40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 353 73. The End of Destruction (5)

Death came as promised without any delay.

It descended on the bridge of the Endurance one after another, accompanied by Typhons's laughter, like an announcement. But Typhons, the traitor covered in blood, didn't show any uneasiness.

Infected zombies continued to pour out behind him, including ordinary crew members and death guards. The plague became visible, boiling in the eyes of the Deathshroud and the Primarch.

Mortarion swung the Silent Scythe, and the terrifying blade whirled past like harvesting crops, beheading several swaying zombies in an instant. The helmet covering his head slowly fell to the ground, splashing a pool of pus.

Dark blood spurted out from the wound, and flies eagerly climbed up to feast on it. The headless body fell slowly, and Mortarion strode forward.

The Lord of Death has fought so many wars that he rarely fights with such rage. The Deathshrouds followed closely behind him, like a small boat sailing hard on a sea of ​​disease.

Typhonse looked at them with a smile on his face, his eyes cloudy as if he were sick. He coughed, and the fragments of internal organs and dark liquid kept pouring out of his throat, but he himself smeared them on his armor without a care, allowing his power armor to become even dirtier.

Mortarion kept staring at him, anger welling up in him, but it didn't really make him lose his mind.

He understood that Typhons must have something to rely on for daring to stand here like this - so, where is this reliance?

Is it his evil witchcraft, or are these the victims of his witchcraft?

While the primarch was killing, he began to think about the battle in the way Karas Typhon thought. He came up with several possible answers, but he ruled them out one by one. In the end, even this way of thinking He also threw it aside.

Calas Typhon was a Barbarian who shared his hatred of witchcraft and was his right-hand man and comrade-in-arms. Together they had crossed the desolate mountains of Barbarus, fought for the Empire, and reclaimed countless worlds.

The tactics that man would use would never include sorcery and treachery.

So, there is no Calas Typhon, only Typhons.

Realizing this, Mortarion's expression couldn't help but become more solemn. Although the thinking process was long, his movements were not slow. The Sea of ​​Disease was quickly crossed by them, but Typhons still stood where he was.

The Lord of Death sternly raised the 'lantern' in his hand, and the muzzle of the energy pistol from the Emperor's private collection erupted with an extremely bright blaze at this moment.

The white beam accurately hit Typhons's chest. This blow should have turned his armor and flesh into nothingness. But Typhons just screamed, straightened up again, and stood on the spot.

Mortarion stared at him for half a second. Amidst the pungent stench that hit his face, he put away his lantern and began to stride forward.

The Deathshrouds immediately realized what the original body was thinking and began to clean up the wailing patients for him, not intending to let them interrupt the battle.

The Lord of Death himself walked straight towards Typhons, walking steadily, and the blade of the giant scythe in his hand was particularly eager to be stained with blood. Typhus raised his scythe in response. The next second, the blades began to collide with each other.

Mortarion did not hold back, using his deadly attacks, each blow aimed at killing Typhons directly. The latter tried to resist, but how vast was the gap between the Astartes and the Primarch? In less than four rounds, the Sickle of Silence slit open his chest.

The ceramic steel was shattered, flesh and bones were cut open, but the scene exposed inside was as unforgettable as a nightmare.

The open chest of Typhons was filled with dense white insect eggs, and his two hearts were like insect nests, full of holes, with maggots moving in and out. The spine and sternum turned into a melting thing, dark and dripping with foul-smelling liquid.

His internal organs had melted, and pus mixed with debris spurted out from the wound created by the Silent Scythe, hissing and steaming on the deck.

A shiver of hair crawled up Mortarion's spine - he looked at his former partner with disgust and confusion. Questions came to his lips, but he swallowed them down.

He rotated his wrist, and the scythe swung down again, aiming at Typhons' head. The latter narrowed his eyes in the rotting stench. Death was clearly about to come, but he still had the energy to make a disgusting smile.

The next second, Mortarion's scythe stopped in mid-air, unable to penetrate further. Typhonse's right hand shot out like lightning and grabbed it. His strength was strong enough at this moment to contend with a Primarch, as was his tenacity.

With his chest wide open, the traitor took a step forward slowly and laughed.

Along with his laughter, the death shrouds who were fighting suddenly stopped moving at this moment, and wailing and screaming followed.

A series of slight explosions began to sound inside the Terminator power armor, and dark liquid poured out of the power armor along the gaps. They twitched and fell to the ground, and soon stopped moving.

Mortarion looked at this scene with a mixture of shock and anger, and suddenly realized something.

"Yes." Typhons stopped smiling and nodded to him with a serious expression.

"This is not the witchcraft you think is at work, Mortarion. Witchcraft is far from that powerful. This is the power of the Plague God, a manifestation of the power of the corrupt Nurgle. So you can't win. Since I appeared From the moment you get here, your defeat is determined.”

Mortarion hissed two curses and jerked his scythe back. He looked at his guard who fell on the ground with regret, and his anger reached its peak at this moment. The reprimand came naturally from his mouth and was no longer stuck in his throat.

"I curse you, you traitor as despicable as a snake and rat! How can you commit murder so easily and naturally?"

"Murder?" Typhus chuckled. "Maybe you should take a closer look. They're not dead."

What?

Mortarion frowned suddenly, but the corner of his eye did capture something strange at this moment.

He wanted to observe carefully, but in the next second he heard several continuous sounds of bones breaking. Then, amid the screams of the death shrouds, their bodies began to deform and twist.

A deep green light bloomed from the gaps in their armor, and countless flies suddenly appeared, biting open the supposedly indestructible Terminators with their mouthparts, and began to suck their melted flesh and blood.

The air became more rancid, and they gradually merged into one body while screaming, becoming a living seedbed.

"Do you understand?" Typhons asked patiently. "A loving father is not as cruel as you think. He rarely asks us to kill. He only asks us to spread his glory. He is generous and only asks to share."

Mortarion looked over in silence, and the last string representing reason in his mind finally broke gently.

He roared and rushed forward, and the scythe chopped Typhons into pieces in an instant. His head flew high and should have landed, but instead it was held up by swarms of flies and rushed towards the seedbed.

Mortarion pulled out his pistol again, and began to fire at the seedbed and Typhons' head resolutely and cruelly, but failed to hit any of them. Many flies swarmed in and blocked Typhons' head. caught gunfire.

In less than half a second, the traitor's head had arrived at the seedbed. His face covered with dirty blood was slowly sinking into the dim solution in front of Mortarion, and the seedbed began to tremble violently.

Maybe it was only a second, or maybe a million years had passed - in the center of the seedbed, where the diseased flesh and blood gathered, a rotting human figure began to slowly stand up.

His skin is gray, his skin and muscles are rotten, and his bones can even be seen directly. The flies stole Death Shroud's armor for him and placed different people's power armor on the traitor's body.

He began to lift up, his bones bursting, and Typhons twitched and bent over, spitting out a large piece of gray-brown mucus from his throat. His back bulged, and cracked horns and flutes bloomed from it, revealing the protection of the power armor, and dark green mist literally gushes out from it.

Typhons straightened up and began to smile. A twisted and ferocious horn spread out from the top of his forehead, revealing itself in his trembling.

A chill came over me.

"What are you?" Mortarion asked.

"You might as well find the answer yourself." Typhons replied patiently.

"This ship—" he waved and gestured. "—Go ahead, I'll be waiting for you right here, Mortarion. You can search the Endurance for this answer, and you'll find it."

"I would rather kill you first."

Typhons smiled, and took the initiative to walk out of the seedbed, opening his arms: "Then come on, you can try it, I am also part of the answer."

Mortarion strode forward and swung his scythe, creating dozens of bone-deep wounds on Typhons in the blink of an eye. His armor grew together with his flesh, it was rotten and diseased, but its defenses were stronger than when they were new.

Not only that, the Primarch even felt that the feeling of the scythe cutting into his flesh was no different than chopping a stone. But how is this possible? All this - what is it?

The eyes under Typhons' horn looked at him patiently, and then shook his head.

"You can't kill me now," he said.

"The Father is watching here, and I am protected by Him. I cannot die, I have no end, I am the source of disease, the embodiment of cancer. I bear pain, sow pain, despise pain. I am constantly on the line between life and death. Wandering, I am a sick eternity, Mortarion, and I will not die."

To this, the Primarch responded by remaining silent and continuing to wield his weapon. At the same time, he sent the conversation and video along with a text typed by the neural link to Perturabo.

"You won't die?" he asked hoarsely.

"Yes." Typhons nodded lightly.

"Very well." Mortarion sneered. "Let me see if you're really that scary."

——

The Lord of Steel watched the video and text sent by Mortarion in silence. In his cold thinking, he realized that his brother was undergoing a torture.

It was absolutely torture.

Witness such supernatural horrors played out on your own ship, watch the Guard become the seedbed while the traitors make their immortal manifesto

No one would be able to remain rational in the face of such a thing. He believed in Mortarion's tenacity, but he still inevitably felt a little worried.

Perturabo solemnly moved the horrific scene to the other side and followed Mortarion's advice without calling him or informing the Death Guard fleet of what was happening aboard the Endurance.

He lowered his head and continued to sort out the current battle situation.

Horus's fleet was exchanging fire with the front fleet headed by Vulkan, and the battle had entered a fierce state. The battleships were fighting each other, turning the stars into an absolute death zone.

Perturabo frowned, and once again transferred some of the Iron Warriors' ships to supplement the flanks, and told them to be ready to attack at any time.

The Blood of Steel currently has about 40% of its artillery positions that can fire normally. It is true that it cannot move, but at least it can make some contribution to the battle.

This could be considered a blessing in misfortune. He gave the order to open fire freely and let the artillery positions lock onto the enemy ships in front, then returned his sights to the inside of the Blood of Steel.

I don't know if it was a coincidence or not, but the attack of the traitors of the Death Guard coincided with the battle of the battleships, which also reached a fever pitch.

The battlefield opened by Frix had at least thousands of traitors attacking them at the moment. Such a number made Perturabo's expression become more serious - that traitor named Typhons could actually instigate rebellion. so many people?

Or is it the work of Horus?

He silently wrote down this incident and began to direct nearby units to go to support. The engine room that Frix is ​​responsible for must not be lost. As long as there is no problem with the engine, the Blood of Steel can continue to move even if important internal nodes are damaged.

Keeping thinking, Perturabo issued one order after another. His thoughts were extremely cold and he rarely spoke. All orders were issued through the simplest and clearest written instructions.

As the commander, he endured death and losses in every part of the battlefield, and bore the most terrifying and heavy responsibility in this Death Star Territory, but he did not show any weakness.

Nothing could melt him down again.

Even if it is

Perturabo closed his eyes, raised his right hand high, and slammed it on a screen. The piercing alarm sounded throughout the entire bridge at this moment, and the red lights flashed endlessly. People's movements were stagnant, and they all looked at their original body.

"Evacuate!" the Lord of Steel said succinctly over the buzzing of flies. "Put on your gas masks, evacuate the main bridge and go to the backup bridge!"

"Sharp." A voice said appreciatively from above the bridge. "But not sharp enough."

Perturabo raised his head and caught a dim yellow eye among the large swaths of flies that came from nowhere.

He raised the hammer coldly.

Also, code.