Chapter 160: Astartes Power Armor
"Cracking it shouldn't take long." The other three zealots were very decisive.
One of them took out an oddly shaped object that resembled a pocket watch.
On it was the same dark mark that appeared between their brows.
They had used this item earlier to crack the magical barrier around the outer perimeter of the base.
It had been bestowed by the great Lord of Darkness, Dormammu.
But before the zealots could act, the door of the house unexpectedly opened.
Blackheart walked out wearing a rather ridiculous floral shirt and beach shorts. In his hand was a tall glass full of juice, and a straw hung from his mouth.
Standing within the range of the barrier, he looked at the uninvited guests before him. On his pale, handsome face was the expression of someone looking at idiots.
"You interrupted my show, fools."
Blackheart was still Blackheart, arrogant as ever.
He looked down on these puppet-like nobodies.
The zealots did not care. None of them felt anger or fear. They were machines. As long as they could complete their mission, even death did not matter.
After all, they believed death was only the beginning of life.
The great Lord of Darkness would revive them and grant them new life.
"Son of Mephisto, are you willing to remain imprisoned here forever?"
"Do you not hate the one who imprisoned you?"
The female zealot spoke coldly.
"So?"
"We can cooperate."
"Cooperate?"
Blackheart looked amused. Then he raised a finger and pointed behind the fools, giving them a hint. "Why don't you look at what's behind you?"
The four zealots were shaken. Every muscle in their bodies tensed instantly as they formed hand seals and turned around at once.
The moment they turned, all four of their eyes widened.
Because behind them, where there should have been no one, a group had appeared.
There were several hundred of them.
They stood in two clearly divided formations. The Astartes stood solemnly beneath the moonlight, clad in heavy Gothic armor based in matte black, edged with gilded patterns.
The aged dark-gold finish carried a sacred feeling of deathly silence, solemnity, and iron-blooded resolve. Crimson eye-lights glowed faintly behind their helmet visors, the only living light within those cold suits of armor.
Their shoulder plates were square and hard-edged, with inverted cross patterns engraved on the outside. Several special strips of paper hung from them. They were magical items, purity seals made specifically against demons and negative powers.
Layered eagle-wing reliefs covered their breastplates, while gilded trim decorated the edges and seams of the armor.
Dark-brown cloth battle skirts hung from their waists. Their leg armor was thick and solid, with circular emblems printed on the knee guards. Specially designed firearms were equipped at their waists.
Some Astartes held massive cross-shaped swords. Some carried battle axes. Others held spears. Their weapons were not standardized, but the weight and pressure gathered from them made the four zealots almost unable to breathe.
The other side was much simpler. Red windbreaker cloaks, combat shirts made from special material beneath, leather pants and Martin boots below, firearms hanging at their waists, and long scythes, spears, and cross swords on their backs.
The magical patterns on their clothing were complex and layered, but very faint. They did not ruin the overall look of the outfits. Instead, they made them seem even more refined.
Combined with the tall figures and bearing of these women, they were beautiful, handsome, and full of a powerful aesthetic.
They were like Valkyries, and in presence, they were not inferior at all to the armored warriors on the other side.
Without question, the four zealots' originally deathly still hearts were shaken.
It was fear.
One pair of eyes after another stared at them as if looking at dead men. The enormous gap in life level, the vast will gathered by the military formation, even if unconscious, struck the minds of the four zealots with tremendous force.
The zealots, who had once feared no death, had their courage crushed.
Not only those zealots, even Blackheart could not help clicking his tongue, trembling inwardly.
He knew all too well that any one of these people could fight him for a very long time.
Every single one of them was a monster.
Now there was an entire group of them, wearing full armor and combat uniforms. Blackheart had no doubt that an army made up of these people would be an extremely powerful force even if thrown into Hell.
Any demon lord would covet them.
They would want nothing more than to take them for themselves.
Well, this was something else. These four fools were enjoying treatment even he had never experienced.
He did not know whether to call them lucky or unlucky.
"Damn it. Zara, go!"
The black-haired Asian zealot had already realized this was a trap. He roared to wake his companions, then immediately began casting, trying to open a path of survival for them.
It was not because he was especially noble or willing to sacrifice himself. Extreme rationality had simply made him choose the most beneficial option.
Unfortunately, this zealot soon discovered that no matter how he tried to cast, he could not mobilize magic.
Unable to use magic, a Master of the Mystic Arts was only a little stronger than an ordinary person.
Compared with the soldiers of the Astartes and Raven Warbands, he was simply a dish served on a plate.
At the very front of the Astartes, one soldier walked forward with steps that looked heavy but were actually effortless. His massive frame, nearly two meters wide, made the pressure rise with every step he took.
The hearts of the zealots pounded wildly.
The soldier arrived before them, holding a huge battle axe. From above, he looked down at them, the narrow red lenses of his helmet fixed on the group.
He reached out with his other hand. The heavy metal gauntlet opened, and his large hand grabbed the Asian male zealot by the head.
Then he lifted him up by force.
Seeing this, the other three zealots suppressed their fear, drew the magical daggers from behind their waists, and launched a flurry of attacks at the armored warrior before them.
Unfortunately, the magical daggers only scraped sparks across the thick armor, failing to cause even the slightest damage.
Instead, the recoil made their hands ache.
Bucky ignored the three zealots who were basically giving him a massage. He stared at the expressionless Asian zealot before him, then at the dark mark on the man's forehead.
He reached a conclusion.
"Minions of darkness, beyond saving. Intelligence cannot be interrogated through normal methods. Needy, they're yours."
With a casual throw, he tossed the Asian zealot in front of the Raven Warband formation.
Then he swung his fist one by one, knocking the remaining three zealots unconscious.
At the front of Raven, Needy crouched on one knee before the Asian zealot. She extended a finger and, ignoring his cold gaze, touched it to his forehead before closing her eyes.
Invisible psychic power instantly passed through the zealot's brain.
"Tch. His consciousness has almost been assimilated by darkness. No wonder he's so cold."
While reading his memories, Jennifer complained inside Needy's mind. Jennifer did not like that power. It was very evil. Once touched, it would corrode the soul like a parasite burrowing into bone.
Without special methods, the soul would sooner or later be assimilated, reduced to a slave and hound of darkness.
They would not even have their own thoughts or emotions left.
...
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