40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 55 55. Great Purge (1)

It arrived as promised. Khalil thought.

Standing on the top of a steeple, he looked down.

Quintus always exudes an unbearable bad smell after rain, and the putrid stench of acid rain is far from the limit.

The puddles on the road created a more complex chemical smell after a brief pause, and every detail in Quintus pushed this smell to its peak.

In a sense, the rain can also represent a certain side of Nostramo - whenever you feel that this is the worst side it can show you, it will always give you a better one. bad.

This world seems to be conscious, deliberately mocking you in this way.

However, for Khalil, what is really unbearable at this moment is not the complex and bad smell, but a kind of chaos that ordinary people cannot detect.

The latter is more unbearable than the former.

He looked silently at another block three hundred meters away, where there was already loud gunfire.

The Great Purge came as promised, and the families that had promised to be admitted to the nest had disappeared, but the gangs obviously had no intention of giving up this glorious tradition. The gunfire tonight was louder than every night before, and the whole city was plunged into madness.

An idea arose in Khalil's mind.

They need it.

Shaking his head slightly, he jumped down from the spire and landed in a dark alley.

Without looking, he knew what was on the street outside the alley - patrolling gang members, guns drawn, patrolling their territory. Few of them remained sane, and the smell of hallucinogens hung in the air.

Khalil slowly came to the entrance of the alley, stepped over a cesspool, and leaned against the wall, extremely quiet. His breathing was almost undetectable, and his tall body was completely hidden in the darkness. No one noticed his arrival.

But he wanted them to notice.

So he walked out of the darkness.

Several pale faces spotted him, their dark eyes filled with dullness - a direct and naked danger signal suddenly appeared in the mind filled with drugs and primitive impulses such as violence.

Their brains start screaming, roaring to try and get them to escape. But they had no chance.

"Good evening," Khalil said.

His voice was soft, but enough for everyone on patrol to hear. There were forty-seven people in all, and they all heard his voice.

What you need to do next is very simple.

Rush forward, grab the weapon, bend it, and throw it, killing someone trying to escape.

He continued to charge forward, twisting off two heads, and then carefully kicked one person's spine and crooked it, and then stepped on his throat to save him from pain.

Back, elbow strike, shattering two hearts. Lower your head to avoid the incoming bullets, jump up, and attack again. Use the palms together to form a knife, slash horizontally, thrust straight, and slash.

Killing.

A minute later, Khalil was the only one standing.

not enough.

He turned his head, sighed, and rushed into the bottom of the spire where he once stood in the most ostentatious way.

The wall turned to powder and he burst through it.

The gangs who heard the noise and wanted to come out to support instinctively looked this way, but their eyesight only had time to catch a fleeting shadow. Then, before they fired, they heard a greeting.

"Good evening."

Gunfire rang out—and then another three minutes of death spread.

Khalil stood in the messy hall and nodded thoughtfully. The horrible smell of burnt metal mixed with synthetic chemicals rushed into his nose, but the overpowering smell of blood overwhelmed everything.

The first gang is solved.

How many more are there?

A number appeared in his mind, and Khalil laughed - a purge usually lasted three to four days, and one night was not enough for Quintus' gang to solve what they wanted to solve.

But, for Khalil, one night was enough.

He lowered his head and glanced at his bloody hands.

Killing to stop killing was not the answer, he knew that all too well.

In order to completely change Nostramo, the first thing to do is to establish a tolerable order. At least it can't be worse than it is now, and to do that will probably take decades of hard work.

Building is always a hundred times harder than destroying.

But he has no time now.

In a sense, the massive ship now in Nostramo's orbit changed everything. Khalil can't yet tell whether this change is good or bad, but one thing is clear to him.

No matter what, it can't be worse than now.

——

"Tiger among sheep."

Roger Dorn shook his head: "With this speed and efficiency, is he planning to clean up this nest all night?"

"Maybe it is."

Ferrus Manus nodded noncommittally. "He's taken out six gangs in the last fifteen minutes and they're just unstoppable."

Their conversation echoed in the room. The two giants stood on the left and right sides of a long table, and the holographic projection cast a blue light in the room. A red dot was moving rapidly in the hive filled with gloomy spiers and stacked buildings.

"Have you tried to persuade him?" Dorn asked after a period of silence.

"I'm just saying I can help," Ferus replied calmly.

"That's all, but he refused. I guess he felt that the new order brought by power is not much different from the existing one in this hive. At least the workers can't tell the difference. They will only think that we are It’s another institution that uses violence to rule.”

"In a way," Dorn shook his head. "We are."

"But what he's doing now is no different than using violence to destroy everything."

Ferus couldn't help but sigh. There was an exquisite long black box in front of him. It was made of wood and had detailed carvings on the surface.

"He is a Nostramo."

Roger Dorn crossed his hands and carefully observed the movement of the red dot on the holographic projection. "This small difference is enough to change a lot of things," he said.

"He created an image."

Ferus frowned: "A fearful image, a vengeful ghost - operating in the darkness, avenging those who died in vain. When Conrad told this incident, I thought he was telling some ancient legend. , I didn’t expect it to be true.”

"So?" Dawn asked, keeping his eyes on his brother as he asked the question.

"So, what can an image change?" Ferus replied slowly.

"Is it possible that an image can awaken those who are numb? Conrad said something about fire, but I don't know how this fire can keep burning in a world where it rains all the time."

"Promethium."

".What?"

Dorn nodded calmly and slowly towards his brother, lifting his chin so convincingly: "Promethium Flame."

Ferus's expression finally became a little weird, and he took a deep breath: "Is this a joke, Rogge?"

"I'm not kidding."

"But the flame I just described does not exist in the real world. It is not a real flame. It is a spirit or a will to resist. You cannot use promethium as an example to refute me."

"I can."

"you can not."

"I have already refuted it."

Roger Dorn said seriously. "Promethium flames do burn in the rain—and why do you assume that the kind of fire he started couldn't burn in the rainstorms of Nostramo?"

"because."

Ferus was stunned - yes, why?

He lowered his head, thought seriously for a moment, and then agreed with his brother: "Maybe you are right, Roger."

"No."

Rogal Dorn shook his head again at this moment, and his reaction made Ferus frown, a little confused.

"I don't know if I'm right, I'm just making a hypothesis, Ferus."

"What if?"

"Yes, we cannot have an answer to whether he can succeed or not. The complexity of Nostramo is also rare for us."

"Actually, you and I both know how a world that feeds on humans and even creates a culture should be handled under normal circumstances. If Conrad hadn't obviously wanted to transform this place."

He stopped talking and Ferus nodded silently.

"Anyway——"

Dorn supported the table with both hands and stared at the holographic projection. "Let's talk about something else. It always feels weird to me to talk about a one-and-a-half-year-old child trying to change such a world."

"It's not like he doesn't have helpers."

"His helpers are far more pessimistic than he is," Dorn said expressionlessly. "And his helpers who are about to arrive, I'm afraid their thoughts will not be very positive."

"Conrad is their Primarch."

"It's not like I haven't been refuted by my adjutant."

Dawn shook his head. "Everyone has their own ideas. It would be too sad if the knowledge of what is right or wrong can be erased just because of obedience to the father of genes."

"Indeed - but are you implying that the Eighth Legion might directly launch a purge on the entire Nostramo, Rogge?"

"I'm not implying that, that's how I feel and once they arrive, we're leaving."

Donn's expression became a little serious. He frowned and his eyes under his short gray hair narrowed slightly: "Do you think a one and a half year old child can resist his criminal sons?"

Ferus was silent for a moment, and then he chuckled.

"Don't worry, Roger."

Facing Dorn's puzzled eyes, Ferus allowed the smile on his face that should have been fleeting to stay longer.

He said: "Conrad is very perceptive - Fulgrim would agree with me on that. And even if it does happen, Khalil Rojalls cannot remain indifferent."

"That's what I'm worried about." Roger Dorn said expressionlessly.