Chapter 372

"I'm here, master."

Otavia's voice sounded as tired as Talos looked.

"I'm here..."

She said to the loudspeaker in the conference hall:

"So is the spirit family."

"Get ready to jump the ship again."

"I can't stand it."

Her voice was filled with tears.

"Master, I can't, sorry, I can't..."

"They'll come to us in twenty minutes at most. You have to get us away."

"Sorry, I can't."

"You've been saying this for more than a week."

"Talos, please listen to me. If it goes on like this, subspace will kill me. It doesn't matter whether it's a jump or twice... You're killing me."

The prophet got up from the command throne, went to the podium railing, bent down and looked at the orderly bridge below.

There was a ghostly threat warning flashing on the holographic booth: a total of six spirit warships, their wing sails had disappeared in the twisted fog.

"Otavia."

His voice softened.

"They can't chase us forever. I need you to give me more help... Please."

Otavia didn't answer, but a few seconds later, the ship itself gave the answer.

When the subspace engine began to accumulate energy and turn one real world into another, the deck began to tremble.

"Do you remember?"

Her voice echoed on the command deck.

"When I first controlled the blood League?"

There was a strange duality in her tone, as if she were combined with the soul of the ship. This unhealthy unity made Talos feel goose bumps.

"I remember you said you could kill us all because we were heretics."

"I was angry and scared."

He heard her take a breath.

"Everyone, get ready to enter the sea of souls."

"Thank you, otavia. I will remember your efforts this time. I will repay you when the time is ripe."

"You shouldn't thank slaves."

She replied, echoing in the hall.

"And it hasn't worked yet. Save your thanks until we can survive. Shall we run away or hide this time?"

"Neither."

As soon as Talos spoke,

Every eye of the bridge turned to him, and the Legion soldiers who were still on the command deck saw it most vigorously.

"We won't run."

Talos calmly told otavia that he knew everyone was watching him.

"We don't hide anymore. We have to make our position clear."

Talos passed the coordinates through the keyboard on the armrest of his throne.

"Take us to the Nathan system."

"Throne!"

Otavia cursed, which made the bridge half crew frown at the imperial curse.

"Are you sure?"

"We have no fuel to dance with them, and we can't break their blockade. If we are driven together like prey, I will at least choose where to fight back."

Celion returned to the throne and asked with ridicule:

"So here's the problem. What if they wait for us there?"

Talos looked at the brother for a while.

"What do you want me to say, Cylon? We'll do it as usual. We'll kill them, or they'll kill us."

The curse floated in sub space. Talos left the bridge and walked to see the soul he had every reason but no desire to see again.

Holding a sword in his hand, he walked along the winding corridor, his mind was dark - his choice was even darker.

He is going to do something he should have done a long time ago.

When he stood in front of them, the door to the reflection hall roared open, the servants were still busy with their own affairs, and the humble mechanical priests turned and watched him come in.

"Soul hunter."

A mechanical priest in a robe respectfully beckoned:

"My name is Talos."

The prophet answered and walked past him.

"Please use it correctly."

Suddenly, he felt a hand grasp his shoulder guard, so he turned to face the man who dared to touch him.

This disrespectful behavior is very different from any technology priest.

"Talos."

Said dieterian, a mechanical heretic, tilting the skeleton mask that served as his face.

"Although your appearance did not violate any code of conduct, it was unexpected. The result of our last conversation was that if there was any change in that thing, you would be summoned."

That thing

Talos doesn't like the mechanist word.

"I know our agreement, dieterian."

"But when you come here with weapons and pull out the sword in this sacred place, there is only one result with great possibility in dealing with your behavior."

"What's that?"

"You're here to destroy the coffin and kill macalyon inside."

"Good guess."

Talos turned and went into the room attached to him, where the gorgeous coffin of the war philosopher was placed.

"Wait --!"

Talos stopped, but not because of dieterian's order, but because of his own shock, but the sword was still held in a loose fist.

He saw the scene in front of him: the gorgeous sarcophagus was chained together and mounted on a fearless ceramic shell of the Defiler, and the blue halo of stagnation still moved around the limbs of the war machine - locked there - motionless.

"Why did you do that?"

Talos didn't look away.

"I didn't tell you to make him a fearless mecha."

Dieterian hesitated before he spoke.

"The resurrection ceremony requires the subject to be placed in a sacred shell."

Talos didn't know what to say. He wanted to object, but he knew nothing could move dieterian and let him see anything meaningful.

And he was even more surprised when he saw another figure in the room.

The man sat with his back against the wall, lazily holding the trigger of the chain axe, listening to the wailing of the blade.

"Hi, brother, good afternoon."

Another night Lord whispered to him.

"USAS? What brings you here?"

USAS shrugged.

"I often come here to see him. I think he should come back to us. We need him, but he doesn't want to be needed."

Talos stared at USAS for a moment, then whispered and slowly gave instructions to dieterian.

"Activate communicator."

"My Lord, I --“

"Activate the speaker or I'll kill you."

"As you ordered."

Dieterian trotted all the way with his thin legs, clicking to the main console, and then several levers made an unhealthy friction sound.

Hum, hum, ah, ah, ah, ah!

For a moment, the room was full of breathless, animal and exhausted screams.

Somehow, it sounded like an old man - full of old, tired weakness.

Talos closed his eyes for a moment, but his helmet was still staring ahead - as ruthless as ever.

"Enough."

He whispered.

"I want to end this cut."