I'm a magnetic field madman

Just like his goal when he was a slave and longed for greater power!

The empire has been rebuilt, though it is ruled by two apes who have absolutely no connection to the orthodoxy—but that doesn’t matter, Malekith will serve them and be loyal to them!

And in the end, he will reclaim everything that is rightfully his—not just the Comoros, he will become the Phoenix King!!

Whether or not he possesses Asuyan's blessing is irrelevant; what he craves is supreme power, the power to rule over all, a power symmetrical to strength!

Lacas was very pleased with Malekith now, so he gave him another gift.

“Come, Malekith, let me give you a gift, a gift that will allow you to quickly stand out in the Eternal Court.”

Lacas chuckled hoarsely as he led Malekith to the deepest part of the Flesh and Blood Laboratory, where, under the dim light, jet-black monsters were being conceived within the transparent artificial womb walls on either side.

"These are..."

“A magnetic bioweapon, they call it the Demon God.” Lacas grinned, revealing sharp teeth.

"Interesting war beasts, they possess very novel design concepts, as well as rudimentary biological applications. But that's alright, I will gradually improve them, and these weapons will be your new capital for rising to power."

Malekith remained silent, stroking the slightly viscous texture of the transparent uterine wall, chuckling softly under Valosian's horrified expression...

"The Spirit Race Empire will be great once again!"

80. The Galaxy's First Collector

"The Spirit Race Empire will be great once again!"

Gazing at those demonic beings, touching the viscous uterine wall, feeling the powerful magnetic field force surging out through the barrier...

Malekith, feeling exhilarated, seemed to be able to envision his future of unifying the galaxy.

Lacas looked at Malekith and smiled without saying a word. He then left the room and quietly went to an inconspicuous lounge.

This wasn't prepared for him; a Grandmaster isn't a useless person who needs rest after work. This place is for the guests.

However, not many people are qualified to be Lacas guests, but this person in front of you is definitely one of them.

"Long time no see. Your place is still so dirty and messy. Don't you pointy-eared people know how to clean it up?"

The speaker was an unremarkable-looking dark Eldar, who was pretending to pour tea from his cup. Larcas glanced at him, casually pulled out a chair, and sat down…

“We have no time to waste on trivial matters. Our race is not like yours. We have no souls, so time is of no use to us.”

“Are you trying to provoke me? You know it's pointless.” Lacas’s guest put down his teacup and chuckled softly.

"Alright, let's get down to business. You know why I called you here; you broke our agreement."

“An agreement? Tarasin, our agreement only exists when I voluntarily release the Star God fragment.”

Lacas grinned wickedly at his guest, the galaxy's most renowned collector...

"But did I release them? No, I just transferred them to another active prison."

"I think it might be safer to be locked inside someone else's body than to be locked in one place."

"Do as you please," Tarasin sighed, but seemed indifferent...

He certainly didn't care. Although he was the overlord of the space necromancers, he clearly cared more about his collection than the long-lost glory of his race or the racial tendencies he himself couldn't even remember having.

From the War for Heaven to the present day, there are simply too many things that Tarachin doesn't care about.

Even though Ida considers them mortal enemies, he can still become a limited friend to oddballs like Lacas.

The universe will one day perish in the process of increasing entropy, and when that day comes, perhaps Tarachin will still be "alive".

So why care? Why bother?

Moreover, those two fragments of the Star God are destined not to cause much trouble. So what if they do cause problems?

It's not his place as a weak museum director to solve this problem.

"You don't seem interested in those visitors from other worlds?"

“I’m quite interested in them as a whole,” Tarasin said calmly.

"But their special abilities? Interesting, but that's about it."

He spoke frankly, which revealed Tarachin's confidence as a space necromancer.

Even those with strong magnetic fields, unless they become the ultimate powerhouse... would find it difficult to be taken seriously by an old monster who has lived since the War of Heaven.

He had personally experienced the war that threw the entire universe into chaos, followed the Silent King in shattering the gods who enslaved them, and witnessed the power of the Star Gods... Even those with strong magnetic fields were not enough to make them change color.

Perhaps the universe will undergo tremendous changes due to the existence of these powerful beings—but so what? Their existence and civilization will still stand until the very end.

The level of civilization they once reached is something that no race today can ever match... The combined peak of both human and Eldar civilizations is less than half, or even less, of their power at their peak.

Their opponent in the War of Heaven was the Creator God who shaped the entire Supreme Heaven... and then they turned around and shattered the Reality God who enslaved them.

Even though their civilization has fallen in great numbers, their technology and power still allow them to stand proudly at the top of the galaxy.

Are the Eye of Fear, which the Eldar fear, and the Rift of Reality, which troubles humanity, a problem for the Necromancers of space?

The Blackrock Fortress, which they created countless years ago, sealed the Eye of Terror for ten thousand years, and Abaddon's thirteen expeditions...

It was merely an attempt to move those relics sealed to the heavens from their original places.

Ultimately, the entire galaxy, whether human or Eldar...

The problems they feared and were unable to cope with were not problems to the space necromancers.

Those chaotic forces and the evil gods behind them were merely problems in the eyes of the space necromancers; they always had a way to solve them.

But they didn't care; after waking from their eternal slumber, all they wanted was to regain their souls.

This is not arrogance, but a matter of course. Even in the worst-case scenario, the space undead, once united by their divided dynasties, possess enough power to handle any disaster.

"You're not here to confront me, nor are you here to acquire any collectibles. So what are you here for?"

Lacas was somewhat envious of Tarasin's confidence. He crossed his four arms and continued speaking...

"I want to witness this historic moment with my own eyes." Tarachin chuckled, controlling the fleshly body with the Heart-Locking Beetle, and waved his hand mockingly...

"I want to see what it's like for that alien eternal 'queen' who restored the Eldar Empire to unify the entire empire—it'll be quite a sight!"

This is Tarachin's quirk: he enjoys collecting precious historical moments and preserving interesting things. If possible, he even wants to keep this valuable history in his collection forever.

Of course not now, because history only has value in recording what happened after it has completed its glorious phase.

Like the historical scenes in Taracin's collection, such as the death of Sun Lord Marcarius and the last Ark Council in the Idaho Ark world.

“And the outside world is quite lively now,” Tarasin continued.

"A polluted scar stretching across the galaxy should have torn the entire galaxy apart in a few years, but now things have changed. The future has become unpredictable, and even that charlatan Olkan cannot reach that future point."

At this point, Tarachin felt a sense of schadenfreude, after all, it was very rare to see his old rival suffer such a setback...

"The war you call the End of Days is coming, but I don't think it's all that bad," Tarachin laughed heartily.

"Civilization can never escape the cycle of birth, aging, sickness, and death. Only when decaying things are destroyed can new life emerge, right? But no matter what, I'm sure I won't be bored in the next few years... I'll also have plenty of time to pursue my precious collections..."

At this point, Taraxin laughed wildly and shut down the control of the Heartlock Beetle.

The dark Eldar then stared blankly, and walked out stiffly like a machine.

Lacas watched the body depart, his sharp fingernails slicing a bloodless wound across his own skin, his twisted face revealing a thoughtful expression...

He knew that the cunning thief was definitely plotting something.

To be honest, Tarasim doesn't really like transmitting consciousness...

The process of transferring one's consciousness from one entity to another is like a free fall through a planet's atmosphere.

He controlled the body of a lich guard from another dynasty that he had possessed, his limbs outstretched, liquid flowing from his metallic skin.

Talathim rearranged his armor, transforming the lich guard's scythe into his own scepter. Even within his own dynasty, Talathim was accustomed to rarely using his physical body.

"How is the situation?"

He casually asked the lich captain in front of him a question, and the latter, after flashing a few green lights, realized that it was his overlord speaking to him, and so he replied...

"Sir, they are still there."

“Perhaps I should just keep them both locked up there. A Primarch without a body and a Primarch with only a body, aren’t they a perfect match?” Tarasin stroked his metal chin and squinted.

A screen popped up in front of Tarachin, projecting two figures rampaging through his museum...

One of them was a man about three meters tall with long red hair, wearing a tasteless vest and cloak, and holding a long sword wrapped with chains tightly in his hand.

The other wore a purple-gold power armor with a terracotta shell, and her long, pure white hair danced in the wind, making her look like a handsome and proud peacock.

Taracin gave a soft hum. These two guys—or rather, one—had been wreaking havoc on his museum ever since they broke in… but because of the Four-Dimensional Cube Maze, they could never escape this place.

If an ordinary person dared to disturb Taracin's museum, he would surely be torn to pieces... But when such a special collection was delivered to his door, it was hard for Taracin not to feel envious.

Perhaps I should keep him as a collectible? Tarachin certainly thought so, after all, these two guys were just too perfect a match.

A body without its original form, a soul without its original form. Though utterly incompatible, both are excellent collectibles…

However, Tarachin decided to observe the situation before they caused irreparable damage—he wanted to figure out two things.

First, how did that guy, who was suspected to be the Primarch Angron, suddenly end up in Sonamles' pocket dimension?

Second, just how powerful is the rotation of that magnetic field?

"Seal the door, Chief Technician..." The security protocol of the Witch Guard Captain bypassed the normal chain of command. "Sir, call the Legion in."

"And then let my collection of historical artifacts be blown to bits by Gauss guns?" Tarachin scoffed. "I don't think so. Maybe we should call in some Death Marks."

“Sir.” The technician scribbled with some annoyance. The Great Hibernation had damaged his grammar matrix, and he could no longer remember the information unless he wrote it down.

"I've diagnosed a 'Link Failure.' The Legion failed to complete its final report, and I'm unsure if we can still summon the Death Seal."

“I’m handling it.” Taracin channeled his consciousness into the linked network through underground rivers of cables and pipes.

Then, Tarachin stopped his mental algorithm, realizing that the data in his brain was piling up and constrained, with past and present memories overlapping. So, he managed to free himself before his consciousness became chaotic.

Taracin rubbed his chin, his alloy fingers rubbing against the aged, weathered death mask.

He summoned a symbol panel and scanned the diagnostic results. Normal, but their location wasn't receiving any data, and the shadow clock was two minutes behind planetary time. Clearly, a glitch had slipped into the link, slowing the entire system.

Interesting. Who is doing this? Tarachin was quite curious because he didn't think that with the limited technology humans had, the Commander World's technology matrix could malfunction.

Having found it amusing, Tarasin immediately abandoned the body and, after a sensation akin to freefall, connected with one of the artifacts in his museum.

"Something is better than nothing."

Tarasin stepped out of the refined position, feeling the vitality of this body... He straightened the pointed hat with the Inquisition's mark on his head and adjusted the finely crafted explosive crossbow in his hand.

The human body isn't well-suited for combat, but Tarachin wasn't there to fight either. Rather, this Inquisitor's body was better suited for communicating with these Primarchs who were worshipped as gods.

Well—although the owner of this body is a woman, and an atheist.

81. Anglon's New Life

"Damn it, just blast them apart!!"

Frustrated and angry, Angron punched a mechanical skeleton in front of him that was covered in a glowing green light... The violent magnetic field instantly disintegrated and shattered the living metal body.

But this is meaningless, because in just a few seconds the undead will be retrieved from its tomb due to the activation protocol, and then recreated and released onto the battlefield.

"I hate battles without blood!" he said irritably.

"Brother, didn't you already break free from Khorne's control? Why do you still crave blood so much?"

That elegant and proper tone, with an indescribable sense of superiority, rang out beside Angron... At the same time, Ricard, who was trying to jump out and launch a sneak attack, was also cut down by his sword.

Without saying a word, Anglong delivered a swift and decisive punch to the garrulous purple peacock.

The opponent nimbly dodged Angron's attack, and his own sword was now crackling with electric arcs, ready to retaliate at any moment.

"Shut your beak!!" Angron retorted angrily.

"And you're not the real Forgrim, you're a clone! And don't call me brother, I have absolutely no relation to that mummified corpse!"

Fugen sighed sadly, then simply wielded his sword to shred the entire Tyranid swarm before him.

Why did Angron end up here? It was purely by accident.

He lived a very good life in the Hive of Sintira, or at least he was very happy.

He fulfilled his promise, stormed into Shangchao, and slaughtered all the nobles and governors who displeased him...

And after killing one-fifth of the planetary defense forces, he took full control of this power that belonged to the Empire.