40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 6 6. An ordinary rainy night in Nostramo (2)

It was dark, as always. The same goes for the rain, which never stops falling as usual. It often rains in Nostramo, but there is no thunder or lightning, just a torrential downpour of manic rain.

That's what rain is like in Nostramo. They do not come from nature. They are the waste water poured down by nobles from their upper nests.

Between the cascading spiers, countless heaters are waiting patiently.

They are unconscious but programmed. All their lives, they have been waiting for these rains, waiting for them to turn into condensed clouds. At the end of life, these rains will rise again little by little in another form.

They will pass through ancient machines, be transported quietly between rumbling pipes, and eventually become heaters for the nobles, so that they can dance in the gorgeous palace wearing only human skin without losing their temper. The demeanor.

This is simply the best description of the ecology of Nostramo: all the benefits belong to the nobility, and the people who leave the nest only deserve to have their skin burned by acid rain, be lingered by the stench, and eventually turn into rotting corpses in the sewers.

Khalil was still squatting on the huge gargoyle. He was wearing a cloak and the acid rain could not hurt him. The smell is still sour, but it's bearable.

He stared down, and the chaos he saw brought a cold smile to his pale face.

As he expected, Ghost made the mistake that every budding hunter would make - he only focused on the enemies in front of him and forgot to pay attention to those who were still in the darkness.

Carelessness is always the number one enemy.

Hunters can come and go in the dark, but that doesn't mean the darkness tolerates them. In fact, the darkness will also turn into monsters at certain moments and devour their flesh and blood.

Khalil stood up, his cloak blowing slightly in the wind. He had no intention of helping, he just looked on with a cold eye.

Just like he said, this is a solo hunt that only belongs to ghosts.

but

He sneered and shook his head, a cold blue light flashing in his eyes.

——

escape.

Ghosts danced back and forth between the dark, dank walls. Using his hands and feet, he climbed up one roof after another, jumping between the bricks and tiles that had become damp from the rain.

Sometimes, from the bricks beneath his feet, a small voice of uneasiness and fear would come out. But most of the time, it was bullets that greeted him.

Occasionally, he would fall down into a puddle of garbage or dirty mud, only to crawl out and continue running.

He didn't stop for a moment.

But it was of no use. The pursuers behind him had been chasing him for most of the night. At present, it seems that they still have no intention of stopping.

They pursued him relentlessly, relying on a two-wheeled fast-moving vehicle to chase him through the streets. The ghost didn't know its name and was really too lazy to care. He has more pressing things to do at the moment.

The sound of gunfire rang out loudly in the rain and never stopped.

The bullets whizzed by, even grazing his scalp several times.

Rough shouts came from the street below, mixed with the roar of the engine. When they passed through the rain curtain and reached the ghost's eardrums, they no longer sounded like human voices.

Ghost didn't understand.

He didn't understand why they were so persistent, nor why they were so crazy, nor how they managed to have such good eyesight while taking drugs all year round.

but

Ghost thought, Khalil was right.

He really should have kept quiet.

He killed the woman, but wanted to kill more. Khalil says the whole gang needs to be cleaned up. So he walked out of the door of that room and started killing people in that gloomy three-story building.

Things went smoothly and no one noticed him. He was like a breeze blowing through the corridor, taking away the warmth of life. But he forgot one thing.

He forgot to close the window.

The rain howled in, and the wind shook the windows and made them bang against the walls. The floor was gradually soaked by the sour rain, mixed with blood, seeping under the carpet, and finally penetrated the floor and fell on someone's head.

This is where things started to go south.

The moment the sirens and roars pierced the night, the ghost realized that something was about to happen. His hunch was always correct, and he immediately chose to leave, but it was too late.

He was discovered anyway.

At first, there were just a few scattered pursuers. In just a few minutes, they had grown to more than thirty people.

Just half an hour later, the number became three digits. As for now, Ghost believes that there are at least four or more gangs chasing him.

They don't even know what's going on, but they enjoy violence.

It is an acquired right, the opposite of oppression, the end of suffering.

They entered it contentedly, running wildly in the night for the flesh and blood of a person they had never met, roaring with excitement, and at the same time driving away and killing all the innocent people they saw along the way.

There is no reason why.

It was like a carnival and he wasn't the one attending, he was just the carnival prize, so he started running.

Every human being must learn to walk and then run, and he is no exception. He had learned to run a long time ago, without a teacher.

However, in the past, his superhuman physical strength prevented him from feeling the fatigue of running.

Now, the ghost feels it.

Breathing became difficult, and his heart beat so fast that it was almost difficult for him to maintain his balance between movements.

His hearing also began to fade away, leaving only a monotonous noise. Rain fell from the sky, soaking his clothes and leaving sinuous lines on his pale skin.

Many of them even crossed the corners of his eyes and dripped from his chin. They make ordinary people feel burning pain, but to ghosts, he only feels warm.

But he doesn't want that. He didn't want to be warmed by them.

As he ran, the ghost unconsciously let out a low roar.

It was born in his throat but was unknown to him. The first second the sound appeared, he even mistakenly thought it was a monster roaring at him in the dark.

Only in the next second did he realize that it was his own voice.

——Then what comes is pain.

The pain swept across his back and was so painful that he could hardly resist, breathe, or keep his mind calm.

He could no longer maintain his balance, and his hands danced in the rain. Then, he fell heavily and fell on a roof covered with asphalt.

I'm bleeding. Ghost thought painfully.

He would not miss the brutal fact that blood was in some way indistinguishable from life. He valued them, but was unable to keep them from leaving.

In a daze, the ghost actually heard their voices.

"Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye. Foolish child, we are leaving you, and the darkness will embrace you. Welcome it."

No. Don't go. Please.

The ghost once again let out a vague roar from his throat.

This wasn't the first time he'd been hit by a bullet.

As early as in the past, when Ghost was still living on rats in a mine, he was shot by the owner of the mine with an inferior firearm.

A few seconds after the bullet touched his flesh and caused him pain, Ghost, who couldn't even speak at the time, realized that he was being shot.

He didn't even need to think about it, it suddenly came out of his heart. Then more cold words - the type of gun that shot him, the caliber of the bullet, what to do if you're injured.

This time is no exception.

He lay on the cold roof, and several unfamiliar terms came to his mind. One of them was what he needed very much now, but the ghost didn't care about them. He just wanted to get up and continue running.

This was the biggest mistake he made tonight.

I have to leave.

I have to stay away from the darkness.

His thoughts were very confused, so when he felt a tugging and pain on his back that was so strong that even his flesh and blood would be torn apart alive, the ghost suddenly woke up.

And discovered something.

The thing buried deep in the flesh and blood of his back was not a bullet.

"Got it!"

No. No. I can not--

The ghost's eyes widened and he let out a shrill roar. The pain caused a blood-red mist to cover his eyes. What was even worse was that something was pulling him down.

What's below?

he does not know.

Is it the ground? Or a trash can in a dirty alley? Or were they hundreds of gang members armed with guns and waiting for him?

He had no time to think, he began to fall. The ghost fell heavily to the ground, and he quickly got up. Using his hands and feet, he climbed up the wall again, trying to escape in panic.

"You can't run away!" someone said with a grin. "Try this, you bastard!"

The harsh engine sound suddenly sounded the next moment, and the pulling feeling came again.

The ghost roared and was pulled down from the wall again. From the corner of his eye, he caught three bipedal vehicles that were used to chase him. A dark cable extended from his back to the fronts of the three vehicles.

The pull he felt came from them.

"Kill it!"

In the dark alley, someone shouted violently: "Skin it off, hang it up, and let it bleed to death!"

"I want its head, I want its head!"

"Shoot it! Shoot its legs! See if it can still run!"

"Why don't you roast it? I want to eat the meat!"

Must leave.

I have to get out of here, out of the darkness.

In the chaotic mind, only these two thoughts floated. The ghost roared and waved his arms, trying to keep the monsters away from him. But he failed. His hand slid in the air, and his sharp nails pierced the wall, failing to touch any flesh.

"It's still moving!" someone yelled.

"Then give it some color!"

There was a sharp pain, and then his consciousness fell into darkness.

The ghost watched it come with despair.