Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1537 The Lunar War (Forty-Nine)

After precise calculations by the onboard computer, the twelve vector thrusters at the bottom of the shuttle gradually reduced their output power, smoothly landing the spacecraft—cast from steel and heat-insulating materials, embodying the wisdom and research achievements of the Immortal City and tens of thousands of Martians—on the churning white sand of the moon. Martian technicians, clad in orange onesie spacesuits, were followed by rows of mechs equipped with prosthetic limbs and bio-engineered muscles, as well as several transport vehicles, braving the oncoming white dust storm as they trudged through the all-encompassing darkness of the moon, with only a few high-powered searchlights providing sufficient light.

The cargo ramp slammed into the rocks at a speed exceeding lunar gravitational acceleration. Martian technicians immediately issued instructions to the servitors to load the cargo from the shuttle's cargo hold onto transport vehicles and then haul it to a designated storage area. There, another team of logistics personnel would deliver all the cargo to the departments that needed it. This was a temporary airfield and supply depot, 300 kilometers from Fort Attilan. Several anti-aircraft guns and missile vehicles stood nearby, using firepower and lights to demarcate the area around the airfield.

"255mm artillery ammunition, two standard containers, Sector D. DAC-2 cruise missiles, three standard containers, Sector D..." The leading Martian technician waved his warning light cane. In this place where extensive communication infrastructure was still lacking, the flag signals mastered by ocean-going sailors on Earth were once again proving effective in a different way. "...Where's the fuel?" As the logistics manager for the airport ground crew, this Martian technician keenly noticed that this shipment was different from the previous ones and completely inconsistent with the items on the cargo manifest, leading him to suspect a logistical error. "Why is it all ammunition? This isn't what we need. What I need is fuel and repair parts to get the self-propelled artillery moving."

"This is a command order, don't ask." The pilot clearly had no intention of answering; he said irritably, "It's a last-minute change, someone will notify you. If you still don't believe me, just look at the timestamps on the form!" Everyone was working overtime. He had already made 78 trips in 24 hours, each time delivering urgently needed supplies to the troops in need. The high-intensity work had left him extremely exhausted. Dozens of shuttles had also set off with him, each delivering supplies to a different airfield. This time, the artillery units needed ammunition. According to orders from the front, the bombardment density needed to be increased again; the 20,000 shells already used didn't seem to be enough to inflict a fatal blow on the mutant star fortress.

The ample ammunition provided the artillery units with more firepower, and the concentrated firepower quickly took effect.

Derrick felt the deck beneath his feet tremble violently, as if the forces of the material universe were irresistibly returning to the wizard's tower. Amon and Hannibal followed closely behind him, the three guards forming an unbreakable triangle. If any one was attacked, the other two could provide support—this was the basic formation for the guards in group combat. Even though Amon and Hannibal had never trained with Derrick, they displayed remarkable teamwork from the moment they joined. Derrick cautiously surveyed his surroundings. "That beast is evolving," he said, having already transmitted some combat logs to his two companions via the communication system. "I don't know what it will become this time."

Hannibal held a giant shield and a giant sword, a broad smile on his face.

"I already know my job, Derrick."

Amon nodded in agreement. Since he was to serve as the Emperor's bodyguard on the battlefield, his weapons were identical to Hannibal's. "Since He agreed to let you lead this mission, it means He believes your judgment is correct, Derrick," Amon said. "Even if I didn't know your progress in researching extradimensional spiritual entities, I wouldn't object to you using the molten metal bomb to blast open the floor beneath us. I believe that after this war, Constantine will definitely approve your entry into the study group. Your talent for hunting extradimensional beasts is undeniable; it must be a talent He designed for you."

Incandescent flames and jets of metal rained down from the sky, and amidst the billowing smoke, three demigods clad in golden armor crashed into the center of a three-dimensional ritual array formed from the limbs of several mutants joined together. Just as Derrick had suspected, the blood sacrifice pit in the hall alone was insufficient to drag the entire wizarding tower into the illusory dimension, and the carnage on the battlefield was not a targeted ritual. To concentrate all spiritual power on the creature the wizards needed to summon, the wizarding tower must contain numerous small-scale ritual altars—a conclusion confirmed by the Emperor. Like a distributed computer server, this method maximized the preservation of the spiritual power absorbed by the ritual—including the altars destroyed by the genetically modified warrior squad, the altar beneath Derrick, Amon, and Hannibal's feet was the twenty-fourth. For extradimensional beings, spiritual entities that rely on superstition for survival, numbers held symbolic meaning, as did the location of the ritual altars; otherwise, the wizards would be unable to summon specific targets.

Derrick deduced a number: each time an altar was destroyed, a psionic energy feedback was recorded, which he used as a sample for research. This was the twenty-fourth ritual altar. Since Derrick had been attacked while destroying the sixteenth ritual altar, he used the numbers four and eight as targets for testing. Sure enough, when Amon swung his sword to sever the intertwined limbs of the mutants, a giant axe appeared out of thin air and slashed at Derrick. The latter slightly turned his body, and his halberd struck the lava giant axe, forged from pure malice and corrupted steel, with lightning speed. The moment the blade, crafted by the emperor's personal craftsmen, collided with the demonic metal, a blinding light suddenly flashed.

Hannibal strode forward, slamming his massive, golden, square shield, carved with an eagle, into the monster's shin. The destructive power granted by his genetic alchemy and power armor sent the colossal creature staggering back several steps—its size and appearance growing ever more repulsive. Hundreds of its ever-growing eyes began to fester, and the goat-like horns on its head bent backward with increasing absurdity. Even with their breathing filtration systems, the Royal Guard could faintly smell the stench of rotting flesh. Derrick stomped down hard, embedding the handle of his axe, glowing with a dark red light, deep into the floor. Amon smashed through the remaining mutant corpses on the ritual altar, along with the still-dying, tormented mutant slaves, embedding his greatsword deep into the monster's knee. Then, he raised his shield and swung it horizontally, striking the monster's bent knee while simultaneously dodging claws that lashed out from the shadows, attempting to grab him.

Without a word, Hannibal swung his sword forcefully, severing the joints formed by extradimensional energy. Forced to abandon its weapon, the monster launched a frenzied attack on the Royal Guard with its naturally weapon-like claws. Derrick immediately retreated a few steps, unleashing all the firepower from the explosive guns on the extradimensional spiritual entity's face. Amon also stepped back behind the monster; sparks flew as his claws grazed the shield, the repulsive force pushing the claws away and forcing Amon into a corner. Hannibal had already severed the last bone with two swings of his sword. Whether from pain or humiliation, the monster's fury and foul-smelling poisonous fumes instantly filled the small room.

The emperor looked up at the ceiling.

"My lord," Hammurabi asked. He had seen the casualties of the other three guards in the Praetorian Guard command structure, and he knew that the Emperor's attention was currently focused on the battlefield where Derrickson, Amun, and Hannibal were. "Can they really defeat that enemy?"

"No, that monster is immortal. It will be there when the universe heats up; fate has already sealed its end, but not now," the Emperor said calmly. "They only need to cripple it. Although it wasn't originally planned—the thing behind the outer dimensional veil was supposed to send another spiritual entity—its appearance is actually to our advantage."

(End of this chapter)