40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 474 195. Terra (Fifty-one, the arrival of an angel, a stupid Nostramo)

Flying is one of mankind's ultimate desires.

And it has been implemented for many years. Whether it is various types of flying vehicles, flight backpacks used by individual soldiers, or expensive toys that are only used by a few people, regardless of whether the technology is mature or not, the sky has actually been conquered by humans. .

Therefore, they set their goals further and wider.

The sky above the sky, the sea of ​​stars.

But as ambitious as the goal has become, humans still don't have the ability to fly autonomously; they don't have the physiological structure to achieve this.

So, who am I?

Sanguinius asked himself, but in the end he only got a wry smile. He actually has the answer, he just doesn't want to reveal it.

He continues to fly.

In the past, he could look down and observe the battlefield situation during this process. Not now, the thick fog enveloped everything, as if it was deliberately blocking his vision. Dense fog alone is bad enough, but what if you add a terrifying darkness of extreme cold?

Sanguinius looked into the darkness and smashed them into pieces.

Fine bits of frost hung on his soft-lined armor, getting stuck in the gaps and making a creaking sound every time he flapped his wings. They condensed due to natural phenomena, but they also brought a completely supernatural coldness. The angels even had the illusion of being frostbitten.

But, if you ask, yes, his armor is completely destroyed.

After a fierce battle with Kabanha, his armor was nearly useless, so Leon El'Jonson summoned the best Techmarines and Mechanic-Priests he could find. They tried to repair the angel's armor, but the final result was unsatisfactory as it should be.

This is foreseeable. The people the Lions can find are the best at the moment, but it does not mean that they are really the best.

It's cruel to say it, but they are just still alive. Coupled with Kabanha's brute force and shortage of supplies, in the end, when Sanguinius stepped onto the battlefield again, his power armor could only barely maintain its basic operational capabilities and protective capabilities.

It is lucky enough. Primarch-level power armor is not as easy to repair and replace as the ones used by the Astartes. It is a miracle that it can maintain this condition to protect Sanguinius. Its luck has always been That lasted until the hammer of Horus.

The Worldbreaker completely defeated the Angel's armor.

And this was just the beginning. Not long ago, the airflow disturbance caused when he took off again made things worse. The fragments of the armor left his body bit by bit during the flight, leaving only that Layer of soft armor lined with virtually no defense.

Once white, it was now stained with blood, and its owner was trying hard to convince himself to keep flying.

No, you can't land, you can't fight alongside them, you have more important things to do. You must.

Sanguinius took a deep breath and smashed through another piece of darkness.

The structure of the Royal Court of Luperkar was not a secret to him. He was even familiar with this place, but it had become very strange at this moment.

Take the ceiling, for example. Angels should always be in the company of stained glass and golden domes. These exquisite and magnificent designs originated from the joint efforts of multiple designers, and now they have been completely buried by countless corpses hanging upside down.

The dead were hung upside down from oozing rocks or screaming obsidian. Even as the Primarch, Sanguinius could not understand the cause of this phenomenon.

Not only that, he also noticed another thing - the ropes hanging the dead people were actually their own intestines.

Ropes made of flesh and blood tied them tightly in these darkness, and in this terrible bondage, even the shaking caused by the wind seemed stiff.

But how many do they have?

The royal court of Luperkar was once a vast palace, and now it is even more terrifying. It may have been passively expanded millions of times. Sanguinius could convince himself to accept its vastness, but he couldn't really accept the dead that were everywhere.

The skin of these bruised and drained people was so tight that it was suspiciously withered, and their eyes were dark, glaring at the angels, as if they were still alive.

Sanguinius unconsciously tightened his grip on the Spear of Completion.

Like the armor, it has lost its former luster. Kabanha destroyed part of its handle, transforming it from a spear into a short spear for throwing. If the Ranchi Blade was still there, this embarrassing situation might be able to come to an end, but this is impossible.

That good sword has been destroyed on another level.

In the indescribable complex mood, the angel suddenly heard a thunder. In other words, roaring, shouting, motivating - whatever it is, the sound really pierced through the darkness and fog and reached his ears.

"For unity! For Holy Terra!"

Sanguinius immediately lowered his head and stared. He thought he would see another piece of mist that lingered, but he was wrong.

There were some shining golden currents beating harshly in the fog. They were unreserved. Once they appeared, they completely emptied the fog in front of the angel's eyes, allowing him to see the scene below very smoothly.

Without any time to think about the possible meaning behind this incident, Sanguinius immediately adjusted his balance and charged straight down.

Throughout the ages, countless birds that also have wings have their own graceful postures when flying. Angels used to be as beautiful as them, or even much more beautiful, but not now.

He flew crookedly, the feathers of his wings were filled with ice debris, and the muscles and bones seemed to be stuck, making it difficult to move. Flying was something he could control at his fingertips in the past, but what about now?

Even if we turn the time back to the point when he first tried to fly, at that time, he had never been so clumsy and embarrassed.

But it doesn't matter, soon, he won't have to fly anymore.

Sanguinius fell into a sea of ​​crimson.

The short spear was raised, passed over the shoulder, and then turned into a dazzling golden light in a rage, instantly cutting several Word Bearers in half. Fragments of ceramite flew into the air. Sanguinius tensed his muscles, swung his spear backwards, and whipped out some fragments with the handle alone with unimaginable skill.

They shot into the traitors like bullets, causing more and greater bloody murders. With such a grand opening ceremony, the Word Bearers quickly discovered his presence and responded immediately.

The chaotic battle situation actually began to become orderly. The crowd suddenly began to move, and large scarlet shadows circled back and forth. The angel watched with vigilance and saw a large group of Word Bearers holding assault shields walking forward. .

They began to approach step by step, surrounding him bit by bit. There were no scriptures visible on the thick shield, only skulls or remains hanging as trophies. Some of them were not even dead. Judging from the shape of their mouths, they Either screaming or cursing.

Sanguinius couldn't help but poke out his fangs. He changed his posture and raised the Spear of Success provocatively. In fact, he was already preparing to take off with wings and fall from the sky to break through their encirclement.

But the Word Bearers seemed to have been prepared. They did not rush forward rashly. Instead, they set up shields on the spot, placed their bolt guns on the firing holes, and began to march towards the angels in an orderly and silent manner.

Sanguinius lowered his arms and weight and looked around seriously, already aware of their tactical intentions.

The traitor acted with caution, and this caution was entirely understandable. Even if the Primarch they faced was alone in the enemy camp and not wearing armor, they would rather choose the safest way to fight.

They are compressing Sanguinius's space of movement little by little. In the end, countless weapons will poke out from the gaps in the shield, pierce him, and drink the blood of the original body.

This ending is foreseeable, however, it is just a trap.

Angel knew that as soon as he took off, the bolters that had been set up would fire immediately, knocking him down from the air. Perhaps their nerve reaction speed cannot keep up with the movements of a Primarch, but fire suppression does not require aiming.

At this moment, he already knew in his heart that these people were probably the elite of the Word Bearers. Whether it was their fighting methods or their obviously well-trained reaction speed, this could be explained.

So, you are finally here? After sending out so many so-called ‘recruits’ and barbaric cultist auxiliaries, and causing so many crimes, you are finally willing to show up?

Sanguinius silently raised his short spear again. He had already understood the enemy's intention, so he did not choose to fly.

He began to take rapid and short breaths, and his shoulders drooped naturally. One second passed, and two seconds passed. When the shield formation was about to reach him, the spear of completion suddenly turned into a bolt of lightning and left his side. palm.

Throwing is the earliest killing technique humans learned.

Under the three accelerations of the wrist, elbow and shoulder joints, even a small stone can become a weapon to kill the beast.

And Sanguinius is a Primarch, and his war skills have reached their peak many years ago - therefore, the Spear of Prestige fell cruelly after flying for less than a fifth of a second. The ground penetrated the head of a Word Bearer.

He shouldn't have been hit, he had done a good job, but that was not enough.

He was facing Sanguinius.

Blood spattered from the back of his head, not much, but enough to make the body lose control. The first thing that bore the brunt was his shield and bolter that fell to the ground, and then his twitching and spasming limbs.

The Word Bearers reacted, understanding what the angels had done with real speed, so they quickly closed their formation, and others swooped forward, trying to fill the gap.

Unfortunately, they were too late. Their reaction could not be considered slow, but the angels started charging at the same time and flapped their wings even before the throw was over.

The howling wind created a man-made storm in the already very narrow encirclement. The black dust all over the ground became the angel's best helper. They obscured the vision and allowed Sanguinius to find a second. Bell opportunity.

He rushed into the gap with a face as heavy as water, reached out with his right hand, and grabbed the end of the handle of Bi Gong's spear, which was already incomplete.

It stabbed his right hand without any suspense, causing a burst of pain that was then replaced by an even higher level of rage.

Victory is decided.

The angel swung his spear—along with the impaled Word Bearer.

The huge kinetic energy provoked him, and his head exploded in an instant, turning into a mass of dissipated blood mist. However, the body remained unabated and flew out, knocking other shield-holders to the ground like cannonballs.

The gap began to grow larger and larger, becoming a terrifying gap that could no longer be covered by any means.

The angel jumped high in the dust, and when he landed, the spear of completion had already pierced another Word Bearer. He was bleeding and pulling the trigger in agony, but was completely ignored by Sanguinius.

None of the explosive shells hit him, and the Word Bearer was currently being used as a weapon by him on a short spear. How could a warrior be harmed by his own weapon?

Explosive bombs flew everywhere, hitting more Word Bearers. The angel was not in a hurry, but waited with absolute calmness until all the Word Bearers' bullets were used up.

When the bolter's muzzle no longer glowed, he began to use the traitor as an acquired hammer attached to the spear of completion.

One circle, two circles, three circles. The traitors finally began to fire, the bombs flying in the dust kicked up by the wind, and Sanguinius dodged every one perfectly.

At this moment, he was not himself, not Sanguinius, the Archangel of Baal, not the perfect Primarch of the Ninth Legion, but the Emperor's original vision for them - tools, beasts, killing machines, just A pure thing that relies on instinct to act

Sanguinius briefly abandoned his humanity in order to survive for the greater good. The storm blew his temples, and his blond hair was flying and stained with blood. The ice shards stuck in the gaps between the wings finally began to fall off with the violent movement, and those bright ruby ​​eyes were filled with murderous intent.

He charged, and with cruelty and premeditation he began to disrupt the Word Bearers' formation and kill them. He continued to flap his wings, creating strong winds, kicking up dust to obscure his vision, maintaining his tactical advantage, and using the recoil to add greater power to his charge.

Don't look at him without armor or complete weapons. For a Primarch, even if the opponent is a truly elite warrior, there is still a huge gap between them.

Sometimes, he even just puts his wings in front of him to charge, and can rely on the huge kinetic energy to kill some traitors in their armor. Of course, he has not forgotten the spear of completion. Every time it is wielded or pierced, it will be stained with blood.

However, what attracted more attention was the assault shield full of minced meat that the angel held in his left hand.

This heavy shield, which was enough to completely cover an Astartes, was treated as a special weapon in his hands. He grabbed the side of it, and his five fingers dug deeply into it with a huge force that could not be resisted. In the steel, and then there is the never-ending swiping, slapping, and smashing

There's no rules at all, it's just pure brute force. Barbaric, but absolutely effective. Blood and flesh spattered, and heavy muffled sounds were heard one after another. One by one, the Word Bearers fell, their bodies smashed to pieces along with their armor, or smashed in half by the cross-section of their shields.

But just eleven seconds later, Sanguinius easily tore apart the shield-bearers' siege and rushed straight out.

What surprised him at this moment was that the Word Bearers had actually made plans for this. Sanguinius saw a group of heavy firepower squads waiting for him. However, in the smoke scattered by the charge, the angel was one step ahead of them.

Irrational instincts developed over countless battles kicked in, and Sanguinius obeyed the call of his bloodthirsty instincts.

He bent his knees, rotated his arms, and threw the shield in his hand violently. In an instant, like thunder on the ground, a crisp explosion shattered the air lightly, and a deformed assault shield spun and flew between them.

At least three people were smashed into a mixture of steel and flesh at this moment.

But this was just the beginning. Sanguinius jumped up, spread his wings and flew high into the sky, and then immediately rushed down. Birds of prey hunt, angels descend - and at the same time, he begins to roar.

"For the Emperor!" he shouted. "Leave your neck to be slaughtered!"

Killing came again, but before the angel noticed, he had already made his own voice - in fact, not only him, but everything around him was regaining his voice, as if he had been allowed to do so.

The angry roars of the Word Bearers trying to regroup, the crackle of bolters, the sound of blades piercing flesh, and the waving of battle flags from further away, picked up only by the Primarch's keen senses.

He didn't realize what this meant yet. He was too focused. Sanguinius was killing with impatience, vowing to kill all the traitors around him.

He did not allow himself to be blocked for too long. He had to solve all this as soon as possible and then find the flag-bearer who emerged from the dispersing mist.

What does that person who was the first mortal to make a sound, the person whose father did not hesitate to draw his hand to give revelations and let him see, represent? The angel didn't know the answer to this riddle. He only knew that the Lord of Mankind must have his own intention in doing this.

Of course, what he didn't know was that he didn't actually need to look for it.

The flag bearer has arrived.

Flagbearer Bellows von Sharp is always at the forefront of war.

"Forward!" he roared, covered in blood. "charge!"

No unnecessary words, just two words. This is not so much an encouragement as an order.

No one cares about this matter. Everyone that Belros can see is fighting desperately - not for survival, not to kill enemies, nor to win. Simply to advance the front, to reach a person, to become his sword and shield.

In order to kill his enemies and protect him, they moved forward resolutely.

The heart of the flag-bearer was beating endlessly, arousing a fierce drumbeat in his chest.

He had not been so excited for many, many years. Looking back, he seemed to have lived at least three lives.

The first paragraph is about surviving under the rule of the slave master, the second paragraph is about standing behind the master of mankind and waving the flag, and the third paragraph is about wearing gold-rimmed glasses and trying to play a good narrator.

He acted so well and so convincingly that even he himself truly believed that he was just a simple narrator.

But now, at this frantic moment when blood was rushing and adrenaline was erupting in his body endlessly, he just realized the truth of the matter. The truth was that he died a long time ago.

After the unification war ended, every day he spent his last breath was actually just for today, now, now. In order to hold the flag for a while longer, in order to shout that slogan again.

So he roared, and roared, and his breath was as hot as the boiling cogs in an engine running at full power.

The flag danced wildly above his head, and the strong wind full of smoke and death rolled it up and flattened it. The four lightning lines shone brightly, as if it had come to life, and it was majestic under the gaze of the eagle.

Evil spirits cannot come close, traitors cannot be stopped, and things in the dark cannot even look directly at it.

Belros roared again, unified! Unite! Unite!

The torrent of mortals charged forward without fear of life and death, passing by his stubborn and rusty reef, sinking the enemies who stood in front of them to the bottom of the sea one after another.

They grabbed their entrails with trembling hands, bit open their throats with their teeth, and smashed the heads of the bastards with weak and mocked weapons, causing their brains to splatter and blood to flood the ground like a tsunami.

"Forward!" Bellos shouted at the top of his lungs. "He is waiting and he needs us! Keep going! For unity!"

Then, suddenly, someone responded to him.

"For unity!"

There was a deep smile in that voice, with joy and enthusiasm that could not be concealed. Bellos turned around and saw a familiar golden figure. He was bleeding, but the iconic giant sword was still on his shoulder.

Belros stopped, they stared at each other, looked at each other, and then smiled at the same moment.

it is more than words.

"For Terra! For the Emperor!" Thunder turned around and roared suddenly. Fight under that flag again.

He cried out for the Emperor without any hindrance. Bellos laughed loudly at this, and his blood covered the flagpole along his palms.

He wouldn't say it out loud, but he was extremely proud.

——

Looking at the battlefield in front of him, Konrad Coates tilted his head slightly.

Corvus Corax crouched beside him, his claws dangling across each other, swaying gently on the steaming corpse of the demon beneath his feet. Their armor was covered in blood, one of the things left behind from their combined efforts.

In fact, there is not much cooperation between them. The two killers will not work together unless necessary, although their styles do not actually conflict and even seem to be somewhat complementary.

The reason why I don't do this is just because it seems a bit wasteful. If one killer is enough to solve the problem, why hire two?

For insurance?

Coz turned his head and suddenly smiled, his voice swaying in the wind: "Do you remember the cold joke about insurance I mentioned last time?"

Corax nodded.

Neither he nor Coze seemed surprised by the return of the voice.

"So, I have a new one here, do you want to listen, brother?" the Night King asked gently.

Behind them, the Raven Guard and the Midnight Blade were working together to kill a huge demonic army. The cruelty of the Night Blade and the tranquility of the Raven Guard were rarely combined at this moment, thus achieving an efficiency beyond the cooperation of any legion.

Almost every second, a demon dies. The assassin jumped out of the shadows and tore his body apart with his claws, and was unexpectedly decapitated by the blade lurking in the darkness.

It's humorous to say, but their ways of dying have never been as varied and imaginative as they are today.

"Listen, but you have to wait for me a moment," Corax said quietly.

He coughed and stood up, blood spilling from behind his pursed lips. The injuries left by Horus still affected him, but neither he nor Curze tacitly mentioned it.

He turned off the decomposition stand on the claw blade, walked to Curze, and took out a very carefully packed silver pouch from a waist pouch on his armed belt.

The King of Night was stunned. He smelled a smell that should never appear on the battlefield. The Lord of Crows ignored his surprise, just lowered his head and opened the opening of the bag with his claw blade. In an instant, the rich and tangy aroma of dried sand eel fills the air.

"Your bad jokes should be eaten with sand eel jerky, that's how it is." Corvus Corax calmly and indifferently raised the bag of dried meat. "Would you like to eat, Conrad?"

The Night King stared into his eyes and couldn't stop laughing. He nodded repeatedly, stretched out his hand to take the bag, raised his head and poured a handful into his mouth.

He originally thought that his taste buds were tired enough, but the tip of his tongue still brought him the familiar salty aroma the moment it touched the dried sand eel.

The mouth begins to produce saliva, the masseter muscles start to work, and the teeth gently cut and crush the dried meat. A stronger aroma quietly bloomed on the taste buds. After a few seconds, Coz stopped chewing and his throat began to roll.

He couldn't bear to swallow this ordinary mouthful of delicious food. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, deeply.

"You want to keep me, don't you?" Suddenly, he asked.

Corvus Corax put the dried meat back into his pocket and nodded.

"What's going on, brother?" Curze asked sincerely. "How did you figure out what I wanted to do?"

"It's not hard to guess," Corax replied calmly. "You have never been a person who can hold back his temper. Moreover, I can see your changes and fatigue. It seems like you have been walking in blood for ten thousand years, Conrad."

Curze opened his eyes with a chuckle, shrugged, and did not answer this sentence.

"What are you going to do?" Corax did not pursue the question, but changed the subject. He didn't even look at his brother anymore, he just stood beside him, a bloody scene reflected in his dark eyes.

"If anyone else had asked - you know, even Angron, Robert or Fulgrim, I would have told them, no comment. But you."

Kurtz suddenly stretched out his hand and hooked his shoulder.

"You are so smart," the Night King whispered in a deliberately malicious voice. "Even if I didn't tell you, you would have already guessed it, right?"

"I couldn't guess," said Corax. "Besides, I don't want to guess. The prophecy will change if too many people know it."

"Where did you get this statement?"

"In some ancient books."

"Don't read what those bastards wrote." Kurtz raised a sharp finger seriously. "Why is a prophecy a prophecy? Because it has to be spread, to be told to others. There is no such thing as that, brother. Do you want to know?"

"I don't want to." In the eyes of the King of Night, which gradually became weird, the Lord of Crows slowly shook his head.

"What?"

"Just remember it yourself," Corax said. "I'm not interested in knowing the specific details of the prophecy, or what exactly you're going to do. We've come this far, and you're so stupid that I can't think of any other path for you than that. There is a way to go.”

"Hey!" Cozz suddenly spoke harshly. "Be careful what you say, you are scolding him together!"

Corvus Corax finally curled his lips calmly and replied slowly: "I think he probably won't care. So, when will you set off?"

There was no answer, only a sigh and a figure that gradually became illusive in the angry flames.

Conrad Curze stood in the flames, staring wordlessly at his brother, as if he was standing on the other side of the world. At this moment, the world he was in did not belong to the living, nor did it belong to the inanimate, but an illusory boundary, a narrow realm like a cage.

Then, five thousand five hundred and fifty-five pale skeletal hands quietly appeared from the darkness behind him, and a crown that seemed to be made of moonlight began to pass among them, and was finally worn on Kang La silently. The top of de Coze's head.

At that moment, the child from the Savior shed his last tear.

It will always be like this, there will always be nothing you can do but watch them sacrifice.

"The answer is now, brother." The King of Night winked at him. "How about you wait until I get back to tell the joke? Also, don't think too much about it, just in case."

He raised his right hand, and with a flash of light, a mask appeared in his hand. Made from pale bones, it was supernaturally shaped into a skeletal face that was enough to bring absolute terror.

Its eyes were deep and dark, like the eternal night of Nostramo. There are some not very obvious golden lines shining on the top of the forehead, like a king's laurel crown.

Conrad Curze handed it to his brother.

"You know who it's for, right?"

He winked at him again and smiled easily, as if a huge weight had been lifted off him. But Corvus Corax, one of the people who knew him best, saw something else.

For example, sadness, guilt, self-blame and regret. Of course, there is also a very clever way of gloating about his own misfortune.

"Iago Severtarion?" Corax asked.

Curze nodded, then bowed, bidding him farewell. He stood elegantly, with his black hair hanging down, covering his entire expression.

Corus Corax closed his eyes and said slowly: "If we never live to see each other again, I hope you understand, Conrad, that I am honored to be your brother. Besides."

He patted the bag of dried sand eels.

Half a second later, he opened his eyes again, and Conrad Coates had disappeared without a trace, as if he had never existed.