slowly said his name.
"Iskandar...Kayon."
Half an hour later, the gunboat arrived at the hangar of the Ghost of Destruction. Several warriors in black armor walked out of the open hatch and headed all the way to the place where the person they needed to see was.
After walking for about ten minutes, they saw the all-powerful tyrant.
But now the tyrant's condition is a bit bad.
The tyrant was still sitting high on his throne, trying hard to maintain his posture. A metal claw scraped against the right armrest of the throne.
The wound caused by Soshyan was no longer bleeding, except for a few drops occasionally.
Looking at the people appearing in front of him, Huron inhaled in a low voice, tightened his arms, clenched his claw blades, and pierced deeply into the obsidian.
Although he tried hard to maintain his posture, all this could not be hidden from Iskandar Khayon - he was the most outstanding wizard in the Black Legion and one of Warmaster Abaddon's most trusted lieutenants.
At the same time, this wizard from the Thousand Sons was also one of the first people to create the Black Legion.
Khayon raised his head, his eyes closing briefly and his pale lips parting.
In another vision, Huron's figure kept flickering, and there was a ghostly shadow behind the throne. The blood seeping from the gaps in the armor trembled and blurred in the shadows, and then disappeared. Tiny ghosts surrounded his head and howled wantonly. .
Even though he was so far away, Kayon could still taste the warm smell of rust, sulfur, and sweetness.
Huron's condition was much worse than he showed, and even his survival was a gift from the subspace.
Thinking of this, Khayon, who had a melancholy face and amber skin, smiled and then opened his eyes.
"Lord Luft Huron, the Warmaster asked me to send his regards to you."
"Abaddon's regards, of course."
Huron smiled and shook his head, but this action made the wound in front of him open wider, and the damaged armor near the wound wrinkled and turned up like a sneer.
Khayon was sure the rumor was true, and Huron had lost a heart.
Then the tyrant picked up the cup beside him, which contained a red-black liquid, and he drank it all in one gulp.
Kayon frowned, not because of the other party's behavior, but because of the liquid.
He could feel that there was some violent power and dark witchcraft in the liquid, much like the magic potion "Feather of Heaven".
Although the name may seem very beautiful, the process of making this potion is extremely cruel. It requires the naturally conceived and conscious but unborn fetus to be taken out of the mother's body, then crushed and mixed with several kinds of demon blood, and then purified. ——Tens of thousands of fetuses may only have a few milliliters.
The size of Huron's mouthful—
After drinking the potion, the decline in Huron's body was instantly wiped away, and he returned to his former domineering and shrewd self.
"Tell me what Abaddon has asked you to do."
