40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 59 59. The Great Purge (V)

Ferrus Manus opened the door, and the door handle engraved with a double-headed eagle did not feel the temperature in his hand for a moment. His movements were clean and neat, as swift as swinging a sword.

Fulgrim appeared in front of him, his face anxious.

"What happened?" Ferrus asked calmly.

"Where's Konrad?"

Iron Hand stepped aside so that Fulgrim could see Konrad Curze. The latter held a knife and looked a little hesitant: "Fulgrim? What's wrong?"

"Come here, Konrad - Ferrus, you too, come with me. Rogge has gone."

Fulgrim turned around in a hurry, his long silver-white hair fluttering in the magnificent corridor of the Emperor's Dream, the magnificent details reflecting tiny lights, and now no one would care about his appearance.

Not even himself.

Ferrus frowned and turned around so that Konrad Curze could walk out the door before him. The latter nodded to him in gratitude and walked out quickly. Iron Hand quickly closed the door and caught up with his brothers.

With the exception of Konrad Curze, the other demigods were already very familiar with their father's flagship.

Fulgrim could say without exaggeration that there was no ship in the Imperium today that could be compared to the Emperor's Vision. No ship could withstand such a comparison, even if it was just a detail of details.

But because of this, their journey was stretched to an unbearable time. The reason was simple: the Emperor's Vision was too big.

"What happened?" Ferrus asked in a low voice. "Where did Rogge go? Could it be Lorgar again?"

"No, no, this has nothing to do with Lorgar - it's my father, Ferrus!"

"What happened to my father?"

Fulgrim turned his head and quickly glanced at Konrad Curze, then whispered: "It's the guards, they are fully armed and heading to Nostramo."

The pale giant suddenly stopped.

"Konrad?" Ferrus asked.

However, his brother ignored him.

Konrad Curze's eyes widened, his hair stood on end, the familiar coldness and trembling returned at this moment, breaking every perception of his, and trapping him in place with the most terrible nightmare.

The passage of time slowed down silently. He had already erected an unbreakable wall with an image and his own reason to keep all those evil spirits out, but at this moment, they climbed over it.

"He can't escape."

In the darkness, a deep voice sounded, and the smell of blood was extremely pungent.

Conrad Curz stood there in a daze, and he remained indifferent to his brothers' shouts and shaking.

His right hand tightly grasped the sharp blade, and the strength was so great that the gems inlaid on the handle began to creak.

"He is killing. He is winning. He is craving for the burning flames!"

The voice suddenly roared. "Killing will bring victory, only killing can bring victory, no one can be exempted! Even a traitor must accept it!"

The blades rubbed and collided. The warriors in golden armor roared in unison, shouting unwillingly before death, beating drums, howling, blowing shrill horns, and the yellow sand stained dark red by blood was blown by the storm.

Then it rained.

Blood rain.

It fell wildly from the dark sky of Nostramo, dyeing everything red, dyeing the yellow sand that should not have appeared red, and soaking the earth with blood.

A figure walked out of the rain, his face pale and his eyes red.

Good evening, ghost. He grinned.

"No--!"

Konrad Curze roared and fell to the ground, the blade in his right hand shining brightly at this moment. Cold and chilly, it pressed against his palm, making the high wall of reason rise again.

The darkness gradually faded away, but the fear still existed. He kept gasping and trembling on the ground.

"Konrad!"

Fulgrim grabbed his shoulders with such force that it hurt him.

The voice of the Chemoss people resounded throughout the corridor at this moment: "Calm down!"

Ferrus Manus narrowed his eyes and looked at the blade in silence. After a while, he stretched out his right hand towards Konrad Curze.

"Stand up."

He said sternly. "Conrad, I don't know what happened just now, and I don't know what you want to do, but no matter what you want to do, you have to stand up."

Yes, I must stand up.

Gritting his teeth, Konrad Curze stood up little by little. His muscles were still cramping and his body was in pain, but this could not stop him.

All by himself, he stood up. The blade in his right hand turned into a shadow and disappeared into his sleeve in the next second, with such strange skills that neither Fulgrim nor Ferrus Manus could see the details.

"I must see him. Now." He said in a low voice.

Fulgrim was silent for a moment, then nodded.

"Follow me." He said solemnly. "There are Storm Eagles stationed at the Emperor's Children. I will ask Akudona to take you down."

"Thank you-"

"- Don't thank me, Conrad."

Fulgrim took a deep breath and did not apologize for interrupting Curze. He just stared into his brother's dark eyes and said the last words slowly.

"Promise me that you will be safe."

". I promise."

"Say it again."

"I promise."

"Very well, follow me - Ferus, you go first, father is in the study."

Iron Hand nodded slowly and watched them go away.

——

Khalil clenched his right hand and let a head turn into powder of blood and flesh in his palm. Screams came from behind him, and someone screamed and ran away, but in the direction of his escape, bullets were still pouring towards him.

Sentry Trooper - a type of iron golem, the lowest of the low, from Prime

The shell is hard, but not hard enough.

Khalil turned around, leaned down, and glided across the ground like a hunting eagle.

Bullets whizzed past him, none of them hitting. In just half a second, he crossed a distance of hundreds of meters and dismantled six sentry robots with his hands.

They were smoking, and the circuits inside were completely damaged. The chandelier overhead swayed, casting mottled shadows on the ground. Khalil closed his eyes and slowly moved his shoulders.

He no longer needed to troubleshoot the pain in his shoulder this way, it was just that old habits die hard.

not enough.

He opened his eyes - not enough, not nearly enough.

He's killed a lot, but not enough. Why not?

Why. Not enough?

He has no answer.

Lowering his head, Khalil glanced at his hands. The flesh and blood were sticky on it, as conspicuous as a glove with uneven thickness. Bone stubble was mixed with flesh and blood, making his hands look extremely ferocious.

Evidence of killing.

Take a deep breath.

He started running again, running through the narrow streets, breaking through the rain curtain, and the solidified blood dripped down his wrist - half a minute later, the touch of fresh and warm flesh and blood warmed his hand again.

"Hoo"

A painful gasp came from under his feet. Khalil looked at him indifferently, the ends of the fingers of his right hand trembling slightly.

A heart was resting in his palm. Its owner fell to his knees, a painful and thin sound coming from his throat. He looked pleadingly at the giant standing before him, but Khalil was just indifferent.

He watched him die - a painful death, completely unaware of the subtle differences.

How many?

How many is this?

He dropped his heart and slowly breathed in the moist and smelly air. The hint he had set for himself was effective after all - a number began to emerge in his heart.

Eighty-eight.

Gang eighty-eight, yes, but, how many people have I killed? Five hundred, six hundred, one thousand. The number of gangs increases or decreases.

How many people have I killed?

Standing in the rain, Khalil found that he couldn't answer this question.

He had trouble remembering numbers and sequences, which was so rare that it shouldn't even happen. But Khalil didn't notice anything was wrong - just like he didn't notice every detail before.

He was still cautious, but compared with what he faced, any caution was not enough.

In the rain, he turned around. The tall body stood on the narrow street like another silent spire, but he did not start walking immediately.

Khalil narrowed his eyes.

"...You shouldn't be here," he said slowly.

"The Lord's order." A low and hoarse voice answered his question in the darkness.

His voice was strange and distorted. It was not a sound that a human should make, and was even close to some kind of monster. However, Khalil keenly captured the true meaning beneath this disguise, and he frowned.

"Constantine Waldo"

As his voice fell, a giant wearing golden armor slowly walked out of the darkness. The fluttering eagle glared ferociously from the pauldrons, and the armor buzzed.

"Yes." He nodded. "it's me."

".Why?"

"You can't go on any longer, Khalil Lohars. You're not just fighting these scum."

Constantine spoke slowly and seriously: "You are still fighting something that you cannot understand yet. It has no entity or shape, but it can really hurt you."

"I haven't seen a monster matching your description in his database - besides, this is Nostramo."

Khalil frowned: "There is only one kind of monster on Nostramo."

Constantine shook his head slowly, and then began to admonish sincerely. "Nothing is known about them in the database"

"They are not meant to be lifted, only buried. Stop it, Khalil Lohars. The Auxiliaries, the Astartes, and even us will come to the aid of Nostramo if you wish. Yes, you don’t have to kill anymore.”

"If this is what he means, why did he send you?"

Khalil slowly clenched his fists.

"He can talk to me directly, can't he?"

"He can't now, Khalil Lohars"

The Marshal of the Forbidden Army slowly grasped a long sword at his waist and pulled it out of its scabbard. Cold light burst out briefly, and in the surrounding darkness, more golden shadows were surrounding this narrow street.

"Why not?" Khalil asked curtly. "There's no way he can't even do this, his ship is right above Nostramo unless"

He exhaled a thick breath.

"Unless what?" the Marshal of the Forbidden Army asked softly.

"Illusion," Khalil replied in the same soft voice. "Thank you for talking to me, monster pretending to be Constantine. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to detect what I just did."

He raised his hands, looked at the scarlet and ferocious hands with disgust, and slowly shook his head.

The Marshal of the Imperial Guard inevitably let out a slight sigh.

"My lord, it is true that he never makes mistakes, even his speculations are the same."

He raised the sword, acid rain dripped on the armor, and was immediately evaporated. "They always find a way to take advantage of it."

"I'm sending those same words back to you."

"It's no use talking more."

Standing opposite Khalil, Constantine Valdo tightened his grip on his power sword.

"Come on." The Marshal of the Forbidden Army narrowed his eyes. "Come and fight, Khalil Lohars, you must wake up."

Facing his words, Khalil just chuckled, and there was a flash of dark red in his dark eyes.