The Emperor’s Angel of Death

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With the sound of heavy footsteps, a tall figure staggered out from the smoky interior of the Stormbird with yellow and black warning stripes. The dirt of hundreds of worlds,

Its shoulder armor consists of a large piece of moving gears and pistons, the weight of which is supported by gas-filled pistons.

Under the helmet, its face was covered with a large piece of rusted steel, leaving two foggy eyepieces, and an air intake hose was inserted in the center of the face, and the oily smoke emitted formed a filthy cloud of smoke around it. Pull a trail behind you.

It clucks with every breath, and with its slightly curved back, it looks surly.

However, there is no doubt that there is power in that tormented body, and though it looks old, it somehow controls everything around it.

The man was holding a massive power hammer, the muffled sound of its roots pounding against the rock reverberating every time, and the huge shoulders spoke of an almost brutal stoicism, a force that could withstand a force that would dwarf his brethren. ability.

After walking in front of the team, it stopped, hissing from under its helmet.

"May the gods bless you, great warmaster."

The warsmith said in a low voice that came from inside the power armor, like a boiling flame in a furnace or the hiss of a rusted piston.

Then the Terminators of the Black Legion parted ways.

The Lord of the Black Legion, the Great Marauder Izekel Abaddon, walked out slowly.

Gar Mozeje watched the warmaster and had to admit that Abaddon did have a talent that made him adored by all, and all armies begged to be led by him.

That iconic skyrocketing braid towers high on top of the armor, his head is submerged in a cloud of blood-red boiling energy, and at the end of his right arm is a huge power claw that unleashes an irrepressible kill even when closed. Desire roar.

As he moved, it seemed as if the entire galaxy of matter quickly made way for him, making him abhorrently huge, the red-and-gold glasses adorning the baroque armor staring out as if consciously, watching, judging, examining.

But his own eyes were the most terrifying.

The golden eyes were surrounded by layers of pale flesh, the eyes of a soul that had gazed at the heart of the abyss, the eyes of a shape that had faced reality with its desperate, cruel authority.

Ezekiel Abaddon stood before the war blacksmith Baben Fak and held out his left hand.

"May the gods bless you too, my brother."

Baben Fack shook Abaddon's hand lightly, then let go and looked around.

"Iskandar Kayan didn't come with you? I thought he was like your shadow."

"I thought the same was true of Honsuo for you."

As soon as he heard Hon Suo's name, Baben Fack suddenly coughed contemptuously.

"Who knows what that **** did and where he is? I'm looking for him myself, and if you happen to run into him, let me know."

Abaddon's gaze then flickered, his eyes moving oddly, as if looking at something that wasn't there, or should be.

But Gar Mozejie felt that the other party's gaze swept over him, although Abaddon didn't turn his head at all.

"I will, brother, thank you for your help this time."

"With a little effort, our contract is still valid, everything is ready, and the stage has been set up."

Abaddon nodded with no expression on his face, as if his once approachable humanity had dried up and was replaced by a distant majesty.

"In the eyes of the Imperials, it seems as if I have failed again."

"Those rats who live under the light of the star torch have never been able to see the true darkness."

The warsmith panted and shook his head.

"We've destroyed ten Blackrock Creatures in the Obscure Sector by the time they all turn to the Exorcist."

"That's the thing, it looks like they won, but it's actually a win - we won twice."

Abaddon whispered. Lifting his head, his empty gaze swept across the crystalline ether above his head.

"They're still fighting hard in the cobwebs we set up."

Suddenly, his expression turned grim.

"But remember, we're not facing a little warlord who is fighting the last stand. Even if he is weak, even if he is a skeleton, he is still incomparable... You can imagine what can breed or kill. Is there such an existence as death? To be successful, it must be foolproof, so that he cannot escape the punishment of the Avengers in the end... We still have a lot to do, destroying the Blackstone Creation is only a key step, and we are still in front of us. Many troubles, such as Soshyan this time, he must be a big trouble for us in the future."

"Then destroy him, along with his Chapter."

Abaddon shook his head.

"It's not now, now the empire is already a bird in shock, any action will cause it to react strongly, and there are some people..."

As he spoke, his brows furrowed.

Until now, he clearly remembered the unease and doubt in his heart when he faced the mysterious man.

Who is he?

Why dress up like that?

Why does it make him feel so familiar?

After leaving the Patriarch, Abaddon once locked himself in his private room for three whole days, just to clarify the whole thing. During this process, his eyes were always fixed on one thing——

An old object from many, many years ago, hidden in boxes and memories that he almost never opened, because he saw it from the other side.

A silver gibbous moon.

This thing brought him back ten thousand years ago, when the lower deck of the Spirit of Vengeance was supposed to be the twilight of Terra.

"My name?"

"Shadow Moon Wolf."

"On top of it?"

"Shadowmoon Council."

"Much this Yuehua ~www.wuxiaspot.com~ and work together to fulfill my oath until death."

"Kill for the living!"

"Kill for the dead!"

Four warriors in green and white armor were kneeling on one knee and roaring in unison. In the middle of them was a circular pool with a pale reflection of a planet reflected on the water.

Afterwards, the four warriors lowered their long swords and pressed the tip of the sword to the throat guard of the warrior on their left.

In addition, each soldier holds a folded square oath ribbon in the other hand. This paper tape is usually used to record the goals that each unit wants to achieve on the battlefield. The straps are attached to the armor to show their tactical intentions to their comrades.

The four warriors present wrote a paragraph on the ribbon - but those words had nothing to do with honor, but a punishment method for those who betrayed their oath.

Although so many years have passed, Abaddon still remembers what someone once said back then——