Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1538 The Lunar War (50)

Chapter 1534 The Lunar War (50)

The dense barrage of bullets, like a torrential downpour pounding on a steel roof, reminded Aparisha of her childhood in the slums. Hunger, cold, scattered rock CDs and posters of scantily clad blonde women. Hunger, anger, arguments, and scattered needles. Hunger, pain, and reprimands. Hunger, crying, and nothing else. But the memories were quickly interrupted by gunfire. The genetically modified warriors silently raised their shields, muzzle-to-muzzle guns, advancing a few steps before stopping, forming a mobile steel wall, methodically pulling the trigger to kill every enemy exposed from behind cover at the end of the corridor, gradually shrinking the enemy's space.

Aparishia stood behind the steel wall, gripping his execution axe tightly. He watched as the mutant army crumbled under the pressure of the genetically modified soldiers, like a sand dam trying to stop a rushing river. At first, it was just one or two deserters, but the unwavering advance of the genetically modified soldiers instilled fear in the mutants on a psychological level. The inescapable fear of death, like the steel wall, squeezed their spirits, squeezing out the last vestiges of terror from their very bones. More and more mutant soldiers deserted, but every mutant who left their cover and was exposed to fire was attacked.

Aparisha disdained letting deserters escape and allowing the mutant lines to crumble on their own; he only wanted to kill them. The genetically modified soldiers wasted no firepower; a single bullet was enough to eliminate a mutant with immense physical strength. When they were less than five meters from their cover, the genetically modified soldiers charged. Their tank-armor-like heavy shields shattered the mutants who had gathered to resist, and a few final explosive rounds claimed their lives at close range.

The armored units followed immediately. Aparisha and his shield-bearing guards stepped into the open crew compartment of an armored personnel carrier. As the vehicle pushed through billowing black smoke, it reached another front line. Hot air, thin smoke, and ash from the burning corpses filled the crew compartment. Aparisha watched indifferently as the swirling ashes settled on his cloak. Sweat trickled down his neck armor seal behind his helmet. The cloak, originally deep red, was waterproof, fireproof, and durable. But now, congealed with blackened blood, it resembled a gigantic bat wing, claws made of ashes gripping his shoulder armor, leaving several bloody gashes.

The artillery bombardment shook the air, and the shattered outer shell of Attilan Fortress leaked out large amounts of ice-crystal-like air clouds. The instantly expanding shockwaves of the explosions pushed away and pulverized the air clouds, as well as the bodies and debris sucked out by the overpressure. Martian technicians, clad in heavy protective spacesuits, walked through the middle of the battlefield. Overpressure compressed the heavy corpses, and the Martian technicians struggled to hold in place the wounded, dying, or already dead genetically modified warriors—they had encountered a formidable enemy here, Aparisha thought—he saw the armor of that tactical squad shatter, their resilient flesh exploding and flying inexplicably, spraying blood in their wake. Armor fragments were squeezed into bones and flesh, and their bodies were submerged in molten steel plates.

Other genetically modified soldiers who had finished the battle were firing grenades at each mutant corpse to confirm the enemy's death.

"There used to be a psionicist here," Aparisha thought.

This bizarre battlefield damage was not something any known weapon could inflict; the lightning-like wounds on the power armor were also crucial evidence of psionic damage. He was astonished by the soldiers' resilience and offered unreserved praise. He watched as the power armor tore from the inside out, the soldiers' internal organs and muscles ripped apart, yet their fingers remained firmly on the triggers, throwing plasma grenades from their belts. They drew their combat knives and charged forward until their magazines were empty.

"Malcolm Constantine." Aparishia nodded to the other two senior officers in command. Dina, also clad in power armor and carrying a massive chainsword, was ignored; the Sisterhood's current mission was to defend the occupied territories, fighting off the Alpha Primitives surging from the lower levels of Starfortress, and other monsters that had sprung from the darkness of the Starfortress's lower levels due to biochemical contamination and special mutated substances. "You summoned me." He glanced casually at the spear in Malcolm's hand. The weapon, crafted with mysterious technology, had been gifted to Malcolm by the Emperor, but he had always believed he was more deserving of the weapon and the honor. "I've assembled the troops as requested, cleared all transportation points, and now is the perfect time for a full-scale attack. Why not?"

"According to intelligence reports, the Attilan royal family has issued a mobilization order," Constantine said. Aparishia and Malcolm, who had recently arrived at command post, were about his height, though these two warriors bore more battle scars on their faces. "I've already requested Commander Malcolm to send more special operations teams. Those teams will attack the Attilan mutants' rear from the outside when we launch our offensive, seizing and protecting their genetic laboratories. Seizing the laboratories and data is a higher priority than slaughtering mutants. With those laboratories and data, we can understand how the Kree Empire genetically engineered humans in the past… Perhaps, we will possess the technology to cure the thousands of potential Inhumans on Earth."

Aparisha didn't question it; he was used to it.

The Emperor's vision was so far-reaching that no one could comprehend it, and no one could fathom His plans. Human abilities, desires, and cognition have their limits, but the Emperor's do not. This is why He is both worshipped and hated, but countless times reality has proven the Emperor right; the lost, stumbling explorer always manages to find the right path for them. Perhaps the Royal Guard could understand, but Aparisha didn't want to think about it. His duty was only to fight and clear away obstacles on that right path.

"What about mutant psionicists?"

“Dead,” Malcolm said coldly. “The Kamar-Taj sorcerers believed the enemy foresaw my arrival, so they sent a squad to intercept my shuttle. The Guardians' assistance was timely, and the Kamar-Taj sorcerers also provided some help. I need you to reinforce these attack routes. Aparishia, the artillery is on standby. They have received more ammunition supplies to meet the needs of the upcoming attack.” He looked at Constantine, finally swallowing the question… He didn't see the Emperor or the other Guardians at headquarters; only Constantine was there, overseeing the command and knowing he had arrived to take over the chain of command. He wanted to ask Constantine if he knew where the Emperor was, but he realized that even if Constantine knew, he wouldn't tell him. In any case, the Emperor's whereabouts were definitely related to the “Beware of Psionic Anomalies and Spiritual Entities” notice recently issued to every squad; otherwise, the Emperor would never have allowed Kamar-Taj to participate in serious military operations.

"There are two concentrations of psionic phenomena: the Chimilian clan's settlement and the Attilan royal family's settlement, which is also the Inhuman settlement with the lowest potential for mutation," Constantine said. "The battle groups attacking these two locations will need to protect the accompanying Kamar-Taj sorcerers. They are professionals, and their skills will come in handy when dealing with problems that bombs and blades cannot solve."

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(End of this chapter)