"Where is your master?"
Garmo Zejie's hand grasped the man's shoulder so tightly that he cracked his collarbone.
"Please, my lord...please..."
The man said, and he let out a painful whisper.
"I have served faithfully all my life."
"No doubt you think this is unfair."
Garmo Zejie's face was very close to the man's face, and he smelled the smell of blood and fear, so he only moved his fingers a little, and the man began to sob in unprecedented pain.
"But there is no fairness in the entire universe, don't you agree?"
Choking was the man's only reaction.
"Tell me where the Prince of Thorns is."
The man screamed.
"My lord, please! Please! The master's resting place cannot be known to others. If I tell you, he will skin me alive!"
"I guess it's not a big deal now, what about you?"
"Please, no! He's in the church vault! Please, my lord!"
"It's not that hard, is it?"
Garmo Zejie let go of the man, who crawled away tremblingly.
They were in an explorer's fortress, which was assigned to them by Abaddon as a base. It had complete facilities. The people here were evacuated directly, so they were not damaged by the war.
What's more, it's very close to the Red Sand Mountains.
Garmo Zejie was satisfied with this and began to build his plan with this place as the center.
Everything is going smooth.
While walking, Garmo Zejie heard the voices of the servants, but did not see them. Occasionally, they ran away from him with hurried steps, like mice on the wall.
Inside the fortress, the air was filled with the smell of complex compounds produced by combustion. His neural detection organs processed it all, allowing him to taste the wonderful aftertaste of death a thousand times.
He walked through corridors clogged with blackened corpses, their twisted limbs and screaming faces carbonized into an angular mass that looked as if some multi-limbed monster had ended its life there.
In one vast atrium, water, coolant and human waste pour from broken pipes, while in others, corrosion seeps into the floors, metalwork and dead bodies are covered under a thin layer of putrid fungus. The manifestation of the power of chaos.
He went to the fortress's church, where Garmozej smelled the smell of fresh blood.
Soon after, he heard screaming.
"Amon Cal..."
He took a breath and moved on cautiously.
The servant did not lie.
The stands in the upper dome of the church are filled with broken relics from centuries of war. The moldy rags are all the remnants of the flags of former enemies. Weapons and bones are piled in the corners. The hands of dozens of separated human civilizations. Artifacts were scattered on the floor.
Any sense of the dome as a place of remembrance was shattered by the betrayal.
At the same time, it became a haunting place.
Every pillar was hung with shackled corpses bearing signs of brutal torture, the central aisle of the hall was lined with eyeless heads, and the air was filled with the smell of excrement, blood, carrion, and burnt flesh.
Braziers, torches, and wicks lit with human fat gave the room a hellish light. The few windows were not broken. This creepy, lightless nightmarish scene made the hall look like a Shura field.
Six simple cages lined one wall, most of them empty, but two were filled with thin and dirty bodies. The only thing that proved they were still alive was the glint in their eyes. They told the outside world He was indifferent to everything, staring directly at the iron table in the center of the room.
There is a dying person tied to it, and it is impossible to identify whether it is a man or a woman.
The man's lips had been cut off and his eyes had been gouged out. There was some breath on his face, and his skin was hung on a bare shelf in an obscene and obscene way.
There, Amon Kal saw Amon Kal, the Prince of Thorns, at work - naked, with black hair shawl, his body as pale as a corpse covered with nerve holes and scars left by ritual killing counts.
He is as guilty as every cruel Night Lord, but he also enjoys it, but if you think about it carefully, it is not just for enjoyment, it is the way his twisted morality operates.
"Karl."
Garmo Zejie called softly.
But the other party didn't even raise his head, and just chuckled. The blood of the previous victim and the smooth metal of his neural interface shone in the firelight.
"I heard you coming, your steps are always too heavy, Garmo Zejie."
"Your reconnaissance and hunting during this period have helped us a lot. The operation is about to begin. It is time to abandon these time-wasting tortures and pick up weapons again."
"There's nothing to waste time on, I taught these guys a valuable lesson."
The Prince of Thorns stooped and dug his fingers into his victim's ribs, who made an incredible noise, and the unconscious plaything took two rapid breaths. Then, with a long breath, the painful soul was gradually forgotten.
Watching all this, Garmozej was aware of the Eighth Legion's obsession with dismemberment and torture, and had learned about their stories of corpses hanging high from pillars in public places and busy roads, pouring their thickened liquid over them. Walking on the wreckage below.
These people are unpopular in many places, but Garmo Zejie realizes their role - these people are true masters of fear.
"Kill a thousand people."
Staring at the bloody corpse, Prince of Thorns squinted his eyes and muttered:
"Let no one bear witness, nor ask what was achieved? Who will know? Who will fear you? Who will respect or obey you? But kill a man and let the world see it, hang him high and chop him down Kill him, let him bleed, and then...disappear."
"Now. Who will know? Everyone! Who will be afraid of you? Why, everyone! Who will respect you, who will always obey you? Everyone!"
“These mortals are delusional, kill a thousand and they will hate you, kill a million and they will adore you…but kill one and they will see in every shadow Monsters and demons. Kill a dozen people and they will scream and wail in the night, and what they feel is not hatred, but fear."
"This is a form of obedience, they are cowardly, delirium beasts, these mortals... we deserve this from them."
Garmo Zejie had a smile on his face and clapped his hands gently.
"Yes, that's right, fear is the most powerful weapon. The fear you spread has spread like a plague among those mortals. Along with the rumors we spread about the impending purge of the empire, many people Accepted."
At this time, Garmo Zejie took out something and threw it to the Prince of Thorns, who grabbed it in his hand.
It was a necklace, stained with blood, and the Prince of Thorns lifted it up.
"A Skyhawk?"
"In one of the refugee camps you attacked, there were thousands of people together, and they committed suicide wearing this thing, and there was a bigger one hanging on the wall."
"so?"
"They prayed to the throne that He would come and save them. Imagine! Imagine in their fragile little minds, there would never be any drudgery, no shifts, no imposed obligations, rewards or rights, no mysterious powers. Killers, what awaits them in the end is probably a painful death...so they regard the Emperor as a god!"
Garmo Zejie laughed and said:
"How quickly they throw away their lives for a taste of hope!"
A smile also appeared on the face of the Prince of Thorns.
"Hope is just an illusion, life is only pain."
"Then let's bring more pain."
Garmo Zejie smiled and picked up a helmet tied around his waist, a brand new, baroque, silver helmet.
"First, let's change our appearance."
