87_87643 Seventeen saw that Morriel had been staring at the mountain without speaking, so he stepped forward

"What's so nice about these broken stones?

The female mage didn't answer, and Forty-Seven turned her head to look at her. Moriel stood there, her silver-blue hair hanging down her shoulders, her smooth forehead, straight nose and slightly raised chin cutting a beautiful silhouette in the air, her gaze deep and focused—not at all like looking at the towering pinnacles ahead, but as if she had plunged into the distant and unknown realm with her mind.

"Hi. Forty-seven raised her hand and shook it back and forth in front of Morriel's eyes a few times, but she didn't respond.

Cairo sensed something was wrong.

"Sister Moriel?" the girl leaned over and took her hand, feeling unusually cold, like a dead person—startling Carrot: "Sister!"

"What a hell of a life. Forty-Seven immediately concluded that the system had been hacked. Morriel's current appearance is exactly the same as the state of paralysis due to the high occupancy of the central processing unit of the brain due to the flood attack of the electron ether. Hackers, viruses, information warfare...... Damn, there's nothing more annoying than these things.

Forty-seven has now forgotten how he used all kinds of small means to collect "medieval human activity video materials" everywhere. He struck each other with his fists, and the double-barreled explosive gun built into his arm was revealed, and he completed the preparation for battle with the sound of sonorous metal deformation.

There are still only a few of them in the vast circular basin. The sky seemed to be darkening, adding ominous shadows to the towering peaks that surrounded and imprisoned the three of them like gray rock walls.

"I should have left with you two first. And then come back and blow up this place to the ground. "Forty-Seven's deep red eyes scanned the distant mountain rock walls in different spectral bands, but they did not reveal any information about the enemy hiding in the shadows, except for the different shades of gray they showed due to their shape and distance.

He turned around and tried to pick up Morrill for a temporary strategic shift, but was stopped by Kairo's exclamation.

"Don't!" the girl seemed a little surprised as she shouted, wondering why she had done it.

"What's wrong?" Forty-Seven stopped, one hand still resting on Moriel's back—the female mage's body swayed slightly, but her posture and expression did not change in the slightest, like an unsecured statue.

Kylo didn't know what to say. She raised her hand to touch her forehead and then put it down: "I...... I don't understand how I know, but we must not move Sister Morriel right now! She's in ...... I can't tell, but it's very dangerous if you disturb her too much!"

"Can't sleepwalkers just touch it?" said Forty-Seven disapprovingly, but his hand carefully left Moriel's body, "Then we'll have to wait for her to wake up now......?"

But fortunately or unfortunately, the word "boring" has always lacked a correct annotation in his dictionary.

I don't know where the shadows caused by the light source flow menacingly between the depressions and crevices of the rock formations, and gradually become one. The fuzzy edges stretched and wriggled downward like tentacles, twisting silently along with the gray stone peaks—as if the vista was no longer a hard and heavy physical rock, but a wrinkled. And soaked oil paintings.

Forty-seven turned to face the viscous shadows that poured down the ground. They were like a mass of heavy ink, heavily wrapping around most of the edges of the circular depression, quietly invading the middle.

"That'...... What are those?" Kyro's voice trembled a little: "I seem to see ......"

There's something in the shadows that's moving.

Or should I say the shadow itself. It became more and more evident that the dark shadows seemed to be rapidly accumulating rain clouds, and like a large puddle of hot porridge poured down, each with dozens or even hundreds of bubbles, large and small bulges, stirring on this huge curtain, as if the dying could no longer control the poison that was growing everywhere, and was born to feed on life itself. Grow thriving.

Although this and that analogy can be used, the changes that occur in the black shadows created by the obstruction of light are in fact only almost illusory. Even if Forty-Seven shrunk the red light in his eyes to the size of a pinprick, the visual system couldn't transmit much information to him - only a pulse called "intuition" kept alerting. That black mass is expanding, and the goal is clear.

"We ...... What now?" "The little girl is a little girl after all, and when she encounters real things, she still hopes that an adult will help her make up her mind.

"It's dangerous to take her away now, right?" Forty-Seven looked at Moriel beside him again, the female mage still maintained a living silence, indifferent to anything that happened around her: "Then we'll have to wait and see—"

The machine brackets a crisp impact. Precise. Powerful, searing torrents of metal whistled out from the muzzle of the gun on the arm, and a large number of steel projectiles rushed into the shadows in the raging flames. Crush those pustules like picking at broken ulcers. The ghost who had taken on the attack shrank as if frightened, and countless stone chips and dust erupted from it like a swarm of disturbed bees, followed by a series of piercing cracking sounds. The compressed energy is finally relaxed, and the reverse force generated by it is unscrupulously injected into any touched matter, causing it to break down into small, tiny states.

The dust settled, and silence returned. Shadow struggled to make up for the damage caused by the brutal bombardment of the double-barreled ripping gun, and did not intend to give in to it. The supernatural blackness shows extraordinary tenacity, neither the flames nor the explosion can penetrate it, and it is as if there are a variety of completely incompatible substances pushing and shoving, presenting a strange phenomenon that is also distinct between black and black, not to mention the material world, even in the bizarre astral realm, this situation is too unbelievable.

"Hey, didn't you say you'd wait and see?" Kyro was caught off guard by the sudden attack of the arms maniac, still rumbling between his eardrums. There was also gunsmoke in his nose, and he really couldn't understand the logic of the forty-seven places - this guy seemed to react very differently from normal people in the face of anything.

"It's getting too slow, I add some catalyst. "The mechanical adjustment on Forty-Seven's arms reorganized, and the huge chainsaw sword grew out of his hand as the activated metal parts were constructed. He was taller, and the crimson ghost in his eye sockets swayed fiercely, casting a shadow on the black shadow on the opposite side, turning into a multitude of stars.

If light could not penetrate matter, the shadows would have been reduced to full-fledged matter by now. They seem to have reached a certain consensus and stopped strangling and devouring each other. Ending the chaotic expansion and struggle, he began to approach from all directions in the form of an encirclement, and there were no more gray peaks and ground in the place he passed, and even the light and air had to be familiar with each other.

In Kairo's eyes, the color and shape of this black tide land was very close to the alkaline lake in the swamp of the rain city - the gods, she didn't want to fall into it again.

"Really......" realizes that he will probably never be able to rely on Sister Morriel like he did

Seventeen years later, she was on her way to something. A little crystal splashed on the finished chainsaw sword, and it immediately evaporated. Many dazzling ice flowers appeared around the girl. Butterflies fluttered around her, reflecting a magnificent light even in the dim sky of dusk.

"What can this little trick do?" Forty-Seven activated the chainsaw sword, and the deafening noise was immediately accompanied by a roar of hot wind from the steel blades of the door, blowing the ice mist around Kairo almost as soon as it dispersed.

The girl's face was still nervous, but her gaze had gradually changed from panic to determination.

"I'm here to protect Sister Moryl!"

The ice crystals form ice flowers, which are then joined into ice cubes, and finally form a hexagonal ice shield that hovers around her, encircling Kairo and Moriel, who is in a state of distraction.

Forty-Seven taps his chainsaw sword to Kyro's magical ice shield. The dagger-like sharp teeth staggered at high speed, creating a large amount of flying ice slag on it. It's like a small blizzard - but the ice shield only shows a long scratch and doesn't shatter completely, proving that its performance can stand the test of revolution.

Entities with a certain physical significance finally appeared in the shadowy matter that marched in formation. They were still flowing or burning, and their indistinct forms were gradually solidified into twisted and deformed limbs. Slowly escaping from the sea of shadows, as if the horrors that had been buried in the deepest part of the night for so long had finally accumulated enough power to give birth to a real nightmare into the world that woke up.

Some of these black grotesques have humanoid-like arms and legs, but most have more and more disgusting shapes. Undeterred by the terrible noise generated by the chainsaw sword, they continued to approach quietly. Hands or claws hold weapons that are also black.

Forty-Seven Kong swung the giant sword, and the air flow blew through the blade rapidly, emitting a continuous thunderous sound.

"Good. The Iron Warrior turned his back to them. The armor that was still constantly being constructed and changing reflected a nightmarish mess of images: "Then I'll play with the 'Bloody Earth'." ”

Morriel sat on her throne in the Archmage's Tower, her intricately patterned blood-red robes dangling over her bare feet, energetic magical symbols glittering in the folds.

The study was silent. The walls are lined with scrolls, and they also shimmer with a small and tumbling light, sometimes in the east and sometimes in the west, completely irregular, and cannot be ignored even in the afternoon sun. No apprentice or assistant mage would dare to disturb the solitary prophetic mentor at this moment, no matter how urgent.

She looked away from the flat parchment scroll in front of her, which had been there for almost an afternoon, and turned her head to look out the window. The wide pure gold seat quietly turned half a circle on the carpet, which matched the owner's movements well.

The skies in the city of Serre are usually dark and yellow. The two suns hung in turn in the air like hairy egg yolks, and they had no lustre, and they would be fine to stare at them all day. The wind is always covered with fine dust, which not only blows on the faces of pedestrians, but also rustles against the magically reinforced floor-to-ceiling steel windows.

Through the grand window framed by pure gold at the top of the Archmage's Tower, the view of half of the city of Searle can be seen at a glance.

Numerous minarets line each other, and large areas of large-scale artificial forests are erected. It is precisely because the owners of these towers, the red-robed mages of Serre, are ruthless and greedy to grab resources, concoct a series of spells to recklessly transform the weather, and endlessly squeeze the originally not fertile land to obtain unnatural harvests, which makes the climate in the Serre region worse and worse. Naturally, it does not laugh at the humble race of man, for example, who gain a little strength and arrogance, but only tells the ignorant with the law of indifference and karma that the beautiful environment in which you live is not specially prepared for you, and it does not matter if you insist on destroying your homeland into a dead wasteland - although there is a huge difference between black and white, in the eyes of the existence called "color", there is no difference.

But the red-robed wizards didn't have time to care about that. They either yearn for freedom or for greater power. It didn't matter where the city of Searle and the whole world would end up because of their actions, the only thing worth throwing all their might into was bringing down the guy who had stepped on their heads.

Morrill stared at the dark city of Searle against the backdrop of a dusk canopy.

The wind outside was low, whispering and whimpering.

Isabella has been brought down. Her preference for torturing her enemies rather than destroying them was probably a mistake she would never be able to overcome...... This was about twenty years ago. Maybe thirty years? The past is like a castle built on the beach to her, washed back and forth by the waves of time a few times, and then it will fall apart and disappear without a trace.

Contrary to the past, Morriel's path ahead is clear and firm. Eliminate dissidents, expand their power, grasp the power of the Red Robe Mage Society as much as possible, and calmly deal with the conspiracy between the chief mentors of each faction. She's done a good job, and so far, three mentors have been ruthlessly swept into the garbage heap by her to be in the company of the former prophetic mentors, and in their place are the "young men" she has raised - although their ambitious eyes are also watching Moriel's back, no one has the slightest chance under the precise and perfect estimation of the prophetic mentors.

Morriel's gaze seemed to have pierced through time and space, casting it into the cold fortress of the Lich on the other side of the city. As strong as Victor, she can only take a defensive posture in the face of her aggressive offensive now, because the power of the prophetic mentor is so strong, everyone, everything, and every plan cannot hide her predictions, and the process is meaningless in the face of the predestined result, perhaps because of this, Moriel's memory is so vague.

So very little...... At this moment, she will also fall into inexplicable trouble.

Illustrious power, infinite power, are these predestined? The mage is no longer young, and although the powerful magic still perfectly maintains her appearance in the state of a graceful lady, Moriel himself knows that she is like a rusty ball, following a predetermined trajectory towards the end without any accidents.

Rusty. This nondescript, spontaneous metaphor almost amused her. Why do you think so?

A momentary lightness is followed by a barren emptiness. Morrill closed his eyes in disgust. Victor was doomed, and she could even feel the cracking sound of the Lich's Deathbox shattering in her hands. Then she will reign over the entire Red Mage Guild, ruling the fate of all - the final result is neither surprising nor even worth expecting.

The balls are following the shortest shortcut between two points. But there's an old proverb that says: Focusing too much on results leads to shortcuts, and shortcuts lead to mistakes.

Very big bug.

Morrill opened his eyes again. But what is the real result?