Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

Can be cured, but not cured.

What He Shenyan has to do now is to reshape the brains of Arianto and Targaryen without damaging their memories and personalities. Brain damage recovers.

However, the small hole that the dark sorcery ripped open in their brains made things a little more difficult to handle, and it could be called a considerable degree of intractability.

He Shenyan suddenly frowned: "Angron, how much do you know about the Butcher's Nail?"

"A psionic surgical implant. Passes through the skull, deep into the brain, amplifying the madness and anger of the victim... Don't you know these things?"

"Of course I know this..." He Shenyan beckoned to him, his right hand still stably sending psionic energy to eat away at the tiny subspace cracks in Arianto's brain step by step. "Come and see this."

"Look carefully," he said coldly.

Angron bent down and stared at Arianto's exposed, slightly quivering brain with the rigor of a craftsman he had never had before. Unlike the pink color of a normal human, his brain is scarred and covered with holes and rough scratches that almost make one wonder if he is still alive.

The Lord of Red Sand sighed indistinctly.

No matter how many times he watched it, he couldn't get used to the harm the Butcher's Nail caused to his victims. Immediately after he overthrew the brutal rulers of Nukeria, he sent people to study how to remove the nails that had been beaten.

However, no matter how many researchers were added, and how many gladiators who would rather be the test subjects to gain a chance because they couldn't bear the pain, this problem has never been solved. Even after his return to the Empire, this stuff still haunts the depths of his nightmares.

He has seen this scene countless times.

Arianto's brain is slightly different. In the cerebral mediastinum, the deep ditch that separates the left and right hemispheres, he saw a symbol.

Khorne symbol.

The two crossed horizontal lines together form a rough X, with a horizontal line drawn at the bottom. A symbolic skull was formed, which was fluctuating with the tremors of Arianto's brain at this time, which was very strange.

Angron raised his head, his expression more serious than ever. His brows were furious, and it was obvious that he was really angry: "It is impossible for the followers of Khorne to hold back their desire to kill, and to engrave the symbol of Khorne in the brains of two Astartes without killing them."

"You're still awake."

He Shenyan sneered and clenched his right hand, increasing the level of psychic transmission. The golden flames spread to the entire open brain cavity, without causing any damage to Arianto's brain itself. As for the symbol of Khorne, it was completely burned out immediately.

"They have accepted the task of the Inquisition and come here, the last task."

The chic operation is still going on steadily, but He Shenyan made a chilling guess: "Just imagine—Angron, how could it be so coincidental?"

"Are you suspicious of the Inquisition?"

"Shouldn't I be suspicious?"

Angron was silent for a while, he narrowed his eyes, and when he was thinking, he would habitually bar his teeth, as if he was going to cut off someone's head at any time in the next second: "It is doubtful, but they have no reason to do this. "

"That's the problem, if they're still loyal, there's no reason for them to. But what if there's a traitor among them? Or, I'll take it a little more seriously."

He Shenyan withdrew his hand, Arianto's brain recovered, the scar disappeared, the skull returned, and the scalp was tightly stained. His eyelids trembled, and when he woke up, he heard the mage's solemn and cold voice: "...there are only a few loyal ones among them."

"What happened, my lord?"

"It's none of your business."

He Shenyan untied the restraint for him, allowing Arianto to get up from the cold operating table. Then he patted him on the shoulder: "Go out and turn left, the blue light on the ceiling on the bridge is the center of the array, you can understand it as a machine soul. Go ask it, where is the casting room, your armor and weapons are being updated."

"...I see, my lord."

Arianto stood barefoot on the cold silver metal floor paper, and Angron gave him a concerned look. But the scarred warrior turned his eyes away, not colliding with Angron's eyes. He glanced at Targaryen, who was still lying on the side with his eyes closed, and then walked out.

After he went out, they began to continue the topic just now. The mage continued on to the next surgical target, with Angron holding his chest and standing aside.

"You're making a pretty serious charge, Ho."

"I don't need to accuse anyone, I just need to go back to the empire. On the contrary, who is a traitor and who is still loyal, I can tell at a glance." He replied calmly, his hands were still not slow, and he opened the door. Targaryen's skull, as expected, also had a Khorne symbol printed on his cerebral cortex.

"But we can't go back now."

"Yeah, that's what I'm worried about." The mage lowered his head, and he threw out a sentence that made Angron feel chills: "But we'll go back soon—if you're a traitor, what would you do? ?"

He raised his head and stared at Angron, his golden pupils seemed to have flames burning: "When I returned to Terra, they had no chance of winning, but I haven't gone back yet... Do you think they What will you do?"

"We must leave now!"

Angron said hurriedly. Even if it was an empire in another world, he couldn't turn a blind eye to the people here - weren't they human? Was it not oppressed? He cannot allow this to happen.

"Don't forget the full STC... the study isn't over yet."

He Shenyan said gloomily: "It's this kind of conspiracy... dragging us here, He really understood my character."

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Walking in the silver corridor, Arianto had a hard time adjusting to his current situation.

The pain in the brain that would have lasted for a few minutes disappeared, and the stickiness that prevented him from thinking disappeared. Unparalleled smoothness, unparalleled...freedom. For the first time in 10,000 years, he felt free from any constraints.

He is no longer a slave to the Butcher's Nails.

A smile was fleeting, and Arianto knew how terrifying his appearance was from those scars, and he didn't want to scare the crew he might meet. However, he walked here at full speed for half an hour without seeing anyone.

Arianto couldn't help feeling secretly frightened by the size of this 'ship'. He asked about the blue light above his head, the center of the array, and the latter's answer was completely incomprehensible to him.

"Star Warship..." He muttered these four words, suddenly quickened his pace, and walked quickly around the corner. According to the guidance of the center of the magic circle, the casting room is here.

The black door, very recognizable, is very different from the surrounding silver metal. When he came to the door and was trying to get in, blue light emitted from the upper half of the door and scanned his whole body. A mechanical voice sounded: "Brother Arianto Dicario, welcome."

There was a hum and the door opened. He walked in barefoot, there were many metal frames inside, and some damaged power armors were on them, shrouded in blue light. His armor was hanging on one of the metal racks, and Givaudron stood by, apparently waiting for a long time.

"What are you doing?" Arianto asked indifferently, walking over to his armor and looking carefully at the old man who had been with him for 10,000 years.

After the betrayal of the World Eaters, their blue and white paint was naturally abandoned by the traitors, and Arianto, a loyalist, was also implicated. He also had to replace the color scheme that once represented his glory - Arianto chose to scrape off the paint himself, exposing the metal to its original color.

Dull gray, that's the color of his armor. The surface is full of scratches, craters and all kinds of small damage. Echoing his own, they have all been hurt, but still stand strong in this universe.

Now, he's healed, and so is his power armor.

"Come and see you—let me tell you something by the way."

"I don't need your reminder, Givaudan." Arianto didn't even look at him. "Even if you didn't betray, you disappeared from the battlefield at the time, and we couldn't find you. The mission given to you by Captain Erlen was to guard the passage on the right. You failed to guard it, and you ignored all communication requests."

"Because I passed out."

"Passed out?"

Arianto sneered: "What attack can make you faint? You have resisted Thunder Eagle's shelling head-on. When we dragged you from the ground, you even had the time to joke around. What? Can something knock you out, Sergeant Givaudron?"

"he."

A cold word.

Givaudan closed his eyes: "I want to stop him...I still remember the scene."

He stretched out his hand and pointed in front of him: "Eight meters from here is where Randall stood. He was cut in half by that monster, and his name was still in his mouth when he died."

"Over there, over there is Physician Ban Rolls, we call him the Silencer, remember? Because he doesn't talk all the time. He charged at them and got blasted in the head by the plasma."

"Here's Fire Hand Paro, bastard, I watched him enter the Legion, watched him die...he was all torn apart, blood splattered on my right eyepiece, and I had to put him A piece of it was wiped off and thrown on the ground. Because I had to keep fighting."

Givaudan closed his eyes and slammed Fang Qiu in the casting room full of power armor, like the conductor of an orchestra. He accurately stated the location of each person and the method of death of each person, precisely and ruthlessly.

"Twenty-seven people, I remember them all," Givaudan said. "In the end, it was me. They bought me time to destroy the chip of the artillery, so they couldn't use this thing to bombard you."

He laughed. "I remember charging at him, saying nothing, not shouting anything. Just . . . charging."

"enough."

Arianto stopped him and gave Givaudan a strong hug: "Enough, brother. I see."

"I didn't betray...I'm not a traitor," Givaudron was still muttering.