"I will die."
"But not now."
The instant before Szarekh's scythe descended, Joan had already swung the war banner in her hand, blocking the void scythe.
The power spear and scythe collided, golden flames and emerald energy intertwining.
"Prophetic ability?"
Joan had reacted before Szarekh even launched his attack.
But Szarekh was not surprised; it was normal for Psyker to possess such talent.
Before his emerald-flashing eyes, a series of force fields woven from invisible threads appeared. This was the tangible form of the anti-Warp field; any contact with the Warp would create ripples on it.
Sure enough, the anti-Warp field around Joan was rippling wildly.
Although he didn't know what method this woman used, no matter how stubborn she was, she was using the power of the Warp.
Szarekh sneered, slightly twisting the scythe in his hand.
The phase shift effect activated instantly. The scythe, like a phantom, passed through the war banner in Joan's hand, pierced through the energy field released by the iron halo behind Joan's head, and struck directly at Joan's head.
This was the crystallization of Necrons phase technology, capable of passing through any form of defense—
Suddenly, a clanging sound came from Szarekh's chest. His living metal body caved in, forming a dent, and his body uncontrollably tilted backward, as if some invisible iron fist had struck him.
Szarekh's body swayed slightly, and the scythe trembled with it, grazing past Joan's face.
Szarekh staggered back a few steps, somewhat bewildered.
What was that just now?
Even if this human woman could use Psyker in the Pariah Nexus, it would leave traces on the anti-Warp field; it wouldn't go completely unnoticed by Szarekh.
But the invisible force that the woman unleashed just now had not triggered any reaction from the blackstone, as if… as if it was entirely a force from the real universe, completely unrelated to the Warp.
"This is the power of faith," Joan said softly.
This was the power of the Superpower Training Box.
The Superpower Training Box was a relatively inexpensive item. Users could train with it for three hours a day over three years, after which they could master three abilities: instant movement, X-ray vision, and telekinesis.
One didn't even need to complete the training; just a few sessions were enough to crudely grasp these three abilities.
Now, these three abilities, if not commonplace in the Imperial Army, were at least something any random Commissar could pull off a few tricks with.
In fact, because a Commissar led a group of Astra Militarum who had learned telekinesis to ambush and blow up the head of an Orc Warboss, causing a series of 'I fink' among the Orcs, humans now automatically learned telekinesis when facing Orcs.
Szarekh was stunned by Joan's words.
Life instinctively fears the unknown, and even Necrons without souls are no exception.
His combat experience made him cautious. The Phaeron retreated a step, using his phase cloak to slip into a nearby Pocket Dimension, instantly creating several meters of distance from Joan, and then—
Splat!!!
The sound of a spear cutting through the air suddenly rang out. Joan completed her instant movement almost simultaneously with Szarekh, and the spear in her hand stabbed directly at Szarekh's head.
"By the The Deceiver!" Szarekh was startled, hastily wrapped himself in his phase cloak, and pulled a fallen Necrons corpse from the nearby ground, using its living metal body to barely block Joan's sudden attack.
Just like before, Joan's instant movement did not trigger a reaction from the anti-Warp field.
But Szarekh had considerable knowledge of space and dimensional technology. He could definitively say that Joan's teleportation just now did not go through a Pocket Dimension, but was some kind of more advanced, more mysterious spatial technology that he could not penetrate or perceive.
Szarekh, relying on his understanding of spatial properties, barely glimpsed a tiny bit of its mystery, but even that small glimpse nearly caused his computational units to freeze due to high occupancy.
"Is this still the power of faith?" Szarekh couldn't help but ask.
"This is the power bestowed upon humanity by Saint Doraemon, so of course, it is the power of faith," Joan replied with an unshakeable tone.
By the The Deceiver, indeed.
Szarekh cursed inwardly.
The Necrons's countless eons of technological accumulation were replaced by a mere phrase: 'faith'.
If that were truly the case, then why would the races of this universe bother with scientific research? Wouldn't it be more effective for everyone to simply worship a great god?
Szarekh swiftly exchanged blows with Joan for several moments, wielding his scythe.
He didn't believe this was truly the power of faith. He had studied human history and speculated that it was actually some technological product from humanity's Golden Age. This explanation was more acceptable to Szarekh than the idea of it being the power of faith.
Although it felt like admitting that Necrons's space and dimensional technology was inferior to that of Golden Age humans, it was still better than the idea that 'worshipping a great god' surpassed the Necrons's long eons of technological accumulation.
But the Necrons were not just skilled in space and dimensional technology; they were also skilled in...
Szarekh took a slight step back. The world before his eyes instantly slowed down.
Dust in the air drifted slowly, Joan's speed became sluggish, and the world seemed to be enveloped in a viscous, jelly-like substance.
The name of that jelly-like substance was time.
The Necrons were masters of time and space. They could create devices called chronometers, allowing themselves to slightly detach from the flow of time.
Everything in their eyes would slow down in the viscous flow of time, while only they themselves could move at a speed that transcended time.
Szarekh once again slipped into a Pocket Dimension, circling behind Joan. At this moment, Joan still moved like a snail in his eyes.
The Phaeron seemed to have already seen victory. He swung the scythe in his hand, striking at Joan from behind—
Joan suddenly turned her head with an impossibly fast speed, leaving a series of afterimages on the ripples of time. She smiled, looking at Szarekh, as if Szarekh was the small insect that had fallen into the viscous time.
Szarekh had lost his lungs sixty million years ago, but at this moment, he actually felt a sense of suffocation.
Item: Mad Clock.
This item directly adjusted the flow of time around Joan, its effect even surpassing that of the Necrons chronometer.
The war spear in Joan's hand thrust towards Szarekh's chest.
But just then, a chilling killing intent suddenly rose from afar.
Hobien White Deer stood on a hidden hillside. This position offered a clear view of the battle between Saint Girl Joan and the Necrons Phaeron in the distance.
He had been there since the battle began, concealed by the Lyttin's unique stealth abilities, waiting for the crucial moment to use the Ranger-style sniper rifle he had won from the Eldar Death Guard to eliminate a few Necrons commanders.
But before he could act, Saint Girl Joan and the Phaeron began a one-on-one duel of honor.
Thanks to this advantageous position and the magnification function of his bionic eye, Hobien White Deer could clearly observe the entire battle.
Based on Hobien White Deer's experience in betting on gladiator cages, the Saint Girl was undoubtedly on the verge of victory.
"What an easy mission. Praise the Emperor, praise the Champion," Hobien White Deer said with a smile.
Unlike others, Hobien White Deer still preferred to call Saint Doraemon the Champion.
Just then, Hobien White Deer's nose twitched slightly.
Lyttin have keen senses of smell, but what Hobien smelled this time was not a scent.
Instead, it was a cold, bone-chilling, insidious killing intent that wafted along with the gunpowder smoke from the battlefield.
The killing intent seemed to come from another dimension, another space, so subtle that Hobien almost wondered if he was too old and experiencing hallucinations.
But his body still involuntarily tightened its grip on the sniper rifle.
The lightweight, wraithbone-crafted body of the Eldar weapon gave Hobien a cold feedback. This wondrous weapon could amplify the user's perception.
This perception was not merely the five senses, but also a profound, ethereal feeling, a… a guidance of death.
When did Hobien White Deer acquire this perception?
Was it after competing in marksmanship with Alexander? Was it after half his body was burned by the Tyrant's spore mist?
He himself had forgotten.
This feeling was initially vague, but as time passed, as Hobien killed more and more people, this feeling became increasingly clear.
It was relying on this profound feeling that Hobien could pull the trigger and snipe enemies without using his bionic eye or any other sensory input.
It was as if a Queen of Death guided his targets.
Under the amplification of the Ranger-style sniper rifle, Hobien White Deer's perception intensified. He raised his gun almost without hesitation, pointing the slender muzzle in the direction that death indicated.
His mind suddenly conjured the image of Alexander when they competed in marksmanship back in Asford.
Many people knew about this event, and many Astra Militarum would recount Alexander's story, while Hobien, as a supporting character in that story, seemed insignificant.
And that miraculous marksmanship, Hobien had spent a lifetime learning.
All those studies, imitations, and training seemed to surge into Hobien's mind in an instant.
He felt as if he had become the training bullet Alexander had fired back then, shot from the past into the present.
In an instant, Hobien had an epiphany.
He was a bullet in the hand of Death, inadvertently touched by the power of the Death God, destined to be fired at a certain moment.
Hobien White Deer pulled the trigger, and the Eldar energy needle shot through the air.
In the distance, at the position Hobien aimed, a Death Guard's head emerged from a Pocket Dimension