Dominic's gaze swept over everyone present, finally settling on Bishop Venka and the Archpriest:
"Everyone, leave the Machine God. No one is allowed to step inside without my order."
After the words were spoken, the temple was silent for a moment, then a low murmur arose.
"Major General, you mustn't!" The priest suddenly raised his head, his metallic voice crackling with a rapid electrical pulse.
"The core of the Machine Spirit cannot afford the slightest mistake, and to let an outsider..."
" The Machine Spirit is already failing." Dominic's voice turned cold, his blue-gray eyes revealing the steely resolve typical of a soldier.
"The ceremony was performed, the holy oil was poured, and the prayers were recited for three hours, but what was the result? The purity is still decreasing."
He pointed to the throne, his tone resolute:
"Either watch the Gemstone become a plague fortress, burning us all to the ground, or trust me this once and give me an hour."
"I, Dominic Ventria, will take full responsibility for anything that happens."
The last sentence struck like a hammer blow to the heart.
Bishop Venka's lips moved, as if he wanted to persuade him again, but seeing the resolute look in Dominic's eyes, he swallowed his words.
Everyone knows this major general's temper; once he makes up his mind, nothing can change it.
More importantly, they really had no other choice.
"... I will obey your orders."
The old bishop sighed heavily, gave a Aquila Salute to the throne, and then waved for the clergy and priests to leave.
Although the priest was unwilling, he could only lead the technicians out in single file.
As Karen's adjutant passed by Dominic, he whispered, "Take care, General," and then led the guards to close the heavy bronze doors of the temple.
After the muffled creak of the hydraulic shaft, the temple fell completely silent.
Only two people remained, along with a rusted throne and the faint crackling of electric arcs in the air.
Dominic turned around and met Sorine's gaze.
His eyes, hidden beneath the hood, were calm, like a frozen lake, revealing no emotion, yet exuding a strange certainty.
He suddenly remembered his two previous encounters in dire straits, the faint silver-red light, and the warning that always hit the nail on the head.
Perhaps, this really is guidance sent by the God-Emperor.
He drew an Imperial Aquila on his chest, closed his eyes, and whispered the shortest possible prayer.
There were no lengthy prayers, only the simplest wish: May the Emperor protect the Gemstone and all the soldiers and civilians on board.
After finishing his reading, he opened his eyes, no longer looking at Sorine, and turned to walk straight towards the rust-covered throne of the Machine Spirit.
"Sizzle!"
Just as he stepped into the ten-meter warning line, a dark green arc of electricity as thick as a wrist shot out from the throne and struck him hard.
Dominic froze instantly.
It wasn't just a regular burning pain; it was a numbing and stinging sensation that traveled along the blood vessels and nerves into the bone marrow.
The corrosive force, carried by the electric current, frantically drilled into the pores, like countless tiny maggots gnawing at flesh, and a moment of darkness instantly blurred before my eyes.
He staggered, his right hand clenched into a fist so tightly that his nails dug deep into his palm, as he forced his fading consciousness back through the excruciating pain.
One step, two steps, three steps...
With each step forward, the electric arcs became more concentrated.
Later, dozens of Lightning bolts of varying sizes intertwined into a net, striking his uniform, his bare skin, and his cheeks.
The edges of his uniform began to char, and stinging red marks appeared on his skin, but his back remained ramrod straight, like a spear thrust into Thunder.
Adrenaline surged through his body, propelling him across the final few meters.
Finally, he reached the throne.
Looking up, the once shiny and smooth pure steel chair back was now covered with uneven rust marks, and dark green slime had accumulated in the grooves of the runes.
The once majestic throne now resembled a skeleton pulled from a mass grave.
But Dominic looked at it and suddenly laughed.
Her smile was soft, carrying a hint of relief and tenderness.
From the day he took over the warship, he knew that one day he would face life and death with it.
I just never expected this day to come so quickly and in such a disastrous way.
If it's truly beyond saving...
Being able to walk the last leg of the journey with it isn't so bad.
He raised his hand, brushed away a layer of fine fungus from the armrest, then turned around and sat down without hesitation.
"Boom!!"
In an instant, all the electric arcs surged wildly!
It wasn't just a physical electric shock, but also a shock to the soul.
If billions of steel needles were to pierce through the top of the head, drilling deeper along the pathways of consciousness.
Dominic grunted, his right hand gripping the armrest tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.
The prosthetic left arm had already failed due to the high-voltage current.
He "saw" it.
Not with the eyes, but with the soul.
He saw deep within the consciousness of the Gemstone, a vast and desolate steel wasteland.
Dark gray clouds hung low, and Thunder roared and surged within them, crashing down on the earth and sending countless Mars flying.
Beneath my feet lies cracked, metallic earth, crisscrossed with ravines like the keel and pipelines of a warship—desolate, untamed, and brimming with the wildness forged by a thousand years of war.
This is the Machine Spirit world of the Gemstone.
But now, this wasteland is being swallowed up by decaying greenery.
A filthy, dark green, poisonous rain fell from the sky, landing on the metallic ground with a hissing, corrosive sound, leaving patches of mold-like rust.
The dark clouds were stained a disgusting dark green, expanding like rotting cotton.
A fierce wind swept through, carrying plague germs, leaving steel crumbling and the earth decaying in its wake.
Deep in the sky, a fierce battle is raging.
Countless dark green moths formed a giant, grotesque face, its outline twisted, resembling Phelps.
The swarms of moths were overwhelming, each wing covered in rusty powder, as they frantically devoured the Thunder in the clouds.
While the lightning, representing the will of the Machine Spirit, remained ferocious, it had clearly lost ground.
The lightning grew dimmer and smaller, its range shrinking, like a trapped beast roaring helplessly within the embrace of plague.
Phelps.
Dominic recognized the face instantly.
He actually survived! He even merged his remnant soul with the Rust Plague and burrowed into the core world of the Machine Spirit!
Almost simultaneously, the ghostly face made of moths lowered its head and "looked" at the tiny human consciousness on the ground.
"Oh? What a pleasant surprise."
Phelps's voice was like rusty iron scraping together, carrying an undisguised mockery:
"Major General Dominic, how dare you barge in? What, have you exhausted all the methods outside and are now planning to come in and die yourself?"
The swarm of moths buzzed and flapped their wings, and countless moths broke off from the ghost face, rushing towards Dominic like a green sandstorm.
"You think your weak mortal soul can withstand the plague of the Grandfather?"
"Ridiculous!"