40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 649 32. The belated trial (5, the only skill I am good at)

The machine soul of the Gunshan is whining - of course, simply using this sentence to describe it is still not accurate enough.

Strictly speaking, its whine was not directly transmitted to Khalil's ears. It was the darkness that helped it. The voice of the machine soul rumbled in the darkness, revealing the past one by one.

Rusted metal, erased Aquila, filth and evil spread throughout the hull. The machine spirit of the Mountains is very weak and almost dissipated, but it still exists. Like a dying soldier lying in a trench, stubbornly groping for his gun among the corpses.

He needed a gun to complete his mission, but he was blind and could not identify what he needed among the blood and corpses. He could only touch it with his fingers bit by bit and scream.

This cry was definitely heard by Khalil.

He stopped and scanned the huge sand pit.

The traditions inherited by the war dogs were far different from the brutal performances on Nuceria, but what he saw at this time was enough to make people feel as if they were in another world - the corpses buried in the sand were back .

Either it has decayed, or there is still flesh and blood left. The steaming, dark red blood stains are so conspicuous that the sand cannot be uniformly called "yellow sand".

The masterpiece of the slave owner, the bloody millstone, and the shortcut to inhumanity.

Khalil slowly raised his head.

He saw a flag hung on the top of the sand pit. It was old, blood-stained, and had many tears on the edges.

What its original color and shape are is no longer a question that can be answered simply by observing it with the naked eye, because a huge eight-pointed star of chaos tainted everything on it and was removed from the faces of the loyalists. The flag's original fabric has long been replaced by the flag's dough.

Khalil raised his right hand expressionlessly, pointed, raised his palm, and waved lightly.

The flag was destroyed.

At the same time, in another world, the malice that was waiting for him or others who boarded the ship was silently dissipating. They originate from the Warp and are embryos that have yet to form.

They were supposed to be born from a sacrilegious ritual, and Khalil prevented this birth. He even killed pregnant women, and the thing's death screams spread throughout the Mountains.

The yellow sand began to fly, and invisible hands set off strong winds, blowing them everywhere. Corroded metal, intertwined cables, and armor plates that had been corroded to pieces appeared together.

This sand pit is designed to be very deep, so the war dogs must have requirements for the material that holds the yellow sand. It is probably some kind of precious alloy. But now it seems that they are no longer able to perform their duties

But it's only 'difficult', not 'impossible'.

Many corpses lay above them, sand slowly falling from the gaps between the bones and armor. Most of the dead could no longer be identified from their armor, the paint had faded away, and their coats of arms and emblems had been replaced by dirty logos.

Khalil smiled unconsciously.

"Someone's coming, Khalil."

His shadow sounded a warning—or rather, a reminder of some hidden malice.

"They're here for you," Curze smiled and urged. "Kill more, okay?"

The corpses flew up and the yellow sand fell. Kalil turned around calmly, his eyes lowered. Two touches of silver light slipped quietly from his cuffs, and in the passage far away from the sandpit, a burst of dense footsteps was heard.

I know. he said silently.

The first dead man was decapitated a second later.

He was not wearing a helmet, the power of Chaos filling his armor. This is a bloody blessing that prevents bullets fired from ordinary firearms from harming him.

There is an abstract skull symbol engraved on his forehead, with a long whip-like tongue stuck between the sharp teeth, and there are still bits of flesh hanging on it. It is probably not his own.

He hadn't realized that he was dead. His huge body was still charging forward, emitting harsh echoes in the passage. He held two chain axes in his hands, eager for blood and slaughter.

A head quietly fell to the ground, and his headless body collapsed after running five steps. Like a falling meteorite, the chain saw ax came out from between the fingers that were clenched like steel and unnaturally.

Two seconds later, someone shouted: "Enemy attack!"

His tongue and teeth were crushed to pieces by a sharp blade and a small half of his helmet due to this scream. He felt the sudden pain in shock. His lower jaw hung on the neck guard, and the gap between the broken bones and the metal The bumping sound was so obvious to him

He raised his right hand and instinctively swung a sword.

The extraordinary agility and strength gained after serving the Lord of Joy made this instinctive slash extremely powerful, making the air tremble and giving the person who wielded it an illusion of ecstasy - -I'm going to succeed

And this is not the case.

The sword blade fell into the air, and his right hand was suddenly disconnected from the shoulder. Before the blood spurted out, the force and inertia that had not dissipated made the hand holding the sword fly to an unpredictable place. .

It pierced the next victim's back, forcing him to the ground and impaling him to the ground. The blessing of the power of chaos is genuine and not false at all, but its owner can no longer feel it.

Two wisps of silver light crossed his face left and right, and the wound on his right shoulder spurted out thick blood. He trembled, fell to his knees, and raised his remaining left hand suddenly to touch his face.

Severe pain hit him, and he gently touched the bridge of his nose and forehead. Then, two thin lines slowly emerged, and his head was broken into three pieces. They were sticky and tied to each other. They fell to the ground, soft pink and purple. Brains gushed out of flesh like jelly.

Several explosive bombs struck from the side, smashing his body into pieces just in time.

The attacker's body was swollen and ghastly, draped in a robe as wide as a cloak. The dark armor was engraved with the corrupt mark of the ancient god, and faint grunts escaped from his flesh.

"Did you see the enemy?!"

Someone asked sternly, but the person did not answer, but raised his gun as a warning.

He has an extraordinary patience, presumably one of the gifts gained from endless torture. Observing the evolution of the disease and waiting for the poison to sprout requires patience and meticulousness.

The combination of the two provided him with a kind of help in this situation, and this help made him encounter the greatest misfortune in his life.

The disease coursing through his veins suddenly began to scream.

What? What happened-

Before he could understand why they were so frightened, he heard the whine rising from deep within his own bones.

"Batalil?" His companion standing behind him called in horror, but he could no longer hear him.

Everything he knew - the torture, the disease, the numb comfort - was fading away. The cold truth was cruelly passed into his two hearts by two sharp knives, and the deception called blessing was torn into pieces and thrown away by the sharp knives.

He finally saw clearly what he looked like at this moment.

But, it's too late.

His flesh and blood began to take root. Full of despair and fear, he prayed to the god he believed in at this time, but the god ignored him, and no matter how much he cried and begged, it was of no avail.

Insect eggs rose in his throat, and more insects that had begun to hatch settled on his internal organs and gnawed on him. His bones began to develop and grow again three times, and the flesh and blood that proliferated like cancer broke through the armor.

His face merged with the helmet, and his eyes became growing branches that curved upward.

An indescribable mutation has arrived, and some indescribable force is forcing the blessing in his body to evolve.

They were supposed to follow him to a certain point before starting the process, but now they were accelerated by external force. It should be noted that evolution is a long and difficult process, and any change must go through a long time, and this will only defeat the purpose.

The bolter, almost completely covered in mold and some kind of dark yellow moss, fell from his swollen hands to the ground.

"Kill me" the fallen angel Batariel called with difficulty.

His companions did not hear this, but still did not hesitate to shoot and set him on fire, burning him to pieces.

The stench curled up from the charred wreckage, and the traitors still standing gathered into a small battle formation, looking after each other's backs and looking after each other's blind spots.

They had done this millions of times, back at the beginning of the Great Crusade. The First Legion is the prototype of all legions. They are familiar with any tactics and understand all theoretical knowledge. Even now, this habit engraved in the bone marrow has not changed.

But the strategy they chose was wrong, at least for the moment. They all knew that this shoulder-to-shoulder, hand-to-hand battle formation would leave a small hole in the center.

It shouldn't have been a problem until this moment.

A chuckle erupted from the hollow.

The fallen angel Alaciel was the first to realize that something was wrong. He was a well-trained warrior and one of the few in the Ten Thousand Eyes warband who did not seek out a new god to support him after the collapse of his faith.

He usually lives alone, and his status in the warband relies solely on his acumen and swordsmanship. Not long ago, when Serafax described his plan, he was one of the first to express his approval.

In Alaciel's opinion, this ambush plan was perfect - he didn't care how Serafax used a mirror to hide them, he only knew that if it worked, they would achieve great success. Tactical advantage.

Then Alaciel realized that, as always, Serafax was not exaggerating.

That silver mirror not only helps them hide, but also allows them to hide without a trace, even if the cheap imitations that stole their names cannot detect them using psychic searches.

Arachiel was even smiling as he stepped into the passage. He didn't know which of the so-called 'Dark Angels' who boarded the ship had the misfortune to crash into this place, but the bunker had only one passage, so they had to face him.

Arachiel thought he could advance further within the warband based on this, but he was wrong. When the chuckle sounded, his hair stood on end, and a fragment that could not be called an idea quickly rose in his heart.

And this is the limit of what he can do.

Two sharp knives pierced his shoulders immediately, going deep into his body, ignoring the armor and bones. They cut open the flesh, removed the hands, and removed the internal organs.

Arachiel screamed, surrounded by broken armor and his own flesh and blood. In the ensuing gunshots and roars, he fell heavily to the ground, and the dismantled rib plates collapsed like building blocks.

A pair of dark leather boots stopped in front of him.

Arachiel kept screaming and rolled her eyes up to see a silver eagle.

It didn't shine, but like thunder, it completely shattered the fallen angel's mind, turning his scream into a truth-revealing sound that struck fear into the hearts of all his companions.

They turned quickly to this place, the gunfire flashed, stretching and twisting the shadow of a mortal on the wall, and also making the Sky Eagle begin to reflect light.

The bullet that should have burst out of the muzzle suddenly exploded in the barrel, the preheating plasma buzzed and overheated, and the muzzle of the promethium flamethrower melted without warning. In this violent and noisy noise, silent fear began to spread.

Khalil gently shook his bloody hands and smiled at them.

"Remember me?" he asked.

Twenty seconds later, he stepped into the darkness again. It took him less than two minutes to kill the entire team. He did not use psychic power, did not use authority, and did not even exceed the "skill" itself.

"It's amazing." A sigh came from the shadow. "I thought you would retreat, Khalil."

"I would rather retreat myself." Khalil said, and walked out of the darkness.

They saw him off, countless hands holding the hatred of the dead to see him off, hoping that he would kill more.

In the previous massacre, many souls of the dead have been put to rest. They feel proud of this, but they are not satisfied, but look forward to more.

They will never be satisfied, just like revenge itself.

The explosion was born in the narrow corridor, and the rolling waves of fire swept over, the high temperature hit the face, and melted the metal. The bomb flew past, grazing his cheek by a millimeter, leaving no blood marks, only the still vibrating air proved the passing of this stray bullet.

Khalil narrowed his eyes and looked at the cruel melee between the two parties in front of him, and his fingers rubbed the blade uncontrollably.

The casualty rate in boarding battles is often the highest. Not to mention, this is an ambush.

"Open conspiracy," Conrad Coz sighed. "I'm afraid he just wants to use these people's lives to drag you here."

"Five minutes." Khalil said, with a blue light in his eyes.

"I believe you can kill all the traitors on this ship in five minutes, Khalil. But how long can the five minutes he stole from you with the lives of these people become in the Warp?"

In the Cemetery of Rest, the Night King asked this question. His eyes did not gaze at the material world through his father's shadow as usual, but through the waves of Chaos, searching in the vast ocean that could not be defined.

He was looking for a forest, a forest from the past that no longer existed.