The Emperor’s Angel of Death

   Chapter 810 The Lord of Death

  "It's better not to stay here, we are already late."

  Those courtyards and balconies were crowded with people. Fat priests shuttled between the altars, accompanied by groups of assistants, and the people who were about to be sacrificed wriggle in the sacks.

  The wizards walked among them, some of them were unbreakable, entwining the whip in their hands vigorously, the huge deformed creatures stretched their limbs, their abdomens were swollen, and they staggered up the twisted stairwell, groaning and gasping.

  There is also a palace in the palace.

  In some places, astrologers will refer to the oscillating galaxy and tilt their astrolabe towards the slit of the thick glass window.

  In other places, alchemists worked hard in front of bubbling instrument racks. What's more, surgeons would sharpen their blades on a whetstone and then turn to a trembling figure tied to a table.

Mysticians with seven eyes scribbled on the stone tablet, their quill pens are soaked in the blood of living people, and the demonologists tied the screaming existence to the horse chestnut tree. The air is because of its filth. But with bangs, the butchers wore **** aprons and walked out of the canteen with their heads high. The pharmacists were struggling and being heavily suppressed by the many glass bottles of phage that had fallen.

  It’s noisy, full of life, and lack of order.

  Each piece of meat had acne and turned yellow, and every piece of the stomach was loose and had burn marks.

  Steam surging in the brass incense burner, and green flames spewed out from the holes carved in the pulsating flesh wall.

  These rooms are buried deep in the ground, high-embedded on the crumbling spire, filled with life and death, and many things in between.

  The two did not stop to observe these wonderful things, they continued to walk in.

  Slowly, the life forms gradually reduced, and they entered an area lit only by thin candles, where the stones were wet and covered with a smooth seaweed coating.

  The hustle and bustle gradually disappeared, and it didn't take long to see the unbreakable people like them, silent and gloomy, burying their heads in the most lifeless part of the plague city doing their own things.

  "They are still as energetic as they used to be."

  Ngarta can’t help but comment.

   "Volks has always managed well organized."

   "You listen to him very much, don't you?"

"certainly."

  Now they reached a dangerous place, passed under the crumbling gate, and came to an abyss connected by a rotten ropeway.

  There are many vertical shafts, and circles of unnatural steam emerge from these shafts.

They can hear the machine rumbling in the distance, and low screams—everything is echoing here in an incredible way, as if there is a wall that shouldn’t exist, or is invisible Room.

  Finally, they reached the inner door.

  This door is modeled after the door of the Handprinter Makado. Although larger, these ancient Terra designs have been distorted by the indecent taste of the gods.

  Two death shrouds stood guard on either side, motionless, almost invisible in the disgusting darkness.

  They said nothing, but as soon as the death knell messenger approached, the door opened.

   "You are waiting here."

The    order only allows him to enter, so Engalta can only let his entourage wait outside.

"clear."

   Soon, he entered the inner temple.

  He has only been here once before, and many people in the legion, even some of the highest ranks, have never come this far.

  Only the original body speaks in person, other people are eligible to enter, and these words have always been rare.

  It's cold here, with hoarfrost hanging on the ceiling in the distance, ice on the floor, dark pillars glowing slightly, swarms of flies crawling on the dark vault instead of buzzing.

  Engarta walked through the long nave. Its design was imperial Gothic-solemn, solid, and heavy, so his footsteps kept echoing between the tall columns, making it creepy.

At the end of the nave, there is a throne, shrouded in shadows. Above the throne are spears. On the spears hang low-hanging battle flags, which are inserted into the arches. Each pair is engraved with the name of a certain world. .

  Many scrolls were scattered on the stone floor, frosted, and the words on them mixed the language of humans and aliens.

  The back of the throne is high, with grooves, and a pile of tattered skulls on top. Thick spider webs cover it, and swollen spiders squat in the center of the web.

  The size of this throne is far beyond mortal imagination.

  Ngarta stopped, it was almost dark here, all the light and heat were sucked away by this place, sucked away by an empty heart.

  There is a musty smell in the air, like a prison.

  "Welcome, Engalta."

  The master of the throne made a deep voice.

  Ngarta has experienced many things in his long service, he is not easy to be easily intimidated, but seeing Motarian is an exception.

The image of Primarch is always so shocking-thin, haggard, unknown, even when he was a child, but since he was swallowed by the dark god, the last **** has been lifted.

He is now a giant, an extremely large corpse. The armor has been re-forged and plated with demon alloys. The gray muscles have further atrophied, clinging to the extra-large bones, thorns and pores have grown in the back, and muscles have been piled up on the shoulders. , Used to support the dilapidated wings behind the rags.

As he breathed, greenish-yellow steam spewed from an old worn-out ventilator, and Engalta saw his sunken chest rise and fall under the corroded armor, a pair of dim eyes passing through under the worn hood The shadows looked out, the pale handguards clinging to the throne's armrests.

  Ngarta immediately lowered her head and bowed.

   "It's really nice to see you again, Master."

Mortarian stared at him. It was always difficult to know what these eyes were looking at. Engalta knew the cost of ascension. He understood that despite the great power of Primarch, he almost only Can vaguely perceive the reality of the universe, and barely persevere, just like everyone who makes this transaction.

As long as the time is long enough, most enchanters will become fools who only know how to howl, but this is a Primarch, one of the sons of the Lord of Humanity. Even if they compromise with the devil, their indomitable spirit is Still will not be annihilated.

   "I didn't foresee this."

  The sound of the original body is like the iron fence of the tomb being opened lazily.

   "I didn't foresee that my loving father would be so angry."

  Engarta remained silent.

  "Isha, the goddess of life of the spirit race, is the most cherished treasure of the loving father, and it does not allow her to appear any flaws."

  He giggled, which made his neck shake, and the horrible little things on the armor rattled.

   "We never knew about this, but now it is not a secret. The last piece of Isha's soul is in the world."

  He coughed for a while, trembling all over, stirring the dust on the ground.

  Ngarta is not sure if these words are spoken to herself, Prima always likes to speak to herself loudly, and being isolated from the world for centuries has made him more solipsistic.

"I have resigned to my fate, I look at this, look at that, but most of the time I stare into the abyss. This is the choice I made, abandon this boring little game, and leave those old worlds and old wars to mortals. , Turn to the truly great game."

  His eyes focused briefly, and it seemed that he finally saw Ngarta for the first time.

   "So, what good news did you bring."

"Master, after a period of reconnaissance and seeking the assistance of the Red Pirates, we finally determined that Usvi, the Ark World of the Spirit Race, briefly appeared in the Armageddon Galaxy, which coincided with the time when the father's anger broke out. We are convinced that the daughter of Isha is on Usvi in ​​the Ark World."

  Motarian looked confused for a while, then recovered.

   "Ah, that's right, Hajimee Doton."

  He leaned forward on the throne, and this slight movement caused dust to fall on the roof.

   "The imprisonment of those hungry ladies has been hiding in the network for tens of thousands of years. Why did they appear in Armageddon?"

   "Not long ago, Green Skin invaded there again, it seems to be related."

   "This will not happen to me."

   "Green Leather~www.wuxiaspot.com~Yes, Green Leather."

  Motarian panted, and a long inhalation sound came from the filter of the ventilator.

   "That place has a unique meaning for Greenskins, they will not give up there, but what does this have to do with the spirit race. Ha, ridiculous."

   "My lord, what shall we do next?"

"This is your business."

  Motarian waved his hand, as if to drive away something annoying.

   "Such a glorious task has fallen on your shoulders, no matter what you need, just go to other people, they will give you everything, and I have to wait."

  Ngarta tried to understand what he said, but failed.

   "Sorry, my master, I don't understand."

   "No need to understand, just do yours."

  Ngarta thought for a while, and finally slowly withdrew from the hall, leaving only this decadent giant still breathing slowly on the throne——

   "Yes, it's windy"

  (End of this chapter)