40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 564 82. Dark Crusade (Twelve, NIGHT LORDS)

Vanion Tasiad must admit that he felt dizzy. This dizziness was caused by unstoppable excessive blood loss, caused by a long, wavy knife inserted into his chest and abdomen.

The knife was poisoning him, and he could even vaguely detect the movement of the jagged teeth on the knife. They were like tiny teeth one after another, gnawing at his flesh and blood, pouring blasphemous and dark things into his body. soul.

Vanion had to recite the Emperor's Prayer silently at all times to gain some peace. However, at this moment, even the natural thing of breathing seemed much more difficult, so he turned to seek physical help. .

He tried to hold the handle of the knife with his remaining right hand, trying to pull it out, but as soon as his fingers touched the handle, a bone-chilling cold hit him hard.

The handle of the knife trembled violently between his fingers, causing greater pain, but Vanion discovered another thing in his pain - the knife was alive.

And, it was resisting him.

This conclusion can be proved by the simplest evidence, which is a yellow eye that opened at some point on the end of the knife handle.

There shouldn't be such a naked eye on the metal and bone handle, but it is what it is, and not only that, this eye is even bleeding.

Vanion gasped and stared at it, his fingers stiffened by the cold attack dancing in the air for a few seconds, and suddenly he put the handle of the knife again.

This time, he was ready, and no matter how hard he struggled, the sword did not break free. In severe pain and more severe dizziness, he pulled out the knife bit by bit, completing his struggle with it and achieving a small victory.

However, the price required for this victory was staggering, because the blade was covered with his own flesh and blood. His feeling was correct, and those serrations were indeed like teeth.

A dozen seconds ago, they were deeply embedded in his flesh and blood, biting around and devouring internal organs.

Vanion looked down at his wound, and keenly caught a glimpse of the rotting blackness between the bloody flesh.

He knew immediately that he had been poisoned and that he was likely to die soon. When this idea was born, the adjutant of the first company of Emperor's Scythe immediately gritted his teeth and stood up from the burning ruins.

He was surrounded by the corpses of Astartes. Some were like him, wearing black and yellow armor, while the other ones were different, both pitch black and forest blue. The armor was covered with human skins, skulls and other accessories. , blood-red bat wings and iron fangs transformed their helmets into something ominous that defies description.

Vanion did not let these things hold him back. Instead, he speeded up and walked to a flag. A knight wearing power armor with the color of the Emperor's Scythe, holding a huge scythe high above it, was riding a white horse through the blazing flames.

The horse was named Cornabos, the warhorse of a god in ancient Terran mythology.

Vanion reached out and pulled the flag out of a corpse. The end of the sharp flagpole made of alloy was covered with blood. He looked down at the corpse with its neck pierced, then suddenly raised his foot and kicked its helmet away.

It cut through the burning air, landed heavily, and disappeared into the darkness. Vanion's expression became serious little by little.

He knelt down on one knee with difficulty, leaned the flagpole in his arms, and used his right hand to open the eyelids of the corpse. There was complete darkness underneath.

The God-Emperor ascends, Robert Guilliman ascends.

He took a deep breath, then stood up, raised his foot and stamped the face into pieces.

Half a minute later, he found a Torchbearer's Improved Short Assault Bolter with bullets still in it, as well as his own power sword and helmet.

The name Opal Day was engraved on the guard of that gun, their first Chapter Master, former Captain of the Shield Company, the truly glorious son of Guilliman. Who am I compared to him?

Vannion smiled bitterly, put the flag behind him, and used the magnetic device of the armed belt to firmly suck it up. Then he transferred the scabbard to his right leg, then sheathed the sword and left holding the gun. This burning ruins.

The air became extremely cold, and Vanion knew why - the sudden gang attack destroyed everything in the Force of Honor and completely scattered the four companies of the Emperor's Scythe.

Now, Vanion couldn't even figure out whether there were any friendly forces other than him on the ship, because the ship's communications had been completely paralyzed, and he didn't even bother to use his helmet to make a call.

He was full of anger about this matter, but he didn't know who to vent his anger to. Although in the final analysis they were the ones who allowed the enemy to board the ship, and they were the ones who allowed the enemy ships to approach, but...

Vanion stopped, raised his gun, and without hesitation, pulled the trigger.

A figure suddenly appeared in the darkness in front of him, rushing towards him in the light of the fire, his hands raised in the air, shining with cold light. Vanion barely escaped the attack with his body, then immediately turned the gun and pulled the trigger all the way.

The assault-type short barrel and large magazine design brought about a salvo that finally hit the attacker. The explosive bomb did not really kill him, but the impact made him lag behind. This also gave Vanion a chance to turn defeat into victory. Opportunity.

He dropped the gun, drew his power sword, and charged at the attacker.

The furious blue light from the decomposition force field illuminated his appearance, and the helmet whose lower part was covered by human skin was flashing with two points of scarlet light. It was eerie, but it didn't make Vanion feel any fear in his heart. At this moment, there was only anger in his heart.

Fire flew everywhere, and the attacker blocked the attack with his own sword, but fell right into Vanion's trap. He struggled against the sword, his knees sank slightly, and suddenly he retreated and let go, allowing the attacker's sword to penetrate deeply into the pauldron of his left shoulder.

At the same time, his half-remaining left hand suddenly hit the enemy's helmet. This ferocious attack regardless of injury made Vanion's wounds become more bloody, but it also made his enemy couldn't help but lean back for a moment.

It was this moment that killed him.

A cold light flashed, and the hum of the decomposition force field disappeared into the package of flesh and blood.

The attacker let out a low grunt, and his upper body and lower body slowly separated. The buzzing sound sounded again. In the blue light, Vanion gasped and fell to the ground again, but quickly stood up.

He had to rush to the main bridge and check the instruments. He didn't think that all the communication equipment had been destroyed in the attack. There must be one or two cogitators still usable.

Before he dies, he must transmit the true identity of his enemy back to Sousa, which will give them a huge tactical advantage. Moreover, even if not, it can at least increase the chance of survival for some people.

He retrieved his weapons and embarked on this destined to be difficult journey again, but this time, good luck did not favor him.

A brutal attack befell him again. A group of thugs who were dragging the crew found him. They knocked him to the ground, but did not rush to kill him. Instead, they first took away his company flag, and then Standing aside nonchalantly and condescendingly, he began to laugh.

One of them waved the flag gently, then kicked Vanion in the face, inserted the flagpole deeply into the wound on his chest and abdomen, and twisted his wrist.

He said in a strange tone: "This flag is really interesting, cousin. A knight on a white horse. Why, do you think of yourselves as saviors from above? It's a pity that you can't save anyone."

Vanion gritted his teeth and did not answer, so the man twisted his wrist again, as if he was deliberately forcing him to scream.

Vanion had no choice and immediately joined this special wrestling match.

He rolled back and forth in the abyss of pain, hatred, and shame, with sarcastic jeers ringing in his ears.

"These idiots actually let us on board."

"Yes, brother, I have never seen such a stupid lackey of the false emperor."

"Perhaps this has something to do with the fact that they are the sons of Robert Guilliman? You also know that the civil servant who can only modify documents likes to do this kind of thing the most. He turns cowards into superficial heroes. As everyone knows, A coward will always be a coward."

Amidst the laughter, the enemy responsible for tormenting him lowered his head, leaned against the flagpole and shrugged: "Hey, seriously, cousin, don't you think this is ironic?"

He raised his finger and pointed behind him, where an attacker squatting on the ground was skinning someone with a knife. Each drop of the blade brought with it a burst of screams, cries and pleas.

"Were you sworn to protect them?" his tormentor asked, suppressing a smile. "Now look what they got? Seriously, if you didn't interfere in these people's lives, they might have an easier life."

Vanion finally couldn't help but roared: "Despicable traitor!"

"Really? Is this the best counterattack you can give after everything you've been through? Well, cousin, I've had enough fun, you're just boring. Maybe this news will make you look a little more interesting. "

He let go of the flagpole, leaned down, and whispered in Vanion's ear: "Did you know? Our ship has sailed into your space station. Do you know what this means? I guess you should know."

He looked at Vanion's widened eyes, struggling limbs and continuous bleeding blood with satisfaction, and finally laughed behind the helmet.

But it wasn't over yet. He turned around and took a crew member with his hands and feet cut off and a mark of chaos carved on his forehead from his laughing companion. He threw it next to Vanion and began to wait for his last breath. Reaction.

The emotions that Scythe of the Emperor had been suppressing finally broke through the barriers of his reason at this moment, and his steel-like will was crushed amidst the cry and screams of the crew member. Two tears slowly slid down his purple cheeks and fell into the dust.

"Well."

His tormentor looked at him bewildered, then pulled out the short sword from his waist, put it on his neck and shook his head.

"Seriously, cousin, you're making me a little sick."

He received a soft response.

"Indeed." Someone said behind him. "I didn't think I'd see something like this."

The gunfire suddenly flashed, and a pale hand pierced his back, grasped his heart, and slowly lifted him up.

The bombs flew by, but none hit their target. The tormentor, whose heart was being held, roared unbearably, struggled endlessly, and was immediately thrown heavily into the ground.

The gunshots continued to sound, and the bullets that were shot out of the gun barrel in vain were spinning in the air at an extremely slow speed. Their targets calmly bent down and grabbed an armor plate on the tormentor's chest with their fingers, speaking lightly. Removed it.

Then another piece, and the next piece.

He did this work methodically, allowing the giant who was far taller than him to struggle violently. His resistance seemed pointless to him, and it was, as the attacks, whether with fists or with daggers, had no effect on him.

Ten seconds later, he inserted his fingers deep into the tormentor's chest, tore his chest open, easily broke off the rib plate and took it out, then threw it casually, killing the two giants who were firing at him.

Blood spattered, and amidst the incomprehensible roars of his companions, the tormentor saw his own internal organs exposed to the cold air.

"Where are you from?" the man asked, then reached out and crushed one of his hearts.

The attacker froze for a second, then two - then he screamed.

"I'm asking a question. Aren't you going to answer it?" the man said.

He moved his fingers, pinched his spine, and began to play with the nerves wrapped around it, playing them like strings. Then began to break the remaining bone stubble of the rib plate.

He played the piano and drums quietly, causing the tormentor great pain, but also made him vaguely hear a gloomy song in the midst of the agony. Long, graceful and full of cold anger.

In the midst of this song, the tormentor screamed, while his companions turned and fled, disappearing into the darkness. The bomb fell and made a dull sound.

"Answer." The man said calmly amid the hail of bullets. "Then I'll—"

He suddenly paused for a moment and reached out to grab the attacker's helmet. His long, seemingly powerless fingers turned the ceramic steel into soft paper, and with a casual tug, the visor turned into crumpled steel.

The twisted face exposed below was dripping with sweat, pale as a ghost, and its eyes were completely black.

This scene made him change his mind. He stretched out his left hand, grabbed the tormentor's chin, and began to slowly apply force with two fingers.

Amidst the dull shouting, a good piece of jaw and a mouth full of teeth, tongue, and half of the face's flesh and blood turned into a complex and unspeakable mixture.

"My name is Khalil Lohars," he said, and forced the concoction down his tormentor's throat. "Remember that I killed you."

He raised his right hand, clenched it into a fist, and then slowly brought it down, controlling the force accurately. He drove the mass of flesh and blood deep into the attacker's throat, and then into the shattered digestive tract, stomach, and intestines. He persisted until his intestines were smashed and he died.

After doing all this, Khalil stood up as if nothing had happened. He walked to Vanion, half-knelt on the ground, and carefully helped the dying sergeant.

He had no strength to speak, and could only use his eyes to plead with Khalil to save the motionless crew member lying next to him.

Khalil turned his head, looked at the poor man's body, and then said: "I'm sorry, but he has rested in peace. But you are different, Adjutant Vanion Tasiad, you can still be saved."

The radiance of psychic energy lit up in his eyes.