40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 3 3. Anger

The never-ending night became a little hazy in a different way with the rain. They fell vertically and smashed into pieces on the gloomy buildings of Nostramo.

The rain won't stop.

Khalil squatted silently on top of a huge gargoyle, looking at the Dormition Church below. The ghost was behind him, and the mere presence of it sent a cold chill down Khalil's spine.

The ghost is not hostile to him. This natural sense of threat comes from the difference between them.

Khalil knew this—he had known it since the moment he encountered the ghost six months ago.

"how?"

A hissing voice sounded behind him, the ghost's voice softer than most as it spoke Nostramo.

Khalil didn't answer.

"What's going on, Khalil? Should we take action?"

Ghost asked again, with a hint of impatience in his voice. "He's in the church and his people have never had a better chance."

"He was never the target." Khalil finally spoke, his tone cold. "It's just a dog at best."

Other than that, he didn't say a word. The ghost fell silent, and he began to clear his mind. With this uneasy silence, the ghost closed his eyes.

The next moment, countless illusions swept over him. Ominous, dark, violent. Scary. They are a certain refraction of the future, a shattered mirror.

The ghost was unmoved.

He knew that among all these illusions, only one could come true, and the others were just distractions. Yet he rarely had an undisturbed view of the future.

This is one of his talents.

He didn't tell Khalil about this, of course, nor about another thing - the ghost had never glimpsed Khalil's shadow in the vision he saw.

Not once.

In the illusion he could see, the person Khalil Lohars did not seem to exist.

Khalil didn't care about the ghost's silence. He was used to this companion who was more of a monster than him. Most of the time, the Midnight Haunter is more like a beast with human form than a human being, and the habits of this beast are already fully understood by him.

Khalil knows that ghosts usually like silence.

It just so happened that he also liked it when he was thinking.

Khalil stared at the woman in the white robe, his eyesight was good. This allowed him to clearly see the woman's attire.

The white robe that the woman wore was outlined with gold thread on the edge, which was completely different from how most of the lower class people in the hive capital dressed up. Even some nobles may not be qualified to wear such clothes.

And that metal prosthetic leg?

It was obvious that this was someone from a high place, but Razor didn't appear to be groveling when talking to her.

In response, Khalil just smiled calmly. What else could he say? He wasn't surprised.

The woman left the church door, got into a car, and left. When the rumbling machine started to move, the sound was terrifying, and the size was even more terrifying. The car took up more than half of the street and even hit and killed two children crossing the road as it left.

However, no one paid any attention to this matter. Only a few hands stretched out from the darkness and eagerly dragged the bloody corpse in.

The homeless people who were thrown out of the factory because they were unable to continue working due to illness needed these two children.

People are always hungry.

There was a sharp sound behind him, as if two sharp pieces of metal were rubbing against each other.

Khalil knew it was a monster rubbing his teeth.

"That's not necessary," Khalil said. "Your anger is of no use now, Ghost. She can't die just yet. Do you see what she's wearing?"

"Noble." Ghost breathed out a burst of cold mist.

"Yes, nobleman."

Khalil grinned, laughed silently, and nodded.

He was supposed to be handsome, with melancholy eyebrows and a straight nose. However, the way he looks when he laughs can completely destroy this handsomeness.

At this moment, squatting on the gargoyle, he was simply like a monster seeking to devour people in the darkness.

"I'm going to the church to pray."

Khalil stood up, and the gargoyle at his feet bared his teeth silently toward the sky. "You can track the woman first. But don't kill her."

He turned back, raised his head, looked at the tall and silent ghost, and asked patiently: "Can you do it?"

"I don't promise." The ghost whispered. "I can not guarantee"

Faced with his ambiguous statement, Khalil just smiled.

"As long as you don't kill her," he said softly. "You understand what I mean."

——

"damn it!"

Razor angrily kicked the priest's head away, and it flew into the air, crashed into a bench not far away, and rolled away.

The interior of the church looked like a slaughterhouse at this moment, and the strong smell of blood made some of the eleven people present tremble.

Don't get me wrong, they are not afraid. How could they be afraid? They have done worse things than this.

As for the reason

A hallucinogen made from human blood, which is also very popular in Nostramo. Most gang members have been injected with it and are obsessed with it.

As this addiction deepens, simple ordinary blood will also have a stimulant-like effect on the injector.

If you think it's ridiculous, then you don't know much about Nostramo. There is no morality here and anything can happen here as long as it is profitable.

Razor stood under the blood-stained statue, with endless anger boiling in his heart - many times, he needed to work very hard to suppress his emotions.

However, when he glanced upward and saw the words on the statue, his anger finally broke out.

"What does he think he is?!"

Razor roared and pulled out the pistol from his waist, firing at the statue repeatedly, smashing the head of the vague-faced god into pieces. He had no respect for this god at all. After all, Razor knew that the god did not exist at all.

"You're here for my sins? Damn it! Does a madman who kills people all over the city think he is so noble?"

"I'm going to kill him, I'm going to skin him and carve every rib out of him!"

Razor roared crazily, his temples throbbed, and veins popped out on his forehead - his anger was not just caused by uncontrollable emotions, but also related to a chemical agent he had been taking. That thing has a long history and is a special treat for the upper class nobles.

Also Razor's reward for doing something for one of them.

You see, in Nostramo, everyone can find a way to pass their time.

But, what’s the cost?

"I am not noble, Razor, but I do come for your sins."

A voice said this, and the lights inside the church suddenly went out in the next second. In the past, the lights in the church were controlled by the priest. If he didn't nod, then no one could turn the lights on or off.

As for now he is dead.

A soft voice sounded out of the darkness, full of urgent hissing. The words are tactful, as romantic as poetry, but they make those who hear them feel creepy.

"Murder is the most common crime in Nostramo, my dear Mr. Razor. When the fire of anger rises in the heart, anyone can commit such evil deeds. But, I personally don't like it that way."

"Killing motivated by rage is ineffective. I hate inefficiency."

Razor didn't answer the voice in the darkness. He stared, holding the gun, and his anger disappeared without a trace.

The gang leader who was roaring about killing someone two minutes ago was surprisingly calm at the moment, and so were the ten people he brought with him. Without even needing to mobilize, they spontaneously formed a back-to-back formation.

"Well trained, Mr. Razor."

The voice sounded again, and the smile was obvious.

"So, which noble's private soldiers are you? Is anyone planning to cleanse the bottom forces again? Ah, it happens every twenty years. It's like a natural law that brings huge benefits. "

"Show up!"

Razor yelled into the darkness. "Now that you've guessed it, there's no need to be our enemy anymore! You can't afford the price!"

"cost."

The voice in the darkness laughed low, and the sound echoed between the stone walls of the Dormition Church, eventually becoming distorted and becoming like the deep roar of a monster. The temperature gradually began to drop.

Cold sweat flowed from Razor's forehead, and he didn't understand why he was so nervous. Could it be because of the darkness all around? However, darkness is what every Nostramo person is most accustomed to.

He was used to walking in the dark.

But he couldn't stop the trembling of his gun hand at this moment. And in the next second, a slight sound from behind stirred his tense nerves.

Razor suddenly turned around and started shooting wildly in that direction with his companions.

Gunfire rang out.

"Wrong direction, Mr. Razor."

A voice sounded from the top of Razor's head, followed by warm breath. His eyes widened, he raised his hand, and was about to pull the trigger, when a heartbreaking pain from his wrist stopped his movement.

The sharp sound of some kind of sharp blade cutting the air was heard again, and the dull sound of the blade entering flesh also came together.

It's a sound the gangs know all too well.

Finally, there was the scream of Razor. He kicked off the killing with the most terrifying wail of his life.

Gunfire rang out again.

The gang members, who had realized what was happening, started shooting wildly at the ceiling, but found nothing.

They had been trained in the nobles' mansions and knew that in this case some people must be left on guard instead of pouring out ammunition all at once, which would give the enemy an opportunity to take advantage.

However, they can no longer remember it.

They just want to keep pulling the trigger.

The unreasonable and logical fear that spread from the darkness completely destroyed their training results. Fear destroys the details in their memory and their strong will.

Fear overwhelmed everything.

Then death came again.

Khalil rushed out from behind them quickly, swinging the blade in his hand at an unhurried speed, and each blade was extremely precise.

The first stab penetrated someone's cheek from behind. The victim screamed in pain and tried to free himself to no avail. While the blade pierced his flesh and blood, it also controlled him.

Immediately afterwards, Khalil rotated his right wrist. The huge force caused the second knife to penetrate from the lower jaw and pass through the top of the head.

Blood spurted out, he narrowed his eyes and licked his lips with satisfaction.

"later!"

Someone shouted in the darkness, but Khalil didn't want to give them another chance.

He shows no mercy and never misses an opportunity.

He easily pulled out the blade from the flesh and blood, took a step back, exerted force with his right leg, and kicked the lifeless corpse into the air, crashing into the chaotic crowd, and they immediately fell to the ground.

A few lucky ones had already changed their bullets, and they pulled the trigger cautiously. Flames erupted from the muzzle, illuminating the darkness and bringing a smiling monster into their sight.

Khalil began to glide—his pace allowed him to move through the darkness so lightly that he could easily dodge the fear-coated bullets without even needing to be distracted.

Too simple, too easy.

Killing. To him, it was as natural as breathing.

Rushing forward, he extended his right hand, and the blade drew an arc, drawing out blood. Then he charges forward and uses kicks to force one person's head to bend. There was a snap and Khalil laughed loudly.

Stop, rotate your wrist, pierce the eyeball and the brainstem behind it, and stir. He drew out the blade and stabbed the other person's throat. He bent down to avoid the hug and slit the attacker's soft throat with his backhand.

Throwing the weapon with his left hand, he let the weapon pierce a person's chest, then turned around and used his free left hand to pull out the cartilage and trachea from the cut throat.

"ah"

The monster stopped in place with a smile, held the sticky flesh and shook it, shook its head, and took a deep breath as if it was quite comfortable.

"There are three more."

He spoke softly, clearly counting the number of enemies, but not looking at the trembling gang members. He could already smell the foul smell of urine, mixed with the smell of blood, which was obvious.

A moment later, there was another scream in the church, and the low laughter that hit the wall was the accompaniment of their deaths.

Among the messy benches, the priest's head stared silently in the darkness, staring at everything indifferently.

Dead people don't judge this.