Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1594, Chapter 1590: The Lunar War (106)

If the armored convoy's initial pace was like driving on a city traffic line late at night, then this was now rush hour. The lower deck was covered with a layer of slippery, seaweed-like substance that looked like some kind of organic grease. If the assault tanks in front hadn't cut and scooped up this thick layer of substance on the lower deck like they would an asphalt road, the tracks of the vehicles behind would very likely have slipped on it.

The track design was conceived for various operating environments; even the softest mud on Earth couldn't trap the armored vehicles equipped with these tracks and matching engines. Despite the slow pace, the armored convoy steadily advanced in the correct direction. The Emperor positioned the command vehicle behind the assault tanks, guiding the way like a navigator in the Age of Exploration. Its psychic radiance guided participants with two different talents across both the material universe and the ethereal sea. Both genetically modified warriors and arcane mages could clearly see it, giving the mortal soldiers of the First Secret Service a great sense of security.

Although they were elite soldiers recruited and trained by the Emperor and Regent from all over the world, they were still mortals. The terrifying sights on the lower decks of Attilan's core could not help but weigh on their minds. In particular, the slight tremors that spread upwards along the core's supporting structure like an earthquake, and the terrifying, indescribable roars, sent chills down their spines, as if a war was raging in the depths of darkness. This unknown fear was an almost unbearable pressure for mortals.

Two similar behemoths collided, the steel support between them as soft as dough.

Similar bat-like wings and recurved horns made them grotesque. One of the behemoths gripped a silver greatsword tightly with a demonic maw, while the other's massive leathery throat swelled rapidly, its mouth opening to unleash a visible sonic wave that shattered a hundred-meter-long tunnel into nanoscale powder, along with the other behemoth's black horn and part of its own jawbone. Pain made the behemoth wielding the silver greatsword roar, yet it still plunged the sword into its enemy's bent, bone-spiky spine. Even as its enemy pierced its neck with a mouthful of sharp teeth, devouring its blood like a vampire swallowing a soul, it continued to violently churn the silver greatsword. Corrosive black blood gushed out like a waterfall, splashing across the black steel deck, from which translucent snakes sprouted. The silver blade reflected the shadow of the other behemoth and its hate-filled eyes.

The creatures once known as Blackcard Burtgang and Maximus tore at each other with sharp teeth, long claws, and innate abilities, their eyes filled with boundless hatred as they bit into each other's flesh and swallowed each other's blood, as if trying to devour the other completely. This was a ritualistic act, a sacrificial act, a self-concentrated act originating from the subconscious of a single individual. Neither Blackcard Burtgang nor Maximus realized that they were acting entirely on instinct. Every past event had become uncontrollable due to the incitement of extreme emotions; they had lost their former rationality, with only emotions and the ever-present adrenaline and other hormones dominating everything.

Ethereal serpents flicked their tongues as they slithered through the shadows, seemingly submerged in water. They spewed venomous thoughts from their mouths, chasing after small alien creatures that failed to escape, swallowing them whole—it was freezing cold here, but deeper down lay boiling molten iron, a spectacle formed from the melted cooling pipes of a plasma reactor. Solid water molecules extracted by the Inhumans from the lunar soil were gradually drawn to the lower layers by gravity through a cycle, spending hundreds of years here to become part of an endless cycle of sublimation and solidification, becoming the perpetual white torrent of this core region's lower deck—anger, desire, shame, longing—the venom brewed from these emotions constituted the serpents themselves, and also the Blackcard Burtgon and Maximus of today. Their bodies were no longer pure matter; the mass converted from etheric energy provided their resilient forms. Blackcard Burtgon, with claws capable of easily tearing through the iron walls of the water tank, grasped the bat wings on his blood brother's back, but could not pierce the membrane thinner than the iron walls.

Traitor! Coward... Kill! Blood!

We share the same blood, brother... you idiot!

Even now, the thoughts of Blackcard Burt and Maximus continue to collide in the ethereal plane, sparking visible flames. Their once complete rationality, inherent in intelligent beings, has been corrupted. The boundary between reality and dream has blurred; the images reflected in each other's eyes are distorted, magnified, and imbued with malice. The shadows surrounding them burn with infernos and piles of skulls. Every inch of air is filled with violence, bloodshed, and symbolic revelry. They are merely roaring, venting their chaotic thoughts, using violence and incoherent language to articulate their madness, expressing smiles with unrestrained laughter, and intimacy through mutual harm.

Nothing here is normal; even the arrow of time in the macroscopic physics of the material universe is somewhat affected. The shattered body struggled up the steep slope, and within seconds, the cut wounds and blood vessels began to heal. After a puff of rising black smoke, everything was restored to normal. The boundary between death and life was not clear; the breeze in the air gave its newly grown skin and muscles a pleasant tingling sensation.

We've never truly controlled our own destiny... You will die by my hand... even now!

Bright tears streamed from Blackcard Burtgon's now beast-like eyes, as if squeezed humanity from its very core. Then, rage burned them away, chaos and madness reigning. A voice urged it to open its mouth and unleash a deadly sonic wave—the compressed air boomed violently, and Blackcard Burtgon turned its head, everything in its path turning to dust—it attacked the point of hostility, but a silver greatsword and claws thrust out from another direction, too fast even for Blackcard Burtgon's enhanced dynamic vision.

If it looked closer, it would have discovered that the hilt of Maximus's greatsword had grown fused with his arm, becoming a living organ. If it looked even closer, it would have seen not only the greatsword piercing its body, but also the blood vessels extending from Maximus's own body. The physical form of the material universe was becoming increasingly unimportant to them; they were using every means to absorb the souls and power of their adversaries. This was driven by the whispered thoughts within their souls, which yearned to regain their wholeness, to use them as a vessel to enter the material universe, and to use their bodies there to protect themselves from expulsion.

"We are one."

Maximus managed to utter a single sentence with difficulty through his hyena-like, mutated snout. They heard nothing but the sounds of sharp teeth tearing skin and metal slicing through bone, and the inexplicable, barely perceptible frenzied drumming and trumpeting echoing from behind the veil of the material universe. Maximus saw two rows of dark-skinned slaves march in orderly formation, stopping right in front of him and Blackcard Burt, completely undisturbed by their struggle, as if time itself had stood still. Maximus saw these slaves, their naked bodies adorned with gold and jewels, their long, inhuman faces filled with pride and indifference, raising their trumpets to their thick lips, unleashing a chaotic, ecstatic chorus that cut like knives into the eardrums of the listeners.

"I have seen destiny. We were meant to be in the same body, but destiny separated us before birth. We should return together to the Dream, my dear brother, the place we roamed before our birth. You and I are one, we explored the mysteries of the universe there, and we will live there with the gods of the Dream for eternity. We will see the universe perish and be reborn. That is our true origin, my dear brother. We were angels in the Dream, and now our mission is complete. We have guided the Inhumans onto the path of truth."

Blackcard Burt saw and heard nothing.

Rage consumed his reason. Blackcard Burtgan seized Maximus's horns with his claws and unleashed a torrent of sonic waves at the skull. Skin turned to dust first, followed by bloody muscle that shattered into glass half a second later, then the eyeballs and the distorted cartilage made of ethereal energy. The black skull withstood the sonic onslaught with extraordinary hardness, but even the distorted bones cracked under the high-frequency vibrations. Just as Blackcard Burtgan was about to crush Maximus's head, the latter swung his silver greatsword at himself, severing one of Blackcard Burtgan's arms in the process. Maximus was finally free, but now it could see nothing. It let out an enraged scream, wildly swinging its greatsword, chasing away anything that approached it.

Blackcard Burt just roared as he backed away.

The deck cracked open from their struggle, the once-dark fissures widening into a massive, shimmering orange-red chasm. Thick fog rose and then froze into ice within this space, scattering ice shards with each flap of the two behemoths' bat-winged wings. Maximus's regenerated hearing heard his brother's roar in the darkness, and without hesitation, he lunged towards that spot, thrusting his greatsword—the trajectory of the blade gradually slowed until it stopped, even the veins and black flames clinging to the blade ceased to pulse. Constantine strode across the battlefield with his ever-calm, unchanging steps, crushing small snakes made of venomous blood beneath his boots. Almost inaudible whispers and screams of madness emanated from beneath his boots, as if the commander of the Royal Guard had crushed not just a snake, but a self-aware, yet insane being. The commander of the Royal Guard paid no heed to this. He continued forward, across the frost-covered battlefield, and came to the crack in the deck, where he saw Maximus and the falling Blackcard Burtman beside him.

"Is this their end?"

No, far from it.

"This is not our destination."

The portal is in another direction.

"I didn't expect it to be you." Constantine turned to look at the woman floating beside him. "What are you now, Catherine?"

"Isn't it enough that He sent you to see me?" Catherine wore the golden armor the Emperor had bestowed upon the Sisterhood, and carried a sword with white flames burning fiercely on its blade. The armor was exquisitely crafted, its surface adorned with hidden patterns of vines and roses. "I was born of His soul, and after my death, I will naturally return to its kingdom. Every powerful psionicist casts their light upon the Aether Sea, but the light of Our Lord is brighter and stronger than the stars, and thus I now live beside Him. You too, Constantine, every member of your Royal Guard will follow the same path as me, but Our Lord has other plans for you."

Constantine stared at Blackcard Bertgang and Maximus, who seemed frozen in amber, then looked at Catherine with suspicion, especially at her wings behind her, which appeared to be forged from steel, spewing flames, yet were as soft as real feathers. "To me, you are no different from these things. You are also a being made of etheric energy. I don't trust you, Catherine, if you really are Catherine."

"I am Catherine, yet I am not Catherine. I am the first homunculus to fall on the battlefield. Catherine is merely a name; the first homunculus to fall, the first martyred sister—that is my meaning." Catherine raised her longsword, which fell to the ground. From the darkness emerged another Royal Guard and another battle sister clad in Sisters of the Cult's armor. "Our Lord requires us to drive out these two beasts, to drive them from Attilan Fortress."

"This is just a dream."

This is both reality and your dream; the boundary between reality and illusion isn't as clear as you imagine. If you insist on tracing it, you're actually still with my lord, and the armored convoy has just entered the lower deck. Considering time in a dream is unwise, because there is no linear time here.

It was as if the process of a bullet shattering glass had been stretched a thousandfold, a piercing scream echoing around Maximus's sword. Constantine gripped his halberd tightly, only to find himself holding the very spear the Emperor held. He warily eyed the warrior in the Praetorian Guard armor, who merely saluted him, identifying himself with the Praetorian Guard's coded gestures.

The success or failure of this battle depends on the strength of your will, for this battle will take place in your dream; what might be a fleeting second in reality will be eternal here. We will try again and again until the mission is accomplished, because He wants us to do so.

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)