God Emperor's Angel of Death

Chapter 810

"You'd better not stay here. We're late."

The courtyards and balconies were crowded with people, fat priests shuttled between the altars, accompanied by groups of assistants, and the people about to be sacrificed wriggled in sacks.

The Wizards walked among them, some of them unbreakable, wrapped around the whip in their hands. The huge deformed creatures stretched their limbs, puffed their abdomen, staggered up the twisted stairwell, roared and gasped.

There is also a court among the courts.

In some places, astrologers refer to wobbling galactometers and tilt their disks toward the slit of thick glass windows.

In other places, alchemists toil in front of bubbling instrument racks. What's more, surgeons grind their blades on the grindstone and turn to trembling figures tied to the table.

Mystics with seven eyes scribbled on the stone tablet. Their feather pens were soaked in the blood of living people. Demonologists tied screaming existence to the horse chestnut tree. The air was banging because of its filth. Butchers came out of the canteen with their heads held high in bloody aprons, Pharmacists struggled under the weight of many falling bacteriophage glass bottles.

It's noisy, vibrant and lack of order.

Each piece of meat is pitted and yellow, and each stomach is very loose with burning marks.

Steam surged in the brass censer, and green flames spewed out of the carved holes in the pulsating flesh wall.

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

They didn't stop to observe these wonderful things. They continued to go inside.

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

The noise gradually disappeared. Before long, I could only see the unbreakable people like them, silent and unhappy, buried in their own work in the most lifeless place of the plague city.

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

Ngarta couldn't help commenting.

"Walker has always managed in good order."

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

"Of course."

Now they have reached a dangerous place, passing under the crumbling gate to an abyss connected by a rotten cableway.

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

They could hear machines rumbling in the distance and low screams - everything echoed here in an incredible way, as if there was a wall that shouldn't exist, or an invisible room.

Finally, they reached the inner door.

This door imitates the door of the palmprint makado. Although it is larger, these ancient Tara designs have been distorted by the indecent taste of God.

Two death shroud guards stood on both sides, motionless and almost invisible in the disgusting darkness.

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

"You wait here."

The order only allowed him to enter, so ngarta had to let his entourage wait outside.

"I see."

Soon he entered the inner hall.

He had only been here once before, and many of the Legion, even some of the highest level, had never come to this step.

Only if the mother speaks in person, others are eligible to enter, and these words have always been very rare.

It's cold here, with white frost hanging on the ceiling in the distance, ice on the floor, dark columns shining slightly, and swarms of flies crawling rather than buzzing on the dark vault.

Ngarta walked through the long nave. Its design was imperial Gothic - solemn, solid and heavy, so his footsteps echoed between the tall columns, which was creepy.

At the end of the nave, there was a throne, shrouded in shadow. Above the throne were spears, on which hung low war flags and inserted on the arch. Each pair was engraved with the name of a world.

Many scrolls are scattered on the stone floor, frosted, and the words on them are a mixture of human and alien languages.

The back of the throne is very high, with grooves. On the top is a pile of broken skulls. It is covered by a thick spider web, and the swollen spider squats in the center of the web.

The size of the throne is far beyond ordinary people's imagination.

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

The air smelled like a prison.

"Welcome, ngarta."

The master of the Throne made a low voice.

Ngarta has experienced many things in his long service. He is not easily frightened, but seeing motalian is an exception.

The image of the protoplasm is always so shocking - thin, haggard and unknown, even when he was a child, but since he was swallowed by the God of darkness, his last bondage has been lifted.

He is now a giant, an incomparably huge body. His armor has been re forged and plated with demon alloy. His gray muscles have further shrunk, close to the oversized bones. Thorns and pores have grown on his back, and muscles are stacked on his shoulders to support the old wings draped behind rags.

As he breathed, yellow green steam spewed out of an old and worn-out ventilator. Ngarta saw his sunken chest undulating under the corroded armor. Under the worn hood, a pair of dark eyes looked out through the shadow, and the pale hand guard was close to the hand of the throne.

Ngarta immediately bowed his head.

"It's really... Nice to see you again, master."

Motalian stared at him. It was always difficult to know what these eyes were looking at. Ngarta knew the price of rising the devil. He knew that although the plasma had great power, he could almost only vaguely perceive the real universe and reluctantly insisted, just like all those who made the deal.

As long as the time is long enough, most enchanted people will become fools who only know how to howl, but this is a mother and one of the sons of the Lord of mankind. Even if they compromise with the devil, their indomitable spirit will still not die.

"I didn't foresee that..."

The sound of the mother was like the iron fence of the tomb being lazily opened.

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

Ngarta remained silent.

"Isha, the goddess of life of the spirit family, is the most precious treasure of the loving father. It does not allow her to have any defects."

He giggled, which shook his neck and rattled the terrible gadgets on his armor.

"We never knew about it, but now it's no secret. The last fragment of ISA's soul is on earth."

He coughed and trembled, stirring the dust on the ground.

Ngarta is not sure whether these words are addressed to himself. He always likes to talk to himself loudly, and being isolated from the world for centuries has made him more solipsist.

"I've been resigned to fate. I look at this and that, but I stare at the abyss most of the time... This is my choice. I abandon this boring little game, leave those old worlds and old wars to mortals, and invest in the really great game."

His eyes focused briefly and seemed to see 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 the spirit family's Ark world USVI had briefly appeared in the hamigiddoton system, which was consistent with the time when the father's anger erupted. We are sure that the daughter of Issa is on the ark world USVI."

Mortaryan looked confused for a moment, then recovered.

"Ah, yes, hajimi doton."

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

"Those hungry ladies have been hiding in the net for tens of thousands of years. Why did they appear in hamigiddoton?"

"Not long ago, the green skin invaded there again, which seems to have something to do with it."

"It won't happen to me."

"Green, yes, green..."

Mottalian gasped, and a long breath came from the filter of the ventilator.

"That place has a unique meaning for the green skin. They won't give up there, but what does it have to do with the spirit family..... Ha, ridiculous."

"My Lord, what shall we do next?"

"It's your business."

Motharian waved his hand, as if to drive away something disturbing.

"Such a glorious task has fallen on your shoulders. No matter what you need, just find someone else. 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."

"Don't understand. Do what you want."

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

"Yes, it's windy..."