It's like a young mother whispering in the ear of a sleeping baby, or like an old teacher's last teachings to the departed students: this voice is gentle, but not mixed with any emotion; this voice is warm, but radiating
Facing the severe cold of death, this voice is real, yet as illusory as the moon in the water.
At least in Zahariel's opinion, Morgan's voice is so contradictory, weird and real.
Caliban patted his shoulder armor. Except for a decoration representing the First Legion, there was still nothing there. This made him inevitably disappointed, but this loss was fleeting: there were more serious things that needed him.
to face it.
Morgan continued to whisper. She poured out complex sentences somewhat carelessly. As she whispered, her fingers slowly traced the direction of the skyline.
It's not quiet there.
The Dark Angel's superhuman hearing can hear those extremely noisy sounds, which are countless noisy roars like wild beasts, rumbling sounds like waves, wails and curses like hell, and mixed with the infinite gloominess of strange horns.
It was an attack, an attack that had not yet caught their eyes. One of Ran Dan's overlords or a group of warriors was driving countless cannon fodder slaves, maybe tens of thousands, or maybe more, rushing towards them.
They rushed towards him, and Zahariel could even hear the endless land of the desert trembling involuntarily due to their attack. Countless stones and dust bounced randomly on the ground, telling an ominous omen.
Then, he saw Morgan pouring out the last character, as if he had finished reading a poem.
Because he is a Thousand Sons, one of the most trusted figures of the Primarch of the Fifteenth Legion. If he is lost in the Sabis galaxy and in the Dark Angel's plan, it will cause some trouble, and
[Lion] I always hate trouble that does not bring any benefit.
She raised the corners of her mouth, raised her brows slightly, and showed a soothing smile almost at all costs, but this seemed to immediately exhaust her energy.
Just now, he heard it.
Then, he heard the sound of adjusting the angle, and the mental burden on him was significantly reduced. In contrast, the mortal lady next to him obviously stooped her body.
Zahariel broke into a cold sweat.
Caliban raised his head with great effort, listened again, and looked far into the distance again.
Morgan opened his eyes.
Quiet as if nothing existed.
She seemed to want to say something more, but the veterans had already stepped forward and took her away. A Stormbird was staying in the open space in the distance, waiting for them.
As Morgan thought, he invaded the driver's subconscious almost casually.
At this time, this already thin lady began to sweat involuntarily, and large drops of sweat began to leave her forehead, staining the corners of her hair, blurring her eyebrows, and her originally comfortable breathing became dull.
Confused and heavy.
So, Morgan closed his eyes again and began to think.
——————
——————
And the last second was her laughter after reading.
【Is this a necessary precaution? Your Excellency?】
[I have adapted a long time ago. What I should have adapted to is just being in the freedom of the Thousand Sons Legion...]
"But first, we have to pass a practical test to see if she is really, as stated in the letter from the Thousand Sons Legion, a real or controllable psyker comparable to an alpha level."
It took Morgan about three seconds to process all of this: rummaging through his memory, sifting through the contents, then stringing them together, reading and analyzing, all of which took two seconds.
He heard it all and didn't hear it again.
In the end, it was the suppressed lady who comforted him.
Mortals without much psychic talent cannot understand what [alpha] means in the spiritual realm.
——————
But this face that was suppressed for no reason, this weak, innocent, pale face that should have been sad and resentful, still showed an extremely forced smile when it looked at Zahariel.
"Good luck."
The Dark Angel forcibly looked away and turned his gaze back to Morgan. He longed to see the exhaustion and panting from this psychic lady: but what he really saw was Morgan's fingers moving freely.
She was playing with her silver-white hair, seeming to be thinking about whether to trim her hair that was too long. She was like a daughter enjoying the afternoon sunshine in the garden, carefree in the mist and the fragrance of flowers and plants.
No worries.
The Caliban company commander turned his head slightly stiffly, passing through the recruit company that was being briefly confused and shocked. His hidden gaze was cast at a remote corner of the team, where a group of misfits stood.
warrior.
In the spiritual kingdom, Morgan rubbed her chin, her exploration transcended the barriers of space, looking for opportunities in the boundless desert.
A team of [Warriors].
The last time she felt this way was when she was woken up by the guy named Erebus, and now, the shackles on her wrists and ankles made it worse.
Zahariel closed his eyes.
"Remember, everything that happens here, whether it is important or not, whether it is successful or not, whether it makes you feel resistant and negative, or even makes you put these ideas into practice, it will lead directly to [Xiong]
Lion】himself.”
Sometimes, maybe what they do goes too far.
But Morgan didn't really like her role in the scene, so she decided to make some changes.
An [army].
This silver-haired lady, whose ability and attitude are admirable, is already a bit thin, and her finger bones and wrist bones are obviously protruding. Compared to the Astartes, she is like a large doll, which even makes people feel uncomfortable.
I think it's too exquisite to appear on the battlefield.
Zahariel couldn't help but frown, and then he heard the voice coming from the communicator.
She was a little unsure about the sudden change of attitude of the Dark Angel, and her spiritual senses could keenly perceive everything around her, whether it was physical or spiritual.
She said, with a kind of triumphant joy and show off in her words, and this question made Zahariel's body tighten uncontrollably,
Zahariel watched her lower her head, beads of sweat falling continuously from the tips of her hair. Before those veterans came here, it dyed the ground into a dim, irregular circle.
…
Oh, those special instruments, guns and bullets certainly have a suppressive effect on her: this suppression is almost like the effect of scooping up a ladle of water on the entire sea.
Zahariel's face was stiff. He turned his head guiltily and looked at Morgan.
Damn it, he had always thought it was a clerical error made by the Thousand Sons Legion. After all, it was basically impossible for an alpha with such good self-control to exist.
A [Demon King].
Just a second before Morgan uttered the verse.
"Be patient, this is a necessary step."
As a psyker, every time the voice sounded, Zahariel felt that his psychic energy was being suppressed by a layer, as if a whole mountain was constantly squeezing his spine.
There is also a [pass].
So, of course, she looked through the memories and thoughts of those Dark Angels.
【Is that all right, Lord Zahariel?】
Fog, it appeared at the end of the field of vision, at one end of the skyline. This invisible killer was not as slow as its companions. It paced from one end of the skyline to the other at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Like a gentleman walking in a hurry.
[Meet on a narrow road].
Because in the Sabis system, for some reasons that he has no right to know yet, the Dark Angels Legion needs a powerful psyker, preferably at the alpha level.
They were three slightly tall Dark Angels. Their whole bodies were tightly wrapped in hoods and robes, leaving only the huge weird guns they were holding. However, through the superhuman perspective of Astartes, Zhan
Harrel could still vaguely see the dense engravings and medals of honor on the shoulder pads of these mysterious men.
"I am responsible for supervising the mortal psyker, the new recruit."
[One man is in charge].
With a little control, they can even appear in a scene reasonably.
"You don't need to know the specific matters, just act as usual."
There was a sound from the communicator, and Zahariel could hear the veterans hidden behind the scenes wearing something, perhaps a bracelet equipped with a mechanism, because he heard the sound of steel buttons tightening, one after another.
She controlled her sweat glands and shed the sweat that a thin woman should shed under such circumstances. Just like her performance in front of Zahariel, these projects were so simple that she even felt boring.
He couldn't help but bend down, suffering from the suppression of this instinct, but he was not alone: the lady who was so graceful and luxurious just now was now even more miserable than he was.
Armor crushing.
That's all.
"alpha..."
——————
Zahariel suddenly felt a kind of tension, which was the physical instinct that Astartes would erupt when facing an unimaginable threat. And now, looking at the slowly moving wall of fog,
Every knuckle and brain cell of Zahariel was trembling and excited involuntarily, screaming loudly in preparation for battle.
The low tone of the horn.
As a psyker who has yet to develop his potential, Zahariel can actually understand the veterans' fears.
——————
For a moment, Zahariel thought this.
Then, he saw [fog].
A cry for death.
Caliban raised his hand. He wanted to say something, but the coating on his tongue was bitter: Thinking of the oppression he just felt, and then thinking about two such oppressions piled up on a mortal body, he
I feel like any words I say are feeble.
[No problem, Your Excellency...]
Soon, she found:
"Your temporary mission has ended, recruit. Next, we will take away this psyker. You and your people only need to hold on to this camp."
Why not Ahriman?
Why Morgan?
She was a little dissatisfied, a little...angry.
The roar of wild beasts.
She still lowered her head, because at least two veterans of the Dark Angels were staying in the cabin, and Morgan could feel their guns pointing at her. Those guns and ammunition exuded something bad for psykers.
breath.
It's so quiet...
Although he is still just a [new recruit], he already knows some of the rules in the legion.
Caliban turned his head, remembering the conversation he had experienced before.
——————
Zahariel stood there, raised his head, and just watched, watching the Storm Bird rise into the sky, move away, and finally disappear completely into the sky.
Morgan smiled. It was not a smile of joy, but a mixture of sarcasm and anger.
In the communication between only two people, Zahariel could hear the low-pitched affirmation of the Terran veteran hidden under the hood. What was strange was that he actually heard the words from the iceberg-like words.
The fearful trill.
"You are responsible for this matter, recruit. I will be responsible for supervision and records, as well as some last resort measures."
He knew what he should hear. He should hear an entire army of Randan's slaves advancing. He should hear the symphony of thousands of sword blades clashing with each other. He should hear the sound of tank tracks and cannon tires scratching the ground.
From the indentation, one should hear the dying struggles of thousands, even tens of thousands, of slaves.
but now……
In this world, in the Sabis galaxy, the Dark Angels are planning a big show, a big show that will change the script and actors anytime and anywhere.
Oh, and there’s also the classic [Hero Saves Beauty].
She likes it, very vulgarly.
While joking to himself, Morgan casually crossed out the scenes of several Dark Angel veterans in his script.
One correction here: Ran Dan’s celestial-level battleship is named [Battle Moon], not [War Satellite]