Marvel Magic Case Files

Steel wings sliced ​​through the winding space, and a black-armored woman clad in a golden lily emblem, wielding flames, poured death upon the ragged, starving mutant followers. They paid no heed to the trampling, falls, pleas, screams, and curses caused by the mutant followers' panic, and continued to pull the trigger towards the most densely populated areas, spewing out thick, scalding fuel.

As muscle, fat, and bone burned, thick plumes of smoke billowed. Through the high-precision thermal imaging mode of the tactical spies, they could see the panicked, crowded mutant followers in the flames being burned to emaciated charcoal. Those mutant followers, untouched by the flames, huddled on the steep stairs, pleading with the combat sisters clad in steel wings—any words uttered by mutants would only elicit one response—a barrage of explosives slammed into the mutant followers on the steel stairs. The deafening roar echoed through the hollow crypt, and pieces of corpses and a torrent of blood cascaded down the suspended side of the steel stairs. Then, the sections of the steel stairs, once used to transport personnel and now riddled with holes, softened and burned through by the fire. The power armor's friend-or-foe detection system and thermal imaging tracked hundreds of flashing red dots as they fell into the abyss along with the spent bomb casings, like a torrential downpour.

Dita didn't turn around to look at the mutant who was falling from beside her.

Time seemed to slow down. She knew the mutant's terrified eyes had seen her, even though it was still alive, still roaring with its herbivore-like mouth, waving its deformed hooves, and falling bomb casings slamming into its broken skull. Tita didn't want to waste a single moment of attention on this mutant heading towards death. Its filthy hooves couldn't touch her, its rough vocal cords wouldn't utter any profanity, and Tita felt the thrust of the steel wings on her back. She had only one goal. The power armor's IFF system had already locked onto her target with the help of the drone—she had to be faster. The knights would never give her the spoils, but she had to make the heretic in this incident repent—this wasn't about military objectives, but about things equally important like faith, culture, and heritage.

Although the reconnaissance drone had lost its lock on the target amidst the chaos, Tita had a gut feeling that her target was still alive. Even though she had never seen the target face-to-face, she could smell the stench of blasphemy. The other two combat sisters followed her flight path, crashing into the congregation like meteors. As soon as they landed, the knights cursed and stopped firing—after a round of fire, all the mutants at the front of the column were frantically retreating, while those at the back were desperately pushing forward, even those with weapons were unable to use them.

Slaughtering such chaotic cultists wouldn't take much time; the knights picked up their melee weapons and charged into the crowd.

A single explosive bomb can penetrate the bodies of many mutants. Even those with exoskeletons cannot withstand a warhead specifically designed for light armor. Manufacturing such a bomb requires a complex industrial system encompassing massive smelters and foundries, high-precision metalworking plants, precision machinery foundries, vast and intricate chemical systems, and rail freight transportation. Even with mass production reducing costs, the price of such a bomb far exceeds what most countries can afford as their primary munition. The bombs transported to Fort Attilan on the moon are worth several times more. The lives of these largely defenseless mutants are less valuable than a single explosive bomb.

The knights didn't consider cost at all; those were just figures on bureaucratic desks. Their conserving ammunition was simply preparation for later battles; emptying a single magazine was already a testament to their concern for these mutant cultists. In comparison, the high-speed spinning single-molecule red-hot blades, the incredibly heavy warhammers, and the forearm-length combat knives would have been the most suitable weapons. However, Tita and her Sisters of the Sorority had already charged into the crowd before them, slicing through the tightly packed limbs, creating a bloody path to their target. The knights quickly caught up and joined Tita's attack on the mutants. Perhaps by killing the mutants trying to escape, freeing up space, or perhaps because the mutants attacked from behind by flamethrowers were also trying to flee, this so-called pilgrimage group finally began to move.

"You have a flamethrower, why aren't you using it?" Aparishia asked Tita over the comms, brandishing her execution tomahawk. "What do you want, Tita? The plan is for your combatants to be at the rear and middle of the formation, cutting off this mutant team with flames. You should be there to ensure the tactic executes perfectly. Or have you finally realized that a sword is far better than a gun?"

The knight's last sentence, delivered with an upturned tone, didn't make Tita laugh.

She focused intently on hacking at the mutant in front of her, regardless of whether the mutant resisted.

Her swordplay was incredibly fast; the disintegrating force field on the blade allowed her to slice through muscle and bone like butter, without worrying about the weapon getting stuck. Even Aparisha had to admit Tita's swordsmanship was superb. While her strength couldn't compare to that of the genetically modified warriors, her exquisite swordsmanship and speed demonstrated that she had received considerable professional instruction and training—the other two fighting sisters who had stormed into the mutant horde with her used the same tactics. It was said that this was because the Sisterhood had received training from the Emperor at its inception; within this armed group, the dueling techniques taught by the Emperor were skills only learned by high-ranking commanders—Tita's current group combat skills could still be considered masterful. Between the blades, no intact bodies or limbs remained; the fallen mutants, while not all dead, were all rendered immobile. Occasionally, she would use her plasma pistol to blast a path through the crowd, emitting a burnt smell and thick smoke, to avoid being surrounded.

"The target is a cult member."

"This place is teeming with cultists." Aparishia smoothly sliced ​​several mutants in half with her battle axe. The heavy casualties had made the steel staircase incredibly slippery, and copious amounts of blood cascaded from the edges into the abyss like a crimson waterfall. Every moment, pieces of corpses, the wounded, and entrails were pushed down, the echoes of their impact only audible long afterward. "This shouldn't be the Regent's mission for you, is it?"

"This is the task His Majesty has given me. If I could, I would like to capture that priestess myself. She is the leader of this sect and one of the culprits who opened the portal. I want the prisoner intact, Aparisha."

"So, do you know where she is?"

"My intuition tells me that she is here. She is still alive, and the ether has given her strength and good fortune."

Dita slit a mutant's neck, pinning him against a railing to bleed him. Simultaneously, with her other hand, she forcefully grabbed another mutant's lightning-fast scorpion tail, ruthlessly ripping it off along with his spine—an astonishingly efficient act. She narrowed her eyes, a powerful intuition locking her gaze on a figure fleeing in panic not far away. Compared to the other mutants severely mutated by chemical contamination, that figure appeared remarkably beautiful, its sacred human form still intact. Yet, Dita could smell the nauseating stench of profanity. The IFF system couldn't determine if it was the target, but Dita's intuition could; the intense emotion and inexplicable hatred made her breathe heavily involuntarily.

Catherine, who had also received orders, did not directly participate in the battle. Like her other battle sisters, she was equipped with steel wings, but hers were wider and more agile, like real wings. Tita watched as Catherine spread her wings and swept past the giant fusion reactor, swooping down like an eagle into the crowded mutant horde below, striking a specific target with precision with her longsword before rising again. The knights couldn't understand Catherine's choice of targets, but Tita knew that Catherine's targets were those mutants most steadfast in their blasphemous beliefs, regardless of the severity of their physical deformities. As fellow androids of the Emperor, they shared the same instincts.

"My intuition is always right, Aparisha, she needs to be put on trial."

Constantine quickened his pace to dodge the attack, like a nimble bullfighter in golden armor.

Both sides in this battle possessed extraordinary speed and power.

Beneath the enemy's dark purple skin, supernaturally grown muscles taut, and his pungent, hot breath, laced with rage, assaulted his armor. Constantine reached out and gripped Maximus's sturdy spines. A tremendous force dragged him forward, the iron plates and mesh grilles crumpling and curling like paper beneath his boots. Constantine felt his shoulder joint nearly dislocate, yet his other arm, wielding the spear, remained steady. A lightning-cracked blade sliced ​​through a semicircle, slicing Maximus's neck and the back of his head. Though his soul was consumed by rage, the black bristles growing on Maximus's back sensitively sensed the air churned by the spear, and with superhuman speed, he ducked his head just as the blade was about to pierce his skull, narrowly avoiding a fatal blow.

The wound inflicted by the spear failed to heal; the foul-smelling blood, scorched by the pure flames, turned to white smoke, causing even the smallest wound to inflict the most intense pain. Unnatural blood dripped onto the inevitably oxidizing and weakening mesh, emitting a hissing sound. The pungent smell of gunpowder, the scorching of hair by the gunfire, and the ozone emitted by the decomposition field burning oxygen atoms filled every inch of the air. The air, heated by the molten iron river below, rose continuously, and nuclear radiation dust accompanied the thick smoke as it slowly ascended.

Maximus didn't stop; it spun wildly, crashing into the wall, trying to crush the Royal Guard commander. Constantine quickly released the spines, using the momentum of the behemoth's turn to throw himself away, watching as the beast smashed through a steel support before slowly coming to a stop. Before Maximus could get up, he fired two shots in quick succession, one to the forehead and one to the knee. The heavy beast, propelled by the impact of the explosives, staggered back a few steps. Constantine's final shot struck the deck in front of Maximus, sending it plummeting downwards through the shattered debris.

Before he could even check his spoils, seeing the molten iron engulf Maximus, Constantine had to face another challenge. He heard the dull thumping of his heart and the gurgling of blood in his veins, and smelled the scent of blood through the external air circulator of his helmet—not the scent of human blood, but an unnatural mixture of festering flesh and a strange musky aroma.

Visible psionic sonic waves assaulted him from behind. Constantine spun around in time, using his thickest shoulder armor to withstand the impact, but the powerful force still forced him back a small step. The psionic sonic waves didn't just affect the physical world; the unbearable, ear-piercing shriek assaulted the Royal Guard Commander's ears. The noise filtering system in his helmet was completely ineffective, failing to even detect the sound waves.

Constantine, unfazed by the powerful thrust, charged forward several steps, extending his arm to thrust out his spear.

Perhaps still retaining a sliver of reason, Blackcard Burtg instinctively flapped its tattered bat wings. These wings, defying the laws of physics, generated an impossible thrust that lifted its body, allowing it to levitate and evade the spear's edge. But it couldn't avoid the next attack. Constantine pulled the trigger, and the explosive bullet struck Blackcard Burtg's skull, sending it plummeting to the ground like a giant bat. The Royal Guard Commander instantly unleashed astonishing speed, charging towards the falling Blackcard Burtg, his arm tightly gripping the spear, like a fierce knight launching a charge.

The Imperial Guards collided with the falling behemoth with a deafening roar, like the sound of an industrial forging hammer falling.

The spear pierced Blackcard Burtgon's body. The captain of the guard used the spear to prop up the behemoth, which was two meters taller than himself, and used the momentum of his run to push it towards the edge of the deck. The behemoth angrily gripped Constantine's shoulder armor with its claws, trying to open its massive jaws to bite his helmet. The next moment, a gunshot rang out from the behemoth's chest, and the huge monster was immediately blasted away.

"Don't do it again." The commander of the Imperial Guards blinked helplessly at the darkness that was barely visible to the naked eye.

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