Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1602 The Lunar War (114)

Salomon noticed that Athena's beautifully curved back muscles tensed instantly.

Are they trying to attack you directly?

She didn't speak aloud, but conveyed her thoughts face-to-face. Although the apartment was equipped with numerous anti-spy and anti-reconnaissance psionic devices and technologies, she still went to great lengths to avoid any form of leakage. The Sorcerer Supreme's intervention to stop the attack on Salomon from behind the veil was truly groundbreaking news, enough to drive countless dream diviners, tarot readers, and prophets mad with the prospect of witnessing the aftermath of the attack. Yet, even Athena didn't see the attack create any waves in the Aether Sea, as if it had never happened.

Why are they in such a hurry? Wasn't Ragnarok enough to satisfy them? What do they want you to do?

The greed behind the veil is endless, but even they are merely the will manifested from that dreamlike dimension. They do not exist eternally independently and have never possessed free will. They desire to reduce humanity, a race with limitless potential, to tools manipulated by fate, just like themselves.

Salomon's calm response did not fully answer the question, and thus he received a fierce glare from Athena.

The Battle of Attilan presented them with an opportunity.

Ragnarok is better. It's a sign of Asgard's impending doom. No one in this world can stop the Asgardian Empire from its destruction; they can even tear open the veil between the material universe and dreams, probing their will into the material universe. They have no need to attack you in the Battle of Attilan.

It was a demonstration, an invitation. They wanted me to see their power and to make promises to me.

I know your answer.

Athena visibly relaxed. Even though Salomon here was just a projection, the Emperor had the ability to materialize it. The principle behind this psionic technology was the same as summoning Catherine to the material universe and giving her a temporary body, only simpler. "Help me take a bath; magic can't wash hair clean."

"We should recall our combat troops and return to Kamar-Taj now."

"Not now. Right now, we can't determine whether Kamar-Taj's protective spells are meant to safeguard the outside world or to set a trap for intruders. This will affect my assessment of the Sorcerer Supreme's mental state." The Emperor shook his head, rejecting Amon's suggestion. The Royal Guard didn't detect much worry on the Emperor's face, even though he knew the Sorcerer Supreme held special significance for him. Amon believed he saw the Emperor's absolutely rational emotions as a decision-maker—cold and even icy in tone to outsiders, but to Amon, this was the necessary attitude for making the right decision. The reason mortals are weak, cowardly, and fearful is because they cannot relinquish their desires.

"I'm waiting for Victor; he will bring me the most crucial intelligence."

"Where can we get it from?" Amon had read the Psionic Society's predictions and reports about the Aether Wave. The Aether Wave, which foreshadowed Ragnarok, tore apart most of the threads of fate, leaving prophets to deduce and predict from the remaining fragments. However, none of those reports mentioned anything related to the Sorcerer Supreme. "The Regent's psionic power is immense, but even he couldn't possibly unearth the submerged information from the Aether Wave. To obtain the strategic prophecy of Attilan Fortress, the Psionic Society has already sacrificed ninety-nine rapidly trained psionicists."

"A portal. That's the energy radiating from the dream world into the material universe, a gap in the dream's veil, through which intelligent beings in the material universe can glimpse endless madness."

"I think Wanda Maximmov is also capable of this task, if her stability passes the evaluation."

"Don't underestimate Victor's psionic abilities. Without Latveria, Victor would undoubtedly have succeeded as the Sorcerer Supreme. There's no doubt about it. Unlike Wanda Maximus, Victor is one of the few naturally formed, powerful psionic beings on this planet. His psionic abilities haven't driven him out of control; instead, they've given him wisdom and foresight... Yes, he's still suffering for his humanity, and that's proof of our humanity. Don't belittle him because of his suffering; I believe Victor will make the right choice."

The Imperial Guard wielded their spears like a storm, and the mutated flesh blocking their path fell like trees ravaged by giant beasts. Catherine also brandished her longsword, unleashing the Emperor's power upon the enemy in the most direct way. As more and more flesh-covered monsters spewed from the passage ahead, the soldiers who had been riding in armored vehicles had to dismount and join the vehicles in clearing the way. The core area of ​​Starfortress was significantly larger than the passage. Already limited by the terrain, the number of genetically modified warriors here was small, and now each of them faced enemies several times their number. This was precisely their purpose—to undertake more arduous war missions. Not a single genetically modified warrior felt fear, for the concept of fear had been surgically and chemically eradicated from their minds.

The war revolves around the giant columnar fusion reactor at the center of Fort Attilan.

Once smooth alloy shells were now covered with chunks of flesh resembling barnacles. The metal shells bordering the repair deck were densely covered with large and small pustules emitting a strange odor, a sight that sent chills down one's spine. Hot, reddish-black sludge, steaming and submerging the warriors' boots, flowed down the outer shell of the giant fusion reactor like a waterfall. Catherine's power seemed to be somewhat limited; the sludge and flesh beyond a ten-meter radius could not be transformed into flowing, sweet water. From those pustules bred even more extraordinary monsters. The vile, putrid miasma caused even mortal soldiers wearing Void combat suits to fall ill, while the sludge slowly and steadily corroded the metal. Besides the power armor of the Royal Guard and Catherine, even the power armor of the genetically modified warriors showed signs of rust.

Commander Tita of the Sisterhood led a group of androids on the mission. Unlike the human girls, she wasn't overjoyed at the sight of Catherine; she calmly assessed the battlefield situation. "Aura, have your machine gunners provide cover. I need a path forward," Tita said. The path here was neither up nor down. As dizziness washed over her, she switched her helmet visor to tactical thermal imaging mode as instructed by the Guardian Order. She then saw blood flowing from the flesh-covered walls in areas close to human body temperature, while other areas were swollen and inflamed due to wounds from explosives, lasers, or thermals. "Change orders. Shoot areas with similar body temperature. Don't let those monsters spawn! Aura, have your flamethrower operators and thermal operators participate in this mission."

"Understood. Where are you taking your guard?"

"We're locked in a fierce battle. Even Catherine can't pull us out of this predicament with the Emperor's radiance." Tita saw crimson flames erupting from the flesh-and-blood walls, near body temperature, in thermal imaging mode. The spatial disorientation persisted, intensifying with each step of the mission. The ordinary soldiers were forced to establish outposts and refueling stations—even the few elite soldiers with unwavering resolve couldn't overcome this disorientation. It was like walking into a black-and-white striped, constantly spinning tunnel in an amusement park, amplified a hundredfold—under these conditions, simply aiming and pulling the trigger was incredibly difficult. "Go find Constantine. I need to know how he intends to squander the lives of his soldiers."

"I don't recommend that you do that."

Aura raised the heavy-explosive machine gun and pulled the trigger again, unleashing a barrage of heavy-explosive shells from behind her.

Laser cannons from behind instantly locked onto the location marked by the tracer rounds she had fired. Then, the laser cannons and the main guns of several main battle tanks opened fire simultaneously, blasting the creature that had just emerged from the festering sore to smithereens. The precise shooting did not damage the outer shell of the giant fusion reactor. In the already stalled circular freight train station, another group of monsters that had been lurking for a long time rushed diagonally into the formation of genetically modified soldiers. However, what they had to face was a dense barrage of fire from troop carriers and the Sisterhood. Aura released the trigger and pointed to the brightest spot on the battlefield—the formation of the Golden Armored Guard swept away the obstacles in the convoy like a storm sweeping across the battlefield. They fought tirelessly. Some of the mutants who had lived in the underground slums of Attilan for many years had their characteristics far beyond the limits of human genetic mutation due to years of genetic pollution. In fact, these mutants could not even be called enemies; the creatures they worshipped were.

Aparisha, shield in hand, led her genetically modified warriors in a sharp, ruthless assault, annihilating the filthy creatures with extreme violence. If the Royal Guard squad was a sharp blade, then Aparisha's genetically modified warriors were a heavy hammer, slow in action but capable of crushing every enemy offensive.

Aura pulled the trigger again, and a volley of heavy explosive rounds shattered the monsters piled up in front of the shield. Aparisha lowered the shield, which was covered in bits of flesh, and blood dripped from his helmet onto the neck guard seal. He gave an inconspicuous nod to the Sisterhood on the other side of the battlefield, expressing his gratitude indifferently.

This fire channel shattered the monsters' attack and directly connected the two ends of the battlefield.

At Tita's command, armored vehicles belonging to the Sisterhood, along with shield-wielding guards, charged into the enemy ranks. Elite Sisterhood members, clad in mechs, wielded heavy warhammers with their giant, bionic mechanical arms. Their bodies, filled with morbid flesh and blood, exploded like bombs, filthy, foul-smelling blood gushing up to the towering ceiling. The side-mounted flamethrower turrets of the armored vehicles, specifically designed for close-quarters combat, spewed forth sticky fuel and flames. In the early days of human civilization, primitive humans expressed their worship of the sky, wind, ocean, rocks, mountains, thunder, and all other natural phenomena they did not yet understand or resist through human and animal sacrifices and burning. They personified these phenomena as primitive nature deities. Flame and blade were the tools used by primitive shamans to communicate across the veil of prophecy. Flame and blade are the starting point and sacrificial tools of all civilizations. For ethereal entities, flame and blade hold a special sacrificial significance; they are the ritual of their birth.

They are born because of this, and they will die because of this.

Constantine tasted the memories on his tongue.

It was once known as the formless spirit, Kufleooh, summoned and bound by ancient psychics, driven to poison the cups of political enemies at court banquets, and to search for treasures and secrets in the wilderness and mountains; it once received commands from great gods, fighting on endless battlefields; it was once worshipped, its greed satisfied by the blood and souls of slaves by kings, and it persisted even after the fall of dynasties, until the temples that worshipped it were forgotten, and it was forever bound by terracotta idols, until a greedy thief sneaked into the tomb and accidentally broke the idol. It promised the thief three wishes, and the naive and foolish mortal confidently made his requests, but it maliciously twisted the wishes, taking away the thief's tormented soul.

For the Royal Guard, it was a mere instant. His movements were swift and decisive; the heavy bomb blasted the monster's upper body into mincemeat, splattering greasy black blood nearly ten meters away. Then came the next one. Mortal soldiers clad in void combat suits, wielding carbine laser guns and molten lava launchers, followed closely behind the Royal Guard, never straying from the radiance emanating from Catherine—only during advances did these auxiliary troops trained by the Royal Guard come to the Royal Guard's side—whenever a Royal Guard emptied their magazine, these mortal soldiers would immediately take the Guardian Spear, reload it, and then return it to the Royal Guard fighting with spare weapons. It was a precisely coordinated combat system, like gears, the Royal Guard's extraordinary reaction speed and strength enabling them to execute this tactic.

"Commander Tita!"

Constantine swung his spear downwards, simultaneously wiping the blood from his helmet visor with his finger. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a figure in a dark green cloak flashing past the battlefield before disappearing again. Though inconspicuous in the chaos of battle, the commander of the Royal Guard remained vigilant. The Royal Guard never hallucinated from the bloodshed; they found nothing unacceptable about such a battlefield. The only unacceptable thing was that the Emperor hadn't brought more Royal Guards back to Earth to carry out that dangerous mission.

"Please take over Catherine's escort mission; I will pave the way for you!"

"Where to?" Tita nodded to Catherine.

"Go all the way down," Constantine said, pointing to the giant fusion reactor. "To the bottom."

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)