"What's wrong?" Zhou Yun asked Malkit with an innocent look.
The hazy gray aura of death around him twisted and coiled like tentacles.
With just one glance, Malkit felt as though death were licking at his nerves.
His expression looked exactly like that of an unlucky grot whose toes had been stepped on by an Ork, as if he were about to scream at any moment.
Malkit stared fixedly at Zhou Yun.
The gloomy aura of death around Zhou Yun gradually faded, but rather than disappearing, it seemed to have entirely withdrawn beneath his skin and flesh.
It was some kind of blessing from the depths of the Warp, terrifying enough to make one's heart tremble.
In his mind, the angels seemed deeply wary of the source of this blessing. They only vaguely mentioned something called "The Cursed One" and refused to say more.
Malkit could not help placing a hand on the triangular sword at his waist, his eyes filled with intense vigilance as he looked at Zhou Yun.
Zhou Yun blinked in confusion.
What was wrong with this cultist Malkit? He looked like someone had stuffed seven Nurglings and eight Bloodletters up his ass.
Faced with Zhou Yun's confused expression, Malkit could only let the corner of his mouth twitch slightly.
He waved his hand, and the plague zombies beside him poured onto the spiral staircase.
Under his control, those plague zombies entered the underground catacombs beneath the administrative building.
A moment later, Malkit shook his head at Zhou Yun.
The plague zombies that had entered the catacombs first had found nothing.
There was only an empty biomass pool bubbling away.
Neither the Tyranid behemoth nor the Genestealer Patriarch was anywhere to be seen.
But Zhou Yun and Malkit both understood that the Genestealer Patriarch could not possibly