40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 2 2. Evil spirits and ghosts

Limping, Khalil came to a door and then opened it in a normal way. The creaking sound made him frown.

In fact, it would be a bit biased to say that this thing is a door.

The door should be solid, but if Khalil hadn't nailed a few wooden boards to this door, it might not be able to form a whole, and it wouldn't even be able to protect it from the wind.

When he walked inside, the dark room was filled with a foul smell.

Khalil's brow began to frown more and more, and he opened his mouth and said to the empty room: "I remember I said to keep it ventilated, right?"

"It's raining." A soft, hissing voice suddenly sounded in the empty room.

Nostramo is like this, soft and graceful, hissing like poetry. However, most of the people who speak them are murderers.

"rain?"

Khalil repeated, his eyebrows raised, a look of contempt on his pale face. "Is this why you don't open the window?"

"Yes."

In the darkness, a tall shadow slowly stood up. He poked his head out of the darkness, his pale face illuminated by the neon light from the doorway.

Khalil sneered, tiredly took off his cloak, threw it and the two knives at his feet, then pulled up a chair and sat in front of the door.

The cold wind in the early morning of Nostramo blew by. He lowered his head, and blood dripped down his right leg and filled the soles of his feet.

"You're hurt." The tall and terrifying shadow said.

"Yeah, I'm hurt." Khalil shrugged. "Because that bastard has enhanced machinery implanted in his hands."

Shadow came to him and examined the wound carefully.

"You need healing," Shadow hissed. "He broke the bones in your right leg."

"I know."

Khalil said tiredly, adjusting his sitting position so that he could lean on the shabby chair he had found. Although this posture is not good for his injured leg, it is more comfortable.

"Then, why not treat it?" Shadow asked patiently. "If you can't handle it yourself, I can help you."

In the darkness, a pale and slender arm slowly emerged. The tips of the nails gleamed, making them look as dangerous as blades.

And Khalil knew that they were actually much more dangerous than the blades.

"Thank you." He said calmly.

The arm was retracted quickly, forming an interesting contrast with the slowness of the arm.

"Then you might get an amputation."

Shadow said. "I haven't had my bones broken yet, I've only been hit by gunfire. It's really hard to deal with the bullets stuck in the flesh. I have to dig them out one by one. The laser gun is more convenient. It just burns the flesh. "

As he spoke, his voice suddenly changed, from hissing to soft as a dream. "...Moreover, the bullet dug into the flesh and it hurt."

"Of course it hurts when a bullet hits you."

Khalil laughed, unable to help but marvel at the absurdity of the monster's moment of innocence.

How ridiculous. he thinks. A monster who can tear people apart with just a wave of his hand can be so innocent.

"Do you feel pain too?" Shadow asked.

Khalil glanced at him like he was looking at an idiot, and then laughed loudly: "Even you can feel pain, so why not me? I'm just a mortal, a ghost, and I'm different from you."

Shadow was silent for a longer period, clearly having a different opinion.

Then he stepped out of the darkness. The clothes made of spliced ​​rags barely formed a robe on his body. His dirty long hair was spread behind his head, and there were still traces of blood on his pale skin.

Wearing tattered clothes, he looks dirty, is unusually tall, has pale skin, and has completely black eyes - almost monster-like features, but the combination makes him look as scary as a ghost in the story.

Ordinary people only need to take one look to know that he does not belong to the normal world.

In fact, ordinary people should not think that he is a human being.

The ghost frowned and asked, "What's the difference? We are both monsters."

"I only get to be a monster sometimes."

"You killed one hundred and seventy-two people in the past month, every day, every night."

"Who taught you that phrase?"

"you."

"."

Khalil sighed, having to compromise with this overly tall man he called a ghost.

"Listen, Ghost. I became a monster for a reason. I kill in this city because—"

"——Justice?" Ghost interrupted him impatiently, asking with eagerness in his eyes.

"No," Khalil replied coldly. "Justice does not exist, Ghost. Justice is the biggest lie in the world."

The ghost nodded in disappointment and pointed to Khalil's right leg. This time, Khalil couldn't ignore it.

Khalil raised his right hand, and his dark eyes, like those of all Nostramos, suddenly lit up with blue light at this moment.

The temperature dropped suddenly, and deep frost condensed on the chair legs. The ghost stared at them, followed the direction of the frost spread, and looked at Khalil's legs.

The blood stains, wounds, and the weird shapes created by the twisted bones pressing against the skin all disappeared at this moment.

"call"

Khalil sighed deeply, deeply. His eyes returned to normal at this moment, and there was peace in his bottomless eyes.

Ghost looked at him and said nothing for a moment. After silence spread for a while, he spoke again: "You shouldn't rely too much on this power.

“If it’s going to help what we’re trying to do, I’ll keep using it.”

"It's dangerous."

"how do you know?"

"I" Ghost did not answer.

He didn't know how to explain this to Khalil - the ghost knew many things innately, like instinct. He even knew a word to describe this talent.

Born to know it.

"Is it as dangerous as other things in this city?" Kalil didn't care about the ghost's hesitation. He stood up and asked.

He walked out of the room with strong and vigorous steps, and there was no trace of the man who was injured to the point of amputation half a minute ago.

It was very empty outside the room, with a cold wind blowing by.

This is the roof of a tall building where Khalil built a small illegal structure with his own hands a year and a half ago. The security personnel responsible for the inspection did not find it. In fact, whether they existed or not is another matter.

In this way, he had a small shelter.

And six months ago, the ghost came. In other words, midnight ghosts.

A name that has only been circulated in a small area within Quintus so far, is far inferior to the 'Vengeful Spirit'. After all, the vengeful spirit was a real thing that had been killing people in the city for a year and a half.

It happens every day, every night.

"Gangs are everywhere, and twisted monsters are everywhere. The hive's upper-class nobles only need to sit comfortably in their luxurious chairs to receive taxes from the dogs they raise."

"And those workers who sleep in shantytowns, those poor people, they have only two ways. First, to die in the factory, living in poverty, often facing beatings and oppression, and even not being able to feed themselves. Second, to join Gangs, oppressing others.”

Khalil turned his head with a half-smile: "Which one do you think most people will choose?"

The ghost didn't answer. He still stood at the door of the room and didn't come out. The darkness behind him was extremely thick.

"There is no doubt that they will choose the second option. And those who don't choose, it doesn't mean that they don't want to, they just can't. Bullying others requires a strong body, at least young. Otherwise, the gang will not even will want you"

Khalil didn't speak anymore, he suddenly fell into deep thought.

A terrifying flame that was more heart-burning than poison began to burn and spread on this pale and young face, forcing him to grit his teeth and frown together.

The ghost didn't bother him.

It was a long time before the ghost joined the conversation again.

He asked in a soft, hissing voice, "Can killing solve everything?"

"No." Khalil replied without hesitation.

"Killing can only bring more killings. If I eliminate a corrupt official, there will be twenty people with sharp heads squeezing into his position. If I kill a gang leader, more than forty gangs will come. Seize his territory."

"So, can we find another way?"

"We can't, Ghost," Khalil said, then paused.

He turned his head, and his black hair was gently blown in the dirty wind of Nostramo: ".Not now."

"If you find it, please tell me." Ghost said seriously. "Nostramo is sick, I can see it, and I want to make it better."

Again, Khalil laughed mockingly at his naivety. Only this time, after laughing, he nodded.

"Okay." Khalil Lohars said.

He didn't even ask why, just like he never asked why Midnight Ghost had such great power.

However, Khalil Lohars still doesn’t know who he is making a promise to.

——

The priest of the Dormition Church died.

At six o'clock in the morning in the Quintus Hive, in a world without any light, this news spread like wildfire and began to circulate.

But most people don't actually care. First of all, they don't know who the priest in the Dormition Church is. Secondly, in Nostramo, there is virtually no difference between morning and night.

Nostramo is a star of eternal night. No one knows the reason. Maybe the upper-class nobles know it, but how many people care?

Most people don't even care about the alternation between night and day, so how can they care about the death of a priest? They don't even know who he really is.

Well, Razor cares.

And Razor also knows who the priest is.

Razor - an inconspicuous gang leader on Nostramo. Like all other gang leaders, he treats everyone in his territory as he pleases.

In Nostramo, there are no laws and enforcers, only gangs. They were loyal to the upper-class nobles, maintained false order, and collected taxes. Gangs replaced the nobles, dividing and ruling every place in Nostramo.

In addition, they will also carry out killings for no reason, and even deeper atrocities. All these actions are actually just a way for Razor and his gang to establish their prestige.

Just like wild animals constantly rely on body odor to mark their territory, gangs will continue to kill civilians to ensure their rule - no one cares how many civilians die in the process.

In Nostramo, this is what all the gang members do.

But Razor, known for his brutality, now has a headache.

"How did you die?"

Razor asked as he stood outside the church. Diagonally opposite him stood a woman wearing a white cloth robe and a mask. Her right hand is made of metal and looks very delicate.

"It was cut open," the woman said, her tone thoughtful.

"In other words, it was taken apart. Everything in his stomach was taken out and sorted into categories, with a very clever technique. The man also took out half of his spine and hung him under the statue. "

Razor cursed in a low voice. The woman shook her head, took off her mask, threw it on the ground, and said the last words: "By the way, there are a few words on the statue, written in blood. It seems to be left to your."

"I?"

Razor's eyes widened, and after a moment, he stormed into the church angrily.