Looking at the war coach Abaddon standing with his sword, Garmozejie gritted his teeth and knew that things could not be done well. He could only stand up and whisper:
"That'll offend you, the general of Zhan."
Before he finished speaking, Garmozejie rushed forward and waved the witch sword.
And his opponent skillfully avoided, ignoring the spark of decomposition position falling on the armor, Garmozejie had never seen anyone who was so sensitive in the Terminator.
Never-
And more importantly, the Terminator armor worn by Abaddon greatly strengthened his physical strength. Garmozejie must hold weapons in both hands to catch the heavy blow blessed by the opponent's huge armor.
This was enough to make him difficult.
The weapons collided again, and then Garmozejie turned away from the opponent, moved cautiously, and tried to find the loopholes in the opponent's perfect defense.
"By the way, what's wrong with you?"
Abaddon asked suddenly, glanced at Garmozej's clumsy limbs and weird armor plates.
Garmozejie kept silent and kept his energy focused.
He slashed, with a bit of hatred in his posture, intending to take Abaddon's neck straight.
The general of Zhan retreated back, avoided the attack, and then immediately attacked with his sword.
"You move like a machine."
Abaddon then mocked him, dancing back to melee range, accompanied by a storm-like blow.
"I have killed many people like you, but they fight more like a warrior than a... crippled!"
This sentence really hit Garmozej's heart pain. The mutated limbs did give him some strength, but more often they gave him strangeness and discomfort, which made him look a bit like a physically disabled person when he acted, which also made many jokes about him in the Zhan Gang.
“Space hates us.”
Garmozej mumbled, beginning to realize that he was in a defeat.
"Yes, we are all."
They collided again, withstood the blows with their armor, and their swords bounced away from each other.
Garmozejie smashed the sword blade and missed the target with just a slight difference. Then he had to defend himself and barely avoid the sharp blade of the sword.
He retreated and opened up the space.
"But I'm not sick."
Suddenly, the words were almost uncontrollably taken out of Garmozej's lips
Sickness is the name of the various mutations and self-destruction displayed by the rebellious soul-drinking people in the battle gang. Many people are now more like wild animals than humans. Their genetically modified bodies are destroyed and distorted by the power of chaos and are trapped in the hell of self-destruction.
Abaddon smiled, in a cruel voice.
"Maybe not, but sooner or later, I have seen too many characters like you, and in the end I can only survive on the remaining remaining soups given by the gods. The ending is nothing more than madman or chaos eggs."
Garmozejie continued to retreat, allowing his enemies to press forward step by step.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the Terminators standing still, seemingly turning a blind eye to everything that happened, like a statue.
"I will never surrender, I will fight to the end."
Abaddon's slight humming disdainfully came out of his tight lips, and the sword blurred like a tulle around his armored figure.
Then, the two swords fought each other again, making a fierce collision sound.
"Resistance? Can you understand what resistance is? Resistance is to break the fate and pursue greater things! You are given talent, but you are too simple to fight for something that has passed away - the old legion? Don't joke, there is nothing else in front of you except shackles."
The weapons spiraled around each other, weaving, pricking, and pounding.
“However, for us, the shackles no longer exist.”
Garmozejie had been forced to the edge of the bridge, and he felt his remaining muscles tense up, and sweat flowed down the inner wall of his neck armor.
His enemies are faster, stronger, sharper, and swinging the long sword as if it had no weight.
He hated himself very much at this moment—
He should have been faster and stronger.
"So why do you feel belonging to a legion that has never existed?"
Abaddon asked, with sincere curiosity.
"You haven't even seen the Primrose."
Garmozejie began to breathe rapidly, and the sword became as heavy as a piece of lead in his hand. He now began to take the attack - an attack that deviated from the center, constantly eroding and disintegrating at the gap in his defense.
"I made an oath."
Abaddon laughed again.
"Oath! Asian Space has made oaths all the time."
Abaddon said in a cruel but sincere tone:
"Stop talking about things you don't understand at all."
As he said that, he used that thing for the first time—
Horus's Claw.
In fact, Garmozejie had been alert to this thing before. When he first met Abaddon, he was very afraid of this thing. He could see the echo of death entrenched like fog between its curved claw blades. This layer of psychic glare attracted countless unformed monsters, praying to this divine weapon, expressing love to it, and praise its powerful power to change the future with inhuman whispers.
In many ways, this giant claw has the same "flavor" as Drak Nian in Abaddon's hand, which is dazzling and extremely disgusting.
And it is very powerful.
"You are just a betrayal dog abandoned by the Empire. Don't use the Lost Legion's sign to gild your face, it will only make you look particularly funny."
The next second, the giant claws broke through the sword blocked by Garmozej like a siege hammer, stuck it in the claw blade, then snatched it from Garmozej's hand, and threw it away.
Garmozej's body trembled, his eyes widened, and his saliva bonded into curved threads between his teeth.
"I'm not a betrayal dog!!!"
Roaring angrily, he actually crashed into Abaddon.
This move caused all the Terminators around to raise their guns at the same time.
But Abaddon slapped his body directly, then fluctuated the sword in his hand, grabbed Galmozejie's throat with empty hands, and raised him up against the roar of the hydraulic joints of the Terminator's armor.
Garmozeger's limbs were forced to leave the ground and his breathing was unsustainable. Although Astart could withstand a long period of hypoxia, when he looked at Abaddon's contemptuous eyes, he still suspected that he would die of suffocation.
"You are full of hatred in your heart now, right? Hate from your own weakness."
Garmozejie blushed, then gritted his teeth and said:
"As long as I don't die today, I will one day be stronger than everyone!"
"Very good, it seems you've learned a little."
Suddenly, Abaddon let go of his hand, then turned around and stared out of the observation window.
"You are valuable now. Your hatred is a kind of nourishment. If time passes, you may be able to form a force against fate... That's it, I agree. I will send an envoy to explain to Huron. Without my help, the Red Pirates cannot bear the pressure of the empire. He has asked me for it from beginning to end, but those ships still have to be returned to him. I will give you a new ship later, but you must remember that what I value is not your ridiculous legion, but you, as a person, and your hatred."
Garmozejie stood up and bent down modestly to pay tribute.
"I understand, thank you, Mr. Zhan."
"Okay, you go down."
Abaddon waved his hand behind him, and Garmozejie immediately left the bridge.
The Chaos War Manager stared at the crazy colors outside, looking a little uneasy.