40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 1 1. Come for you

Caryl Rohals raised his head and glanced at the gargoyle squatting above his head. The stone monster was silently looking into the distance of the night, opening its mouth fiercely and roaring silently.

"Goodbye." Caryl said to it.

He stretched out his hand from under the shelter of the eaves, his skin was pale, and there was a conspicuous tattoo on his wrist. After just a few seconds, his palm felt the cold raindrops, which made him retract his hand immediately.

However, a slight burning sensation had already come from the palm of his hand.

Caryl curled his lips, and a kind of displeasure flashed on his pale face, but it quickly disappeared.

"Good." He said to himself. "It's raining."

He turned around and moved his feet a little distance away to avoid being stained by blood. As for the source of the blood, you have to ask the corpse with its chest and abdomen opened at his feet.

Caryl bent down and turned the corpse over. His movements were gentle, but he heard a dull snapping sound in the process.

He knew that it was the sound of the corpse's internal organs falling out of the chest and abdomen and hitting the ground.

This made Khalil sigh and began to doubt whether his skills had regressed.

It was just a swing from bottom to top, how could he be disemboweled like this?

As he thought, he pulled the cloak off the corpse. The side that was originally facing inward was still stained with blood, so Khalil had to shake it and turn it over so that it could be worn.

A little knowledge, when it rains in Nostramo, if you have to go out at this time, then you'd better find something to cover yourself.

If not, don't go out from a place that can shelter from the wind and rain.

As for the reason

In Nostramo, rain is poisonous.

He walked out of the eaves, and there were no pedestrians on the road. There were many prying eyes in the darkness, looking at the shadow walking in the cloak with hungry eyes.

This is the case with the Quintus Hive of Nostramo, or any of the hives on Nostramo.

They are always crowded, always smelly, and full of choking smoke. The natural environment has long been destroyed by endless mining, and the sun has long left Nostramo.

Gangs divide up territories of all sizes, use violence instead of law, and control everything. However, they are actually just dogs raised by the upper nobles.

Between breaths, Khalil smelled a strong smell of rust. This damn smell filled his mouth, making his tongue like a rusty five-cent coin stuck between his upper and lower jaws.

The sticky feeling disgusted him very much, and what disgusted him even more was that he found that he had actually gotten used to this feeling.

Thinking of this, Khalil pulled the corners of his mouth and smiled, his shoulders naturally relaxed and drooped, and two silver lights were faintly visible at the cuffs.

It's raining.

It's a good day for killing.

He walked forward, across the dark metal bridge, through the narrow shantytowns, and as he passed by here, he could hear the uneasy whispers of the people in the shantytowns sleeping at night.

The smile on Khalil's face began to grow bigger and bigger, until it became a terrifying grin that made people panic. The skin was rigidly hung by the muscles, and the teeth rubbed slightly in the air.

The suffering people, the fallen people, the oppressed people. Even in their dreams, they dared only curse quietly.

Toxic chemicals filled the air, devouring the lungs, hearts, and bodies of these poor workers.

It also devoured their emotions, devoured everything they had. And the instigator enjoyed everything in his exquisite home, and didn't even have to see the death of the oppressed with his own eyes.

All this is not fair, isn't it?

Khalil continued to walk, and about half an hour later, he easily climbed over the towering wall and came to the door of a church.

It was so gloomy in the low night and toxic acid rain. Two gargoyles stared at him from the spire and stained glass windows. Raindrops fell vertically and smashed.

"Good evening."

Khalil greeted softly. His Nostramo language hissed in the damp stench stirred up by the rain curtain.

He took a step and walked forward, his posture was very different from when he walked on the street. The leather boots touched the ground without making any sound, and the speed was amazing. It was more like sliding than walking.

In this way, Khalil came to the side door of the church and put his hand on the handle. After half a breath, the heavy and locked metal door opened spontaneously, and Khalil didn't even push the door.

He smiled slightly, and a deep cold blue light flashed in his eyes.

——

"The money paid by Kolpa's gang is not enough, Father."

A man with tattoos on his face said so.

His skin was as pale as all other Nostramo people, and his pupils were completely black, but his figure was not.

Most Nostramo people were thin due to famine and oppression from the upper class, but he was very strong.

The man he called the priest did not answer immediately. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands together. At this moment, he was kneeling devoutly under the statue and praying.

"Father."

The tattooed man called out again hesitantly, and this time, the priest opened his eyes.

He stood up, and the man swallowed uncontrollably. There was no other reason than that the priest was simply too tall. Seeing the pressure he felt when he stood up was like witnessing a mountain peak moving its back in front of you, it was horrifying.

"The mine north of Kolpa?" the priest asked.

His voice didn't fit his figure. It wasn't heavy or deep, but seemed very gentle. When the Nostramo language came out of his mouth, it actually had some elegance to it.

This is not the accent of lower class people.

"Yes." The tattooed man replied. "The pit that produced the adamantine ore."

The priest sighed.

"Always," he said slowly. "There are always people who think they can escape God's gaze. I give them my favor, but they don't cherish it."

The tattooed man lowered his head - he did not dare to answer the priest's words. It was the priest's prerogative to talk about God and God's grace in the church.

"Send someone tomorrow."

The priest waved slowly.

"Bring Korpa to me, and I will personally make him understand how precious the love God has given us is. Sinners like him who commit ungodly sins should be shattered in hell."

He stopped speaking and stared at the man silently. His gaze was like a blade, coldly scraping through the man's bone marrow, causing him to tremble uncontrollably.

Finally, the priest slowly spoke again.

"Also, don't disturb me at night anymore, this is my prayer time."

"Yes, Father." The man quickly lowered his head and agreed, his back already wet with fine sweat.

"Are you religious, then, Father?"

A sound suddenly sounded, and then there was the sharp sound of metal rubbing against each other. There were no lights in the church, only a few candles burning quietly near the statue. Their tiny light is not enough to dispel the darkness.

Something was moving in the misty darkness.

The tattooed man's expression suddenly changed. He immediately came to the priest and took out a pistol from his waist.

The appearance of that thing was very rough, and the handle was even just a wooden board wrapped with tape, but it could kill a mutated beast in the wilderness outside the hive with one shot.

"Of course I'm religious."

The priest seemed unfazed and spoke softly. "And you, Your Excellency? Did you come to my church late at night to confess to me?"

"Oh confession?"

A low laugh came from the darkness: "I do have something to confess. Well, Father, I killed many people. In the beginning, he was just a bully who oppressed the miners. I hung him in his room."

"Then, I started getting out of hand. The second one was a bastard who used drugs to control the kids and sell their bodies."

"As for the latest one. Let me think about it. An unlicensed physician who liked to eat his patients. I picked him apart."

Hearing this, the tattooed man's hand shook violently, and his face became horrified. He had realized something.

The priest gently raised his hand and placed it on his right shoulder, calming the unstoppable trembling.

Then, he said: "Based on your description, I guess you are the vengeful spirit, right?"

"Revenge for whom?" the man in the darkness asked. "No one knows me in this city, who should I avenge?"

"So you're not killing for justice."

"justice?"

A sharp, piercing laugh suddenly came from the darkness.

The priest frowned, and the hand he held on the tattooed man's right shoulder tightened at this moment. The huge force made the man groan in pain. Even so, he did not dare to make any big movements.

There was a monster watching in the darkness, and there was also a monster behind him. He didn't know which was scarier.

"There is justice," the priest said slowly. "You are too extreme."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"So, do gods exist?"

"Nature exists too."

A low laughter came from the darkness, and a man in a cloak walked out of the darkness.

"Father, if God really exists, why doesn't He, who is all-knowing and all-powerful, send down thunder to punish us?"

"Because He has mercy on us," the priest said calmly. “He wants us to find our way back, not to cleanse our flesh with destruction.”

The tattooed man let out a low hiss of pain.

The priest's tone was calm, but the force exerted by his right hand became stronger and stronger. This is the source of pain for tattooed men.

The man in the cloak smiled again. He put down his hand, took off the cloak and threw it aside.

His skin color and eyes are the same as those of all Nostramo people. His skin is as pale as a corpse, and his eyes are as dark as tombstones. The colors are opposite, but they coexist.

The priest stared at him. The moment their eyes met and he saw the man's face clearly, he exerted force and crushed the tattooed man's shoulder blades.

A scream of pain like a beast suddenly broke out, the tattooed man fell to the ground, and the gun also fell to the ground. Blood began to spread on the floor.

"My name is Khalil, Khalil Lohars, Father." Khalil said with a smile. "How does this last name sound to you? Does it sound familiar?"

The priest raised his hand gloomily and unbuttoned his robe. Little by little, he took off the thick and solemn black priest's robe and threw it on the notice table nearby. The body under the robe is covered with crisscross scars.

On the chest, there is a tattoo.

"Familiar," the priest said. "There is no surname on Nostramo that I am more familiar with than Lohars."

"That's good."

Khalil smiled slightly and raised his hands, the two sharp blades reflecting the confusing light of the candlelight. He began to jump gently on the spot, his back relaxed, his posture leisurely, and the blade of the knife was looming at his wrist.

"Mr. Khalil"

The priest slowly clenched his fists, and there was a rumbling mechanical sound in his arms.

"Go on, Father - you can say it longer and think of it as your last words," Khalil replied with a chuckle.

The priest didn't answer, but took a deep breath of blood-laced air.

The man on the ground was still screaming, so he raised his foot and trampled hard on the soft throat, ending the man's pain.

The priest said: "You are indeed here for revenge."

"No, Father, no," Khalil responded softly. "I'm here for you."

The swipe was fleeting, and the candle flame was extinguished. Roars and laughter alternated, and one eyeball of the tattooed man rolled away, disappearing silently in the darkness.

A new book for a newbie, I hope you like it. Two updates per day, 3k per chapter.