40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 362 82. The Burning of Five Hundred Worlds (1)

Lorgar Aurelion once said that he would burn every one of the five hundred worlds.

Ionid Hill thought he was farting.

The captain of the 135th Company of the Ultramarines stretched out his arm from behind the bunker and fired a round at the smelly bastards.

The bomb was pushed and spiraled out of the gun bore. Flames erupted. The muzzle should have jumped up, but due to good design and Hill's deliberate control, it could not move at all. He didn't stop until he finished one magazine and retreated behind the bunker.

Other battle brothers in the company immediately stepped forward, making this rain of death never-ending.

But a bastard.

Hill was a little surprised at how he described them in his mind, but because of the vulgar and unexpectedly precise wording, he couldn't help but sneer in his helmet.

Yes, bastard.

What better word could there be to describe the so-called auxiliaries of the Word Bearers?

There are tattoos on his forehead, he is covered with human skin, and he wields dirty daggers and weapons. Humans are not like humans, ghosts are not like ghosts, and they always rush out of the cold and biting fog. Obsessed with every possible killing, chanting blasphemous prayers.

But beyond that, besides the fact that they were hybrids—Ionid Hill knew something else.

That is, the more of these bastards die, the stronger the things that pop out of their corpses later will be. This is simply a blasphemous law of nature that you cannot change, resist or reject, you can only accept it.

So here's the thing, the Word Bearers will release them at the beginning of every battle. These people may be cultists brought from some remote world, or they may be civilians they captured and brainwashed along the way. It doesn't matter. critical.

Because they would strap bombs to their bodies, shout fanatical slogans, and charge at every Ultramarines or Midnight Blade they could see without any hesitation.

It is true that you can kill them as effortlessly as an animal. You can slash them with knives, dismember them, reduce them to smithereens and char with bolters or flamethrowers, smash their heads with punches, run over them with tank tracks, and blast them to pieces in advance with orbital bombardments. .Then they will come back.

They would come back, in another way, in a way that was completely contrary to Imperial truth.

The bodies or bones of their remains will swell, the blood that has seeped into the soil will start to glow strangely, and the eight-pointed star tattoos on their bodies will hiss. Then, demons will be born from their bones.

demon. Ionid Hill sighed. Imperial Truth, where are you?

Regardless of the sigh, he had indeed seen this scene hundreds of times with his own eyes, so he and his company did not take advantage of the heavy casualties of those bastards to break out of the bunker and advance forward.

Since Calth left, Hill's past knowledge and experience of war are being quickly forgotten. He devoted himself wholeheartedly to this new war. He eagerly absorbed the bloody experience and lessons, and summarized new theoretical models and empirical knowledge from them.

It may not be a good thing to be so keen on war, it can only show that there is some bad nature in his heart. However, at this time, who would care? Robert Guilliman even wanted Hill to report to him face to face on the Macragge's Glory after every battle.

Hill sighed and continued his waiting.

His eyepieces reflected the colorful sky, which seemed beautiful but represented a blasphemous storm that could not be looked directly at. From time to time, dazzling flashes of light flashed from the farthest reaches of the sky, each flash representing an explosion in orbit.

Waiting, the soldiers of the 135th Company finally heard the sound they wanted to hear after a few minutes. It was a crunching sound that made people feel sad, as if someone was holding two pieces of metal against each other. friction.

Hill lowered his head, and the readings on the eyepiece began to change rapidly. The temperature dropped sharply, and frost and ice appeared in the corners of the battlefield, but the flames were still burning and crackling. Behind the bunker where Hill and his company were, a low, gentle buzz spread, and finally, the mist.

The demon tide is coming.

Rushing out of the mist, each demon is as strange as a nightmare. Sometimes they are shadows, sometimes they are a group of shadows entangled in darkness, and sometimes they are dog-shaped beasts with fangs. They are all shapeless, but they are all extremely bloodthirsty. .

Hill calmly raised his gun and squeezed the trigger. Facing such a large number of enemies, he didn't need to aim. At the same time, he issued orders through the tactical channel.

As a result, on the flanks of the battlefield, the heavy firepower troops who had been waiting for a long time began to pour out their anger. Huge metal shadows swooped down in the sky, and the Storm Eagles and their pilots dropped every bomb they carried with extremely high killing zeal.

The fire was soaring into the sky, the heat was rolling in, and it was accompanied by a terrifying stench. The smell of demon flesh is enough to render any breathing grille or defense useless. Hill smelled the scent again, but didn't feel the slightest relief.

He knew that this did not mean victory.

A full six hours and forty-two minutes later, when it was almost dark, they killed every demon.

——

"Tell Sevita that I want him to capture the ship within three hours." Siani frowned and expressed his order - or requirement - very seriously to a messenger servant.

"Before the ground war is over, I want to see every Word Bearer on that cruiser killed and their heads stacked up. No, I'm joking."

He relaxed his frown and patted the servitor on the shoulder: "Don't tell him this. That kid might really do this."

The servitor looked at him confused and staggered away. A few minutes later, Siani received a voice message on his communication channel.

"Understood," Yago Savitarion said hoarsely. "I will cut off each Word Bearer's head and place it in your name, Sianiha of Terra."

Siani narrowed his eyes, sent a message full of Terran slang, left the boarding deck of the Night Soul, and began to perform a series of complicated but necessary procedures.

The first was the standard inspection of power armor and weapons, conducted by two technical sergeants who were very rude to Siani and Sevita. Then comes the medical examination from the medical officer. Although there is no need to take off the power armor, the whole process is still very challenging to one's patience.

Siani considered himself to have a good temper, so he endured it until the medical officer from the third company taunted him for the fifth time before breaking out.

"Are you done yet?!"

"Don't make such a fuss, dear hand-to-hand combat champion." The medical officer smiled at him. "I'm not the one who broke your left wrist, but I do want to ask, how did you break your wrist when using the power claw? It doesn't require your wrist to bear force."

"Do you have to worry about me occasionally turning off the decomposition field to kill people?!"

"Um"

The medical officer groaned and shook his head, his expression somewhat intriguing.

"This is not within my purview, but did you report this to the Techmarines? Do they know you violated weapons regulations again? The Power Claw is a powered weapon, Lord Champion. If you really If you like the feeling of a physical blade cutting through the flesh of your enemy, why not use a chainsword?”

"."

Siani wisely shut her mouth and chose silence.

After a few minutes, the medical officer finally let him go.

As for the broken wrist, neither he nor the medical officer actually took it as something that needed to be taken seriously. As early as a few seconds after the fracture occurred, Siani broke the crooked wrist back on his own. In probably a few hours, his wrist will be healed.

With a gloomy face, he walked up the road and arrived at the bridge of the Night Soul, where his company commander Van Cleef had been waiting here for a long time.

The aftermath of the explosions on several battleships was still slowly spreading out of the huge eight portholes in front of the bridge, reflecting the entire bridge as if it was being directly hit by the sun. Although this could not stop the crew of the Night Soul from continuing their work, But some Nostramo crew members have been forced to wear sunglasses.

Staring into bright light is a very painful experience for a Nostramo and can lead to weeks of blindness or to actual blindness.

Siani passed through a group of crew members leaving with documents, and then passed four servitors who were repairing a cogitator array, and then finally passed through the busy bridge and arrived behind Van Cleef.

The captain of the company, who had his back turned to him, threw a data pad over without looking back. It showed an order, which came directly from Robert Guilliman.

"Are there another meeting?" Siani finished reading it and let out a long sigh from his throat. "forgive me."

"You don't have to go." Van Cleef said calmly. "I don't care if you are absent from this post-war meeting, Siani, you can't give any advice anyway. The other officers are speaking enthusiastically, but you and Sergeant Severtalion, you two masters and disciples Always prefer to maintain a precious silence."

"Molets can go for me." Siani pretended not to understand and gave a suggestion. "He's the best at talking."

"He has gone three times for you."

"So, what's the problem with going again?"

Van Cleef finally turned his head, his high cheekbones, thin lips, and sinister eyes making his gaze look dangerous. And Siani knew in his heart that his company commander was very dangerous.

"Okay." The eighth legion's five-time hand-to-hand combat champion sighed. "I'll be there."

"It's more than that," Van Cleef said. "I want you to be prepared to speak. I have a tactical idea. It's not convenient for me to propose it myself."

There is another chapter, by the way, I recommend this book.