40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 366 86. The Burning of Five Hundred Worlds (5)

You thought this was the end, didn't you?

You think burning every world is the end, the end of crime, but there are no limits to human imagination. Funny to say, we really have no end when it comes to killing.

In the final analysis, perhaps it is also because human beings' bodies are too fragile, so the methods of killing suddenly increase, such as poison gas, bombing, burying them alive, or letting them kill each other. Even Astartes can be wounded by blades. What's the use of holding a blade and wearing armor?

We have divine protection

"Yes." Saiveta said. “But I fucking have this.”

He pulled the trigger, and the bolter exploded into a brilliant, bright burst of flame in the dim cabin.

A Word Bearer was beaten and staggered back a few steps, blood gushing from the damaged armor, but he was not dead yet. There was still a look of pure, raw evil in that face, and the chainsword whizzed towards him.

Sevatar dodged sideways and threw the empty bolter, causing his enemy to stumble again. And this step is enough for him.

Roaring, the First Reserve crooked the Word Bearer's left knee with a vicious kick, then punched him squarely in the jaw. There was a crisp cracking sound from the bones, but he was still not satisfied. After knocking off the chain sword with his fist, he grabbed the loose and fallen jaw with both hands.

"Click-!"

Blood splattered out, and Sevatar sneered with satisfaction. His helmet was covered in blood, and even the eyepieces were covered with a dim red light.

The Word Bearers waved their hands in an attempt to shake him off, but not only failed, but inflicted even more pain.

Holding the piece of jaw, Sevatar began to beat its owner with it, one after another, the muffled sound echoed continuously. He didn't stop until the Word Bearer's head was completely deformed and swollen like a trampled fruit.

"Keep talking." Saiweita let go of his hand, letting the residue and flesh of his chin slip from his gauntlet.

He turned around and picked up his bolter and chainshalberd, muttering to himself.

"Go on, you bastard, and keep talking about your theories about torture and divine blessing."

He replaced a magazine and stepped over the body.

"Where is your god?" He asked with a fake smile against the darkness in front of him. "Call them out?"

The corpse didn't answer, so it certainly couldn't, but there were still many living Word Bearers in the ship. Half a minute later, he killed three Word Bearers who tried to answer.

They are the forty-eighth, forty-ninth and fiftieth respectively. Their armor is very dirty, and it is obvious at a glance that it lacks maintenance. It is really a waste to wear MK3 on them.

Sweating and laughing, Sevatar dismembered them with his chainsaw, then immediately threw a bunch of grenades. The narrow space was instantly filled with explosions and heat waves. Broken limbs and broken arms were flying everywhere, and a dozen slaves or Word Bearers auxiliaries rushed out of the flames screaming.

Unfortunately, after braving the fire and passing through the restricted area of ​​death, the first thing they saw was a ghastly mask painted in the shape of a skull, and two red lights flashing in the darkness.

Sevatar gently pressed the start button of the chain saw. As if in a manic episode, the saw teeth spun and the motor began to laugh maniacally.

The killing comes again.

Sevatar wasted no time with the group, but he did give his chainsaw a treat, letting each blade taste the blood of the traitor's corruption and blasphemy.

If this weapon really had an organic soul, it would surely forgive him for sticking it into the ground these days.

Of course, maybe not, who cares?

Panting, Sevatar began to move closer to the fourth engine room of the battle barge.

The attack by the Word Bearers happened almost two hours ago. They rushed out of an asteroid belt and launched an attack on the combined fleet of the Eighth Legion and the Thirteenth Legion. Logically speaking, the radar should have warned, but the Word Bearers had warp magic.

Well, they have everything...except courage.

A bunch of cowards.

Sevatar was contentedly insulting the enemy in his thoughts, but the movements of his hands were not slow at all. He ran along, leaving little gifts at every corner.

If any pursuers or unsighted people try to pass by the trap he left, they will taste continuous explosions, and ceramite cannot protect them - as Konrad Coates said That way.

Unfortunately, the galaxy is full of things that can easily destroy ceramite, says the Lord of Blades, and yet we, by coincidence, are mostly wearing ceramite.

Laughing with glee, Savita pulled the trigger, shattering the safety lock on a heavy door, then hacking away several times.

This was not in line with the essentials of stealth operations, but Sevatar didn't want to deal with any essentials right now. The psychic coldness had faded from his body, which was not a good feeling.

In the past forty-two days, he had become accustomed to the convenience of psychic energy and the illusion of omnipotence it brought. It was much harder to accept loss than gain.

He was thinking wildly, his thoughts as wild as the environment of the Word Bearers' ship, and the Word Bearers responded to him - half a team of traitors rushed out from the corner of the corridor, the leader carrying a promethium flame Injector.

Savita raised an eyebrow, turned around, smashed the door and rushed into the engine room.

Urges and inquiries were constantly coming from his communication channel, most of which came from the adjutant of the first company, Molec. Obviously, the adjutant in charge this time was not very satisfied with his solo action - but this was not a big problem.

It's just a stage of dissatisfaction now, and there is still some time before reaching the stage where he will be punished, as long as he finishes what he is doing.

Sevatar raised his bolter and aimed it at the cogitator array in the engine room, even humming in the mood. This ballad has no name and comes from Nostramo. It is low, long and gloomy, originating from a legendary vengeful spirit.

Sevatar loved the tune, but he rarely sang it. The song is good, but his voice is not.

Smiling, he squeezed the trigger.

A few seconds later, the roar of the Word Bearers was approaching outside the door, but he walked unhurriedly behind the broken door, quietly raised the chain halberd, still humming the song in his heart.

The flames had begun to spread in the engine room, and the piercing sirens were mixed with the unconscious wails of the Thinker array, making it even more unpleasant to hear. However, Savitar always remained calm. He held up the chain halberd coldly and waited.

Half a second later, flames shot straight in from outside the broken door.

"If you don't want to come out, just die in there, you mouse hiding in the dark!" someone shouted outside. "You will be buried with the engine! I will kill you first, and then kill every one of your brothers!"

Sevatar narrowed his eyes and sighed quietly. He was disappointed by the sudden return of the Word Bearers' intelligence, and it also made him miss his own psychic abilities.

If his talent had not been sealed, then the enemies of half the team would be nothing more than a thought. He casually freezes them, then rushes in and chops each one to pieces with his chainsaw.

Or even better, just use lightning to roast them together with their armor, making them scream or twitch inside.

He has many ways to avoid the current predicament, and these methods all require a prerequisite, which is spiritual power.

But he has no psychic powers now.

Savita blinked and wanted to try another way to break the situation, but he heard an unharmonious noise.

Ten seconds later, accompanied by a deafening explosion, smoke and dust filled the door.

The place where the iron door of the engine room used to be is now a deep pit. The broken cables are releasing electricity, high-temperature steam gushes out of the broken pipes, and some mutilated flesh and blood hangs on the ceiling or the ground and hisses.

The corpses of the Word Bearers have turned into a more primitive form. They look like mud mixed with bone residue and armor fragments, dark red, and showing a disgusting texture.

Savitar smacked his lips, jumped over the pit, and left the engine room. But before he could stand upright, he was violently knocked to the ground by a punch.

Molec reached up, pulled him up, took off his helmet, and punched him again. This time it hit him firmly on the bridge of his nose, causing blood and tears to pour out.

The physiological reaction caused Savita to take a step back while holding her broken nose, looking very embarrassed. The adjutant looked at him coldly and handed the helmet to a night blade standing behind him.

"Hello, great hero." The adjutant greeted softly. "How does it feel to abandon your brothers and battle plans to become a lone hero?"

"I didn't abandon them, I just changed the battle plan." Saiweita said vaguely. "Didn't you see? I uploaded it to-"

"-Yes, yes, I saw it, Sevetarion, you idiot." Moratz interrupted him impatiently, pushed him to the wall aside, and stretched out his hand to straighten the bridge of his nose. .

Sevatar made no sound, obediently letting him inflict more pain.

"You know you deserve this, right?" Morets asked.

"Yeah." Sevita nodded. "There won't be a next time, I promise."

"It doesn't matter." The adjutant put on a fake smile. "Everyone loses control sometimes, especially us. We will lose control completely one day, so it doesn't matter."

He turned and walked away, and Sevatar immediately caught up with him. A helmet was thrown over, and he took it with his backhand and hung it on his armed belt.

"I'm serious," Saiveta said.

"Whatever you want, Savita Leon." Morais glanced at him calmly.

"I learned one thing very early on. War can change everything, but it cannot change everyone's character. For example, our company commander, after so many years, has his old-fashioned and seriousness not been eradicated at all? Another example is Siani. , I will always be on the road to making progress, and you will be with me."

"What's wrong with me?"

"You're always being tortured." The adjutant chuckled harshly.

"Your reason is always telling you what is the right thing to do, but sometimes, your sensibility will ask you to take a path that is completely opposite to your reason, and you are so damn garrulous."

"It's always pleasant to go against the grain, and because of this, you will always be in pain like this, Sevita Leon. So I don't believe your nonsense about there being no next time. If there is one, there will be two. If there is one, there will be two." Two will make three.”

Sevatar expressed her disapproval silently and carefully. It was a very gentle shake of the head. Of course, this did not escape Moratz's eyes.

The adjutant gave him a slightly unhappy look, pulled out his bolter, and shot three more rounds at a Word Bearer corpse on the ground. Two for the heart, one for the brain. Blood and flesh splattered, and he stopped and squatted down.

"I don't like preaching." He said coldly. "So, let's get down to business now. Come here, Sevatarion."

The first reserve officer leaned over with a low eyebrow.

"Look." Molec stretched out a finger and pointed at a lump of black flesh with disgust. "It was his brain, at least it used to be. Who has a black brain, Sergeant Severtalion?"

"traitor."

"Only half right." Molec withdrew the bolter, hung it back on the side of his thigh, and then reached out and pulled out his combat knife.

He picked up the mass of flesh and blood with the tip of his knife, while the Night Blades methodically carried out the cleanup work in the darkness - if you ask, yes, they will perform a complete cleanup on every Word Bearers ship that joins the gang. extermination policy.

"Only a completely corrupted traitor can act like this," the adjutant said in a low voice. "The corrosion of subspace is a gradual process, at least in most cases. It is like the drizzle in spring. You can only realize its arrival when you feel the coolness on your neck, and by that time, it is already too late. late."

"That sentence of yours actually sounds a bit poetic," Saiveta said in surprise.

The adjutant sighed in disgust: "What did I just say?"

"You said the corrosion of the warp was like the drizzle of spring."

"No, I said your mouth is really damned sometimes." Moratz said coldly.

"The Word Bearers can fool themselves all they want with their so-called 'divine blessing' theory, but we all know what things in the Warp look like. But even an Ogryn and an Orc hybrid The premature babies that come out will not be uglier than those things, they are absolutely miserable."

"Are you off topic?"

Molec laughed angrily, and brought the short knife in front of Sevita with his backhand. The latter raised his hands and wisely shut his mouth.

"Their corruption is deepening, Savitarion," Moratz said. "The Word Bearers regard this as a blessing. They are already fanatical believers. So, now think about it, what can a group of fanatical believers do to please the gods?"

He shook the short knife again, and on the shining tip of the knife, the mass of flesh and blood was gradually slipping away.

There is one more chapter left.

The late update was due to force majeure. The author went downstairs to get the express delivery and was hit by a battery car.