40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 109 12. Revenge and Salvation

Night fell.

The night in Nuceria was longer than the normal nights that Khalil was familiar with. At 4:20 in the morning, the sky still had no sign of dawn.

In the gloomy fortress cast in darkness, Khalil walked slowly. There was no light around him. The arena had been completely abandoned three hours ago.

At this moment, both the gladiators and the slave owners had completely bid farewell to this place. The burning flames had also disappeared, leaving only the smell of burning. There were corpses covered with white cloth on the ground waiting to be collected. When dealing with the enemy, the Ultramarines still gave them the most basic respect.

Staring at them, Khalil sighed silently.

When he was alone, he would not bury his emotions like he usually did. A person should not lie to himself.

He came to the sand pit and squatted down.

A four-meter-tall giant had many inconveniences in his daily life. Even if he wanted to observe this place carefully, he had to squat down. He stretched out his right hand, picked up a handful of rough gravel, felt them passing through his fingers, and shook his head calmly.

The smell of blood still lingered.

He clenched his right hand, letting the remaining sand stay in his palm. They could not hurt him, but they could make him feel a slight pain.

The rough gravel rubbed against the skin and the lines on the palm. After a brief discomfort, Khalil loosened his palm and let it face down, but this time, no more sand fell.

There was blood dripping.

Then, the flame ignited. The dark angry flame danced wildly in the darkness. From the moment it was born, it was wrapped in unprecedented anger and hatred, urging people or ghosts to do what they should do.

This flame was as heavy as the darkness. It should not illuminate the darkness, but it made the darkness retreat spontaneously after it was ignited. This weird scene would be incomprehensible to ordinary people, and even break their reason, but Khalil knew what he was doing.

He stood up calmly and slowly, staring at the huge sand pit, and exhaled a breath of cold air.

Boom!

A huge roar that ordinary people could not perceive or even hear suddenly sounded at the next moment.

Continuously, one after another, the rhythm as fine as a heartbeat was frantically moving towards excitement in the imperceptible world. It was like a piece of music, but more like a terrible cry. A low voice sounded quietly in the darkness, echoing the song, and whispering their names when they were alive.

Khalil slowly opened his hands, closed his eyes, and stopped moving like a sculpture in the darkness. But the sound began to become more and more intense, until it became a manic movement that resounded through the darkness.

The human voice hummed, screamed and shouted quickly, and said the name of the murderer in the voice before death.

The sound continued, simple and heavy, and it sounded like a substance in the abandoned arena.

Khalil opened his eyes, and the cold light flashed and disappeared. The sand pit began to boil in the black flames, surging like black magma. The wind gradually rose, and a thunderous sound suddenly rang out. The sky of Nuceria began to change. Under the dark night, heavy clouds gathered, and in an instant, lightning and thunder roared, and heavy rain fell.

The civilians looked up in horror, not understanding what was going on. The gladiators talked to each other in the barracks assigned to them, comforting each other in their own unique way. The Ultramarines looked up at the sky, and the color of lightning was reflected in their eyepieces.

And Khalil smiled, only he smiled.

The ancient anger and ancient hatred came back, entwined in his body, and the black flames made him look as terrifying as if he was wearing armor. He smiled gently, but his dark eyes reflected the pale faces of the dead.

They waited silently, standing in the dark, like ghosts.

They came from the desert of Nuceria, from the snow-capped mountains of Nuceria, from the forests of Nuceria, from the plains of Nuceria.

They were once people who lived peacefully, but were taken away from their homes and families by the slave capture team, forced to become slaves with blood on their hands, losing their freedom, dignity, and everything. Each of them had fought in the arena as a slave, entertaining everyone in the stands with their own and their compatriots' lives.

Then they died, died in the sand pit, became dark red on the gravel, and became one of the piles of bones.

Anger.

Hate.

Longing for revenge.

Lightning struck the sky, splitting the clouds in half. In the heavy rain, Khalil declared in a low voice, and his voice clearly penetrated the rain curtain and reached the ears of every dead soul.

"Then, revenge."

"In my name."

Then the thunder sounded.

——

Milo stared at the sky through the eyepiece and felt an unusual coldness.

The rain curtain was drizzling, and together with the low night curtain, it formed a kind of weird oppression. Night and rain, as if they were made for each other, as if they were meant to be together.

He shook his head, put aside this thought, turned around and entered the simple board house built by the logistics staff, and took off his helmet.

He had a serious face, similar to most extreme warriors, but he was not handsome, and could even be said to be ugly. Three deep scars across his face ruined everything, making his appearance something that would not be carefully observed.

Fortunately, not many people actually cared about this. Those who could see it didn't care, and those who cared couldn't see it.

"Captain."

His subordinate, his brother, Nshika stepped forward and gave a fleeting smile: "How's it going?"

"The list of criminals must be completed within four hours," Miró said. "We have to finish everything before 8:25 and throw these hateful scum into the place where they belong."

"Has the Primarch no more orders?"

"Yes." Milo frowned. "But I don't understand."

Enshika looked at him in surprise: "This is not like your style, company commander."

Milo glanced at him and spoke in a stiff tone.

"I also want to understand every word of the original body, and even the meaning behind every movement and look in his eyes. But this is impossible, and as a member of the Ultramarines, what I have to do is It’s very simple, I just need to follow his will.”

"I knew you would say that." Enshika laughed. "But what else did the Primarch say?"

Milo was silent for a moment and shook his head.

"I couldn't understand what that meant."

".Are you trying to sell it, company commander?"

"No."

"Then can you say that?"

Milo sighed slowly.

"He kept us calm," said the Captain of the Second Company of the First Chapter of the Ultramarines. "But I don't understand why he said that."

Enshika was silent for a while and shook his head slowly, also unable to understand what their original body, Robert Guilliman, was talking about. But they were lucky after all, because this doubt did not last long.

Soon, they heard a low whistle coming from the rain curtain outside the barracks. It was sharp but low, and it made their eardrums hurt the moment it sounded.

Milo slammed on his helmet, opened the barracks door and walked out. His right hand was already on the bolter on the belt on his waist. However, a few seconds later, he stood quietly in the rain and stopped moving.

"Company commander?" Enshika, who was a little slow to react, rushed out of the barracks and asked in a low voice to his motionless commander. "What happened?"

The second company commander did not answer, but stood quietly. Enshika was about to speak again, but suddenly she heard a huge thunder.

The bone-chilling cold suddenly hit him after the sound, breaking through the protection of his armor and burying itself in every corner of his body. In a daze, Enshika's consciousness also fell into a kind of stasis. He stood there, staring at the darkness in the rain curtain, and a group of pale shadows were reflected on the eyepiece.

He could see them, but not feel them. The rain curtain was still there, hitting the armor of the Ultramarines and shattering it to pieces.

Then - there was a scream. It was continuous, horrific and heart-wrenching, mixed with pleas for mercy. But the ghosts paid no attention to them, they were just seeking revenge, nothing more.

Return from the silence of death, endure the fires of vengeance and hate, and they will never again let any words stand in their way.

The gladiators seized the slave master, roared their names and shook their fists. Slaves who were tortured to death strangled the necks of dignitaries and watched with hatred as they breathed out their last breath.

Revenge, it happens all over Nuceria, from the liberated cities to the slave owners who escaped in the wilderness. It keeps spreading and continues, following the firm will of the people who died in vain. The movement of the earth is as natural as a natural law.

At this moment, countless murders are taking place, but no one is stopping it, and no one can stop it. When law and justice cannot quell the anger of the people who died in vain, then revenge becomes the last choice.

Khalil stared calmly at the sky, and the raindrops fell into his eyes and shattered. The rain in Nuceria is natural rain. Even if he calls with power that should not appear, the rain is extremely gentle, which is completely opposite to the rain on Nostramo.

The night wind blew slowly from the snow-capped mountains in the distance and reached the edge of his fingers, bringing with it the thanks of those who died in vain. The lightning, thunder and wind had disappeared, but the sound remained, like a death knell.

The trial was completed at 6:01 a.m., while it was still dark.

He turned around and saw hundreds of pairs of dark eyes.

All the other souls that had fulfilled their wish for revenge had left, and some even had no intention of resting, and were scattered in pieces in the rain.

But these were different. They endured the burning of the dark flames and forced themselves to stand calmly in front of Khalil Lohars.

They knew who he was, and from the moment of his brief resurrection, they couldn't have been any clearer.

But they are fearless.

Khalil lowered his head and sighed. But one of the souls stood up at this moment. He had an old face with gray hair, and his pale face was looming in the increasingly sparse rain curtain.

"Thank you." He said solemnly. "Thank you for your willingness to arouse us so that we can calm down our resentment and complete our revenge."

"This is something I should have done a long time ago," Khalil said lowly.

indeed so.

Secretly smiling bitterly in his heart - he should have walked here as a god, and should have let the flames representing revenge and hatred burn the entire Nuceria the first moment he arrived, but he did not, because he still thought that he was personal. If you are a human being, you should behave in a human way and observe the entire world with your naked eyes.

This is true even if he already knows his true nature. He even went so far as to make a pact with the Emperor to blur the lines.

At this point, he is shirking some kind of responsibility.

"There is no right or wrong." said the old gladiator. "You don't owe us anything. Before you, no one has ever wanted to avenge us."

"You have avenged yourself and completed your revenge. I am just standing here."

The old gladiator shook his head, obviously not agreeing with Khalil's words.

His pale face began to become more and more unreal, and the flames were fading away little by little. The same goes for other souls. Their desire for revenge has been fulfilled, so the Black Flame no longer provides the power to keep them alive.

However, apart from revenge, they still have one more thing to do.

To be precise, they still have one wish to fulfill.

"My lord." The old gladiator spoke in a low voice. "My name is Oinomouth, and I come from the desert."

Khalil didn't answer, just stared at him, or rather, stared at him and the hundreds of souls behind him.

"My name is Akar, from the forest."

"My name is Milkan, from the Snowy Mountains."

"My name is Janio. I was born in the gladiatorial arena. I am the child of a gladiator."

"My name is."

Sounds sounded, one after another, one after another. No interruptions, no pauses, they knew their names and where they had come from, just as they knew what they were about to do.

The old gladiator - or rather, Oinomouth spoke again after a long silence.

"I am Angron's father," he said.

"And me." Another soul said. "I was his brother."

"Me too."

"I was his sister and I died when he was eight."

The voices of the souls sounded again. They all knew Angron, and they all died here. They were close to him while he was alive, and they still cared about him after his death.

Khalil remained silent.

Then the old gladiator, Oinomouth, who raised the Primarch, spoke slowly.

"Sir, we are his relatives. He has saved us countless times. In gladiatorial fights and in the punishment of slave owners, he took away our bitter tears and fed us with his own blood. He will be there tomorrow morning. There is a chance to escape and become a free man, but he would rather stay in the arena just because he doesn’t want to see us die.”

"His kindness caused him to be tortured into a monster, my lord. The slave masters forced me to watch the whole process of the operation. I saw with my own eyes how they implanted nail after nail into my son's skull. They Many people were tortured by that thing, but Angron was the most severely tortured. Even if I die, I can still see it."

"We have been wandering in this sand pit, and I have watched him break, as have we all, my lord."

Oinomouth's pale face began to slowly dissipate, turning into spots of light. The dark night finally began to change at this moment, and a misty light spread across the earth, arousing all living beings and everything.

Oinomouth - and the spirits - spoke in unison at the first moment when the sun pierced the clouds.

——

Angron gasped deeply.

He sat in the far corner of the medical room without saying a word, leaning his back against the wall. His muscles were trembling, and the nails were still drilling deeper and deeper. The most unbearable aspect of this process was not the pain, but its extension.

Angron's perception ability is outstanding, so he can clearly feel every drilling of the nails. They made his skull swell, his brain tremble, and his nerves shoot with terrible pain.

He gritted his teeth and groaned from his throat. Blood spilled from his lips and nostrils, dripping along his white clothes. Some names and faces flashed before his eyes, and he tried hard to remember them, trying to use his remaining sanity to remember every dead person.

He had to do this. The nail wanted him to forget everything and become a monster who only knew how to kill, but this was his resistance.

He will never give in.

He was silent, then breathed, silently reciting the names of the dead between his blood-stained lips and teeth in a broken voice. He did this every night that passed.

The fury of the nails spread, and Angron smiled cruelly. He chewed the anger with satisfaction, let the pain continue, and then continued to read the next person's name.

Akar, Mirkan, Yanio. Men, women, old people, children. From deserts or hills, from snowy mountains or volcanoes, from beside rivers, from plains. They are his brothers, his sisters, his relatives.

Then there is the last person.

Oinomouth.

his father.

The bruised giant slowly raised his head, the steel braid swayed slightly as he moved, the cable trembled, and the terrifying drilling continued. Angron wiped his face, and the blood stained his palms red. He stared at his hands, thoughtfully, but his vision suddenly blurred at a certain moment.

"Angron."

A voice sounded in the darkness.

He jerked his head up, but there was no one in the darkness.

"who?"

Rather than a greeting, a low growl that sounded more like a threat came from his trembling throat. Angron's eyes widened and he stared into the darkness with an attitude that was almost pleading.

"Who's talking? Is it you, Oinomouth?"

There was no answer, just a second call, a third, a fourth - everything.

Four hundred and seventy-one.

They called in unison and chanted softly. The giant raised his hand in pain, grabbed the cables behind his head, and frantically began to pull them out. He wanted to cry, but the Butcher's Nail wouldn't let him. As he moved, the heartbreaking sound of cracking bones also sounded. He wailed in agony, but refused to stop.

The nail was furious, and the pain swept over him like a tsunami in the next moment, washing him away. Angron trembled in a daze, fell to the ground, and turned into a man who was even cautious about breathing, but his fingers were still there Fiddled with the thick cable without stopping.

"Stop it, Angron." Suddenly, a familiar voice reached his ears. "We will fight this battle with you."

In the dark treatment room, golden light bloomed. After a few minutes, the incessant howling stopped and was replaced by broken cries.

This chapter is 5.2k, to celebrate the leader’s extra update, today’s update is 7k, but I don’t know if I can finish it, I can only say that there is still a chapter of 5k before twelve o’clock.

Asking for votes.

Also, I really didn’t expect that none of you would have guessed that it would be resolved this way.