40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 534 52. Records of the Battle Group Era (Thirteen, Garbage Cleaning and Anti-Stealth Assessment)

Zell gently loosened his fingers and let the combat dagger slide to the ground.

It would have come off, if he hadn't caught the gauntlet with his fingers. Then he turned the hilt and grasped it again. In this way, his index finger and middle finger were tightly attached to the two ends of the knife surface, and the remaining three fingers were holding the handle of the knife.

This way of holding the sword is contrary to its own structure, and it is not a very good fighting posture, but Zell has become accustomed to this way of holding it.

He held the knife and quietly walked out of the darkness.

After leaving the lift platform, they marched through the radiation dust of Calth for another seventeen minutes before reaching their destination, Fortress No. 6.

In appearance, the fortress was unlike anything Zell had seen before. It was completely pitch black, and although it also had the emblems of the Aquila and Ultramar hanging on it, its grim shape and the absence of any observation holes or walls still made it a little weird.

Zell didn't understand why the people who designed it would abandon these two useful fortifications, but he didn't bother to guess.

He slowly raised the blade in his hand and stabbed the blade forcefully into the back of a barbarian at a gentle speed.

The man didn't even notice the pain at first. His rough and cancerous skin made it difficult for him to detect the sudden attack. When he really realized it, it was already too late.

The combat dagger pierced his heart from behind. At the end of his life, the mutant tried his best and could only let out a short muffled groan without attracting any attention.

Zell reached out and pulled him back into the darkness, piling the body on top of more dead people who had died in the same condition as him.

Yes, he has killed many people here.

Logically speaking, he should have moved his position long ago. He could hide the body and his whereabouts, but he could not hide the smell of blood, but this group of mutants who occupied the fortress obviously lacked the sense of smell.

Perhaps because of a genetic mutation, they can't smell the smell of blood at all. From this point of view, this can also explain why they can tolerate the extremely bad smell on their bodies.

It was no longer a smell that could be described by a simple odor. The breathing grill built into Zell's helmet couldn't even completely filter out this compound smell that was like a biochemical attack.

He had no doubt that ordinary people would have vomiting and other adverse reactions the first second they smelled their scent.

No wonder I was able to fight back and forth with the Kaos people. It was just the smell, but what about other aspects?

Zell shook his hand to shake off the blood, then sheathed the knife and walked towards the other end of the fortress.

This fortress has been occupied by mutants for eleven years, and the power system has been completely destroyed. Although it is a behemoth about three hundred meters high, there is no light inside.

The fortress that the people of Calth had spent countless years and blood building layer by layer has now been completely contaminated by the descendants of the traitors with their own blood and feces. Zell even needs to avoid the filth when walking to avoid They stain their armor.

Of course he has experienced worse environments than this, but psychological disgust is difficult to get rid of.

What's more, the current situation is not that bad yet.

As he walked, he gave commands to the servo built into the power armor through the neural connection, and a map provided by the Sons of Calth appeared on his eyepiece.

According to the map, he is currently on the fourth floor of the fortress.

This place was originally used as an armory. Of course, Zell didn't see any solemnity belonging to the armory along the way.

He only saw dried blood, countless skeletons that were hung upside down, and excrement that was carelessly thrown on the roadside with the missing body parts that had been chewed into it.

The armory door that was supposed to be opened did not move at all and remained closed. The mutants didn't seem to be interested in them either, and they did nothing except leave 'traces' on them.

This made Zell uncontrollably feel a sense of absurdity. He had never dealt with such an enemy before. Even the natives of the wild world could quickly evolve in war and learn how to use light guns or chain swords.

These mutants are different. They are even resisting the weapons of the Calthians and the civilization they established.

It's almost like going against civilization. Zell thought with a frown.

He continued forward, the steel boots rising and falling silently, repeated over and over without making any sound.

Stealth is the first lesson for any Nightborne. Zell had always used this technique very well, simply because of his caution. The Astartes were somewhat arrogant, but he was not. His arrogance had completely disappeared not long ago.

Therefore, at this moment, even if the enemies he faced were these things that had degenerated into primitive humans, he was still wary.

This vigilance saved his life.

Zell finally stopped.

He stared at the chaotic scene in front of him and remained silent.

After leaving the long passage, what appeared in front of him was a deep and dark hall. Burning torches made of human fat were tied to the wall with hair, illuminating the ghosts and monsters underneath.

The 'meat' that has completely lost its human form is surging hard on the floor tiles, with a big mouth, swallowing other 'meat' into its mouth. The sound of swallowing was endless, but the 'meat' covering the entire hall did not decrease at all, but seemed to become more and more.

There was a crude stone statue standing in the center of the hall. Zell intercepted its image with his own eyepiece and planned to analyze it, but his heart suddenly sank at this moment and he felt a sense of oppression for no reason.

The carving technique and the incomplete and weird image of this statue were not enough to make him feel this way. What really made him feel the sense of oppression was the eyes of the statue.

Its eyes penetrated the darkness, and with the 'flesh' surging around it, it arrived in front of Zell accurately.

Zell kept breathing silently, and calmly reached for the bolter on his waist with his right hand.

At the same time, his newly-installed Terminator armor suddenly popped up an error message, and the output of the servo motor malfunctioned, forcing the artificial muscle bundle in his right hand to explode to its maximum output at this moment, locking it completely stiffly. In place.

Zell suddenly began to retreat, and he retreated until he reached the end of the passage. The motor error had just returned to normal, but the shape of the statue and the flesh still remained in the depths of his eyes.

Especially those so-called 'flesh', they are all mutants who have lost their human form, their dirty and ferocious faces are filled with a wonderful sense of peace, as if they can enjoy themselves without pain as long as they cling to this statue. Everything is beautiful in the world.

But what about the image of that statue?

Zell found in disbelief that he could not remember its specific appearance at all - he no longer hesitated and immediately started calling for backup.

Three minutes later, he received an unexpected support target, the Lord of the Crimson Claw, Skradric. There was still a strong smell of blood on the latter's claws, and it was obvious that he had just finished a killing.

"What's going on?" he asked bluntly.

Zell did not hide anything, and completely told Scarardrick the situation he had mastered so far. Because of the helmet, Zell couldn't see his expression, but I guess it shouldn't be too good.

"A statue that can also have an impact on you." The monarch pondered gloomily for a few seconds before spitting out a sentence. "Looks like we caught the big fish, Zell of the Shadow Knight."

He turned and started walking toward the passage, Zell behind him, bolter already in hand. Although he followed, he still had some doubts and did not hide it from Scaradrick.

"Maybe we should wait for backup," Zell said. "If you proceed so rashly, you may encounter danger."

The Maharaja let out a cold snort without looking back.

"You are a veteran, Zell. And I am a Chapter Master, so if there is anything that threatens you and me, I am afraid that I can only ask Yago Severtarion and our instructors to deal with it personally. And I don’t want them to deal with it for us, not any of them.”

Zell fell into silence briefly because of his words. He understood what Scaradrick meant, but his reason finally prevailed.

"If that's the case, we should call them," he whispered. "It is a good thing to be brave and heroic, Lord Scaladric. However, facing an enemy who does not know his true identity and going into danger alone can only be regarded as stupidity."

Scaradrick stopped slowly, turned his head, and glanced sideways at Zell without saying a word.

The paladin kept his wits about him and looked at him without showing any signs of flinching. Of course he knew that the blood relatives of the Crimson Claws were all cruel in nature, but wasn't he himself a stubborn person?

Just as Scaladrick is hell-bent on regaining his honor, Zell has his own principles to uphold.

"We should call them," he repeated. "And it's better to call now, for these savage bastards will never carry just a statue if they have faith."

His words attracted a voice, which came from above them, expressing his approval of Zell in a low and appreciative voice.

"Well said, Zell."

The prince and the paladin suddenly raised their heads and saw a man standing upside down on the ceiling.

"However, you two failed the anti-stealth assessment." Khalil Lohars declared expressionlessly. "You still need to exercise more on weekdays, do you understand?"

He landed lightly without making any sound. Two pale hands protruded from the wide cuffs of the black robe, holding two combat daggers that came from unknown sources.

Judging from the painting and the emblem on the handle, they clearly do not belong to him.

Zell looked down and realized that the short knife at his waist had disappeared. Coincidentally, the same goes for the knife on Scaradrick's waist.

Why doesn't the power armor itself have a warning? ! Zell thought with an ugly face.

Khalil reached out, threw the knife, and gave it back to them.

"You can come and go freely in the darkness, but that does not mean that it welcomes you. The darkness is full of dangers. You are just one of the monsters. There are more things lurking in the depths. Don't let your guard down, otherwise you will definitely... Taste the bitter consequences.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he walked past them and began to move towards the depths of the passage.

Scarardrick and Zell looked at each other, then sheathed their swords silently and followed him.

What the two of them were thinking about now, I'm afraid only they knew it all. Khalil could guess some of it, so he began to explain.

"I didn't use psychic power or other powers to cover my whereabouts. Except when I took the knife, I only used some stealth skills from the Legion period."

"To be honest, you should know them too. It's just adjusting the frequency of breathing and heartbeat, entering the blind spot of vision. At best, I was a little more patient, but you didn't notice anything until I took the dagger."

"And this has nothing to do with my use of psychic power to distort the system of power armor. At such a close distance, even if it wasn't me, but another enemy who was proficient in stealth or had a cloaking device, you would probably have died."

"So-" He sighed obviously. "--The training we did in the Legion period, no one is doing it now?"

". No, instructor." Skaardrick replied in a deep voice, his tone full of annoyance with himself.

"I won't make excuses, saying that the inheritance is missing or something like that. The fact is the fact, we really didn't do any more anti-stealth training."

"We did the same." Zel gritted his teeth.

"Why? Because you think it's useless?" Kalil asked without looking back.

He pointed out the crux of the problem incisively, and a chapter leader and a veteran fell silent, but Kalil didn't stop there.

He continued: "Although I don't know much about war, I think there should be absolutely no "unusable" things in war. At the last moment, even a stone can be used as a weapon, let alone this most basic skill?"

"It's just an attitude problem, but it's not serious. I understand. After all, it's been ten thousand years. Anyway, don't take this test too seriously. When today's matter is over, if any of you think anti-stealth is also important, you can come to me."

He stopped talking and kept absolute silence, floating like a ghost. Not long after, they saw the hall that Zel said.

Skalderik frowned unbearably. The moment he saw the tangled pieces of meat, he had the urge to throw incendiary bombs into the place.

Zel was relatively calm. He stood there with his gun, waiting for the instructor's order, but Kalir said nothing and just walked forward.

The meat was unaware of his arrival, and even the statue that had oppressed Zel before did not move. It stood quietly in the same place, and nothing strange happened again.

Zel frowned and began to observe it carefully again. This time, he successfully analyzed the specific shape of the statue, but he would rather forget it all.

"Eternal Night." Skalderik growled beside him. "How dare they do such a thing?!"

What kind of thing?

Well, this kind of thing.

The statue was Robert Guilliman.

To be precise, it was a crippled Robert Guilliman carved out of stone, without armor and legs.

Whatever the sculptor had used to smash the stone into this shape, he had no skill at all. Strangely, in those clumsy marks of smashing, Zel saw pure sincerity.

After realizing this, he almost vomited, not for anything else, just because the sculptor believed in Robert Guilliman wholeheartedly.

If it weren't for faith, it would be impossible to adjust the angle and strength of the smash again and again in order to present a better and more similar statue. Those marks can fully tell the sculptor's sincerity.

For this reason, Zel couldn't stand it at all.

Khalil stopped in front of it, expressionless, hands clenched.

He stepped on the squirming pieces of meat with his feet. They still didn't notice him and were busy devouring each other.

The digestive system and most of the internal organs have disappeared in these extremely degraded creatures. They have no eyes, hands, feet, or organs other than the heart. Even teeth and spines are gone. At least Khalil didn't feel any bones from them.

They were like large, soft worms in human skin, always busy devouring each other, and then reborn from their own 'back'.

Disgusting? It was indeed disgusting.

Even Khalil had to admit the blasphemy of this scene, but he saw another thing besides disgust.

These things were changing, and they were changing into the form of Robert Guilliman. There were at least thousands of such pieces of meat in the whole hall, repeating the process of devouring and rebirth endlessly.

They were not a big deal now, but their bodies had become very large, and their faces were also changing.

At least the pieces of meat under Khalil's feet were like this, their faces were even four or five points similar to the Lord of Macragge, their eyes were still closed, but who could guarantee that they would not open one day?

If they continued like this, would they really become like him?

Or become his opposite, his incomplete product?

Khalil narrowed his eyes, reached out and grasped the statue, and then began to exert force.

He is no longer considered a god, and the reasons why are still a mystery, but the facts are the facts. He is no longer a god, and although his power can no longer be compared to when he killed the counterfeit, he can still completely destroy the statue from its roots.

It cannot defy him, either in a secular sense or in an occult sense.

The statue was easily crushed into powder by five fingers. The meat suddenly stopped devouring, and then began to twitch, beating and trembling as if it had been dropped into a frying pan.

They even began to scream loudly and called Robert Guilliman's name in standard Gothic.

It was almost like asking him for help.

"Instructor!" Scarardrick roared, having already pulled out the two power axes hanging from the belt on his waist. "I'll cover you!"

"No need," Khalil replied softly.

He turned around, stared thoughtfully at the wisp of dust in his hand, and walked back empty-handed.

The bodies of the flesh began to disintegrate, from barely having a shape to a complete pulp, exuding a pungent stench, but their skins still remained.

Thousands of Robert Guilliman's faces, like inferior imitations, kept wailing in the flesh, looking extremely terrifying.

Khalil glanced back and clenched his right hand. When he let go again, the wisp of dust had turned into a small gray stone.

"What's going on, instructor?" Zell asked in an indescribable voice.

"It's just a conspiracy of chaos." Khalil said calmly. "From an evil thing that is dead but still suffering. Did you know that Erebus once took a wisp of dust from Macragge?"

He lowered his head, gently threw up the stone in his hand, then held it accurately with two fingers, and raised his hand again so that Scaradrick and Zell could observe more carefully.

"Is this the wisp of dust?" Scaladrick asked.

"Just one of them," Khalil replied, narrowing his eyes.

He even admires Erebus a little now. Even the demon of Tzeentch may not be able to mess up the material world in such a mess like him.

Anything he has done in these ten thousand years can make a cultist upgrade on the spot, let alone this kind of thing.

Ten thousand years ago, the religion founded by Lorgar Aurelion regarded the Emperor as a god, and the Primarchs were his sons, demigods who walked the world.

This title seemed biased at the time, and even considered a contemptuous name to some people, but now it seems that Luo Jia was right. He got to the point and pointed out the true nature of the Primarchs.

These transcendent beings are not human beings at all. They are the embodiment of a certain power snatched back from the subspace by a barbarian from the Eurasian continent.

And this means that they are really demigods, and they are demigods who can become gods, as long as they awaken to their own essence

As luck would have it, Robert Guilliman awakened to his true nature.

What Erebus did was actually very simple. He stole the ashes of the demigod's hometown that was very closely connected to mysticism, then fabricated his image and made him the Word Bearer again. What they do best.

He compiled a story about a god.

At some point, he came to Calth and preached the gospel of Robert Guilliman to the mutants.

Here he founded a religion belonging to the Lord of Macragge, and then left quietly, as if he was just planting flowers without intention, just waiting for it to suddenly bloom and bear fruit one day.

It's really annoying. Khalil thought with a deadpan expression.

+It's okay, dad. There are many, many people who want to settle accounts with him. +

+No matter how many times he dies, it can never make up for what he has done. +

Khalil exhaled a calm breath and put the stone back into the pocket of his robe.

He was vaguely aware that a storm was coming. Within the tide of chaos, something is waiting.