40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 410 136. Terra (13)

Someone is sharpening a knife.

Slow, focused and meticulous. The sound of sharpening the knife is continuous and rhythmic. This almost makes one doubt the intention of the knife sharpener - is he polishing the weapon, or does he want to use this opportunity of sharpening the knife to create a strange song?

This sound would only sound noisy to ordinary people's ears, but to Sigismund, it could be described as pleasant.

A pleasant noise.

This song forced him to raise his head from his meditation. The warrior wearing blood-stained gold armor was sitting on the ground not far away. He was holding a piece of metal fragment that he had found from nowhere. He was holding it in his hand. , polishing a ferocious-shaped combat dagger.

That knife was not a common style. Its blade was very wide, but its arc showed an unusually bloody cruelty. The tip of the knife was polished brightly, and the guard was inlaid with an agate stone, with a lightning symbol in the center.

"Thunder," Sol Tarvitz said from beside him. "His name is Thunder."

"It sounds more like a code name," Sigismund said. "But it does suit a guy who fights like he does."

It couldn't have fit any better - not to mention, a bolt of lightning did hit him in the chest.

Sigismund bowed his head again.

The bloody scene reflected in the blood river, the huge scarlet shadow, and the lightning

They passed through his mind like a storm, but he failed to catch any of them. He could only let them swirl in his mind, creating more and bigger questions.

In the end, Sigismund couldn't bear to throw them all out of his head. He chose to stand up and talk to Sol Tavitz as reinforcements-even if there was only one person, he should understand this team. The specific situation of the troops who will die together.

That was what he should be doing right now, not sitting on a rock contemplating supernatural visions from the warp. Those things were far beyond the scope of rational understanding, and he didn't want to think about them anymore.

"Are you free?" he asked Tavitz.

The emperor didn't seem surprised by his inquiry, and just smiled at this clumsy opening. Sigismund shook his head wordlessly, and he also felt the urge to smile - he really should smile, why didn't he have time?

Most areas of the Impasse Fortress have been occupied by demons, and they have retreated to the edge of the Star Torch Hall. This corridor is extremely long and narrow, making it suitable for heavy firepower garrisoning. At this moment, all you need to do is wait for the enemy to arrive.

"What do you want to ask?" Tavitz said.

A transport servitor staggered past him, its pale face no longer dull as before, replaced by a strange grinning expression.

Anger is a defective anger - it doesn't understand where this emotion comes from and why it disrupts its data processing capabilities.

In fact, its simple processing capabilities don't even understand what anger actually is. As early as the beginning of design and manufacturing, the mechanical priests did not design them with such excellent understanding capabilities.

Sigismund watched it pass by carrying ammunition until it was completely gone, and then asked a question.

"How are you doing?"

Tavitz was startled for a moment and quickly understood who the 'you' in Sigismund's words were referring to.

"I thought you would ask about the specific situation now." He replied in a low voice. "We're not very good. In fact, you shouldn't ask me. I don't know anything about my legion right now."

"Know nothing?"

"I am the only son of the Emperor here, Sigismund." With a smile, Tavitz shook his head. "We have five hundred and twenty-six Skitarii, twelve Mechanic-Priests, nine hundred and sixty-five Guardsmen, and two Astartes. One of them is you, and the other is me."

"What about him?" Sigismund frowned and pointed at Thunder.

"He's not," Saul Tarvitz said. "Also, you'd better not treat him like an Astartes, he doesn't like that."

This sentence made Sigismund silent for a long time, but the emperor did not end it simply. He began to tell how they gradually lost the entire Desperate Fortress to the demons' attack. The whole narrative was calm and ruthless, No emotion at all.

He didn't even express the slightest regret for the loss of his comrades. However, in contrast, were his fists that were always clenched together.

The corridor was narrow and dark, and soft sounds came from behind them. There was a strong wind outside, creating a low and strange echo in the corridor.

Occasionally there will be one or two particularly loud sounds, maybe the Titan is angry, or some airship has landed on the top of the Fortress - the defense system is still operating, and any demon or airship passing here will be targeted.

If the driver is unlucky and is not allowed to pass here and cannot give the permission code, he will be shot down.

Sigismund hoped that this would not happen. He listened in silence to Tarvitz's story, and gradually began to realize how great the changes in the Emperor's Children were, and what they had experienced.

They held out in hell for fourteen hours, which is why all the Astartes died. That was why Tavitz knew only two of the priests and only one officer in the Wehrmacht—because all the familiar faces were dead.

They escaped from this hell and went to another hell.

Reinforcements came one after another, carrying Malcador's spiritual power or oracles, desperately coming from all over Terra. The Fortress of Impasse is extremely vast. It is a hollow mountain range, but there is a nightmare hidden inside. Anyone who tries to pass through the nightmare will see the fangs of the monster inside.

However, in essence, the reinforcements did achieve their purpose of coming here-the moment they stepped into this nightmare, they attracted the attention of the demons.

In this way, even if they cannot reach the Star Torch Hall at the top of the mountain, they can still distract the demons.

"So, in a sense, this is Malcador's purpose," the Emperor's Son said. He concluded, his expression not relaxed.

Sigismund nodded, indicating that he understood. He wanted to ask again, but Tavitz had something else to say. Once again, he was interrupted.

"They knew about it."

Sigismund was slightly startled.

The emperor laughed.

"They know," he repeated. "Makado didn't hide it. He made it clear early on, just like he told you - we came here to die, Sigismund. Even if we can't defend it, we can die here. ”

"but."

"Death is not the end."

A low voice interrupted their conversation. Thunder sat on the ground, holding a ferocious blade and glaring at them. Noticing their looks back, Lei Lei chuckled and simply stood up from the ground.

He sheathed his sword and walked over with his head held high. Pride was evident, and the face still stained with blood was filled with a smile that came from nowhere.

"Do you think death can stop these people, Saul Tarvitz?" He spread his hands and looked around with a look of enjoyment.

"Look at them, covered in bruises, covered in dust, low on ammunition, and unable to even communicate with the outside world - but does this prevent them from standing here and continuing to fight? Put away that unknown mercy, the Emperor's Children. You are seeking justice. Man, you are by no means so weak that you don’t know what war is.”

Sigismund frowned. He wanted to say something. He didn't like Thunder's arrogant attitude. However, he still didn't get a chance to speak. A loud noise sounded from the other end of the corridor, and the brave scouts began to shout warnings.

"They're coming!"

War is coming again, and the fog of darkness is filling the air. Sigismund raised his sword and put on a scavenged Imperial Fists helmet as Thunder laughed loudly.

"Win or die!" Thunder roared. "Victory after death!"

——

Seventeenth hour.

Malcador counted the time and turned himself into a machine.

He stood on a broken glacier, and the strong wind howled by, but he was indifferent, and his robe did not even dance. He still holds his scepter, the golden light at the top has long been extinguished, and now it is a cold blue fire, and the light of psychic energy is flickering.

There were bursts of sharp and piercing whistling above his head, which was the sound of the gunboat passing by. They are going to carry out an air raid mission, and the target location is the northeast corner of the palace. It is a majestic and magnificent city that can be called a complex city, but now it has to bear the fate of destruction.

Malcador knew what would happen, the bombing and shelling would destroy the place and the demons there. Finely carved stone will turn to powder along with steel in the hellish heat, and so will the entire city.

And this was just the beginning. In order to prevent future troubles and reduce the pressure on the defenders on the front, Roger Dorn issued an order thirty-three minutes ago.

He asked the gunboats to use scorched-earth tactics. He wanted more than just bombing. He wanted fire - promethium fire, a lethal dose, all delivered.

Malcador could almost foresee that scene. The blazing flames dozens of stories high would completely surround the place and continue to burn.

The hard work of previous generations was turned into ashes.

And in the temporary command room where this order was passed, no one was more heartbroken than Roger Dorn. Malcador felt sorry for him, and for everyone.

The Sigil Bearer is using his psychic powers like never before, his perceptions encompassing all of Terra. This is a very dangerous thing, so he must do it. In the current situation, no one is more suitable to take on this position than him.

Terra's bureaucracy and communication systems have collapsed, and reconstruction is almost impossible. No one can repair equipment and debug channels while participating in the war, so he can only take on this important task.

Seventeen hours since the war started, countless messages have passed through Malcador's thoughts and reached all over Terra. The foundation upon which this empire rests is crumbling, and the Markbearer chooses to be its foundation.

He will stay here until the war is over and they are victorious.

He opened his eyes and saw another scene. As soon as it happened his intuition caught it, and a twinge forced him to look away.

He saw the Astral Court, the burning Astral Court, and the Black Sentinels killing psykers.

They were once well-trained and absolutely loyal, but now they have become targets who must be executed. Malcador opened his eyes and began to penetrate deeper into the city of vision. The strong wind brought black snow to his face, melting on his long white hair and old face.

Amid the burning ruins and endless death, it didn't take long for someone to notice his unabashedly intense psychic light. A thought contacted him, he was breathless and exhausted.

+We've been invaded, my lord, I'm sorry+

+This is not your fault, He is good at conspiracy. +

Malcador withdrew his sight and began to contact the remaining psykers one by one who had not mutated, as well as the commander of the Black Sentinel.

+Destroy the city of sight and evacuate to the palace. + he ordered. Other than that, no more words were said, and the vision immediately moved away.

He has no extra energy left.

However, the tragedy of the Astral Court was what he had expected - Tzeentch had stolen part of Terra's time, and the current situation was not chaotic enough for them. Of course, he would want to set another fire.

For some people, or some things, it is not enough to just let the world burn. The flame must be burned enough to make the night bright, so that these things can be satisfied.

In just one second, the palmist's thoughts jumped vertically and horizontally, and he directly contacted three middle-level officers of the Sun Auxiliary Army. Forty-six minutes ago, they were not the ones who held this position.

Malcador revealed his identity and began to mobilize them to support the Black Sentinels and the psykers of the Astragalus.

Psykers who can survive Tzeentch's active mutation have nothing more to worry about. Terra is now an altar, and as long as they have hatred in their hearts, they will no longer be tainted by Tzeentch's power.

And all of them are well-trained psychics. Such a force can greatly relieve the pressure on the eastern front of the palace.

But what about the southern route? What about the hive? What about Starport? What about all of Terra?

Malcador ignored these and just started to deal with the problems before him that really needed to be solved.

Raising reinforcements, supporting the front, handling communications on the orbital platform - his thoughts rose further and further, rising higher and higher, and in the end he even formed a strange vision of being on Terra and looking down on it from space. Like a split.

Machado was indifferent to this. This was not the first time he had done this.

He 'turned' and looked at Mars. The flames that broke out on it did not surprise him. Mars' rebellion was completely expected. Therefore, the first thing those rebels had to face was a group of Om Messiah believers who were well prepared and full of anger.

Unless they win, there is no way they can interfere with Terra's situation.

He looked at the Phalanx and the Emperor's Dream not far away. The two ships had already followed the plan and moved away from Terra's low-Earth orbit. They had more important tasks, and the fleet followed closely, reluctantly looking at the burning Terra as nothing.

Malcador raised his eyes and looked at the stars in the distance, looking towards the edge of the solar system. His thoughts began to wander, and the horizon began to move rapidly. The stars turned into misty starlight and disappeared instantly like mist.

In just the blink of an eye, he reached the first line of defense in the solar system, where a war was also breaking out.

The enemies are the Word Bearers, the Sons of Horus, and the cultists they capture along the way to brainwash, or the crippled Astartes they improvise to serve as cannon fodder. The quality of the combat soldiers was terrible, but they did not need to enter the stage of hand-to-hand combat.

Because the thing that stole Horus Luperkar's skin already had a fleet more terrifying than ever before.

The powerful battleships that have been given the name of glory are heading here from the farthest end of the solar system. The leading ship is the Spirit of Vengeance that has become extremely gloomy.

They will pass through defense lines one after another along the way, and the guards on them already know what they have to do. Their purpose has changed from victory to delay, delaying the enemy at all costs and slowing down their arrival on Terra.

As long as you delay it long enough, everything can be reversed.

But what about them? What will they do?

Malcador had no answer to this, and just turned his vision back to Terra. Due to his physical limitations, he could not maintain this state for long.

He cast his sight between the thrones. The Imperial Guards were still fighting. They had not had any respite since the beginning of the war.

Constantine Waldo, the leader of the Ten Thousand Husbands, is the most tired among them, but this fatigue does not come from the spirit, but from the body.

The bodies carefully modified by the Emperor's hands were powerful, but they were still unable to withstand the power of their master - or, in other words, the cost of driving away a god.

An arm was the smallest price he could pay.

+Makado. +

The palm bearer sighed helplessly and picked up Constantine's thoughts. The Sisters of Silence didn't seem to have any influence on him - his helplessness at the moment was entirely due to Constantine's keen perception.

+What's the matter? +

+The Webway is still burning. What is the situation with the Lord and Khalil Lohars? +

+You asked a good question, Constantine. Sorry I can't answer. +

+Why? +

+Because I don’t know either. +

Malcador was far away from the thoughts of the commander of the Imperial Army - but he did not really leave the throne room. In the distorted and noisy voice due to spiritual energy, the Mark Palmist turned into a stream of light and entered the depths of the Webway.

The flames are blazing and the demons are still endless. The demons that appear here are the most unfortunate ones among the endless evil spirits in subspace. They don't really want to come, but they have to come.

When they come here, they can't at least enjoy the fun of fighting and taste the taste of blood like their counterparts in other parts of Terra. Here, the only thing they can get is judgment and destruction.

And the person Malcador is looking for is here.

he called softly.

+Your Majesty+

5k for this chapter, two chapters to go, 15k today.