40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 114 17. Interlude: clues

Destruction, violence, killing.

Swing the sword.

The blade sliced ​​through the air quickly, and the sound it made was not a clean and sharp cutting sound, but some kind of terrible, heavy muffled sound, like a monster's howl. This is because the person wielding it is not using it as a sword.

He is striking the enemy with the blade of his sword.

The flat sword surface landed heavily on the chest and abdomen of a woman wearing a black robe, knocking her away.

The sound of broken bones filled the air, and she screamed, lying on the ground, feeling as if she couldn't breathe in pain. But the murderer didn't care. He walked to her calmly and indifferently, stretched out his right hand like lightning, and grabbed her tongue.

Then he pulled it out, and blood spurted out and fell on the grass, making them all bend over. Scarlet blood drops mixed with dew, slipped quietly and fell into the soil.

Amidst the indistinct wailing, Khalil stared thoughtfully at the black eight-pointed star mark in the center of the tongue, and slowly shook his head.

Nuceria is a world without much religious belief. Most people just practice ancient ancestor worship, even those slave owners.

And Khalil felt that the biggest reason why they did not establish a religion might just be because they no longer needed a way to better oppress other people.

They themselves are the greatest oppressors. Under such circumstances, it is naturally nonsense to want them to take the lead in believing in a certain god.

And this mark.

He lowered his head, opened the bag at his waist, and threw his tongue, still stained with blood, into it.

This is the one hundred and seventy-second. Before this woman, one hundred and seventy-one people had been brutally murdered by Khalil on Nuceria, and they all had this mark on their tongues. black mark.

So, who are these people?

Khalil let go of his hand, and the psychic sword he created at random slipped down, scattering in the air within half a second. Then, he stared at the woman wailing in fear and pain. Just by looking at her, her reason began to collapse quietly.

The trees were silent, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. The fragrance of grass and soil came from not far away, and some small wild animals stayed in the grass and watched this scene curiously.

It's all good, if you ignore the woman who's bleeding.

And the pale giant staring back at her.

"You are the one hundred and seventy-two, ma'am," Khalil said softly.

"I have traveled throughout Nuceria in two days. Your souls are very broken. I can't see much. Fortunately, I can locate you through some clues. However, there is a problem. , but I never got the answer.”

The woman looked at him in fear, and there was a sob in her throat, which sounded like a plea, but also like a defense.

Khalil listened patiently for a while, then shook his head.

"No." His tone was still gentle. "I don't want to know who you are, I just want to know why you were able to use psychic spells to briefly control the Butcher's Nail. And why you used psychic spells to briefly stop the Limit in the Daishea Arena on that day. The warriors attack."

The woman cried and straightened up, raised her bloody hands, and tried to grab Khalil's trouser legs and beg him for forgiveness, but he took a step back.

"Are you begging me for forgiveness?" he asked softly.

The woman nodded quickly, desperate blood overflowing from the depths of her throat. She had lost the ability to speak and think, and her whole heart was tightly clenched by fear.

But in just two days, her companions died until not even a tenth of them were left. The fire representing their lives disappeared one by one in the vision of inspiration, and all of this was done by the giant in front of her.

But that wasn't why she was afraid of him.

She could vaguely see what was under the human skin - in her field of vision, the person standing here was not a giant with pale skin and dark eyes. But a monster in human skin.

Whenever he spoke, dark flames would burst out from his fanged mouth. Whenever he stared, there would be thunder and lightning flashing through the empty eye sockets of the skin. His voice was low and terrifying, like the echo of the dead, the howl of ghosts.

His mere presence was already driving the woman crazy.

Khalil smiled.

"Why beg me for forgiveness?" he asked softly. "Six ultramarines and forty-three gladiators died because of your spells. The vengeful souls found no trace of you that day, so I came."

He knelt down and sighed softly.

"Do you understand what this means?" he asked.

The woman didn't answer, she just cried and sobbed. Khalil raised his hand and slowly pinched her cheek, letting tears gather little by little on the fingers that were in contact with her cheek. The tears are warm, no different from those of ordinary people.

He threw his hands away in disgust.

"What's the use of crying?" he asked coldly. "Many of you were present that day. Why? Is it because you planned to avoid the attack of the Ultramarines in a less crowded arena? Or is it because their attack interrupted something you were originally doing? thing?"

The woman's eyes widened in horror.

"Yes." The monster in her eyes breathed out black flames and pronounced her sentence in the voices of the dead. "I know what you originally wanted to do, and I also know that you ran away because of my arrival."

The monster stretched out its right claw again, grabbed her head, and squeezed it slowly. The woman screamed hoarsely, her struggle before death was so violent.

"Shh," Khalil said, staring at her. "No need to struggle anymore, rest in peace."

He clenched his right fist.

——

"According to today's examination, Lord Angron's physical condition has fully recovered, but he should take in a lot of nutrients in the next six months. In addition, the research on the Butcher's Nail has temporarily yielded results. It turns out that he bodies. We dissected the remains of the victims in Daishea's laboratory."

Valentus Dorlo paused, looking a little hesitant. His primarch looked up from the pile of papers and glanced at him.

"What's wrong?"

"Combined with Lord Angron's inspection report, his condition is not optimistic." Dorlo said.

He was silent for another moment, and Guilliman leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"The strongest among ordinary people can only install one Butcher's Nail, but your brother was nailed with a full sixteen. What's worse is that their extensions have been connected together."

"Based on current medical technology, if we want to remove the Butcher's Nails, we must completely pull out the densely packed spikes that entwine his spine and brain in one go."

Guilliman pursed his lips and accepted Valentus Dorro's words: "And this is impossible."

"Theoretically" Dorlo lowered his head unwillingly. "We can."

“But what about in practice?”

"No." The Ultramarine said. "The self-healing ability of the original body has made his flesh and blood completely connected to those things. To remove the Butcher's Nails, we even have to cut him open."

Robert Guilliman closed his eyes, turned his head and uttered a low Macraggean slang that was no different from a curse.

After a long time, he spoke again: "In other words, does that thing have completely merged with him? Do you have more bad news, Dorlo? Tell me all. Fortunately, I have this afternoon. Tell him in one breath."

".Yes, the original body."

"Then tell me." Guilliman tapped the table calmly. "It's okay. Sooner or later we will find a way to make that thing leave him completely."

"...Your brother has a psychic talent." Dorlo said slowly. "Think tanks have confirmed this, and he himself has mentioned it in conversations. He can sense our emotions and dissipate some of them in some way."

"However, the Butcher's Nail is a psionic surgical implant. It is powered not just by the life of its victim, but also by psionic energy. The evidence is as follows."

"Your brother felt uncomfortable with the emergence of the Think Tank, and the Butcher's Nail briefly became active during this process. Moreover, when he used his talents, thinking, or generating emotional activities similar to happiness, he also Will make the nails come alive briefly."

Guilliman dropped his quill, clenched his right fist, and put it under his nose. He looked at the table thoughtfully and shook his head.

"You mean, if he continues to use his talent in the future, Nail is likely to make a comeback?"

"This possibility cannot be ruled out, Primarch. But they have lost their drilling function and can only bring him pain."

"You said they are psychic or active, but why do they cause him pain when he thinks?"

"We don't know the principle," Dorlo said in frustration. "After we discussed it, we can only guess that it should have some underlying logic that only allows the victim to become a bloodthirsty without the ability to think."

Robert Guilliman sighed slowly, picked up his quill, and shook his head complainingly: "You have brought me only bad news in the past few days, Dorro."

".I'm sorry, Primarch."

"What are you apologizing for?" Guilliman raised his head angrily, but all the depression in his heart was relieved the moment he saw Dorro's depressed expression.

"It's okay." He comforted softly. "We'll find a way."

A few minutes later, Valentus Dorlo left his primarch's study. Robert Guilliman continued the work of correcting documents. He seemed to be writing and drawing on the documents calmly, but a question quietly arose in his heart.

- Khalil Rojalls is undoubtedly a psyker.

So why didn't his brother feel pain when he stood next to Angron?

"."

Guilliman had no answer.

update completed.

I may take some time off on the last day of this month to adjust it. It was even more intense when it was released, and it was a bit hard to handle. The main thing is to maintain quality. If you write too fast, the rhythm will easily break down.

And the one who told me to take it off the shelves and put it up again, you kid