40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 416 142. Terra (seventeen)

Dissipate, everything is dissipating, becoming nothingness that cannot be observed or touched. The light is swallowed up, then the shape, and finally the sound dissipates.

Amidst the loud noise caused by the falling battleship, the things in front of Rogal Dorn began to distort.

He was not in the center of the fall, or even just on the edge, but this incident still caught up with him. Stubborn stone opened his eyes, watching the darkness fall, and then the flames ignited.

The ground shook, and obsidian polished so smooth that it could be used as a mirror covered the muddy flesh. Narrow walls suddenly rose from the scattered dust, turning into narrow corridors to surround him. The mutated skull hangs on the stone wall, with the top of the skull wide open and a torch stuck in it. A putrid smell began to spread from their burning.

Dawn lowered his head and saw a blurry silhouette.

The smooth obsidian reflected his own appearance, but presented a distorted spectacle. The flames on the wall were leaping, and his appearance also changed along with it.

The skin dissolved, revealing the true face underneath, which was the face of a demon with two ferocious spiral horns on its head. A highly abstracted skull symbol sparkled on the forehead, reaching deep into the bone marrow. The bloody light was terrifying and scarlet, and the eyes were like torches.

Dorn raised his foot and ran over it.

A hoarse hissing sound came from the communication channel. Someone was trying to contact him, but was unable to do so.

The instrument is reporting an error and has been doing so for a while. Judging from the repeated error codes, there is only one reason why the communication line cannot be successfully established, and it is very simple - signal disorder, nothing more.

Dorn didn't care about this, just holding the Storm Fang and moving forward slowly.

This chain sword comes from his hometown of Inwit. It was patiently forged in the ice and snow by those hard-working craftsmen. It is a truly terrifying weapon.

Only the Primarch could wield a weapon of this size with one hand, and its teeth and motors were specially designed to shred virtually anything, including adamantine. Therefore, if an enemy appears, he is not worried.

Even if he is alone now, even if the fortress he built has been completely destroyed.

Of course Dorn recognized the fallen battleship, and he could also determine the central location of its fall. Its destination is the Royal Palace, which is most of the continental plate occupied by the entire Himalayas and the Royal Palace.

It has fallen, so the palace has become a ruin, and those carefully prepared fortifications and fortress buildings have naturally turned into nothingness.

But it doesn't matter.

He is the fortress. The last fortress.

Dorn turned around, and he smelled a rotten stench that was far worse than before.

"Hello, brother." Horus Luperkar greeted with a smile.

Stubborn stone slowly put down the chain sword in his hand.

"Huh?" Horus raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Why did you lay down your weapon?"

Donne looked at him indifferently and said nothing. The contempt in his eyes almost turned into substance.

"Ah, you are still so sharp." Horus shook his head nostalgically. "Do you know, Roger? On the way back, I kept thinking about what brought us to this point. I couldn't figure out the answer, but I saw you - to be precise, you."

"I saw the tragic situation of Terra before I ordered the impact. Although we were floating in the subspace at the time, I still saw it - how could you let those civilians go to the battlefield with guns?"

He asked seemingly questioningly, with a bit of anger in his eyes.

"Where's your backbone, Roger?" he asked. "This is a battle of honor. This battle belongs to the real warriors. I can tolerate you filling your battlefield with mortal auxiliary troops. Although they are weak, they are still part of the war after all. But why do you want to let them fill your battlefield?" Are civilians also involved?"

"Why not?" Dorn asked calmly.

"What use are they in a war?"

Horus asked the same question, and then immediately started talking non-stop, as if he hadn't had such a peaceful conversation with someone for a long time.

"Most of them don't even know how to shoot correctly. It's a waste of weapons in their hands. They have zero tactical gestures and tactical literacy, not to mention their poor combat qualities."

"You're basically sending them to die, Roger. You put a gun in each of these civilians' hands, then rush them onto the battlefield and let them go to the most dangerous place to be killed. That's so shitty, bro. , It’s so despicable. This is not what you would do in the past. What have you experienced?”

He asked sincerely, his eyes filled with regret.

He acted as if he still considered himself an older brother and an excellent general. It was as if they were not in a hell now, with brothers killing each other, but in a quiet room having a debate about war.

Just like before.

"Go to hell," Dorn replied unusually calmly.

The phantom of the counterfeit laughed and dissipated, and he turned and moved on.

He had already learned from Fulgrim what happened on the Vengeful Spirit. Horus Luperkar had long been dead, and his essence, soul and memory had been destroyed by the evil in the subspace. Devour everything completely.

The thing standing across from him just now and talking to him was just an impostor. What exists under the skin is endless evil power of chaos.

You can easily detect this without seeing, smelling or feeling.

And none of these things matter.

It could steal his brother's body, his name, everything he had. It could start a war, displace countless people, and shatter them in flames.

But Rogal Dorn would avenge his brother.

He would avenge Horus Lupercal.

In the darkness, the stone held its head high and walked alone.

——

"Fareya Frere!" Fulgrim roared heartbreakingly.

Then he swung his sword - the sword burning with anger smoothly cut off dozens of demons in half, and the flames immediately began to burn the flesh and blood, clinging to it, bringing their souls to the gods for judgment.

The phoenix was still not satisfied with this.

His skin, which was once as white as pearls and shining, was now so pale that it was frightening, and his face was bulging with blue veins. His handsome face had been completely distorted, and there was no trace of civilized elegance, only the barbarity brought by violence.

He gritted his teeth, blood and saliva dripping from his mouth, like an unconscious mad beast. Rage boiled in his eyes, burning his soul constantly, and his burning white hair was spinning with the movement of his feet, and ashes fell from the end, floating upside down in the air.

Endless wronged souls returned from hell, whispering, wailing, crying, screaming, urging, and roaring in his ears.

Avenge us, revenge us. This is your fate.

Then he roared a name again.

"Sepatas!"

The blade fell, and black flames rolled. The ground melted and cracked. Ghosts climbed out of it, millions of bone hands, holding pieces of hideous white bone fragments in their hands.

They rose quietly, with their hands raised high, and handed the pieces from the bottom of hell to the world, to Fulgrim's head.

They were just a little bit away from placing the fragments on his head and forging a crown, but a ray of darkness hidden in the Phoenix Armor forced them back into the world of the dead. It roared at them threateningly, warning them not to do this, not to wear the crown that only belongs to the avengers on the human named Fulgrim, even if it was still broken and not complete. Although it actually wanted to see this scene, it had promised Khalil Rohars, and it would fulfill its promise. The ghosts retreated with regret. After all, they could not resist the demon named Ralhe. Fulgrim knew nothing about this, and he still fulfilled the oath he made when he made the contract. He would avenge every dead person until the end of time. Their names passed through his mind one by one, and their grievances and endless resentment also filled his heart. Under all these pressures, the Phoenix had long forgotten where he was. This is why he was indifferent to the fall of the vengeful spirit. If he had a little bit of clarity, he would have noticed the change in the environment, but he could not wake up on his own.

The spiral of hatred had already wrapped him up.

Malcador was extremely regretful about this.

The psychic power of the Sigillite carried his soul around. The fall of the Soul of Vengeance was only a minute ago, but he had seen the whole of Terra during this period, witnessed tens of thousands of deaths, and he did not even feel any burden.

He had never used his psychic power so boldly. In the past, out of caution, he had always suppressed himself. Until now, until his master asked.

The Sigillite sighed and stretched out his hand, gently clenching his fist with a gesture beyond the mortal world. The psychic light suddenly burst out, enough to temporarily upgrade a mortal to reveal between his fingers, but the blue light was mixed with half of the golden color.

Malcador watched this scene speechlessly, knowing that his master was still working hard - he had asked him not to care about these things, but the giant in golden armor just shook his head weakly.

The light burst forth, like the sun meeting the snow, melting away all the demons. Their flesh hissed, tumors grew in their bones, nerves spread, and their corpses actually surged and twisted, forming a huge web of flesh and blood.

They wanted to continue to exist in this way until Malcador had to leave, so that they could continue to drag Fulgrim into revenge, so that he would never be able to wake up, never be able to do what he really wanted to do.

The Sigillite's eyes condensed, and the anger hidden in his heart finally erupted. Although it was only a short moment, it completely dissipated them - but his power could not really kill these evils after all.

They were fragments of the gods, born to turn the world into hell. His current actions could only be regarded as exorcising them.

But this was enough, he had bought time.

The Sigillite clenched his fists again, digging deep into Fulgrim's heart with all his strength, just to find the last piece of clarity - his efforts were not in vain, among a group of highly abstract and terrible pictures, he found the Chemos.

He was in a corner covered by darkness, silently staring at his memories. In front of him was a stone wall, and various images flashed across it. A giant bathed in blood was furiously attacking another giant with an axe in one hand.

It was Angron, the Sigillite knew it at a glance. He sighed, and bitterness surged in his heart. Although he had already known about the sacrifice of the Son of the Mountain, he was still shocked and regretful when he saw it with his own eyes.

"Fulgrim." The Sigillite called softly. "You should wake up."

Phoenix turned his head suddenly, his white hair flying, and his eyes dancing with anger. The dark red and the sinking black turned into entangled anger in it, and there was no trace of the former violet.

He bared his teeth and took a while to recognize Malcador. The man who was once as clear as a gem now looked like a beast, extremely frantic.

"What happened?"

He asked hoarsely, blood and tears were slowly flowing from his eyes, sliding down to his chin, forming a winding blood path, like the terrifying patterns that the ancient Nordic berserkers of Terra painted on their faces before going into battle.

The only difference is that the berserkers did this to scare the enemy, but Fulgrim did not.

He just hated his own incompetence.

Malcador saw all this, but did not give any comments or advice, just simply narrated.

"The Spirit of Vengeance fell on Terra, bringing with it the magic of Chaos. It was originally an altar, and now it has resonated with Terra. It has merged into Terra, and is gradually becoming a part of Terra--"

"--Is it there too?" Fulgrim suddenly interrupted him. "Is it there, Malcador?"

"Yes, and it is right here." The Sigillite told the truth. "In a few minutes, the Spirit of Vengeance will be completely integrated into Terra, and the altars will overlap with each other. From now on, there will be no difference between Terra and the Spirit of Vengeance. But you can't see it."

"Why?" Fulgrim asked.

His expression was very calm, without any dissatisfaction, as if he was just asking an extremely simple question.

A bitter smile finally bloomed on the face of the Sigillite.

"Because it doesn't want to." He said. "I will find it."

"No, you can't. And even if you can, you can't defeat it. It is the common choice of the four false gods, and it is also a door to chaos that exists in our world. The spiral of revenge that now spreads across the entire galaxy was created by it, and the spiral of hatred started from it."

"So?"

"So you can't defeat it." Malcador said. "You need reason to fight it, just as humans need reason to fight beasts. But the moment you see him, you will completely lose your reason, and those who died unjustly will completely crush you."

Fulgrim was silent for a few seconds, blood and tears still flowing, staining his wrinkled lips red. However, when the silence ended, he laughed.

"Maybe, maybe it's really like what you said, Malcador. But you got one thing wrong."

"What is it?"

"Humans don't fight beasts with reason." Phoenix said.

He raised his hands, black flames ignited, and sharp blades gathered. The strong wind swept in, blowing his white hair, and the ends began to flicker like burning. In just a blink of an eye, they returned to the real world.

Phoenix panted and fell to his knees, feeling an unprecedented weakness and strange fullness.

His hands were too tired to lift, but the power in his body was endless.

The more tired he felt, the more he could sense the inhuman cold power - like a call, earnestly hoping that he would throw away his human skin, abandon his memories and everything, and become a real beast that existed only for revenge.

No, not now. He said to himself.

He looked up and saw a floating shadow.

"Malcador."

"I'm here." The Sigillite replied, his voice changed, but the Chemos seemed to be unaware.

"How did it and the Spirit of Vengeance reach Terra?"

"Subspace jump, they started preparing early. Jumped directly from the far end of the solar system to Terra's low-Earth orbit, and then began to fall."

"And it would never come alone," Fulgrim muttered to himself as he stood up from the ground. "That is to say, in addition to facing its attack, Terra will also have to deal with attacks from the sky."

"I don't think we need to worry about this." Malcador said. "The Phalanx and the Emperor's Dream have already been prepared, and the major space defenses that Rogge has arranged in advance can also attack to support."

There was a golden glow in his eyes, and Fulgrim saw it clearly, and he could no longer pretend to be calm. He closed his eyes and lowered his head among the burning corpses.

"Father."

The light flashed and disappeared, and Malcador's body quietly dissipated, revealing his true face. A pair of tired and sad eyes looked at the Phoenix, and the light was warm, shining on his shoulders, like a response.

Fulgrim knew that the Sigillite had left as soon as he woke him up, and it was actually the Emperor who answered those questions for him.

"I'm sorry, father." The Chemos said with his eyes closed. "I didn't accomplish anything, and I failed everyone."

"Don't blame yourself." The Lord of Mankind said. "No one will blame you."

The Phoenix did not answer, but stretched out his hand, seeking support like a blind man. The Emperor instinctively stretched out his right hand and gave him support. Phoenix grabbed that hand tightly, like a drowning man grabbing a straw. He lowered his head and refused to say anything.

After a while, hot tears slowly fell.

"They are coming." The Emperor spoke quietly, gently, but also very weakly. "Your brothers will be here soon, but I can't see where they are. Especially Russ, the reckless wolf, he should have acted according to my orders, but now he is out of control"

"What did he do?"

"Sacrifice." The Emperor said. "Probably so."

"Then he's just like us, Father, and I don't think you should blame Ruth for this."

"I never blamed him," said the Lord of Mankind. "I was the one who made the mistake, and I alone can bear the responsibility - so go ahead and kill, Fulgrim."

His support gradually faded away, and so did his voice, like thunder above the clouds, containing endless anger.

"Kill it," the Emperor ordered.

Phoenix opened his eyes and smelled a terrible stench. There were colorful wing membranes slowly opening and vibrating in the darkness.

Two cloudy white eyes appeared in the darkness, and a giant wrapped in rotten armor slowly appeared in front of him. There was a huge wound on his waist, as if he had been injured by a knife. He seemed weak and surprised to see Fulgrim here.

"Ah, this is beyond my expectation." He took a deep breath, and a hoarse echo came from the respirator, as if he was speaking in hell. "Brother, long time no see."

"Don't call me that." Phoenix raised his sword, black flames burning.

"Why not?" Mortarion asked.

Phoenix answered with his sword.

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