Serious person, who is learning magic in Marvel?

Litosis felt that it was difficult to breathe now.

He pulled off the collar of his clean uniform and walked back and forth in the conference room. His breathing became heavier each time - the news he just heard even made it difficult for him to think smoothly.

What does ‘colonizing another universe’ mean?

He could understand every word spoken by these two people. Low Gothic was not as obscure as High Gothic. However, when they were spoken together, Litosis

Can't understand it.

"That's what it means, Captain."

The tall officer said patiently: "It's normal that you don't understand, but I can tell you that what we said is not half false. This is a new expedition, and you are about to become our first choice."

"As long as you agree." The short man answered. "So, what do you think?"

"...What happens if I refuse?"

"Your memory will be erased, including everyone on this ship who once knew about our arrival. Any relevant traces will be erased - of course, including what I am saying to you. If you refuse, you

Will forget all this."

"I can't think of a reason to refuse." Litosis said, looking at them. "I agreed. When will we set off?"

A smile appeared on the tall officer's face. He stood up, and his figure began to gradually become more like a lake, even a little transparent. It was like sparkling water.

Seeing this scene, Litosis was horrified - could I have been deceived? Although his worry and vigilance were necessary, they were not correct. The short officer raised his hand to signal him to calm down.

"Don't worry, Captain Litosis. It's just the latest teleportation technology, otherwise we wouldn't be able to reach your location within three hours. It's a long way from Terra Space Station."

"Teleportation technology? Terra Space Station? Wait, it only took you three hours to get here from Terra? That's impossible!"

"Ah, I forgot that you have left Terra for three full years... It's just a little progress in science and technology, and such technology also comes at a price."

A smile mixed with admiration and pride appeared on the short officer's face. "As for Terra Space Station, when you see her with your own eyes, you will understand how powerful it is."

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Similar things happened everywhere within the empire, and soon a group of absolutely loyal talents with different abilities and methods were gathered together.

However, as the initiator of the plan, He Shenyan was not actually within the empire - he was conducting an on-the-spot investigation. He was quite concerned about the plan he had customized.

After all, they are several completely unfamiliar universes. If he rashly sends them there without going to investigate in person and understanding the general situation there, then his behavior is not much different from murder.

After polite communication with the world barrier in the first world, it allowed the mage's actions.

The complex concept of colonization has little meaning for world barriers. They only exist to prevent the ancient ones who exist among the endless sea of ​​stars from peeking into the fragile world.

As for colonization, this kind of thing is even good for them - the more people living in the world and the better the development, the stronger they will be. World barriers and the world itself are both prosperous and destructive.

However, when he entered this world, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. The information he received after scanning the world with his mental tentacles was somewhat beyond his expectations.

This place...is not comparable to the world that requires "a little fighting but generally a stable world" - after thinking for a while, he suddenly burst into laughter.

For the White Tower mages, this place may really be considered safe. But his standards are not clear enough... However, if the worlds acquired through the transaction are all like this, then he may suffer a big loss.

Already.

He Shenyan turned his head and stared at the stars shining in the dark vacuum. He narrowed his eyes - sometimes disasters are man-made.

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There was a loud sound of gunfire.

John used to not like their sound, but now, he wished that the gunfire could be noisier. He even hoped that the valley would be filled with the roar of gunfire - even if he would become deaf because of it, John didn't care.

He leaned out of the bunker and pulled the trigger with full anger and an emotion that he couldn't explain. He controlled the recoil perfectly, and the flames at the muzzle exploded, and thirty rounds of bullets were quickly fired.

Let it all out.

The brainless zombies who tried to climb up the hillside where he was were smashed by bullets and fell to the ground. Some had their heads smashed directly and died on the spot. Others dragged a smaller part of their bodies and still crawled towards him.

"Oh shit!"

Seeing this, he cursed. While reloading, he took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He put the gun aside and grabbed two grenades from the open crate on the side.

A few seconds later, a huge explosion sounded down the hillside. Movies and TV shows usually depict the power of hand grenades inaccurately, and there are even scenes where car doors are used to block the power of the grenade explosion. But in fact, the physical damage caused by fragmentation grenades is

Devastating.

Even those things are not immune - they may have lost their minds, leaving only a bottomless pit of desire for the flesh and blood of their own kind, but they are still bodies after all.

John didn't understand why the world turned out like this.

A month and a half ago, he was an ordinary retired soldier who returned from the Vietnam War. He brought nothing back except painful memories and injuries. He was even scolded as a murderer by civilians in his own country at the airport when he returned home.

He wanted to refute at that time - I didn't want to join the army! Nor did I ask to be trained into a killing machine!

But he chose to remain silent because he knew what he had done in Vietnam. The longer he stayed there, the more he understood what they were doing.

That was not a so-called just war, it was naked aggression.

But what can he do? John Rambo - a homeless man, a ghost, wandering in the United States caught up in the anti-war fervor.

He didn't know what he was going to do until the world suddenly collapsed before his eyes.

It was late one night, and Rambo was huddled in the back alley of a bar. He had been wandering for a long time and knew how to choose a decent place to spend the night. He still remembered that he was wearing a thin blanket, October, and the weather

It has turned cold, but fortunately he can still bear it.

However, it was still very cold, so cold that his teeth were chattering. He tried his best to fall asleep, but as soon as he closed his eyes, the scene of war appeared in front of him. Those who were killed by him, those who were

People killed by others.

The earth was trembling, and the mud roared and stood up, turning into a boiling furnace, sucking them all into it. The melted flesh and blood sprinkled on him, covering his vision, making everything blood red, like hell.

Generally scary.

He opened his eyes and his body shivered - but this time it wasn't because of the cold.

Rambo raised his hand and wiped away the fine beads of sweat on his forehead. He unzipped his jacket, pushed away the blanket, and leaned against the wall. The cold wind whistled by, making him even colder. Rambo knew that this would cause him to catch a cold.

, and may even cause a high fever.

He might still die, but who would care about a homeless man lying on the street corner?

But he doesn't care, just die.

Just when he was giving up on himself, the back door of the bar was opened. He was far away from the door, and Rambo's eyesight was pretty good. He saw a man helping a woman walk out of the bar. The ages of the two

It shouldn't be big.

The woman had blond hair, walked carelessly, and looked like she was very drunk. The man kept patting her back to comfort her, and a few words that were blown away by the wind floated to Rambo's ears.

"Jenny, it's okay...you said you're not feeling well? I know, the drink that guy gave you was very strong whiskey...Hey, it's okay, you're just drunk, I'll take you back

Home, my car is right across the street."

He shook his head and was about to stand up and move his body when he heard a scream coming from the alley. Rambo immediately got up. In less than half a second, his brain didn't even think about it. Everything was like

It's an instinctive reaction.

He bent down and his hand had already grasped the combat knife at his waist. However, the scene that appeared in front of him was not that of being robbed or anything else as he imagined.

But hell itself.

The woman pushed the man to the ground and lay on top of him. Her hands and half of her cheek were stained red with blood. The man continued to scream, but his struggle was completely useless. The woman quickly lowered her head and bit her

on his cheek.

With a tearing sound, a piece of bloody flesh was torn off.

Rambo stared at the scene blankly, forgetting his movements for a moment - he couldn't tell clearly. Is his mental state deteriorating? Is this an illusion? This... what on earth is this?

?

By the time he regained consciousness, the woman had been stabbed through the head by him with a combat knife. Her skin was pale and bloodless, as if she had lost too much blood. There was still flesh and blood left around her mouth.

Rambo didn't pay attention to such small details. He almost wanted to vomit. He thought he had killed someone under the influence of the illusion. The guilt instantly surged into his heart, driving him to the police station in the town and trying to surrender.

.

However, the moment he entered the police station, he realized that he was not crazy.

The whole world is crazy.

The scattered corpses of police officers covered the ground and corridors, and the creepy chewing sound came from the Sheriff's Office. Rambo held the dagger tightly in his right hand and took out his revolver from a dead police officer.

pistol.

Moments later, a shot rang out, then more - and then, a month and a half later.

He and a group of survivors established a camp in this valley relying on resources from several military vehicles. They lived a very difficult life. They lacked food, but they did not lack bullets. Rambo rarely returned to the camp unless the supplies were exhausted.

He only eats one meal a day, and compressed biscuits have long been a daily routine for him. Rambo stays here and does his job.

Killing.

These terrifying monsters, the walking corpses that still retain their past appearance, seem to know where the humans are hiding. They gather together, and a large group will arrive in the valley every few days. The gunfire here never stops, Rambo is

Unknowingly, it felt like I was back on the battlefield again.

The gunfire of the M16 continued to echo in the valley, as if it would never stop. He did not continue to vent his anger, but used single-shot bursts to kill the still moving corpses one by one. After another half an hour, he would identify them

Rambo will not leave the bunker until everything stops moving.

He will use a shovel to shovel their corpses away from here and pile them under the hillside. Their corpses can also become some kind of shelter. The walking corpses move slowly and their knees are stiff. They cannot run, but they never tire.

Appropriate barriers are necessary.

After completing his work, it was already six o'clock in the afternoon. It was going to be dark soon. Rambo fumbled around behind the bunker. He spent more than ten minutes setting up a proposed early warning mechanism at the foot of the mountain.

Several iron basins were piled on a tree, hung by parachute ropes, and the other end was tied to a wooden stake deep into the ground. He scratched the middle section of the parachute rope with a knife to ensure that it would alert if touched.

If someone or something wanted to pass under the hillside, the iron basin would fall, and the loud sound would be enough to wake him up. Besides, he wouldn't actually sleep for long.

After doing all this, Rambo leaned tiredly on the bunker. There were still stains on his face, but he had no energy to clean them. Now, he just wanted to sleep.

I beg you, God, don't let me see those horrible visions again. I just want a peaceful sleep.

——There is no God here.

A voice suddenly sounded in his heart. Rambo suddenly opened his eyes and rolled away from the place. He was breathing heavily, holding the M16 in his hand.

He looked around, seeing nothing but darkness. There was an unsettling chirping of birds in the distance. The air in the valley was damp, bloody, and uncomfortable—just a little bit, Rambo was about to scream.

"Who's talking?" he asked tremblingly.

The voice seemed to smile, and he said to Rambo quite gently: It doesn't matter who I am, you can't understand my form of existence and how I speak to you for the time being.

It won't do you any good to say this now, you just need to know that I mean no harm to you, John Rambo. I'm just telling you the fact that there is no God here and there is no heaven.

Rambo fell to his knees weakly, with the M16's gun pointed at him for no apparent reason. His eyes were filled with tears, and even his breathing was trembling. He had been waiting for this day for too long, and he finally went crazy. He must be there

Kill yourself before everything is irreversible...

However, the voice said: Cheer up, Rambo. You are not crazy, and this is not your hallucination.

Rambo didn't answer him. He looked ahead with dull eyes. The voice sighed helplessly, and a golden light flashed between the dim mountains and forests. The sun had already set, and this golden light was definitely not the sun.

Rambo stared blankly at the golden light, his expression almost solemn.