Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

Someone you miss might be having fun with someone else—no, I'm not talking about someone you've worked so hard to love.

I'm talking about Graca, the Face-Ripper that Steve Rogers has been waiting for.

The thunder howled, strangely like some kind of hollow echo.

Lightning streaked across the dark clouds, making the ground tremble.

It also made Maldron's mood a little gloomy - although he was not very happy.

Raising his head, he glanced at the raindrops that had turned scarlet like blood due to air pollution, and took two steps back without any trace, so as not to let the dirty rainwater splash on his power armor.

Of course, as long as they start fighting with those orcs at close quarters, it is inevitable that the Power Armor will get dirty. But what did that sentence say?

Clean for a while, clean for a while.

As a clean freak, Mordron Girardre considered himself a little privileged.

Of course, he thought so, but his company commander may not be sure.

"Dodge the rain? Is it just rain that looks scary?"

The company commander said sternly: "You really deserve to be despised by everyone, Maldron."

"Please don't say that, Captain, for Corax's sake. I just don't like our blood."

"That's not blood!" the company commander roared. "That's not our blood, it's the enemy's blood!"

Reluctantly, Maldron returned to where he was standing before, and began to carefully observe the movements of the orcs. After a while, his company commander asked, "How's the situation?"

"Too bad they've gone through our trap. How are our casualties, Captain?"

"For now, we are all dead, but no one is hurt, except you, Maldron."

The captain's words didn't move Maldron. He yawned lazily, and his breathing grill made his voice sound like a beast's call: "I'm not hurt, captain."

"No, you're hurt, your brain is hurt."

The company commander's voice is serious but weird,

It doesn't sound like a person talking, but like an echo, a symbol. An image of a mold lake not to be looked at carefully.

The company commander said to him: "You shouldn't be talking to me, you shouldn't even think of this as a fortification, you're not looking down on them, you're hiding from them in the dark."

Is that right?

The scene before Maldron's eyes changed rapidly, and in just an instant, he was no longer under the cloud of lightning and thunder, and the scarlet rain also disappeared. Surrounded by silent darkness, the graffiti of orcs stayed quietly on the wall, and at his feet, the corpses of four orcs were slowly bleeding.

Corpse, bleeding.

Ah, the feeling of familiarity. How many times have I seen this scene?

 …

Can't remember, but why can't I remember?

The captain said, "Because you forgot, and you can't recall now, because you can't, Maldron. Now, go booby-trap and make those stupid beasts that hunt you suffer."

Mordron nodded, squatted down thoughtfully, took their guns away, and tied them together with a few simple tricks.

Then, he put the four guns on the ground and made a simple booby trap. Ordinary firearms couldn't do this, of course, but this was an orc's gun, something that fired five out of ten bullets that might explode the chamber.

Strange, why do I know this knowledge?

Just when he was secretly wondering, the company commander's voice sounded again.

"Forward, Sergeant Maldron, complete your mission."

The voice of the company commander sounded in his mind again, as serious as ever, as weird as ever, and as always made him obey instinctively.

Maldron replied meekly, and asked: "Yes, Captain, but what should I do?"

"Sabotage their ships, sabotage their operations, and then remember why you came here, Sergeant Maldron, remember everything, remember who you really are."

"Who am I, Captain?"

Molding to himself, Mordron moved forward in the darkness without a sound. The lights were destroyed by him early in the morning, and the crude power system of the orcs was directly scrapped after being manually overloaded by him. Now, the ship is his playground, a dark prison.

He is a jailer, but also a prisoner.

"You are Maldron Girardre, and you are a member of the Raven Guard." The captain raised his voice so that his voice echoed like thunder in Maldron's head. "And your task is to drive them out!"

"I see, Captain."

Maldron threw out three very sharp blades that were polished silently. These weapons with a very ancient history bloomed again in the fortieth millennium universe. They drew deadly arcs and pierced The air precisely hit the back of the necks of the three orcs, and penetrated deeply into their brainstems.

They fell, and Mordron stepped out of the darkness and silently hung them from the ceiling. He pulled out the combat dagger that didn't even have a scabbard at his waist, and instinctively wanted to start doing something on these orcs that would arouse fear in other orcs.

"What are you doing, Sergeant Maldron?!" the company commander yelled angrily. "That's what those dirty night lords do, we don't use this kind of thing!"

"But, Captain, I need a little help. I'm alone, and I don't even have a bolter. I need something to scare them and give me a chance."

"...Remember Corax's teachings, Sergeant!" The captain's voice grew weirder every time he mentioned Corax.

Mordron has long been used to it.

He nodded. He cut off the heads of the orcs, let them hold their heads with their own hands, and then hung the three orcs with the rope taken from his waist.

Their corpses were swinging in this empty corridor, and occasionally a hollow breeze would blow, making their dead corpses move a few times as if they were alive. Blood trickled down their bodies and dripped to the ground, echoing monotonously.

Mordron hid aside, and soon heard footsteps approaching.

"Is it him?" an orc thought he asked in a low voice, his voice was full of tension. "Could it be him?"

Its companion did not answer because it was already frozen. The green skin let out a horrified cry from its throat, so Maldron knew that it had seen the idea he had plagiarized, so Maldron knew that it was time for him to do it.

Once again—he stepped out of the darkness, stabbing the dagger into their necks silently, and gently bleeding out. They feel pain at first, then whimper, but it only takes a few seconds before they feel nothing anymore.

"Well done, Sergeant Maldron," the company commander suddenly said to him in a whisper-like voice. "It's done very well, but you still need some other help."

"What help, company commander?" Maldron also asked softly.

"You need a gun."

The company commander told him seriously: "Isn't it showing on your radar? Just two hundred meters away, a patrol of orcs is coming here. Without guns, you can't deal with them."

"But I can't use an orc's gun, Captain, and I don't have a radar," Maldron replied meekly. "I need some help."

"Yes, you need some help."

The company commander's voice began to become softer and weirder. Like lightning and thunder, in an instant, the gloomy clouds came back, and then there were scarlet, blood like raindrops... It turned out that these things were blood, weren't they raindrops?

Maldron's fingers trembled slightly, and he raised his hands like a machine, the light condensed, and a gun appeared in his hand like this. Beautiful, chilling, dark, violent.

It was a standard Mark 5b Goodwin bolter.

And it's brand new.

Holding it, Maldron walked out into the darkness in a daze, but the voice of the company commander was still churning in his mind. Following his voice, Maldron seemed to return to the dilapidated building once again. Planet, back among the dead, back among the bones of his brothers.

"You will avenge them, Maldron!"

He cried out mournfully, standing beside the dead Astartes, his eyes wide open, and blood gushing from his hollow belly: "They are all dead! Everyone! Nagiren, Korenros, come Onel, Bloom...all dead!"

"Boom—!"

A bolt of lightning split the dark clouds, and blood poured down, boiling the ground. The rust-like smell rushed into Maldron's nostrils, making him let out a low noise of pain. He was out of breath, but not because of the sea of ​​blood that completely engulfed him.

Sorrow—endless, ocean-like sorrow that took his breath away. But a pair of hands grabbed him, looked up, and Maldron saw the face of the company commander.

He looked dead for a long time, his cheeks were swollen, and his eyeballs almost fell out of their sockets. The swarthy mouth opened and closed, uttering a cold cry in the sea of ​​blood: "Avenge them! Mordron! In the name of Corax, avenge them!"

The company commander's voice quickly faded away, pulled away, disappeared without a trace. And Maldron also returned to the real world, and he was not surprised to find himself under the dark package, and the radar reading on the eyepiece told him that the orc patrol had approached.

"Ah, I see, yes, I don't have a radar."

Mordron said softly, "Yes, I see, Captain, and yes, I will avenge them. But what about you, Captain? Who are you?"

This time, the nameless company commander did not answer him.

A few seconds later, the sound of a bolter gun rang out.