40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 354 74. The End of Destruction (6)

Vulkan had not received a message or order from Perturabo for eleven minutes. Even if he called on the communication channel, no one answered. Coincidentally, Mortarion was also silent.

This matter was undoubtedly very disturbing. The Lord of the Fire Dragon crossed his arms and sighed solemnly as he stood in the command room of the Fireforge - somehow, he suddenly thought of Cassian at this moment. Vaughn.

That was the leader of the Salamander Legion before he returned to the Legion. A respectable warrior is now lying in the Dreadnought, waiting for the call to battle.

He thought as the battle report summary screen beside him flickered. There were strong lights flickering outside the portholes, each brightening representing an explosion and the destruction of a battleship, and the Fireforged was undoubtedly at the center of this destruction.

After a few seconds, Vulkan came to a conclusion. He understood that something very dangerous must have happened to his brothers.

But the question is, is Horus really capable of doing such a thing?

Vulgan asked himself, but couldn't come up with any answer.

He had indeed heard about strange powers and chaos, and had seen the Thousand Sons summoning thunder and lightning storms on the battlefield. But Horus is not Magnus, his legions are not the Thousand Sons, and they are not proficient in things like psychic energy and witchcraft.

However, if it is not spiritual power, what kind of power can it have, across such a long distance, that can make two original bodies locked in a bitter fight at the same time, unable to respond to his communication?

"Primarch."

While he was thinking, his personal guard and first company commander Athelus Numeon walked into his command room.

Unlike most people, Vulkan actually doesn't like to stand on the bridge and have an overview of the whole situation. He prefers to stay in a not-so-wide command room and think quietly, but the door is usually left open and no one can You can report anything directly to him.

"What's going on?" Vulcan asked.

"We have received a communication request." Athelus Numeon tried his best to remain calm and reported. Despite this, there was a very obvious solemnity in the Terran's eyes.

"From the spirit of vengeance, it is Horus."

Vulkan narrowed his eyes.

"Did he say what his intentions were?"

"No, my lord," said Athelus Numean. "All he asks is to speak to you, in any way. Communication, holographic projection, or face to face."

"Face to face?" Vulcan smiled. "He is either joking or really crazy. At this time, there is almost no difference between the two. Please take the communication, I would like to hear what he wants to say."

The first company commander left his command room in silence. Tens of seconds later, a communication signal flashed through a meditator array in front of Vulcan and was picked up by the Fire Dragon Lord himself.

"Traitor." Vulkan called calmly.

"I'm not here to argue with you, brother." The person on the other end of the communication said, his voice slightly hoarse. "You don't have to be so hostile. In fact, I even contacted you with good intentions."

"My fleet is attacking each other with your fleet. If possible, I hope to use macro cannons and torpedoes to blow every one of your ships into pieces, but you are bringing up good intentions at this time? Maybe you really have good intentions, But I only have murderous intentions for you."

"My impression is that Vulkan would not be so cruel to his brother."

"But you are not," Vulkan said slowly. "I don't know what you are, but you are definitely not Horus Luperkar. But that doesn't matter. When I throw you into the flames and watch you gradually turn into a puddle of ash, I think I will find out. "

The person on the other end of the communication chuckled lightly and was not angry at Vulkan's words. In fact, on the contrary, he even continued to explain, appearing completely out of the realm of anger.

"You act as if you know me very well, Vulkan, but the truth is that it's not as serious as you think. This is exactly why I called you."

"Tell your lies."

"What I am about to say is no lie," Horus said solemnly. "You may stubbornly regard my words as lies, but I will never lie to my brother. Listen, Vulcan, Perturabo is about to die."

Vulcan's pupils narrowed.

"This is not a threat, nor is it any so-called alarmism. I am simply telling you the fact that he is about to die."

"Why should I trust you?"

"You may not believe it, but there are enemies raging on his flagship that he cannot face, so not only him, but his descendants and legions will also be destroyed by the contamination of the disease. I don't want him to be treated like this, he Perhaps the one among us who sacrificed the most for the lie of the Great Crusade deserves a better ending."

"What do you want to say?" the Fire Dragon Lord asked coldly. "I heard the inducement in your words."

"I will cease fire," Horus said. "I will turn your fleet back to support him and save him, Vulkan. It is only natural that the blacksmith saves the steel."

"Wishful thinking." Vulkan approached the array of thinkers and placed his hands on the sharp metal edge. His expression was very cold, and his tone was no longer as gloomy as before.

"Listen to me, not a single ship in my legion will turn around or cease fire. We will fight here until you are all buried in the fire."

Horus sighed softly.

"Okay," he said. "I regret this, but since you chose to stand by, the war continues."

He hung up the communication.

Vulkan stood there, his breathing still long and calm, but his expression became more solemn little by little.

Talk back, Perturabo, Mortarion.

Reply quickly.

——

Unfortunately, Perturabo was unable to reply at the moment.

Whether the Lord of Steel wants to admit it or not, he is indeed engaged in a tough battle.

Evidence of this can be seen in his armor stained with morbid blood, as well as in the surrounding Iron Warriors who are infected with the disease. They were faltering, unable to even stand, let alone fight.

The metal that made up the power armor had been corroded to the point of rot, and the skin and flesh exposed to the air were covered with blisters and abscesses. Some people had taken off their helmets and were vomiting. The internal organs and teeth were vomited out of the mouth together, and the stench was extremely foul, exuding a horrifying smell.

The reason this scene is so terrifying is just because of a bunch of ridiculous flies.

"So strong." The voice from the swarm of flies came again, and it sounded like the wings of flies buzzing. Very noisy and very annoying.

"Your tenacity has completely exceeded my expectations. It's a pity. If you could accept the love of a loving father, how strong a body would you have? Coupled with your will that nothing can destroy, you will become everything. The end.”

It talked nonsense for a while, but ended with a dramatic twist and kept laughing: "It's a pity, it's a pity that you can no longer be blessed."

"Shut your mouth," Perturabo said coldly, swinging his hammer, ending an Iron Warrior's suffering. Before he died, he watched the primarch's hammer fall, and a grunt of relief escaped his throat.

The Lord of Steel's words caused the buzzing flies to disperse a little, and the voice sounded again, this time with a little displeasure.

"This is really rude. You guy, I am already very sincere and even willing to tell you the whole story. Why do you still behave so rudely?"

Perturabo remained silent and just walked to the next warrior and raised his hammer.

He has issued an order through the command system built into the armor. From now on, the main bridge of the Blood of Steel will be under complete martial law. He made it clear in his order that this was a contamination caused by witchcraft, and no one was allowed to enter or leave without his permission.

The war hammer fell, pus and blood flying together. The warrior's chest became a huge gap, and he let out a contented sigh and tapped his fingers on the ground.

Before he died, he stared into Perturabo's eyes.

The Lord of Steel unblinkingly retracted his weapon and continued walking towards his next target.

The crew was going crazy. The gas masks had no effect on the bites of the flies. In fact, even if they were wearing protective clothing, they probably wouldn't be able to fight off the flies.

The Primarch had seen with his own eyes how a swarm of flies had mysteriously burrowed into the armor of a Legionnaire a few minutes ago. Since then, Perturabo had been vaguely aware of one thing - these things only looked like It's a fly. That's all.

This is just a physical manifestation of them in the physical universe, like a disguise. They were not flies, they were more depraved, more disgusting, more evil creatures just like the eye he saw.

"Primarch." A warrior stood up unconsciously and staggered towards Perturabo.

His armor had completely rotted away and was mixed with his own flesh and blood. The helmet had long been taken off by himself, and his face was covered with scratch marks. The flesh had rotted away, and his eyes had fallen out of their sockets and were melting.

"Primarch," he called again. "Please give the order——"

"The order is rest," said Perturabo.

The war hammer fell again.

"How cruel." The voice in the fly commented. "You cut off the possibility of him walking into the arms of a loving father. I take it back. You are not strong, you are just rough and cruel. It is unimaginable, who can kill his own sons?"

Hearing this, Perturabo paused and squeezed the handle of the warhammer with his right hand until it creaked. He looked up at the group of flies, then raised his left hand.

The three heavy explosive bombs hanging under the arm armor immediately began to roar. The size of the explosive bomb was too large, while the size of the fly was too small. This was supposed to be a funny and absurd scene, until the flies screamed one after another in pain.

"Stop fighting!" the thing said angrily. "This hurts!"

pain?

The Lord of Steel waved his left hand, and the bolters immediately stopped firing. A piece of armor bounced off the side of his arm armor, and a portable promethium flame launcher immediately rose up.

Flames spurted out, and the flies crackled as they were roasted. The thing screamed in pain, and finally couldn't help but let out an angry roar.

"I'm angry!" it shouted. "You don't deserve respect!"

Perturabo remained silent, and the flamethrower returned to his gauntlet. He reached for his waist, and the special armed belt immediately flipped over, popping out two improved incendiary grenades.

The Primarch held them, pressed the trigger button on them, counted for two seconds, and then hurled them. The arcs and trajectories in which they were thrown were calculated by him, and they accurately hit the moving colony of flies.

The flames broke out again, and countless flies turned into ashes and fell down, but the swarm of flies itself remained undiminished.

Then, Perturabo spoke for the first time.

"It looks like you can keep me killing for a long time." The Lord of Steel said as he raised his war hammer.

"I'm not good at fighting - and this really hurts!" the thing roared. "You hateful guy!"

"Come out," said Perturabo indifferently. "Get out and face me or you'll be in more pain."

"I don't want it, and I will leave soon." The thing said, suddenly changing its attitude and using an extremely cautious tone. "Your loving father, who are you? Why can a person have so much hatred in his heart?"

hatred? I?

Perturabo almost laughed.

He turned his head and looked around, seeing diseased corpses lying on the ground. Some of them were hurt to death, but most of them were executed by his own hands.

At the same time, he could also feel a terrible high temperature coming from all parts of his body, which meant that his immune system was working abnormally. Obviously, he is not immune to these diseases.

So neither can they.

Every Legion is modeled after its Primarch, who was neither Vulkan nor Mortarion. They're equally tough, but the Fourth Legion doesn't have the resistance of the Salamanders or Death Guard to roam around in extreme environments.

So it's my fault. Perturabo told himself.

Once again - once again you have failed your Legion. You swore you wouldn't do it again, but you broke your oath anyway. Shame on those who betray their trust.

"What do you think is the reason?" he asked the floating flies gently. "Do you think hatred is an easy emotion, you filthy monster? You're the one who started it."

"Me?" the flies asked hesitantly. "Rotigs didn't remind me of these things. Are you mistaken?"

madness. Perturabo commented on his enemy - a foolish, naive creature with the intelligence of a child. Although he acts like a young child, he can easily turn his bridge into a living hell.

Why?

Why, what?

"Well, it's time for me to go." The flies said cautiously. "You keep hating me, but don't go past that point. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do this, I didn't expect you to hate me. I'm leaving, uh, you, you go ahead. I can't stay long, I The existence of it is a kind of destruction of the present."

"What are you?" Perturabo asked, looking at the flies.

"I am-" The thing took a deep breath, and a fly suddenly exploded. Its filthy shards flew everywhere, causing a minor plague to spread across the Ironblood's bridge. Then another fly, and another, and the next.

Continuous, like eternity.

The dark green poisonous mist caused a chain reaction with the corpses on the ground, and a thick carpet of bacteria spread throughout the bridge in an instant. The extraordinary evil power aggravated the burden on Perturabo's immunity, causing him to suddenly fall to his knees, his knees weak and unable to stay standing at all.

His vision began to blur, and all the scenes became ethereal and distorted. The Lord of Steel gritted his teeth, trying to get himself back on his feet - but human willpower will eventually come to an end, and he could not drive his body to do this with willpower alone. He could not even hear the last part of what the damn fly said. What.

The carpet of bacteria swept in and enveloped him.

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