40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 532 50. Record of the Warband Era (Eleven, Reappearance of the Dead)

Kaos.

This was the first time Khalil had visited it.

Even if he pushed back the time ten thousand years ago, he had never been here, but this did not prevent him from understanding this place. So, why is this world so special?

It's ironic, but there's only one reason - because so many people died here, almost the whole world died.

Even the normal Chaos invasions are not so extreme. Even the demon army of Khorne, which is thirsty for skulls and killing, will leave some of the weak ones they disdain to kill as slaves or other things.

But Cowes is different. As early as the beginning of the war, it was bombed here, endless bombing. Then came fixed-point blasting, cult sacrifices, and demonic invasion. Loyalists and betrayers fight each other in this blood-stained land, regardless of other costs.

The tragedy is that when the loyalists briefly win and look back, they realize that the thing they were fighting for has long since disappeared.

Civilization was destroyed, the city was baptized into scorched earth by the rain of fire that fell from the sky, and the people sworn to protect became the skeletons buried beneath it. No more children or readings were heard in the university, only corpses, ruins, blood and broken flags in hands.

That's when things started to look different.

From that moment on, the souls heading to the wasteland no longer only possess unforgettable hatred. In addition to hatred, these people who died because of Calth also had another thing, which was a thought, or a question.

Why?

Why is this happening?

They wandered the wasteland with blank eyes and hollow voices, asking questions to the blood-red sky.

Khalil wanted to give them answers.

In the past, before he was out of trouble, he would endlessly ponder this question in the dark, trying to find an answer.

However, after all, he was not a philosopher or scholar. Throughout his life, what he was best at was just killing. He failed to save anything, just like these people.

They are all failed avengers, and in the end the only thing they hold in their hands is hatred itself.

Khalil couldn't get the answer, he couldn't give those souls answers, he couldn't even save the things he cherished most.

Then, he felt that, in the final analysis, this was not the failure of one or two people, but the desperate struggle of a race in the face of overwhelming malice.

They fought, and although they inevitably failed, they still planted the seeds of resistance for future generations.

Khalil knelt half on the ground and scooped up the coarse dust with one hand, feeling its weight.

The sun of Calth burned him fiercely, but it failed to cause any abnormality. It seems that all the things that may harm normal people are just the breeze blowing on his face and the warm sunshine in winter.

He observed the dust intently and soon made a discovery. Half a minute later, a deformed skeleton was dragged out of the ground by him, but compared to just now, the land he was on had turned into a deep pit.

Although it could not be called flat, at least before Khalil arrived, it would never be treated like this.

In the pit, Khalil brushed the dust off the face of the skeleton and then slowly lifted it up. The dust on its body slowly slid down from the cracks in its bones, causing a rustling sound.

There are no insect creatures in the pit. They know how to seek advantages and avoid disadvantages. They had already left the first moment Khalil arrived here.

Now, all that's left here is Khalil Lohars and the body.

He looked at it, motionless, his dark eyes reflecting the dignity that the skeleton now held. It had no arms or legs, and had some pretty serious injuries near its pelvis, spine, and ribs. Even after so much time, the traces are still clearly visible.

The corpse had been named Hrok, from the 61st Company of Numinas on Calth.

He is a member of the Ultramar Auxiliary and a sergeant. At the beginning of the Battle of Calth, he was dealing with the conscripted soldiers at the Imperial Army Assembly Hall in Roude Province.

Then he died.

What a miracle. Khalil thought.

Ten thousand years later, your bones still appear in front of me intact, Sergeant Herlock. This is truly a miracle that even the God-Emperor in their mouths is unlikely to perform.

I think that after you died, your body was probably covered by the soil turned up by the bombing. Your colleagues and your commanders ran on it, their bullets and blood covering it, and of course the corpses of traitors, you must have been among them.

And if you were still conscious, you would probably want to kill them. In other words, kill them again.

But you are lucky, most of the people who died fighting with you did not leave any bones behind. From this point of view, Kos is very gentle towards you. It covers your bones with rough sand and cancerous land, protects you from wind and rain, and sweeps away the dust.

In these ten thousand years, no matter how the earth's crust moves and how the traitors dig into the ground, you have never been discovered. Even your juniors couldn't find you. They didn't even know that you were lying 2,331 meters above their heads.

Khalil bent down and carried the skeleton on his shoulders.

He didn't actually have anything to do when he came to Calth, he just wanted to come, so a certain fragment hidden here responded to his call.

I don't know what year or month this fragment fell among the bones of Sergeant Hurlock, and is now being held in his hand.

It was an unexpected bonus, but Khalil wasn't really happy about getting it. He didn't even want to tell anyone else about it, to make it special.

He lowered his eyebrows and slowly walked out of the pit. The light of spiritual energy flickered and brought the surrounding soil back into the pit one by one.

In a few minutes at most, this place will return to its original appearance, and it will become no different from other places on the surface of Calth. In the dead gray Gobi Desert, inconspicuous mutated plants grow. The surface is as rough as rocks, and insects that can swallow soil alive will spread in it.

Khalil raised his head and looked at the sky.

He wasn't very knowledgeable about science, but whatever the case, the atmosphere or whatever it was that Calth once had had completely disappeared, and the sunlight was extremely intense as a result.

He narrowed his eyes, removing the psychic protection from his eyes, and the intense pain was born. He was temporarily blinded, a process that could become permanent if his healing is not accelerated.

Khalil laughed at this moment, and he shook his head. Blood slowly spread out from his closed eyelids, spreading wantonly across his pale face. Then, he slowly lowered the skeleton on his shoulders.

He could indeed lose sight, but he could still hear clearly that something was moving softly not far from him. They didn't wear shoes, and the soles of their feet were as hard as stone.

His originally extremely restrained perception network gained a little permission at this moment, so they couldn't wait to start spreading, just like they did when he was on Nostramo.

With their help, Khalil could clearly 'see' the people, or things, that were slowly surrounding him.

They are grotesquely shaped, and some cannot even maintain the most basic human form. Ten thousand years ago, their ancestors could already be said to be terrifying in appearance, but these people were far beyond the realm of terror.

They represented something completely opposite to civilization, and Khalil could easily get the evidence from their needle-pointed eyes that had no knowledge at all.

They all carried crude weapons, basically crudely made spears. The bone is used as the handle, and the stone is polished into the blade. There are also a few stronger ones holding metal spears in their hands. Judging from their color, they are probably taken from some Kaos people who unfortunately died in the battle.

This is really ridiculous. There is definitely no shortage of weapons at the hands of the war dead, but these creatures would rather not use them. Instead, they break them into pieces and polish them twice, turning them into barbaric weapons.

It's like they would rather wear human skin than wear any clothes.

Passively opposed to civilization, or deliberately guided by others?

Khalil walked towards the mutant closest to him with his bare hands, intending to get answers from him.

It is true that he is not good at thinking, but he is very good at finding traces and looking for answers. Sometimes, doing things is a better way to find answers than thinking.

Just like now.

He swung a punch, which caused the upper body of the savage thing to disappear completely.

The bright red meat was splashing in the air, but Khalil just felt like laughing - human genes are really powerful. Ten thousand years have passed, and these people are still under the influence of endless inbreeding and mutation and degeneration caused by radiation. Can keep blood bright red.

This is a kind of absurd drama.

He simply laughed out loud and began to quantify the killings, turning them into numbers that passed under his hands one after another. Two, three, four. When the number becomes seven, these people recoil.

When it turned sixteen a second later, they shrank and roared, and began to run randomly, trying to escape from this monster whose hands were stained with stinking blood.

Khalil did not give them a chance to escape. He wasted an extra ten seconds and completely killed the remaining eleven people.

And just like that, this wandering tribe disappeared. Their corpses will be devoured within a few hours, whether by wandering mutated beasts or their own kind, these creatures will be full of desire to feast on their flesh and blood.

Khalil knew this.

He quickened his pace, returned to the place where the sudden battle began, and carried the skeleton on his back again.

This senseless killing did not bring him any catharsis. In fact, throughout his life, he only felt pleasure when killing one thing.

He understood that he was losing control at the time, but then again, who can say that he is not losing control now?

Two hours later, he walked back to the camp of the Sons of Calth. Yago Savitarion had been waiting at the door for a long time, as if he was certain that he would come back early in the morning.

"Who is this?" he asked politely, pointing with his right hand at the skeleton on Khalil's shoulder.

"Sergeant Herlock, attached to the 61st Company of Numinas."

"Oh, then he is quite an old man, just like me. But it was for him that you left us quietly and walked out?"

"I just wanted to hang out," Khalil said. "We have nothing to do anyway, right? We still have plenty of time before Macragge's Glory arrives."

Sevatar chuckled at his words, almost silently scoffing.

However, despite his performance, his eyes remained fixed on the skeleton, as if he could see something in it that ordinary people could not see.

One glance at him and Khalil knew his talent was working.

Iago Severtarion was able to communicate with animals when he was a child. Although those animals did not necessarily exist, they did give him inspiration.

They brought him stories of the dead, their words, and endless visions. After he became the first reserve, this talent was sealed until a few days ago, when it made a comeback.

"What did you see, Sevatar?"

Silent, Sevita did not answer. His body was trembling, but his expression was becoming terrifying at a speed visible to the naked eye. He suddenly clenched his teeth, making them make a neat clashing sound. Then, he bent down and stretched out his hands towards Khalil.

"What's the matter?" Khalil asked.

"Bury him," said Sevatar.

"What made you suddenly change your attitude?"

Sevatar showed an obvious fake smile and sighed deliberately.

"I saw it. He is my comrade. Even though we have never met and we don't know each other's existence, he did fight side by side with me on the same battlefield for the same goal, right, instructor?"

He blinked and stared at Khalil, with a hint of pleading in his eyes.

"You know what, Yago?"

"What?"

"Your psychological problems are getting worse." Khalil said, and handed Sergeant Hurlock's bones to Sevita. "You really should find a doctor for treatment. If you continue like this, I'm worried that you will suddenly go crazy one night."

"."

"What's wrong?"

"I should be the one to say this to you." Savita replied angrily. He turned around and walked into the darkness with the corpse that had not weathered for ten thousand years.

Khalil knew that he would go to Calgio, Chapter Master of the Sons of Calth, to discuss the funeral. Robert Guilliman's heirs would not refuse such a thing, and they have always had a fine tradition of remembering history.

Khalil also knew that Hurlock's name must still be stored in their database. For ten thousand years, his name has been lying in the deepest part of the database with millions and tens of millions of other names whose bodies cannot be found.

Then, what will it be? A beautiful funeral?

Khalil shook his head, turned around, and walked towards the surface again.

Helock didn't need these things. He just wanted to see the traitors die, the war be won, and then there would be no more bloodshed and sacrifice.

But, maybe, all he wanted was to stand in his farmland and smoke an entire hand-rolled cigarette while watching the waves of wheat sway across the river. In the blue sky, unarmed gunboats roared past, delivering food.

+Should I ask him, father? +

Khalil stopped, looked at his shadow, and shook his head.

"The living should not call the dead unless you want a response," he replied softly. "But, Conrad, are you now living or dead?"

+I can ask you the same question again. +

Khalil smiled slightly and said: "Then come on, let us question each other endlessly."

+You really should find a doctor for treatment+

As soon as he finished speaking, the moonlight in his shadow disappeared.