Serious person, who is learning magic in Marvel?

Calling it a position is actually not quite appropriate. After all, they are not fighting a tug-of-war with the traitors outside. This is a hidden underground facility, solid and reliable. Everything is fine except that there is no automated firepower.

This is a transit station, used by them to transfer between the ruined city and the Temple of the Chanters. To this day, they have been struggling to resist on the Instvan III for a solar month and a half.

War is everywhere, and there is no difference between day and night. But the Astartes are not gods, they are supermen, and they also need to rest. At this time, these underground passages have become a very good choice. One

Hours, two hours, can always restore some physical strength to them.

At this time, Sol Tavitz was sitting outside a room with a closed door, listening to the intermittent screams coming from inside, with a serious expression.

He actually didn't have a bad feeling about interrogation. In war, in order to win, some things were necessary. Interrogation of prisoners was necessary. What really made his expression serious was Frank Custer, the man who called himself the Punisher. Who was he inside?

What to do?

Why can a World Eater be in such pain?

After another seven minutes, Frank, half of his body covered in blood, walked out of the room: "I have asked clearly. They are not satisfied with your tenacious resistance, because the storm caused by the bombing is about to dissipate. When it completely disappears,

At that time, they will launch a general attack."

He narrated emotionlessly, without any fluctuation in his voice: "New companies, tanks and heavy armor units will be sent here soon...City of Psalm? Huh, that's a good name."

Saul immediately frowned - if what Frank said was true, it could only mean one thing.

Their resistance cannot last much longer.

Although the traitors were unable to send support and ammunition to the ground due to the storm caused by the bombing. Although the traitors who besieged them had a numerical advantage, they were still defeated by them.

These days, if the traitors want to capture every street in Anthem City, they have to spend twice as many people to capture it. And if the storm dissipates, it means that their advantage will be lost in an instant.

Nothing left.

This is definitely not good news, but what can he do to stop it?

...Wait a minute, this man.

Thor suddenly raised his head and looked at Frank, who was still wearing his helmet. His voice was hoarse: "...You, who are you? No, how did you get through the storm to the ground?"

"You finally realize the problem."

Frank took off his helmet, revealing his face as rough as rock, and his eyes as dark as water: "Sol Tarvitz, you are dead."

"......What?"

Frank was still talking to himself: "Everyone is dead, everyone here."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about an established fact."

Saul Tarvits stared into the other person's dark eyes. There were no complex emotions in them, only a kind of determination. At the same time, the familiar headache came back.

"You are all dead." Frank continued. "But the sacrifice you made was worth it. Nathaniel Garrow escaped here in a ship and successfully brought news of the rebellion back to Terra.

.”

Thor no longer had the intention to listen to what he was saying. The world was spinning and collapsing in front of his eyes. He fell to the ground, his body losing its previous strength. Only a weakness that penetrated into his bones remained.

The pain came like a tide, and thousands of scenes flashed before his eyes. There were scenes of him snatching fighter planes and landing on the ground at the beginning of the rebellion to bring news to the loyalists, and scenes of him fighting the traitors. He saw

Many things flashed before his eyes one after another.

For a moment, he howled in pain in his heart, like a wounded beast, without the grace of the Emperor's son. His limbs were cold, and the life force gradually faded away from his body. At the same time, something else surged up.

a thing.

A cold anger.

With the emergence of this anger, he saw the last scene.

The aftermath of the shells made the palace walls tremble, and a huge fire broke out above the city.

The dark clouds were pierced by missiles, and apocalyptic brilliance swayed from the hole pierced by the missiles above the Anthem City, along with countless stars in the sky.

Could Terra see them, Tarvitz wondered? That man—did he know of their sacrifice?

A missile smashed into the Cantor's palace and landed in a corner. The loyalists did not drop to the ground or rush for cover. That was pointless, they watched indifferently as it exploded, sending shrapnel flying and no one hurt.

But a few hundred loyalist soldiers stood before him. This was the end. Everyone knew it, but no one said it.

'He' looked at the familiar faces of these people, the faces he had known in the past two solar months. He had already known everyone's name. They had experienced endless days and nights of hard battles and were covered with mud. They were

Close brothers, the war bound them together.

A surge of pride surged into 'his' heart.

Tavitz is willing to go to hell with them.

He heard himself speak.

"Bros."

"Our names may be forgotten, and our bones will turn into dust, roaring together in the storm here. They can take away our lives, take away our honor, but they can't take away our will. When everything is gone

Go and our sacrifice will live on forever."

His voice was firm and straight, with no pauses, no foreshadowing, and no high-pitched shouts. It was filled with only the determination to face death.

——At this moment, the Captain of the 10th Company of the Emperor's Children, Sol Tarvitz, remembered everything.

----------------------------------------

Real universe.

Fulgrim was sitting on the ground, without the elegance of the Primarch. He was patiently using a carving knife to carve the name and life of a fallen Astartes on a stone.

It seems that the names of these deceased people in the past are not secrets buried in the dust of history to him. He knows them - but why does he know them?

Bonavia secretly looked at his side face, and the scar made her slightly confused. Just when she was shocked by the otherworldly charm of the original body, Fulgrim suddenly stopped moving.

He smiled suddenly.

Putting down the carving knife, he stood up, stretched out his hand, golden flames flashed by, and he pulled out a long sword from the void. The eagle-wing-shaped gauntlet shone with cold light, and he stared at the blade.

Looking at his own reflection, his smile remained bright, but Bonavia felt that he was almost ready to cry.