40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 472 193. Terra (Fifty, So-called Human)

Humans are creatures that can be killed very easily, and Orr knows this very well.

He has verified the authenticity of this in many ways. Even without guns or blades, it only takes 1.5 seconds to kill a person with bare hands. Sometimes it is even faster. You only need to hit the throat and temple with enough force to easily kill the other person.

Too many weaknesses, all over the body are vital points, no place is covered with fur, afraid of pain, and can be easily manipulated.

The contradiction with these things is that humans dominate many worlds.

This is really strange. How can such a weak race be capable of doing such a thing?

Across the sea of ​​stars, descending from the sky, carrying out cruel genocide, and taking one planet after another as their own.

There are many butchers and executioners in human history, and the targets of these people's slaughter are all their own kind. Then, tens of thousands of years later, their descendants carried forward this tradition and brought them to other races in the galaxy.

Don't get me wrong, Orr is not a so-called 'human supremacist', sometimes he even prefers animals to people, but he will not object to these genocidal horrors.

He knows what they have done to humans.

In essence, those acts of burning cities and destroying civilizations are just revenge, just like now, just like he stabbed the bayonet into the chest of an object. It barked loudly, and the sound was no different from the dog Orr remembered.

Orr liked dogs.

So he pulled out the bayonet, kicked it to the ground, and then stabbed it again. The whole process was simple and direct, without any sloppiness. The canine features of the demon began to gradually disappear, and in the royal court of Horus Lupercal, which was evolving into a temple, even the demons became part of the sacrifice.

Or rather, everything that still existed here was a sacrifice.

Orr looked down at the gem on his chest. It was glowing, but the light was dim and very weak.

Can you contact him?

Orr raised his head and asked silently. His right hand was tightly grasping the gem.

Constantine Valdor said, No.

He could not make any sound, his expression was extremely painful.

He had no energy to talk to me.

One of the Emperor's creations and sons continued to lip-sync his torment.

He used to be able to do a hundred things at a time, but now he had to focus completely on one thing. This is my fault, Or, we all failed.

Or said, I didn't, and continued to move forward.

A Raven Guard killing team was clearing the way ahead of them, and the Blood Angel's Melos was also standing at the front. In terms of killing efficiency, he certainly couldn't compare with the Raven Guard.

However, he actually just wanted to find his brothers and share the sacred duty he had received.

A Blood Angel might not be able to compare with the Ravens, but what about a group? The descendants of angels have their own pride and will never be willing to fall behind, let alone on such a battlefield.

Of course, as a typical selfish bastard, Orr didn't care about this.

He was trying his best not to look back at a certain place, not to look at the golden light that was twisting and entangled with the scarlet light. He had seen it once, and the result was not very good.

Orr's mind was completely rebuilt once in those short and long minutes. If he was not an immortal, he would probably have become a rotten and charred corpse now.

But even if he was, his memory was truly broken.

The self-protection mechanism of the human body forced his brain to forget the scenes he saw in those minutes. Orr hated this feeling, but he also knew that if he didn't do this, he would never be able to regain his sanity.

Damn it. He couldn't help but utter a curse, and felt as if a heavy stone was falling on his chest.

But he had no choice, he could only keep going, and so did they.

The scene in the royal court began to become complicated and beautiful at this moment. The darkness only flashed by, and the gloomy hall with ivory pillars became a narrow corridor with dark red carpets and blood flowing from underneath.

Raven Guard and Melos had disappeared, leaving only Or Persson and Constantine Valdor.

There were still dead people hanging upside down from the ceiling, with their hands crossed on their chests. The rotten red walls were hung with crooked oil paintings, densely packed, each depicting a giant in black armor. He had no face, or rather, he had not yet got a face.

The painting technique was extremely weird. The painter deliberately used extreme blur and large areas of color blocks when he started writing, and the paint was splashed as if it was free. However, he somehow outlined a sharp enough outline, forming a clear enough armored giant in these color blocks, which looked extremely magical.

They silently absorbed all the light in the dim corridor, reflecting the changing colors that could give people epilepsy.

Orr stared at the paintings, his eyes sweeping over the rotten frames that held them. He didn't pay attention to the paintings themselves, but carefully examined the edges of the frames. Finally, his eyes fixed on one of them.

Constantine Waldo approached him warily, holding the spear tightly in his hand. Orr didn't need to see it to understand what he would say.

What are you doing We must leave quickly.

No, not yet, Waldo.

The veteran shook his head to himself and walked towards the painting. Its frame showed a decayed golden color, which seemed very unreal. Gold should not have such a reaction as if it was being tortured.

But what really stopped him was the line of small words engraved on it.

Deep into hell. Orr said that sentence silently.

Waldo's expression became confused, and he didn't recognize even half of the words he could understand from Orr's mouth. He has learned many languages, but now he seems to be illiterate.

Orr turned around and moved to the next painting.

Have nothing to fear, just move forward, the oldest messenger.

He recited the words again, moved to the next painting, and recited them again. The boots stepped on the carpet, leaving dark footprints, and blood was printed on the bottom, scarlet and dazzling.

Returning from hell to earth with only my legs. Have faith and reshape the light. I will endure the torment because I have seen the light.

Waldo approached him anxiously, and the Spear of the Sun was slowly raised.

The veteran looked back with a helpless expression, but seemed to be inspired. He changed the language that only a few people understood and was even named "Secret" and began to use a language that Constantin Waldo could understand to give him a silent and comical explanation.

He repeated those three sentences, and even made a mocking joke at the end: Gold is his favorite color. You should know this better than us, right, Waldo?

But how can you be sure that this is Him speaking to us? Waldo asked suspiciously.

Orr stopped answering and just walked forward.

War can change many things, Waldo, but this thing we're going through is not a war. These are two natural laws fighting and evolving.

Any changes that take place in this damn royal court have their power behind them. As long as you understand this matter, you can find his inspiration from the clues.

The Marshal of the Imperial Guard caught up with him in two or three steps.

Why do you know him so well?

The veteran didn't answer, just sighed. It took several minutes before he gave an answer in the seemingly endless corridor.

Do you think I miss you very much?

Waldo twitched his lips.

Their figures gradually disappeared into the deepest part of the corridor.

They went deep into hell.

——

There are many things in the world that can be solved simply with a sword. Sword, this weapon has been given a variety of special symbolic meanings by people because of its special appearance since its birth.

But there is only one reason for Sigismund's love for swords.

He swung it, and the smooth force and the perfect arc brought about by countless practices made this seemingly light slash kill three Sons of Horus at the same time. They still maintained their offensive posture before they died, and were not even conscious. Find out why you failed.

The champion retracted his sword, took two steps back, and returned to Azek Ahriman as smoothly as instinct, but at this moment he saw a gray shadow rushing forward.

That was Bjorn, Bjorn running past. The lone wolf's beard and hair were spread out, and murderous intent was boiling inside its sharp beast eyes. He rushed into the enemy formation like before and took on part of the Thunder's responsibility.

Saul Tarvitz held a sword in one hand and a gun in the other, providing covering fire. After a few seconds, Bjorn immediately turned around and returned to his brothers from the demonic tide without looking back.

How much longer? he asked, wiping his face and shaking his head.

Blood splattered, but the remaining three people's expressions remained normal. Azek Ahriman didn't know what was going on, but the other two really didn't care - similar things had happened millions of times between them, and if Bjorn didn't do this one day , they will not be used to it.

Give me a little more time. Ahriman answered thus.

This is really amazing - they can't make any sound, but they can hear each other's words in their hearts.

He held a book in his hands, its pages quivering. The scarlet characters twisted and danced on it, and the pages even began to fade. The traces of time on them had turned as pale as the bones of the deceased. Ahriman knew nothing about it, and the others remained silent.

You have the final say, blind man. Bjorn grinned and slung the ax over his shoulder.

The demonic tide is coming.

Bjorn rushed in first, his fist blades and sharp axes dancing wildly. Sol Tarvitz continued to provide covering fire, always alerting Bjorn at just the right moment to avoid dangerous attacks coming from his blind spot.

Sigismund stood half-step before Ahriman, and his blade was a pool of thunder that nothing could cross. In this way, they passed through this settlement of lifeless people, and soon found another imperial army.

I've always been fond of these hounds. Bjorn muttered. Look at how they fight, they are so brave. Hey, Azek Ahriman? Can you see it?

The blind man cursed him angrily, and the lone wolf laughed. The avenger ignored them and just looked at the only champion among them. Sigismund spoke before he spoke, as if he had already calculated when Sol Tarvitz was going to speak.

It's Kahn. He said. It looked like almost everyone had arrived.

Kahn?

Bjorn turned his head, looking slightly excited.

Is that the Kahn you often mention? Show me, Ad.

He affectionately turned the last syllable of Sigismund's name into a nickname, which seemed very presumptuous, but the Imperial Fist had no objection and just raised his sword to stab in a certain direction.

Looking along the blade of his sword, Bjorn really saw the famous Kahn, but not many people had actually seen him. The blue and white paint of the war hounds has been completely covered with blood, but it looks natural, as if it was born this way.

He wasn't wearing a helmet - only about a third of it, to be precise. Most of the helmet was completely destroyed by some kind of laceration, leaving only the lower half still on his face. He was holding two chain axes and was engaging in bloody hand-to-hand combat with the Sons of Horus.

The war dogs did not have an advantage. Their number was too small. It was roughly estimated that there were only a few hundred people. But the army of the Sons of Horus that was besieging them had at least two thousand men. Such a disparity in numbers could not be made up by the combat effectiveness of one or two elite warriors.

Bjorn touched his canine teeth and suddenly turned to look at Sol Tavitz.

What do you think? Lone Wolf asked.

We are Astartes first and brothers of Thunder second. The Emperor's Son replied. Moreover, you also understand Lei Lei's character, he hates this kind of thing the most.

Bjorn smiled silently and raised his hands, ready for battle. However, just a few seconds later, he put his hands down. There is no other reason, because a one-armed giant has been ruthlessly killed from the mountain of corpses and sea of ​​blood.

His shoulders were as broad as mountains, and his bare chest was covered with scars. His face had been blurred by blood to the point where it was completely impossible to see clearly, and his whole person looked as if he had been soaked in blood. Every time he took a step, blood mist spread from every part of his body.

Just by running, he has a terrifying power. His unabashed charge soon achieved results. The giant charged seemingly savagely into the formation of the Sons of Horus, slashing mercilessly with the giant ax in his hand, leaving blood and flesh flying.

No one can stop him, not even the elite Sons of Horus wearing Terminators. But they soon thought of a way - they began to raise their guns, aiming at the giant's bare chest, hoping to knock him down with an efficient volley.

They pulled the trigger, but the gun suddenly exploded.

Bjorn chuckled, lowered his body, and said without looking back: You know what, blind man? You still have some use sometimes.

Ahriman cursed him vaguely in his own blood, the anger in his eyes rising. The ancient book moves automatically without wind. The characters on it are scarlet and twist like living animals. Saul Tarvitz stared down and saw a line of text.

“Those who are favored by Him and believe in Him will surely perish by the sword.”

It's terrible. thought the Emperor's Son. They charged, straight into the bloody millstone of hell.

——

Bellows von Sharp stood up slowly, slowly. He took several deep breaths and finally calmed down. This sounds like a good habit, but you have to ignore the fact that he's doing it amidst a pile of corpses.

Eleven cultists lay beside him, four of them disemboweled, two decapitated, and the remaining five impaled by him with a flagpole. The head and tail of this flag are very sharp, which is enough for cultists at least.

He walked up to a cultist and drove the flagpole deep into his skull. The blood spurted out with heat, but Bellos didn't care that much. He just bent down to pick up his long sword, put it back into its sheath, and straightened his blood-stained shirt.

His pair of gold-rimmed glasses that he spent a lot of money to buy have completely disappeared.

What a shame. He thought as he pulled out the flagpole, took it in both hands, and started waving it.

He had done this countless times, usually accompanied by trumpets and roars to encourage the soldiers. But now he can't make any sound, he can only keep waving the flag

After about twelve minutes, some people rallied around the flag.

They don't recognize it and don't know what it means. They didn't understand why four golden lightning bolts passed through an Imperial Sky Eagle that was about to fly. They didn't know how many people had united under this flag or stood under its variants.

Bellos knew the answer, but he was too lazy to explain it. There was no need to explain it. This flag represents the courage and unity of humanity, a determination to kill all the scourges on Terra, and their fight for the Emperor.

Exactly at this moment.

This flag has been gone for a long time, and it was Bellos who re-sewed it. His craftsmanship is rough, but who cares?

A smile appeared on the flag-bearer's lips.

Countless mortals like him charged past him, colliding head-on with a swarm of Word Bearers. The Astartes are generally considered to be the main fighting candidates in the Great Crusade, and Belros knows this very well, just like the Thunder Warriors of the past.

So, how much does it cost a mortal to kill an Astartes?

The answer is life.

It's enough to sacrifice your life.

Belros laughed silently, standing in front of the Word Bearers with an attitude that could be described as arrogant, waving the flag wildly.

He has experienced countless ‘moments in history’, full of glory and brilliance, and will receive heavy military medals as a commendation afterwards. These things will be written down and remembered. And this time I'm afraid it will be an exception. This is just a corner of the Royal Court of Luperkar.

It sounds cruel, but how many people care about the courage of a group of mortals?

Well, Bellos von Sharpe, chronicler of the Lords of Mankind and the Eighth Legion, remembers.

He will remember everything before he dies.

Take the recently deceased sergeant, who was cut in half by a Word Bearer, and the last thing he did before dying was to pull the trigger of his shotgun at the traitor's face.

The Astartes were also made of flesh and blood. They could fight regardless of pain, but they could not ignore the laws of physics - the knockback effect of the shotgun staggered him, forcing him to lose his balance.

Then someone picked up the sergeant's shotgun and fired a second shot at him.

He fell to the ground.

The torrent of mortals drowned him in an instant. Someone stabbed his eyes with a knife, someone smashed his armor with a gun butt, someone pointed a laser gun at the gap in the power armor and pressed the trigger, and some unarmed people chose to fall on him.

They roar, but their roar is soundless, like their death.

However, every death will be exchanged for a victory.

Belros continued to wave the flag, and only God knew how much he wanted to roar now. He was so old that he felt he had forgotten how to make a war cry.

He was wrong, it was an instinct he never forgot. Even now when he was not allowed to make a sound, he was still roaring in his heart, cheering for them, cheering for them, and crying for their sacrifice.

Yes, he is crying.

The narrator laughed and walked forward, walking leisurely in the hail of bullets.

It's not enough for him to dodge. There are no artillery bombardments, no swarms of fighter jets filling the sky, no magical creatures that will attack you from the ground, or powerful mutants, modified flesh and blood tanks.

He walked forward, looking steadily straight ahead.

The space inside Luperkar's royal court has been expanded to a level that is terrifying enough, but Belros still doesn't care. He has seen many things a hundred times more terrifying than this.

His eyes passed through this battlefield and the next hell they would pass through, and the next hell.

He didn't give up until he saw that glow.

He waved the flag and declared to him.

We will fight for you as you fight for us. We will come to you just as you awaken us from our torpor. We will be your shield as you always stand before us.

The flag bearer held his flag tightly, and suddenly, there was a roar of thunder in his ears, as if permission was given. So, in the next second, his roar echoed through the sky.

"For unity! For Holy Terra!"

This is the third voice, that of the Emperor's standard-bearer, used as a proclamation. Few knew his name or what his first slogan stood for, but they were inspired.

Everyone was inspired.

They run toward certain death.

——

Gavir Loken heard the thunder, and then he turned his head to avoid the attack of Gui Jianchou. Tarik Torgadun rushed out from his left side, raising his sword high and slashing at Ezekiel Abaddon.

The latter blocked with his sword and took several steps back. His face was completely filled with anger.

Loken couldn't help but laugh. He didn't understand why Ezekiel Abaddon could still show such an expression.

Then, sure enough, he saw Abaddon mouthing a silent rebuke.

traitor! Abaddon's face was consumed with rage. You once swore to fight for him, have you forgotten your oath? !

Tarik Torgadun shook his head at him, inserted his sword into the ground, and at the same time reached out to stop the fourth man—Little Horus, Horus Ashmand.

Screw your vows! Young Horus cursed. Do you know what your father said before he died? He said that thing would do evil all day long in his name! You're the only one stupid enough to see everything, Abaddon! Or maybe you are so shameless that you would rather deceive yourself than do the right thing!

I swore that I would fight for him. Unlike you, I am not a traitor.

In a corner of the battlefield, Ezekiel Abaddon slowly stood up straight. He faced three men, three brothers, two Luna Wolves, and one last Son of Horus.

What about him? Who is he? The corners of his eyes twitched, but that didn't make his hand that held Gui Jianchou tremble at all.

With one against three being an absolute disadvantage, Abaddon had every reason to turn this one-on-three battle into a hundred against three, or even a thousand against three. All he had to do was issue an order and retreat, waiting a few minutes for support to arrive.

However, for some reason, he didn't want to do that. This reason is very secret and special, and he is even a little reluctant to admit it. However, whether he wanted it or not, the fact had already happened.

He took the initiative to leave the group, and he took the initiative to wander around this battlefield, as if he knew that he would meet the other three people from the Four Kings Council, as if he understood that this was the end.

He tried to hold on to Guijianchou again.

Don't. Tarik Torgadun shook his head at him calmly. Don't do that. Throw down your weapons and surrender, Ezekiel, and you will receive justice.

Go away, traitor! Abaddon glared at him. Don’t think I don’t know what you and Garviel Loken did without the knowledge of the Warmaster. You secretly colluded with other legions to destroy the flagship and kill your brothers! Are you worthy of calling me ‘Ezekiel’? What kind of fair judgment are you worthy of?

He has gone crazy. Loken mouthed Torgadun and slowly raised his sword.

He walked towards Abaddon, and the two swords collided with each other in the next second. There was no doubt that this was another evenly matched battle.

They know each other well enough to make any battle a tedious back-and-forth affair where no one gets hurt or even bleeds.

It was clear that both had superhuman physiques and extraordinary skills, and with genuine murderous intentions, they tried to chop off each other's heads, but they were unable to truly win.

They were just in a stalemate, that's all. Two minutes later, amid the dancing sparks of the disintegration force field, Loken and Abaddon took a few steps back together, staring at each other. Even the frequency of breathing was so similar.

come. Abaddon laughed, his pale face full of sarcasm. Let's go together. Don't you still want to pay attention to the so-called fairness? Come and kill me, once and for all.

Tarik Torgadun approached him with his sword, but the sword was not actually raised.

Raise your sword! Otherwise I will kill you!

You know what, Ezekiel? Togaton shook his head calmly. Father didn't blame you, he just said you were a stubborn, stupid kid.

You are indeed very stubborn and stupid. If you decide on something, you must go to the end, otherwise you will never give up. But it's not because of these two qualities that you don't want to see the truth. You are just cowardly.

He took a step back and finally slowly raised his sword in an invitation. He wanted Abaddon to engage in a deadly duel with him on swords.

Abaddon's face began to twitch, he raised the ghost, slapped Togaton's sword away, and slashed at him. This attack has no rules at all, it is more like a kind of catharsis in despair.

Togaton easily blocked and counterattacked, not only knocking Gui Jianchou away, but also placing his sword across Abaddon's neck, but the decomposition field did not activate.

Abaddon felt nothing but coldness.

He opened his eyes in disbelief and saw Tarik Torgadun's eyes that were completely different from those of the past. The former gentleness could no longer be seen in those eyes, only coldness and sadness. Nothing else.

At this moment, for some reason, Ezekiel Abaddon suddenly thought of the water garden.

Why don't you.? he asked with difficulty.

Killing you here would be a relief for you, but you don't deserve relief, Ezekiel. Togaton interrupted him as expected and answered like this.

You need a fair trial, and you need to tell everything you know and see clearly. Do you know why? Because we want to clear the name of Horus.

He took a serious step back and raised his hand to point at a blazing light in the distance. It has risen, half golden and half scarlet, as dazzling as the sun.

The thing inside fighting the Emperor is not our father.

Our father would not massacre his crew, pluck out their eyes, and hang them upside down in his own palace.

Our father would not stab his brother through the chest with a power claw, or throw his brother's offspring into the gladiatorial arena and ask them to kill each other for fun.

Our Father will not let the galaxy and Terra live in ruins, nor will he associate with these demons.

So who is he? Abaddon asked with hollow anger. Tell me, Tariq, who is he? !

is it. Togaton said. You should ask, what is it.

He put down his sword, moved closer to Abaddon, and put a hand on his shoulder.

Come with us, brother. It is not too late, now you can still atone for your sins, you can still tell the world that your father died fighting hard, and only after that did his body be desecrated and taken away. He is no traitor I beg you, Ezekiel.

Togaton said with a hint of pleading. Abaddon looked at him tremblingly, wanting to answer, and his lips even curved into the word 'good', but he was unable to finish the sentence.

His trembling turned into a convulsion in just half a second, and Torgadon quickly stepped back to find that Abaddon's eyes had turned black. Immediately afterwards, the sky-high braids suddenly fell apart, and he shook his head disheveled. After a few seconds, blood quietly bloomed from his eyes.

Then they heard a voice, the first voice.

its sound.

"You want to instigate rebellion against my last loyal heir?" it asked. "It's a pity that Ezekel is completely loyal to me. He is the last member of the Council of Four Kings, unlike you, who is a despicable traitor."

As he spoke, Abaddon's body began to gradually change. He was wailing, as if he was being torn apart alive. And judging from the results, this is probably true.

His body was stretched in the blood, but his armor became tattered, and his internal organs suddenly fell from the hole in his abdomen, splashing a pool of dark dust.

The blood light continued to bloom, and some new chaotic power began to reshape him, allowing him to recover, but it was very rough, like a child playing with mud, using crude techniques and a careless attitude to create a specious monster.

Judging from the appearance, he is probably Abaddon. The details of his eyebrows and body size are no different from Ezekiel Abaddon's.

However, just by staring at him, Horus Eichmand felt an urge to vomit - this was not Ezekiel Abaddon, and he was sure of this in just a moment.

It looked like him, but it was already something else, something completely opposite to humans, completely opposite, but also unsettlingly similar. And this was even just an appearance.

What exactly is it?

Tarik Torgadon had no answer, but just raised his sword and tried to block, but it didn't work. In the blood, he was instantly pierced through the chest by the ghost, and blood splattered.

Ezekiel Abaddon wailed for this, and this was his last sound.

Then, there was nothingness.

——

"You can't win, father. You can't win because you don't know how to win me." Horus Lupercal said.

"I don't need to win." The Emperor said.

"But how long can you hold on? Your plans and backup plans require your strength to proceed. You are their pillar, and you no longer have any extra strength to share with those weak mortals. Am I right, father?"

"You are wrong." The Emperor retorted slowly.

"Really?"

"They are my pillars." The Emperor said. "Every bit of courage is especially valuable, and every death makes hope brighter. They are winning for me, and you only have a group of cursed lifeless people and some pathetic traitors."

"What naive words." Horus laughed. "I can't believe this is what a monarch should say. Can't you see the reality? Their death is meaningless, and you can't win."

"Like I said, I don't need to win." The Emperor repeated again.

His face was hidden in the galaxy, and his voice came from the barbaric era, passing through endless dimensions and waves of chaos, and was reshaped in the energy of the warp, and one ritual after another was completed continuously.

Time began to jump randomly, sometimes in the Middle Ages, and sometimes on a habitable planet in the interstellar era. He hides in these places, in the cracks of time and space, in places that once existed but no longer exist.

At a certain moment, he clenched a ring. He clenched it so tightly that it embedded deeply in his palm, and blood flowed out, drowning it.

"So, what do you need?" Horus caught up with him, swallowed up his form in this moment, and asked cruelly with a mouth full of blood.

The Emperor answered with a sword.

He didn't need to win, someone else had to win this battle, and he

What he wanted to win was the future of mankind.