40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 604 122. Dark Crusade (Forty-three)

Sanguinius felt as if he was split into two people, or two different parts. There was no up, down, left, right, inside or outside, only him and the other him.

He was suffering from the violence of Kabanha. The demons of Khorne loved and were proficient in resorting to violence for everything, violence that could not be escaped. Moreover, his enemy at this moment was Kabanha.

His sword was still in his hand, but he had very few opportunities to resist. The demons often stopped him with fists before he could organize a decent resistance, or simply used their fangs to force him to defend with his sword.

The battle was already so difficult, but Sanguinius still had to endure another kind of torture.

Yes, he was fighting Kabanha, in an unfathomable sea of ​​blood, surrounded by the corpses of warriors. But he was also in another place, a place covered with yellow sand, that was his home, Baal.

The night sky was low, bringing a cold wind, which was in stark contrast to the boiling heat of the surging sea of ​​blood. The two things that were destined not to fight hand in hand now merged into one, throwing silver needles of torture at him, piercing his flesh and blood, and piercing his soul.

I am screaming.

Sanguinius clearly sensed this, and he could also sense the desire to drink blood echoing deep in his throat. The sea of ​​blood seemed real and fake. It was clearly there, bloody and pungent, but no blood flowed into his dry mouth.

His fangs left deep white marks on the edge of his tightly stretched lips. The demon laughed at this and said some half-truthful words. The steel whip in his hand once again wrapped around his wings, taking away more flesh and bones.

Pain, heart-wrenching, no one can bear such severe pain without reacting. Sanguinius saw himself swinging his sword with an indifferent and detached perspective.

In a trance, he suddenly stood on a piece of yellow sand and began to stare at the night sky.

He held a weapon in his hand, a metal spear that looked crudely made from today's perspective. It was made by the tribe that took him in. They tried their best to make this weapon worthy of him, but still failed.

Any weapon in his hands was like this. He himself was the most deadly weapon. Nothing else could cover up this fact, no matter how hard the craftsmen who made them worked.

The tip of the spear was dripping with blood, and the blood came from a terrible beast lying not far away - the Baal Fire Scorpion. The terrifying beasts were generally about three meters long, and their ferocious temperament allowed some individuals to grow to about five meters.

The carapace was thick and heavy, enough to withstand a round of explosive bombs. It moved quickly and had great strength. The barbed tail could easily pierce most alloys. Their poison was even more terrible. There was a saying in the ancient language of Baal: I would rather die of thirst than disappear in the flames.

This flame refers to the poison of the fire scorpion. Once poisoned, the poison will quickly burn the victim from the inside out until it dies. This special burning will not stop unless the fire scorpion decides to eat him or is burned to charcoal and ash.

Is this a corner of my memory? Sanguinius asked himself.

He searched his stomach and racked his brains, but still couldn't remember it. This is probably because he killed too many fire scorpions, so that the related memories are already complicated.

As a wild beast, their meat is edible. The people of Baal often try their best to hunt them. As long as they can kill one, they don't have to worry about any food problems for the next month.

Their meat is delicious, no matter how it is eaten, and it is also very convenient to preserve. This is why Sanguinius often hunts them. His tribe needs food, and Baal is very poor. If there is no food, people can't survive.

"Sanguinius--!" Kabanha roared and pulled him back into pain.

The angel responded with a low roar, his face twisted and hideous, looking more like a beast than a demon. But Kabanha was still not satisfied, it flapped its flesh wings, roared and rushed towards him. The angel was about to raise his sword to intercept, but the world in front of him changed again.

It was still the same night sky, still the same cold desert, the body of the fire scorpion was steaming, and the blood spread all over the sand dunes.

Am I crazy? Sanguinius asked himself again, but his body had already walked towards the fire scorpion involuntarily.

He raised his hand and instinctively stabbed the spear into the tail of the dangerous beast. His right hand slid up, close to the handle of the spear tip, and began to cut the deadly scorpion tail. Next was to cut off the sharp limbs, a total of six, three on each side of the body.

Finally, he scraped off the dense barbs about half a meter long on the carapace with his spear, then inserted the limbs into the body of the fire scorpion, carried it with one hand, and walked steadily down the sand dune.

The whole set of movements was smooth and flowing, as if he had done it millions of times.

Where am I?

No one answered, he expected someone to answer, but no, no one responded - no, in fact, there was, but that was not the "words" he wanted to hear, just a simple echo from the past.

"You are my son, you are a Primarch, my ninth general, one of the indispensable components of a great cause. You were taken away by the enemy, and I found you until today. But I am not sure if you are still pure"

The sky spun, the night wind howled wildly, and began to change, turning into a hot wind, and then night, turned into day.

The hot yellow sand began to emit the temperature that Sanguinius was most familiar with, his boots hissed, and the tough animal skin seemed to be ignited at any time under such high temperatures.

Not far away stood a lone figure, without the flying machine he remembered, the golden-armored guards, and the guards who were loyal to his father alone.

No, none of these, only the Emperor himself. Just standing there.

Are you here to answer my questions, father? The angel asked silently.

His father shook his head.

Then what are you here for?

His father shook his head.

Answer me, please, father. I beg for your help, I must

His father shook his head.

"No." The Emperor said. "No one can help you."

The Emperor's body began to collapse, like a castle made of gravel being blown away by the wind. Starting from the face, it turned into flying yellow sand bit by bit

Wait, it's not yellow sand, but blood?

The angel widened his eyes, and a long-hidden desire urged his body before his mind could react, making him rush towards the ball of blood.

A sweet smell he had never smelled before entered his nose, stimulating his mouth and tongue, making him want to drink it now to relieve this terrible desire.

He grabbed it, and his fingers touched a wet blood, but it was not the blood he wanted.

Not the kind he needed.

Which kind did he want?

"Sanguinius--!"

Kabanha laughed wildly and held his hand, and in the sea of ​​blood, he slammed him hard into a group of corpses. His broken wings were forced to hit the weapons in the hands of the dead people by the huge force, and more pain came instantly, but it also made him sober immediately.

Fear.

What am I thinking? What did I just want? I.

"Focus!" The demon scolded, and the words that came out of his mouth made it sound like a bloody philosopher.

"If you can't resist, accept it! Our instincts are such terrible things, killing, blood, violence."

"Don't say you don't like the feeling of the blade cutting through the enemy's neck, don't say you don't like to see their desperate eyes before they die - resorting to violence for everything is our nature, even the race you are stuffed into is the same!"

"Humans, weak and short-lived, are the most violent and killing race in history. First used fists, then sticks, spears and stones for tens of thousands of years? The war has never stopped! Never!"

"You belong to these things, you belong to the killing brought by violence, you are born to be like this, bathing in blood, experiencing rage, and seizing honor. If you can't resist, accept it! Accept it quickly, angel!"

Kabanha ended its persuasion and suddenly grabbed Sanguinius among the corpses of the warriors. Its eyes were boiling like a volcano erupting in hell, and once again, the angel saw his own reflection in it.

He sank into it.

"No." said the Emperor. "No one can help you here."

The angel knelt on the yellow sand, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. He knew very well what he had just longed for - his father's blood, that was what he longed for.

The secret hidden in the darkest and deepest part of his heart was thrown directly into the light, into the scorching sun of Baal. But this was just one of the secrets, he longed for many more. Very many, too many to count.

His hands were suddenly buried deep in the sand pit, his ten fingers exerted force to a limit, and he had begun to hurt himself. Resentment, shame, pain, so many complex and indescribable emotions rose in his heart, accompanied by his memories.

Ten thousand years ago, in Signus, his captain of the guard Azkalon covered his bloody wound and smiled to show that he was fine. That smile was so pure, but his throat suddenly tightened, and a tremor followed.

He would never forget this scene, so it was chosen as the starting point in this series of torture. Immediately after that, more pictures, more pictures of war, rushed out of his brain.

Blood, blood everywhere, the blood of his enemies, his sons, his brothers' sons, his brothers.

A thought he had forgotten came back at this moment.

What would Fulgrim's blood taste like? It must be quite sweet, unforgettable, and you want to indulge in it.

What about Conrad's? Mostly mellow and cold, like holding ice in your mouth, almost cutting your throat, but with an endless aftertaste

Rogge, Perturabo, Vulkan, Robert - the blood of these people, the blood of his brothers -

"--Fight!"

A voice roared and tore through those fantasies and brought him back to the sea of ​​blood. A demon threw him in another direction in a rage, and the steel whip in its hand pierced deep into his golden armor.

Sanguinius should have fought, should have resisted, but the dryness that was surging in his throat destroyed everything. He did not resist, because the sea of ​​blood around him that could not see the edge was too fascinating.

How many dead people are here? It is difficult to count. Their blood formed this ocean, the blood of warriors, an indescribable temptation.

At this moment, Sanguinius smelled at least tens of thousands of different charming scents, each of which made him want to drink immediately, but he didn't.

He closed his mouth tightly, letting the fangs pierce his lips and blood flow out.

His blood is now part of the sea of ​​blood.

Sanguinius trembled and closed his eyes - actively.

He returned to the yellow sand.

"No one can help you here." The Emperor said. "This is your hell, my son."

"It is true that you can describe this abnormal desire as a defect deep in your genes, but you actually know what it is. It is a certain chain reaction carried in your essence, just like water can quench thirst and a sword can hurt people. Generally, there is a direct and close relationship.”

The Emperor's words were rational and straightforward, going to the core of everything, the point of everything—his essence, his desires.

Blood thirsty.

Trembling, Sanguinius raised his head and looked at Baal's blazing sun. The Emperor had disappeared, but his voice was still echoing and slowly changing.

"No one here can help you." Again, he repeated. "No one but yourself."

Kabanha's roar is uninterrupted, and the temptation of the blood sea is from beginning to end. Fight, retreat, fight again, retreat again. His body was covered with bruises and his golden armor was broken, but the sword was still in his hand.

The world in his eyes was hot and restless, with the scorching sun in the sky. One side was boiling and burning, covered with corpses. Desire and violence, killing and death, difficulties cannot be escaped and must be faced head-on.

In the sea of ​​blood, Sanguinius held the sword with both hands, and Kabanha laughed wildly with satisfaction.

On the yellow sand, Sanguinius looked around and saw no one but himself.

Only he exists here.

The Emperor isn't here either, he hasn't been here to begin with. From the beginning, there was only one angel here. He imagined a father figure to get help, but his father wasn't here.

There was only him, his desire, and all this pain.

"Just me," Sanguinius gasped, standing up. "just me"

I have to beat it.

He held his sword and faced the demon.

——

Callistarius could feel a tearing sensation, his consciousness leaving.

Out-of-body transference, out-of-body spirituality—you can call it whatever you want. This matter has been described in many occult schools, and young think tanks can rattle off ten thousand different names for it.

But it didn't matter. He was entering the warp, without protection, without help, only a blood-stained and crude statue of the Emperor, and his unquestioned blood connection with the Primarch.

How can I find you, Primarch? Callistarius asked anxiously. Please, answer me.

There was no answer from the unpredictable vast ocean, and his body in the material world was as stable as before, and there was nothing strange about the emperor statue in his hand.

His brothers aimed their guns at his head, flames burned on the bridge, and on the portholes covered in blood, a fleet was slowly approaching across the void. Blue and gold, the big U is shining on the outer armor of the ship, obviously it has been carefully polished

Soon, a destroyer discovered the arrival of the Ultramarines. It was called "Expedition Fury". Its captain was Ivoninus, a very ambitious young man, a descendant of war heroes, eager to prove himself. of loyalty.

He died twelve minutes later, when a spear of light grazed the Wrath of the Crusade, fired by the Ultramarines' fleet.

Another war - a more terrible war - began.