40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 434 160. Terra (twenty-nine)

Fafnir Lane has a question, and he's asking it directly.

"Where are the Sons of Horus?" he asked.

There was no answer, so he picked up a still alive Word Bearer with the ax in his right hand.

He bent closer to him. The traitor's eyes were blood red, and the skin covered with black dust was covered with coagulated blood. A bone-deep tattoo glowed quietly on his forehead.

Lann was enraged - at this moment, his anger suddenly rose, prompting him to throw the man back to the ground.

"Where are the dogs of Horus Luperkar?" he asked, using a more insulting title.

"Where are they, traitors?" he asked coldly. "Or are you just cannon fodder sent out by them again? How surprising. The Sons of Horus are famous for the empire's tactical system. Always let friendly forces charge forward."

The man didn't answer, just breathed weakly. Blood foam bubbled out from his clenched teeth. He had no lips, and the lower half of his face and a large piece of flesh were torn away by some kind of weapon, probably a chain saw weapon. In short, it couldn't be the two power axes in Lan's hands.

If it were him, he would do it more simply. He would not give this traitor a chance to survive, and he was not interested in torture. But now is not the time to debate whether to fight with morality and compassion.

So he asked again, still sincerely, not just for fun or insult.

"Where have the Sons of Horus gone?"

The Word Bearer winked at him.

"You can't guess" he replied hoarsely, and more blood foam spilled from the corners of his mouth, along with large groups of pink bubbles and some fragments of internal organs.

There was a strong unwillingness on his face, and Lan suddenly knew the answer.

"Cannon fodder." He smiled. "Is this really the case?"

Fierce cold wind blew by, and dark snow fell on their heads, mostly blocked by a burning Titan. A small number of those that fell were melted into the hot bullet casings and the muddy ground.

Corpses were all over the ground, and the loyalists and betrayers, entangled and dead together, seemed to be no different at this moment. Regardless of the color of their armor, regardless of whether they were heroic or not in life, they were all dead now.

However, in the kingdom of the dead, there will naturally be people who weigh their souls.

"For some reason, I'm not surprised," Lane said.

He turned off the decomposition field and hung the ax back on his waist. The traitor's breathing began to become rapid, as if he was gathering strength - realizing this surprised Lann. He did not expect that he actually encountered an enemy who was willing to say something.

However, this surprise was quickly shattered by another ridiculous absurdity. Because he found that there was a piece of gravel under the traitor's head, and there was a line of small words carved on the side with a knife.

"The Emperor's blessing." Lann laughed. "How interesting, Word Bearer."

"They——" The traitor exhaled the remaining air in his lungs from his throat and squeezed out the last words. "- gone crazy, they will do anything to kill them, Imperial Fists, just like you killed us."

Lann watched him mercilessly until he died.

"The traitor actually begged me for revenge?" He shook his head and looked up at the sky that was burning crimson. "What has become of this world?"

Of course he would not have the answer. In fact, even if he advanced one Terra in time and switched his perspective to the eastern front of the palace where he and his troops had worked so hard to reach, he would not know the answer.

At that time, he would be deeply involved in the fight. He would be busy tearing apart the Word Bearers among the ruins of concrete and masonry, switching back and forth between defensive and combat positions.

The long-standing tradition of the Imperial Fists is being abandoned bit by bit. Everyone who is still alive has changed their appearance in this war, even them.

Fortunately, the children of Dorne still have not forgotten how war should be fought. In between breathing and biting like dogs, they will try their best to hold on to every inch of land they regained, and then keep pushing forward, uniting all their forces, and fighting against the traitors and demons bit by bit.

The battle has turned into a heavy war of attrition and a tug-of-war.

They are still defenders, but this time, they have no city walls to rely on, no excess supplies, and no saturation bombing that can accurately hit every enemy--sometimes they don't even have tanks, so the auxiliary troops have to fight with their bodies. Charge under artillery fire.

At that moment, Fafnir Lane would realize something, or rather, a problem. He would look at the mortals lying around him and ask sincere questions.

Why are you so brave?

We have ceramite, we have superhuman strength, we have the reflexes to dodge bullets, and what do you have?

Of course he had no answer, just like Ezekiel Abaddon. The only difference is that Fafnir Lane can not care about these things, but Ezekiel Abaddon can't, he cares, and he cares so much that he is going crazy.

"I want Erebus dead," he said angrily. "Do you understand, Kor Phaeron? I want him dead!"

"If it's possible, I'd like to," the First Captain of the Word Bearers answered truthfully. "Unfortunately, neither you nor I can do this. He did not come to Terra. He disappeared into the vast sea of ​​​​stars with one of our fleets."

When saying this, Cole Phalon's expression was very calm, without any fluctuation. Unlike Ezekiel Abaddon, he is not angry, at least on the surface.

"Based on the current situation, I think we need more sacrifices." Cole Fallon continued. "Although Terra has become a demonic realm, demons can come and go at will, but our auxiliary army cannot."

"We have to find a way to send them to the ground, otherwise, even if we get an advantage, we won't be able to hold it, let alone expand it."

"Advantage? Auxiliary army?"

Veins suddenly popped out on Abaddon's forehead.

"You and I talk about advantages, about tactics? Do you know what kind of bastards and beasts your auxiliaries are? I have never seen barbarians who would eat each other before going to war. Not even animals do this."

"Isn't it possible?"

Cole Phaeron replied with a shocking indifference. At the same time, the so-called 'Blessed Sons' behind him also took a step forward.

Abaddon took a deep breath and began to work hard to contain his anger.

"If the goal is to win, you can say whatever you want. But the problem is that the Warmaster's goal has changed from winning to something else, and this is all thanks to Erebus. Just like your original Body, Cole Phaeron. Where is Lorgar?"

"He's right here." The first company commander said with a dry smile. "He's in Terra."

After hearing this, Abaddon suddenly lost interest in continuing the conversation. He looked at the Captain of the Word Bearers, feeling once again some real doubt.

Kor Phaeron was an old man, and unlike most Astartes, the traces of time were evident on him. He was already very old when he underwent the transformation surgery, but Luojia insisted that his adoptive father join him on the road to the star sea.

So the Emperor's skilled craftsmen performed other operations on him. Implants, drugs, and specially modified power armor. It all combined to make him look like an Astartes, but he was anything but.

Such a person became the first company commander of a legion, just like him.

Abaddon shook his head.

I have reached this point with my own military exploits and loyalty to Horus. What does Kor Phaeron have?

An answer arose in him.

So, this is Lorgar Aurelion's legion.

A ridiculous legion that can hold the top spot even if a disabled waste is promoted. A ridiculous legion that plunders mortals among the stars and infuses them into defective Astartes to replenish its strength. A legion that still persists even now. Sacrifice and legions of ridiculous beliefs

And the saddest thing is that this Legion is their only ally - at least on the material level.

".Sacrifice?" After the long silence ended, Abaddon spoke again. "Is this what you want?"

"What I want."

Cole Fallon paused and suddenly fell into silence. Thinking, there is no doubt that he is doing this valuable thing.

His eyebrows were furrowed, and the Colchis tattoos on his skin squirmed, taking on an uncomfortable texture. His face was paler than before, almost inhuman. The thinking expression also became disgusting because of this hateful face.

However, this did not stop Ezekiel Abaddon from waiting patiently.

He didn't know what Kor Phaeron wanted, but now that the Alpha Legion had not arrived as promised and the support from Mars could not arrive immediately, he would win over the Word Bearers at all costs.

The Warmaster may not care whether they can win, but Abaddon does, and he will use all his strength to win this victory for his father, just like in the past.

However, after the silence ended again, Cole Phaeron laughed silently.

"You can't give me what I want, Lord Ezekel."

The Word Bearer smiled and shook his head, burying all his emotions in some way.

"But, as promised, the Word Bearers will obey every order issued by the Warmaster - even if he does not want to use this power now, we will obey the orders of the Council of Four Kings."

"And now I am the only one left in the Council of Four Kings." Abaddon said coldly, pretending not to hear the metaphor of Kor Phaeron.

"So, what are your new orders?" asked the Word Bearer.

The expression on his old face began to change. The skin and flesh were squeezed together disgustingly, and the narrow eyes looked extremely abrupt on the pale face, as cold as two peepholes installed the day after tomorrow.

The soul that lived next was full of malice, but controlled this face to reveal a flattering smile, which almost made Abaddon feel the urge to vomit.

He swore to Horus that he was just a little closer to spitting it out, but he never did.

He endured it for the sake of victory. In order to win, he walked to Kor Phaeron and began to discuss with him how to gain advantage, what tactics to use, and where to deploy the new recruits of the Auxiliary Army and the Word Bearers.

For a moment, he spurned his own hypocrisy.

——

Manipulate reality. Malcador thought coldly. That's what I'm doing now.

This is true, he is indeed manipulating reality. It can even be said to be more arrogant - reality is now a plaything in his hands.

Vast power pours out from his fingertips, creating a thick dark cloud in those places in the subspace that have not been affected by the war. They are a twisted and compressed road.

Some people are taking this path, and although they don't yet know who designed it, they are already on it. With its help, they would get back to Terra before it was too late.

And those false gods don't care about this, even the most noisy among them. Not only that, He was even secretly promoting this matter behind the scenes.

Malcador knew this very well, but did not expose it.

He has seen through the nature of these false gods. Although they appear to have joy, anger, sorrow, and joy, they are actually just slaves of power. They are just four high-level thinkers who have been programmed with reactions to confuse the entire world.

However, the question is, why can Malcador do this so easily?

Yes, he is the Seal Holder, the supreme being under only one person in the empire. To others, he is an immortal, possessing unimaginable psychic powers.

But this is not enough to explain what he is doing at the moment. Subspace is by no means a gentle place. How can Malcador manipulate it as he pleases without paying any price?

The answer may come down to a well-prepared instrument.

If someone could turn his attention to the underground of Terra at this moment, and if he was lucky enough, he could find a small room in the intricate maze of buildings under Terra, a room with a wooden floor and stone walls.

There was nothing in the room, not even a window, and the only furniture it had was a chair. A chair prepared with careful planning, a test object that could only be used once, and now, Malcador was sitting on this chair.

His black robe was draped securely around his thin body, and his scepter rested on the right armrest of the chair. He lowered his head, his face blurred, and the bright golden light had obscured everything, turning his face into a ball of surging light.

——He didn’t pay the price because someone had already borne the price for him. The purpose is not to let him pay a hundred times in the future, but to let him live.

You will outlive everyone else, Malcador. the man said. You have to live until victory comes.

I will, my lord. The palmer thought silently.

His thoughts rushed like lightning into the dark clouds of the warp.

This chapter is 4k, and there is a 6k chapter.