Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1529 The Lunar War (Forty-One)

Constantine knew how the emperor exploited people's reverence for him.

Even though He abhorred the cult of personality, a pragmatist would not overlook any usable tools.

The First Yugoslav Wars forced Latvia and other Balkan states to unite, forming a nation capable of influencing the European landscape. This decision was difficult to make and difficult to implement, given the ongoing conflicts between Orthodox, Catholic, and Protestant groups in the Balkans, the constant warfare between heretics and between heretics and infidels, and the manipulation of the situation by various European and North American conglomerates through intermediaries to extract profits. Albania's oil exploration rights were sold for $200,000 to the Rockefeller family in the United States, with the money ending up in the pocket of the then-Albanian Prime Minister.

But the emperor's arrival changed everything.

He used force first, then words and education.

In Sarajevo, Budapest, Plovdiv, Sofia, and Brasov, many people, after experiencing war, turned to support the emperor's ideals, not only because they saw the emperor's cause as unstoppable, or his personal charisma, but even because they saw hope in escaping poverty and oppression. "What were the Six Dynasties for? Only self-serving schemes." That's how the saying goes, isn't it? Then came a series of precise purges; even if ambitious figures perished, many more gained. He redistributed wealth, targeting the common people who had suffered, which was enough to win over many who had previously hated him to his side.

The emperor would instill in people the conviction that the system he created was superior, and that the human race was superior—He wouldn't deny that He would be the spiritual anchor for the people of the Balkans after they had rid themselves of superstition. Learning to believe in humanity itself and reject superstition takes time; otherwise, religion wouldn't have been born. For this, He must reveal His true nature, His so-called divinity—and at this moment, His speech was addressed to the officers. He wouldn't explain anything to anyone unless He deemed it necessary, and now it was necessary, because the mortal soldiers needed to understand Him. More precisely, He wanted them to understand His ideas; clearly, the education of military academies and political commissars was insufficient to fulfill His vision.

He believed that the army must serve the human race, not the interests of individuals or certain financial groups. Therefore, He drastically reduced the army, changed its designation, disrupted its composition, altered the command hierarchy, and established new military academies and ranks. He trampled their past of mutual slaughter into the ground and promoted trained, idealistic young men to replace the old men who had waged war against others because of religious beliefs, ethnicity, corruption, or personal gain.

This battle was arduous. The mortal soldiers and officers had received little training in void warfare, nor had they ever been to space or the moon. On Earth, their only training was in weightlessness, conducted underwater and at a space center. From the moment they boarded the ship, they carried a latent sense of dread. The long voyage extinguished the initial excitement of looking down upon Earth, and this dread gradually surfaced. Discipline was maintained only through professional training—those speeches were meant to ignite the courage of the mortal soldiers and officers, to dispel their fear, because the Emperor and the genetically modified warriors had already taken on the most difficult parts for them. They had done a commendable job with the remaining mortal tasks.

Relying solely on the First Classified Regiment and the newly formed Second Classified Regiment is insufficient to achieve tactical objectives. Moreover, those two classified regiments also need to assist Regent Victor von Doom and the Ministry of Justice in carrying out special operations; as special forces, they rarely have time to participate in such direct combat. He never denied the abilities of mortals; compared to genetically modified warriors, He seemed to value the role mortals could play in this event that would fundamentally alter the fate of the human race even more.

Constantine saw a document about making medals, for those mortals who needed recognition.

"Get the teleportation device and beacon working properly," Constantine said to the Immortal City technician beside him. "We'll be setting off in three minutes."

The battle turned bloody from the very beginning.

Even though Black Bolt tried his best to keep up with Derrick's movements, he was too restricted to do so. He couldn't turn too sharply, lest he crush his companion, nor could he run away, because he couldn't expose his back to the enemy. With the Royal Guard prepared, he would never appear in a position where Black Bolt would be directly exposed to the sonic waves. He was so close to Black Bolt that he could punch him, but the latter wouldn't have time to react.

The first to suffer was the blue-skinned mutant with crimson fin-like organs. Derrick noticed that its will was most easily swayed; the fin-like organs on its head and back appeared to be some kind of electroreceptor, much like the ampulla of Laurent's in cartilaginous fish, functioning similarly to sense electric fields, magnetic fields, and temperature gradients. As Derrick circled Black Bolt, his Guardian Spear first struck the Centaur Clan mutant hiding behind Black Bolt, because it possessed senses beyond sight—the sudden screams of its subordinates had clearly disoriented Black Bolt; it hadn't anticipated the towering Guardian's movements would be so agile, so fast that none of them could see it—it immediately turned, the membrane of its combat suit between its arms and body spreading out like bat wings. It had used its fastest speed, but only saw the mechanic expert cleaved from shoulder to abdomen.

Another scream came from behind, followed by a gunshot and the sizzling sound of burning flesh on the wall.

This time, the Ghost Clan warrior met a brutal end. A sharp blade pierced its jaw and skull, forcibly tearing open its lizard-like snout, causing profuse bleeding. A final, guttural reaction allowed it to pull the trigger one last time, its still-convulsing lungs desperately trying to cough up the blood that had flooded its trachea. Black Bolt didn't know how much pain his warrior had endured before death, or how much consciousness remained after its brain was destroyed. He could only grip his friend's hand tightly, watching it slowly die before him, consumed by rage. This was a painful experience, one he had endured since arriving at the Chimerian Clan. He wasn't unaware that something in the air seemed to be amplifying his emotions; he tried desperately to stop it, yet he couldn't escape its influence. A century of isolation had allowed him to barely control himself. During that time, he would pace daily in his tiny room, barely a few steps wide, processing his turbulent emotions, looking out at the unchanging scenery through the thick walls and armored glass—this allowed him to maintain his composure.

Until the intruder's blade is truly turned against his own friend.

The golden Grim Reaper seemed to have completely vanished. Even though the tuning fork on Black Bolt's forehead converted energy into his power, significantly increasing his speed, he could only catch a glimpse of Derrick's fluttering crimson robes out of the corner of his eye. He knew Derrick was circling, circling irregularly so that he couldn't predict where the latter would go next. He knew the intruder was gradually approaching him, circling the defensive circle he and the Inhuman warriors had formed, using the Inhuman warriors' fear of him to surround him.

There was always another subordinate between him and that golden Grim Reaper, preventing him from speaking or exerting his full strength. Perhaps he could open his mouth and unleash sound waves, but each time Derrick would forcefully shove one of the surviving Inhuman warriors towards him, ensuring he couldn't breathe properly—it was astonishing. Black Bolt admitted that even he couldn't control his muscles as perfectly as this intruder, possessing such abundant stamina and endless focus. It was like dancing on a knife's edge, pressing his body against the tiny surface of the blade, enduring immense pressure while maintaining balance. Black Bolt knew it had taken him decades to learn to control the transmission of his neural signals, to control every muscle to achieve perfect movement—the intruder seemed to do it effortlessly, and had even mastered the rhythm of the battle, each kill achieving some purpose. This level of intelligence and physical prowess made him even more wary of the technology possessed by the human army invading Attilan.

The air exploded with a loud bang, which even the noise reduction devices in the combat suit couldn't filter out.

The voice that appeared out of nowhere attracted some of the attention of everyone present.

A large dog, as tall as a person and soaking wet, fell to the ground, whimpering. Its once-smooth fur was now stained with blood, and numerous scratches and bite marks were visible on its loose skin. Its front paws were also covered in foul-smelling blood. It lay down whimpering as soon as it hit the ground, seemingly too lazy to move.

"Tetanus!" shouted a warrior from the villainous clan, calling out the name of the Locktooth Hound, "Come here... Ah!"

The Locktooth Dog stood up and looked in the direction of the sound. Its eyes widened, and it let out a terrified howl, its front paws briefly leaving the ground. It found the scene before it far more terrifying than anything it had witnessed in its dozens of teleportation attempts—each of its previous spatial jumps had encountered different obstacles. Sometimes it would fail and return to its starting point, sometimes it would choose the wrong landing spot and suffer severe injuries, or it would be stuck between the dimensions of reality and illusion. Even a few nanoseconds of stagnation was enough to expose it to attacks from those terrifying, invisible forces; the claw marks and bite marks on its body were from this—it saw the warrior whose name it called being cleaved in two by a golden-red hurricane. It recognized the warrior; it could even call him a friend. It had never imagined its friend would die; more accurately, it had watched its friend perish.

"Woof!"

"Back off!" Black Bolt seized the opportunity and whispered a single word. The sound wave slammed into Derrick, who had slightly diverted his attention, like a hammer blow. Even though the Royal Guard activated the magnetic traction system on his boots in time, the immense mass and impact slammed him to the other end of the hall. He dared not speak at a normal volume, for that would only destroy the spire and bury everyone under the rubble. He might survive, but the others would not. Black Bolt looked at Derrick and said softly, "Take us away."

Tetanus let out a loud cry and immediately took off running towards Black Bat.

The other surviving Inhuman warriors skillfully took each other's hands, ready to be teleported at any moment. A faint golden light flickered in the shadowless darkness, and heavy footsteps approached at a speed far exceeding a heartbeat. Locktooth sprinted towards Black Bolt with all its might, not even having time to catch its breath. It opened its massive jaws, attempting to bite Black Bolt's outstretched hand.

"Hold on tight!" the last few survivors shouted. "Don't let go!"

Suddenly, Black Bolt saw his own shadow.

Golden light shone behind him, and the once filthy and dark spire hall now seemed to float above the clouds. The air, filled with the stench and annoying whispers, instantly became clear, even the dust disappeared, and the gray brick floor shimmered. Peace, that was Black Bolt's first thought, as if he had suddenly jumped from a moving freight train into the water, shutting out all sound on the surface. For a moment, he even wanted to close his eyes and enjoy a moment of tranquility. Tetanus stumbled and fell in panic, but Black Bolt had no time to worry about his friend. He quickly regained his composure, squinted, and turned to look behind him—he saw the tallest and most magnificent figure he had ever seen. It was an elegant and glorious warrior, an exemplary human king, a golden Titan—when he gazed at that face, tears welled up in his stinging eyes, and he had to use all his self-control to keep from kneeling and expressing his worship. The other Inhuman warriors were already kneeling on the ground, and even they themselves did not understand why they felt this way.

"Blackcard Bertgang, I'm sorry I can't speak with you beforehand." The voice, as if spoken by millions, was filled with compassion. The light dimmed slightly, and Black Bolt lowered his arm, barely adjusting to the stinging pain. He saw long black hair draped over the warrior's golden shoulder armor. "I'm sorry to wage this war against you and your kingdom. The human race faces a threat from across the void, and Attilan and the Inhumans face the same threat. But I cannot extend a hand of friendship to you."

"Why?" Blackcard Bert murmured, his powers seemingly vanishing. In that instant, he understood who stood before him, for he saw three warriors clad in the same golden power armor as the invaders standing beside the monarch. "Why did you do this?" He clutched the wreckage, raising his head and roaring furiously, completely oblivious to the fact that his actions could potentially destroy Attiland. "What do you want, human monarch? Do you want us, the outcasts, to die?"

"Because Attilan's social values ​​don't care about the survival of the human race. The Inhumans see humans as petri dishes rather than their own kind, don't they?"

The human king's answer left Black Bolt speechless. He knew the invaders were right, and he also knew that the news he had heard from the Kree ambassador many years ago about the Dark Order's impending invasion of the solar system and the destruction of all life was true. He also knew that the Genetic Council's ultimate solution was to launch missiles at Earth, releasing five stable mutant substances into the Earth's atmosphere to transform potential offspring with Kree genetic engineering.

“But I care, Blackcard Burtgon. When my army marches to the Genetic Council, do not fire Terrigen missiles, and I will grant the Inhumans of Attiran a dignified end.” The human king looked at Tetanus. The large dog lay on the ground, eyes tightly shut, looking terrified. He gently touched Tetanus's skin, and its bleeding, festering, and cursed wounds instantly healed, even the bitten fur growing back. The same was true for the scarred, golden-armored warrior. “Go back, Blackcard Burtgon, and convey my will to all Inhumans. You were once human, and you deserve to die with respect. Do not waste my mercy.”

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(End of this chapter)