Chapter 72

Destiny Steel

Omen Hall

This magnificent dome hall, which was secretly built with special materials according to the drawings designed by the Fourth Primarch himself, is now shrouded in silence, and even the lightest dust does not float in the air.

The milky white artificial moon moves quietly on the huge background wall, announcing the coming and going of night to everyone.

The current director of the Omen Hall is now lying in the pharmacist's workshop for treatment, and the other master who has the key to this place, his apprentice and acting priest, is also there and has not returned.

Therefore, to be honest, the Destiny Steel is indeed seriously short of manpower now, so that in the eyes of others, there is not even one person on duty in such an important part of the ship and the "Silver Skull Regiment".

But this does not mean that the security here is weak. Unlike some decks or chapels that no one cares about, this place has been in frequent and inseparable contact with the warp since its construction, and it stores a large number of "holy relics" and witchcraft books, raw materials, etc. - this number is probably enough to summon a dozen inquisitors or some more ruthless and powerful warriors elsewhere. There are a lot of self-discipline protection measures here, and there are multiple safety devices that can be triggered from the outside.

All the passages on the Destiny Steel are quiet.

Most of the crew members who were replenished from the previous port have seized the precious time to sleep after their duty, while others are firmly bound to their posts by their duties - in a noun sense or in a physical sense.

The regular and iron-filled footsteps of the mixed patrol team of Astartes and iron ring robots echoed in the empty ship passages.

In short, this is a time when no one will wander in the passages of the Destiny Steel - Iron Blood, and the cost of wandering is likely to be a "shot" from the automatic security turret or robot.

For most people on this ship, this is just another ordinary day.

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The silver moon slowly moved to the middle of the lapis lazuli sky.

The door of the Hall of Omens has undergone incredible changes.

The spells, patterns and colors applied on the door with various techniques began to change, flow, twist and rotate. The images of a million worlds passed by forever in just a few moments. The ruthless knowledge of a million worlds swarmed in, causing this adamantine door with top-notch materials and craftsmanship to begin to emit flashes that were overwhelmed, but it could still hold on. Therefore, after the first wave of attacks, it seemed that the invisible attacker became more and more angry because of his pride and hatred, and the second surge of power was more violent and unrestrained-

A small button was pressed.

The door flashed a light, a quiet and ordinary glimmer.

The door returned to calm.

With the psychic roar filled with anger and rage that gradually faded away, the hurricane of the vast ocean was ruthlessly suppressed, just like humans using a plastic box to hold a beetle flying around in the house, seemingly simple and easy, yet with a kind of inevitable certainty and overwhelming energy.

Snap.

Snap.

Snap.

Magnus - panting, weak, dazed, hollow, tattered Magnus, suddenly jumped out of the void and knelt in the center of the Hall of Omens.

He looked scarred and almost translucent, and became increasingly flickering in the silvery moonlight. The edges of his body flashed with a burst of light, and the whole person was like a broken fragment of an old, broken, and faulty projector projected in this place far away from the sun.

The unique and luxurious armor of the 15th Legion's Primarch was in tatters. The fragments of the masterpiece composed of curled tusks, huge horns, strong muscle patterns and thousands of the most gorgeous gold and gemstones barely hung on his body. The clothes on Magnus were also miserable, with only some strips of cloth stained with glittering psychic blood wrapped around him.

The giant composed of crimson and gold seemed to be immersed in some huge and terrifying memories for a while and couldn't get up. The huge scimitar made of metal produced by Prospero hung on his belt, and the huge work made of psychic skin and other rare materials hung on the golden ring on the other side of his waist.

The hall was still quiet, and the mortals were immersed in ordinary dreams.

"What a mess, Magnus."

A strange voice sounded, startling the Cyclops.

He struggled to stand up and tried to gather a few shields or other spells for himself.

The Supreme Vast Ocean did not respond to him. In fact, no matter what it was, wild or malicious, unconfronted regret or nightmare power - nothing, only nothingness in the darkness.

The broken phantom flickered more violently.

"You can't use your spells here, save your energy."

There was some electronic noise mixed in the voice, and the Cyclops immediately distinguished that it should be some kind of sound device used to replace speech.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The fifteenth Primarch suddenly realized that the slight movement he had just heard was not an illusion.

A creature that he had never expected at the moment appeared in front of him from a corner of the hall.

The sound just now was the sound of the tip of a keratinous claw walking on the hard ground.

He could roughly recognize this creature because he was not only a warrior, but also a knowledgeable scholar.

So the whole situation has become even more bizarre now.

Magnus couldn't believe his eyes at this moment. He raised the scarred Prospero scimitar and took an attacking stance, trying to make himself look more imposing.

"What are you?" Magnus asked vigilantly. "Who are you?"

"You can put down your weapon first. - By the way, your attacking posture is still so flawed." The visitor said slowly, and the Scarlet King noticed that the reason why it spoke so slowly was because it still needed to input sentences.

"You can't hurt me with it, and I have no intention of hurting you. Magnus."

In a flash, an indescribable wonderful throbbing was transmitted along the silk thread to Magnus's illusory body. He realized that it was right, so he lowered the tip of the scimitar but did not put it away.

"Who are you? Where is this place? What happened later?"

"Good questions." The other party replied, "But this is my territory. Before asking questions, perhaps you should first listen to the questions of the owner of this place?"

"Then at least let me know where this is?"

"Of course."

The other party took another step forward, exposing his bright brown almond eyes and elegant and intelligent plush black and white face to the bright silver moonlight.

"Welcome aboard my flagship Iron Blood, Magnus."

The Lord of Prospero made the most terrifying choking sound since he became conscious.

Quack...

Wow, it's so hard to write a pony, much harder than I thought...

Are there any monks from the Thousand Sons Legion? Raise your hands to let me see your support...

(I have to replenish some energy...)

It's broken, it's chaotic, the title of this chapter is not displayed anyway

Think, let me try a more ordinary title statement

Can you see the title now? (Why do I feel that the title was taken away by someone, annoyed)