Chapter 293 I Will Witness His Death

Electric sparks were struck, once, and again.

The technological whiplash of chemistry and physics is ruthless and cruel.

Let the dead rise from their graves and bear the burden of fighting for the living.

Life-sustaining nutrient-rich feed ooze is poured into the already shrunken throat, and a certain unpleasant compulsion of powerful chemical stimulants combined with synaptic shocks and invasive biochemical stabilizing agents begins to become again Get active.

Annoyingly, but predictably, he was tired and irritable at being awakened from his eternal sleep.

He was too exhausted, too tired.

He opened his withered mouth and waved his stumps desperately, but only pushed the tube open, and the cold and viscous amniotic fluid poured into his lungs, and he began to scream breathlessly and weakly.

——————

After the control lever was pulled down, the endless screams from the connected speakers echoed throughout the reflection hall, its sound waves mixed with the echoes of ancient war machinery, surging and impacting on the surfaces of various objects. As they watched, the newly arrived Machine Spirits from Mars and other Imperial forge worlds whispered uneasiness.

"Well... although I have only witnessed the scene after a pharmacist awakened Dauntless and spent time with a few Contemptors, but."

Lamizane looked at the full-metal figure wrapped in a robe with his now completely dark eyes with almost no whites - it was strange, although Dietrian was fully capable and justified in the past hundreds or ten thousand years. Transforming himself into a fantastic body as large, intimidating, and aggressive as the rest of his Martian brethren, he didn't.

In addition to replacing most of his biological organs, nerves, and flesh and blood systems with an exquisite combination of crystals, mechanical gears, metal pipelines, and skeletons that are more in line with his philosophy and closer to the Ohm Messiah, this mechanical priest with equally rich experience and experience Other than that, there are no particularly eye-catching changes.

He even only changed his appearance to a larger and taller form, but did not lose the human outline - of course, the additional mechanical arms and some tentacle probes are all necessary and common equipment tools - but Dietrian is indeed still in human form, and he has not even equipped himself with too many heavy-duty offensive weapons. This makes him look like a thin and tall man when wearing a robe that reaches his feet.

Now in front of them was an imprisoned Dreadnought. The driver's adamantine sarcophagus was particularly sturdy and gorgeous. It had an expensive style that was incompatible with the entire warband and ship. On it, a hero was handcrafted to defeat three different people. Picture of the legion company commander.

The screaming sound came from the fearless sarcophagus.

"It doesn't matter what you say, Your Highness."

"But is this normal? He sounds like he's screaming right now and it should be in pain, really painful."

(*You can remove should. I can taste his exhaustion, despair and pain here, the fermented reluctance, the bitter responsibility, the sweet and bitter fantasy, and the sweet despair.)

"That's right, Your Highness, please don't worry. This situation is actually very common in the preservation and use of such objects. In addition, according to the data and instrument calculations, the biological condition of this object is within the allowable range, Your Highness , or as people usually say, stable and normal.”

"What about his mental condition? Is this considered normal and stable?"

(*I think it’s pretty good. He used to follow the rules and was sad about the spring and autumn. Although he is suitable to be a disciplinarian, he is much boring and indifferent.)

"No one asked you.—Answer my question, Bishop."

The followers of the God of Machinery paused for a short while, thinking about how to use appropriate words to express his suggestions or opinions to His Highness, until Talos, who hurried here to stay with their genetic father, finally couldn't help it. Growling lowly at him.

"Lord of the Night, I never ordered you to do this, how dare you. - Look at him! Listen to his scream! Don't say you don't understand human emotions, Dietrian . Lou Frix is ​​right, you understand it better than most people - you can even make a 'scream' thing! Misrepresenting his pain does you no good. But you did this to him, you forcibly retained him, and then secretly relocated him into a Dreadnought behind my back! He is a glorious warrior, and he should have received the rest and respect he deserves!"

The soul hunter's gauntlets clenched, and his obvious hostility made Dietrian arch his back slightly, but the skull face on the prophet's helmet made him look as cold and ruthless as ever.

"He is not this object. His name is Markarian. We honor him as the War Philosopher of the Legion, the true commander of the 10th Company, a great hero. He is our Company Commander Markarian, not ·This object! Let him rest in peace——"

"Okay, okay, Talos, don't worry, okay? I will take care of it for you." Lamizane subconsciously put a pale and skinny palm on the prophet's skull helmet and touched it—— Well, I still avoided those human material products quietly——

(*You look like you are treating a murderer, villain, thief and robber like a child. Ha, then you are waiting to hear the sharp comments from my sharp-tongued heir——)

But unexpectedly, the Soul Hunter's passionate roar paused, very immediately, and then a gurgling or similar sound came from under his skull mask. The breathing grid distorted his original voice, making the words he uttered sound like a low and vague beast throat.

"But at your command. My Lord." Finally, he suppressed and uttered such a sentence, and then closed his mouth tightly.

At this time, the mechanical bishop finally came up with some sentences that he thought were appropriate and that these powerful gods liked to hear.

"This item, I mean, the War Philosopher Malcharion, can still be used for you and the Legion in the future. Through the application of forced neural whipping and the correct administration of sufficient stimulant doses to maintain the brain and nerve activity level, his actions can be properly controlled so that we can put him into battle."

"Are you talking about some euphemisms for torture, Bishop?"

(*These practices are common in the Legion's dissection room-Talos's words and deeds sometimes remind me of Sevatar.)

"They can indeed be used for torture at times," Ditrian admitted, "but I can precisely-"

Lami Zahn stopped him with a gesture.

"Well... it seems there is no better way."

(*I will witness his death.)

He stepped forward-in a blink of a hundredth of a second, he was in front of the control console. Ditrian, who was the first to realize what he was about to do, let out a terrifying scream, the piercing sound of which could instantly kill or knock out a mortal, but those present either didn't care or had helmets.

"No! Please! The consequences of interrupting the awakening ceremony are irreversible! This will break my oath! Please!"

And Talos stood quietly, the tip of his sword pointed at the ground, and his head lowered slightly as if bidding farewell.

The complex wiring between the Dreadnaught and the awakening ceremony console was torn off, and the crackling electric sparks scattered like a beautiful golden bouquet.

The scream of pain stopped.

For a moment, there was no other sound in the hall except the unacceptable muttering of the mechanical priest.

The Dreadnaught stood there quietly, motionless, without any movement.

Talos lowered his head even lower.

"Ave dominus nox."