N-A-A 0080 The God of War: As long as blood flows, he doesn't care whose blood it is.
0080 The God of War: As long as blood flows, he doesn't care whose blood it is.
By the time Supera realized something was wrong, the gladiators had already clashed with the chaotic beastmen.
There were no battle cries, no charges, no roars, and no bloody slaughter.
The gladiators, wielding swords and shields, stood as still as iron, raising their shields at the perfect moment to block the claws and crude weapons of the beastmen.
Then, standing behind them, gladiators wielding lances thrust their spearheads through the gaps in their shields, aiming them at the beastmen.
In the first minute of bleeding, the beastmen were as if they had crashed into a silent meat grinder, shredded into corpses and lying on the red sand, while the gladiators were completely unharmed.
Supera involuntarily placed his hands on his knees, and he found his legs trembling slightly.
A chill ran down his spine.
What does this feeling resemble?
The pet dog in the house suddenly started talking, the cows and sheep stood up and picked up weapons, and the apes began to learn how to forge complex tools.
Gladiators should be bloodthirsty, ferocious, and foolish; all their killing skills are for the purpose of causing more bloodshed.
Such a battle formation, such cautious tactics, such a high level of organization...
Supra felt nauseous.
"Deapak," he said to the worm, "make them bleed."
Deepak bowed in fear, the implant on the back of the Cyclops' head flashing a nauseating yellow light.
In the second minute of bleeding, the Cyclops' body began to twitch unnaturally. The spears piercing his head seemed to no longer cause him pain. He was completely overwhelmed by madness, grabbed two strong beastmen beside him, and threw them into the battle line despite their struggles.
Angron leaped from the battlefield, displaying his powerful muscles—sculpted from marble by the finest craftsman—to the high-ranking riders. His legs were more agile than those of Hermes from ancient Terran legends, and his arms, like those of a Hercules from primordial mythology, gripped a battle axe gleaming with brass, which he swung down at the two beastmen hurtling down from mid-air.
Blood rained down, and the bodies of the two beastmen shattered in the blink of an eye, their blood-splattered bodies falling onto the red sand.
Angron struck the Cyclops's face like a cannonball, deforming and twisting the Cyclops's skull under the intense impact, causing its entire body to fall onto the sand.
The giant fell before the true colossus, and Angron stepped on the Cyclops's head lying on the sand, raising his brass battle axe.
The battle-axe gleamed in the blazing sunlight, its brass sheen sweeping across the faces of every high-ranking rider.
All the spectators held their breath.
Then, the battle axe fell.
The Cyclops' head seemed to be struck by a meteorite falling from the sky at that very moment. The sound of an orange being crushed rang out, the head exploded, skull fragments flew everywhere, and brain matter formed a rather beautiful spray on the red sand.
Three minutes into the bleeding, cheers resounded throughout the entire arena.
Even the most contemptuous high-ranking riders were conquered by this moment of carnage.
In the fourth minute, the gladiators took their first step forward, their movements so synchronized that the red sand trembled.
In contrast, the Beastmen seem to be the embodiment of primal madness; they are chaotic and disorderly, some fleeing while others launch frenzied charges at the gladiators.
The sword blade is drawn from its sheath, like a beast's fang drawing blood.
The gladiators' formation began to change, their flanks expanding into a crescent shape that slowly enveloped the beastmen.
"What the hell is this?!" Lacita cursed.
This level of organization is so bizarre, it's as if they're all thinking with the same brain.
Even Lasita's elite guards, trained for years, could never reach such a level of effortless control.
"What do they need this kind of organization for, a bunch of gladiators?"
Lasita questioned sharply.
Why is the air so hot?
Supra was panting heavily; he felt the air around him getting hotter and hotter.
His gaze suddenly stopped on a gladiator in the arena.
Zhou Yun...
Five minutes into the bleeding, Lord Supra's gaze was drawn to the gladiator named Zhou Yun.
Of course he remembered him, but he remembered even more that Zhou Yun had already been implanted with the Butcher's Nail.
The butcher's nail on his skull was gleaming silver, but there was no trace of pain or anger on his face.
He stood there, unmoved, in the center of the gladiators, in the eye of the storm...
The bleeding started in the sixth minute.
With the death of the Beastmen, the veil grew thinner and thinner, to the point where it could be torn apart with a snap of the fingers. The accumulated potential energy of the subspace surged and rolled, yearning to tear open the veil and enter the dimension of reality.
This potential energy, accumulated beneath the arena and born from sacrifices to the demons of Khorne, is now uncontrolled and unabsorbed.
This slaughter is the final sacrifice of this arena. As the gladiators slaughter the beastmen, the warp energy forged from bloodshed, killing, honor, and victory is converging upon them.
Under normal circumstances, even Zhou Yun would not be able to control this potential energy by himself.
But he is not alone.
The bonds of brotherhood, the gladiators' fierce battles, and the gifts from the Future War Dog Think Tank.
These factors gave Zhou Yun the opportunity to manipulate this vast subspace energy.
The bleeding started in the seventh minute.
Supra stared at Zhou Yun, and for a moment, their eyes met.
He remembered what Zhou Yun had said when he stood in the arena.
"He wants to give the high-ranking riders, and me, a war."
"Supra said softly."
"Sir?" Deepak asked, puzzled.
"A war that has been fought with bloodshed," Supra said again, as if to himself.
"I'll organize a personal guard, and I'll make sure these slaves don't get away with this—" Lasita suddenly stood up.
But before she could finish speaking, she looked into the arena in disbelief.
The bleeding in the eighth minute.
The subspace was roaring, its potential energy having accumulated to its limit.
Every gladiator felt what Zhou Yun felt; every gladiator could feel the storm forged by their victories and honors, their killings and bloodshed, lurking beneath the surface of reality.
They had never felt so close to each other, their thoughts linked, their bloodlines merging beyond the material, their souls resonating in unison.
And so, the high-ranking riders heard the first battle cry from the gladiators.
It is not dedicated to the beastmen, but to the high-ranking riders.
And so, after obtaining the last drop of blood from this red sandy land.
Zhou Yun's voice rang in the ears of all the gladiators and all the high-ranking riders.
"High-ranking riders, do you know this? The God of War doesn't care whose blood it is, as long as blood is flowing."
"The blood of the enemy is as important as one's own; only those who shed blood can receive the blessings of war."
"Now, let me teach you, who have never shed blood, what war is."
"Sacraments"