Rooney Martel's soul suffered a heavy blow from abandonment, and the hope of being rescued from this dark and bloody grave was extremely slim, but now it has completely disappeared.
His only faith now is his children, but he gradually forgets these two names, and his children's faces are blurred in the fragments of memory.
The only thing that left behind in his broken consciousness is probably due to faith and prayer.
As a plumber, he was trapped deep in the pipes after the camp riot, hoping to support his sanity for the first few hours.
At that time, Rooney still believed that the emperor would show his holy power and a miracle would come.
But rescue has not come, and the extinguished hope is worse than pure despair.
At Rooney's death, he had an idea: the emperor never felt pity for him.
What followed was a more blasphemous idea - perhaps another mighty man dominate everything.
In this last series of coherent thoughts, Rooney was overwhelmed by fear.
The thin lines of rationality finally broke, and Rooney shouted and crawled forward in the darkness.
His work clothes were ragged, metal cut through the flesh under his skin, and his calloused hands were bleeding.
Suddenly, he groped around and touched a living thing. The thing screamed and strangled his neck. Rooney tried his best to resist, feeling his cracked nails pierced into a soft place - the scream then turned into a whine of despair, and the force that locked his throat gradually loosened.
Rooney gasped and roared, pushing and tearing and digging until the yelling and struggle fell into silence.
But the darkness has not subsided.
Rooney howled as if he wanted to use his voice to dispel the suffocating silence.
He didn't know that he had just killed his former friend, but the other party had long forgotten his name. Like Rooney, he had become an animal that surrendered to instinct in fear, only knowing crawling and fighting...
...and chew.
Rooney started eating.
Two days later, the thing that was once Rooney had forgotten too much. He didn't know where he was or why he was here.
He didn't know that he was originally a plumber, and was in the huge refugee camp in the Red Sand Mountains. The water supply of the entire camp relied on huge and complex temporary water supply pipes, and he was the one who maintained it.
However, the disaster happened.
The psychic wound was so deep that Rooney lost all the memories of the disaster, but he could still recall the arrival of darkness.
Even in the first few hours of being trapped, survivors are still helping each other, praying, and thinking.
Rooney didn't know why he was buried in the pipe. He just heard the news of the riot from the communicator, and then there was only shouting at that end.
Their entrances and exits of the pipelines were blasted, although small, but they were enough to trigger a chain reaction.
The energy supply was interrupted and the lighting was out. Although the pipes had enough air to hold for months, they did not carry any food.
Rescue never came. At first, people who worked together and helped each other began to compete for the remaining supplies, and finally fought for the meager residue.
Light energy brings advantages to survival. Soon, lamps become more valuable than food itself, and they become the targets that everyone competes for.
Once the battle breaks out in a narrow place like the tunnel, it is only a matter of time before the darkness comes.
The battle left Rooney covered in bruises and fell into the abyss of despair.
Life has no other meaning except struggle.
When the struggle was unable to go on, the silence of waiting for death enveloped everything, and anger permeated this painful time.
Anger at the enemy, anger at fate, anger at the darkness, anger at the rescue that has not come for a long time.
When Rooney could speak and understand the words, he heard anger spreading to the emperor in blasphemy.
Rooney never said such heresy remarks, and before him, the rope of hope still hangs from the sky.
He knew that someone was still praying, and that it was faith that supported him and allowed him to continue to endure the torture.
And now, everything was silent, and he no longer understood but the desperate hope disappeared without a trace.
He was seized by anger, and in this round grave, rage gathered.
Not only him, but also the resentment of tens of thousands of people biting each other in despair, the rage that motivates humans to make the ultimate betrayal, the condensation of many emotions after their hearts are ashamed, and the summary of the unfortunate people's cruel experiences.
The first step in the fall has taken.
Rooney roared in silence. He climbed over all the blood and bones, climbed up along the steep slope made of rubble, and used his bones and flesh to dig the broken rocks that sealed the grave.
His damaged lungs took a deep breath of dirty air and shouted endless anger and resentment.
But the gods he once worshiped did not hear it.
However, someone heard it.
The rubble was broken, and a pale face as corpse appeared, and black smoke surrounded his head.
"Come on, release your anger."
Rooney responded with a roar and scream, and it reached out its hand that turned into a claw and leaped out of its hiding place.
Outside, the breath of blood and smoke was filled with the breath of blood and smoke, stimulating its nerves, and the existence that released it was holding its hands together, moving its mutated lower limbs, appreciating all this with a cruel smile.
The sky of the camp was covered with smoke and clouds, and thick smoke was rolling among the ruins, and no building stood intact.
Garmozejie strided across the ruins, his taste monitoring nerve filtered the diffuse smoke, separating the burning wood from the smoldering plastic steel, and separating the flaming progesterone from the burning flesh and blood.
There are a lot of flesh and blood here, and the refugee bones fill the huge corpse pits, and hills made of corpses stand everywhere, several meters high.
Garmozejie passed through the death canyon between two corpse mountains. It was he who created all this. The leaping flames reflected on his purple-black power armor. The symbols on it bound the echoes of blood and fire, and melted into thousands of years of anger.
The emblem on his left shoulder armor is two connected black ‘卍’ symbols, representing the concept of the lost Second Legion without change.
He walked through the ruins, everything he saw, heard and tasted was destruction, and the bloody work was done well, but it was not enough.
After all, there is an entire Galaxy that needs a blood sacrifice, how can a mere planet be enough?
Then he arrived at the center of the camp, which was once a small church, and the largest massacre occurred around it, but most of the bodies were burned to ashes, so the pile of corpses was much lower than elsewhere.
The only remains of this church are the blackened stone foundations, like slaughtered corpses, and the burnt frames are like broken ribs.
Tubaker stood in the middle of the ruins, holding his arms, holding a staff in one hand, and a black crystal ball in the other, murmuring endlessly.