40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 158 19. Disobedience to fate

Ritual, sacrifice, name, power.

god.

Pleas, curses, oaths, rage.

--everything.

Khalil closed his eyes, and the psychic communication that had just been hung up gave his spirit a brief and precious moment of relaxation.

He resisted the instinct welling up in his chest, the shadows dancing behind him like living things.

As a medium, the spire itself had acquired enough power, even enough that it could, in a sense, exert a 'force' on Khalil - it would be the sound of the death of the Harkossians. Sent over.

Man or woman, child or old, soldier or civilian.

Human, or alien.

They screamed and howled. They were stabbed, beheaded, brutally disemboweled, gutted, dismembered with blades, beaten into blood mist by explosive bombs, and bombed into dust that dispersed in the air.

Then they came back.

The last bit of spirit, the last wish, the voice of the dead echoed in his ears.

It was a never-ending radio broadcast that couldn't be turned off, and he was the only listener. Still, Khalil showed no mercy. If anyone could look at his real eyes through the skull mask at this moment, they would find that all that was left in these eyes was the last bit of peace.

There is no need to pity them.

The fate of the people of Harkossus had been sealed centuries ago. They are playthings, chess pieces and victims, blind people tied to the altar without knowing anything.

Mercy cannot change their situation, or even prevent them from what they will suffer later. Collusion with aliens in the Empire means an almost unforgivable sin. Khalil will not try to use his mercy to let the Eighth Legion circumvent Act beyond the law.

After the war, the survivors will be judged, and the remaining one of the ten 'pure' ones will become slave laborers or servants to atone for their sins in a lifetime of labor. They will die in misery, and so will their children.

but

but.

Khalil opened his eyes, the fire blazing. He shows no pity, no guilt, and no response.

He only hates.

Destiny itself is a hateful word, but it is also a real word. And for the people of Harkossus, the hand of fate that manipulates them and makes them become puppets without knowing anything is also real.

Him.

"Do you think this is funny?" he asked, then turned his gaze to the bulging and heavy curtain. He stared at it and heard an obvious chuckle.

"If you mean the massacre that is about to happen to all the people of Harkossus, yes, my friend."

The thing smiled back at him from behind the curtain.

"I found it very interesting."

"Despicable false god." Khalil sneered.

"You may curse me in any language you know, my friend, and I will accept them with joy."

He leisurely put his face close to the curtain, and Khalil saw a throbbing mist, shining with silver light. It is constantly changing, taking on thousands of different forms in the blink of an eye. It is a living thing, a dead thing, wind and rain, an old person, and a baby about to be born.

Lord of change.

Khalil stared at the changes He showed and shook his head slowly: "If you didn't care, you wouldn't have appeared."

"I just want to observe your reaction at this moment, my friend, you are a rare exception among us."

He replied with a hidden smile: "Even my most courageous old friend would not dare to stuff himself into an inferior skin and endure the filth, sinking and suffering of the mortal world like you."

"Dirty?"

Khalil smiled slowly, and the dark flames began to burn slowly along the edge of the curtain. It was turbulent, found traces, and tried to bring the instigator back behind the curtain, but was unable to do so because of his skin and covenant.

"If it's dirty, why do you keep trying to get involved in it? You act like you don't care about this world at all, but you actually care a lot."

"Because it's fun."

He replied, and his body changed again, becoming a skinny man wearing black robes, his skin seemed to be formed by wrinkles that were disgusting. Right now, He is smiling.

"I really don't care about all this. I have my own arrangements for everything. No matter how this thing will be twisted in the process, and whether this change is unexpected or not, it will become this thing made by my own hands. A tiny little note on the finished blueprint, nothing more.”

"If you think I will be disappointed by its failure, then you may have to rush ahead of me to taste this emotion that is extremely foreign to me. The disaster that befell Harkossus One It means nothing to me, my friend. What does the death of these fools mean?"

"In this cold, boundless and cruel galaxy, does anyone really care about what they have endured?"

He laughed behind the curtain—laughing uncontrollably, a laugh that was cruel to the extreme. It's cruel because it's so real.

He really didn't care about the defeat, the death of the Harkossians, or anything else. He doesn't care because He only needs to succeed once.

Once is enough.

Khalil exhaled icy air from his lips and teeth. He widened his eyes and suddenly trembled with excitement. The skinny man danced and shouted loudly in the darkness.

"Yes, yes, I know what you will say. You will say that you care. I also know that you care. But do you really think that you are still human? Look at yourself, friend."

The voice lowered and turned into pure narration. His body changed again, turning into a white-haired old man, wearing a burnt black suit, with eyes like coiled venomous snakes, no teeth in his mouth, holding a scroll, as if telling a story.

He slowly spoke.

"You ignored the pleas for revenge from your own kind, allowing them to be slaughtered by a subspecies of humans. You sent your son to the battlefield, letting him step into this huge meat grinder himself. Now, you stand in this shoddy temple that I put together for you, without even shedding a tear for the Halcosus people."

"Do you understand, Caril Lohars? Do you understand what I'm saying? You should learn from your predecessors. Although the fire thief is a shameful thief, he has endured the torture of this contradiction for countless years."

The old man smiled slightly, and the skin formed by wind and sun began to fall off. The venomous snake hissed and screamed, spitting out scarlet tongues, which were torn into tattered long cloth in the suddenly rising vortex. Spin, spin, spin-eternally, like a psychedelic mirror.

"He has stood on the edge of true madness, my friend." The mirror whispered. "What about you? I'm curious, how long will it take to turn you into this?"

"You can try." Khalil replied calmly, the friction sound continued under the cloak, and the cursed second did not happen - it was rejected by him.

"Ten thousand years? Twenty thousand years? I'm sure it will take a long time for you to be really driven crazy. But."

The mirror now showed a pale face on the surface.

Completely dark eyes rested quietly above the high cheekbones, the nose was high, and the lips were shallow, pursed into a curved line. Conrad Coates smiled calmly at the person outside the mirror, like a perfect pale sculpture.

The mirror reflected a wonderful light, making his face half full of light and half hidden in darkness. The bright half was quiet and trustworthy, and the dark half was covered with blood and looked crazy.

"What about him?"

The next second, the mirror suddenly shattered.

"What about him? What about him? What about him? What about him?"

Countless whispers sounded from the darkness, like a dream talk, and like the narration of the voice of reason. However, no matter which one it is, it contains a lot of malice.

"He is an anchor of your humanity, friend." Tzeentch said. "And I like this very much."

Khalil smiled, his muscles working monotonously, lifting his skin and pulling the corners of his mouth, making him look like a puppet glued together with hatred.

"I pity you." He said softly. "Do you know why, Tzeentch? Because those who are truly confident in themselves never talk at length. They will not be like you, a poor worm who cannot face the fact of failure. You are barking at the winner."

"But, did you really win?" The voice of reason in the vortex was not angry, but just curious. "Do you really think you won? Halcosus has three planets, friend. Three, don't forget this."

He chuckled and left.

Update completed.

The update is very slow because I want to maintain a certain word count while maintaining quality, sorry.