40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 107 10. Containment
Robert Guilliman clutched his rage and fell silent.

His reason is being swallowed by this emotion bit by bit, and finally, the long tug-of-war between the two sides was finally dominated by anger.Rationality sighed and returned to the corner and curled up, only anger remained.

He stood behind the bulletproof glass, staring at the giant lying on the medical table, without saying a word, just silent.Standing beside his primarch, Marius Gage felt a chilling solemnity.

He knew his primarch was angry at the moment, and Gage regretted that he couldn't fully empathize with him.

He knew that there was no real empathy in the world, not even the Astartes and their primarchs, but that didn't stop him from trying to go one step further.

He wanted to be as close to his Primarch as possible, in every way.

So Marius Gage spoke up, seeking in a way his primarch would allow: "The medical officers say he refuses to use anesthesia."

"I can see that." Guilliman responded in a very soft voice. "Pain is something we can't escape, Marius, so I can see his trembling."

Gage was silent for a moment, a question swirling in his mind.Questioning this kind of thing is like putting an arrow on a bow. It is impossible to expect the arrow not to shoot.

Half a minute later, he shot the arrow.

"Are you angry?"

"Of course." Guilliman did not hide his emotion. "Second Company Commander Miro reported to me what happened in the laboratory in Dashea City. Combined with some texts in it, through the translation of the thinker, I can probably guess what kind of bad luck my brother suffered."

He turned his head, and there was an emotion that Gage couldn't understand was brewing in his blue eyes.

"That thing is called the Butcher's Nail." Guilliman said calmly. "A psychic surgical implant that passes through the skull and reaches the brain, replacing some of the functions provided by the nerves and cerebral cortex."

"It amplifies the victim's negative emotions, such as anger or madness. Ordinary people who undergo this surgery can turn into blood-thirsty lunatics very quickly, and eventually die from fighting or nails to their brains." Destruction, this time ranges from three to five months. Unlike my brother, he is a Primarch. The Primarch's recovery ability is far beyond ordinary people, and his brain is being destroyed by that nail every second. But he's also healing."

Guilliman lowered his head and let out something that didn't quite look like a laugh from deep in his throat.Then, he asked, "Do you know what that means?"

Gage felt his throat dry for a while, and after ten seconds, he replied: "...Does this mean that he is gradually merging with that thing?"

"No, that means the Nail is gradually eating away at him and replacing him," Guilliman said gravely. "Those things would drill deeper and deeper, and they would crave more. They would have an irreversible effect on his brain in the process."

"I don't know much about medicine, Gage, but I do know what the brain means to a human being."

Gage turned his head and looked at the giant who was groaning on the operating table to receive the wound suturing operation. The medical staff came and went around him, and his mortal hands were trembling.There is nothing they can do without fear.

but
"But he seems to be in control, my lord," Gage said. "At least he doesn't have the desire to kill like the people in those files."

Guilliman did not answer this question, he could vaguely guess who it was because of, but he had to explain to his chapter master what Khalil Rohars did to his brother in that cave. What, is very difficult.

In fact, Guilliman himself didn't quite understand it.

When he got there, what he saw were two giants covered in bruises.

His brother Angron growled, guarding the instructors Guilliman invited behind him, vigilantly refusing anyone to approach, and even temporarily incapacitated the four Ultramarines in the process.

If it weren't for the gladiators who arrived ten minutes later and called out Angron's name.
"My lord, Instructor Khalil is awake."

A voice came from behind him.Guilliman didn't need to turn around to know whose voice it was. There were three medical halls on the Macragge's Glory, and there was only one person in charge of them.

He turned around, greeted, and maintained the most basic manner: "Thank you for your notice, Doro."

"This is my duty." Valentus Dorlo nodded calmly. "In addition, he also wants to invite you to come over. He has something important to tell you."
-
Guilliman walked into the ward, but the owner of the ward stood up with his upper body naked, and was looking at the new scars on his body thoughtfully in a mirror.

"How is he?" Khalil asked, looking at Guilliman's face through the mirror's reflection.

"Pretty calm," Guilliman said. "But he refused to use anesthesia, and other injectable drugs that were good for his body. My medical team had to move a meditator in and interpret for him on the spot."

"Is it calm?"

Khalil smiled and shook his head. "I'm sorry I took it upon myself, Robert."

"No." Guilliman denied his apology, refusing to accept it. "You saved four Ultramarines, and Sergeant Tampa Firth and the other three survivors of his squad would like to thank you in person."

"I just did what normal people would do."

"I'll arrange a meeting."

Khalil smiled helplessly, Guilliman now knew how to deal with him.

"So, what about the six victims?"

"They have been buried," Guilliman said gravely. "The gene seeds have also been taken out by the pharmacist, and their will will continue when they return to Macragge."

Khalil sighed slowly.

"The explosion." He narrowed his eyes. "It came on so suddenly, Robert, it didn't even take more than two minutes from the explosion to a fire of that magnitude."

"My legion is already investigating this matter. However, according to Sergeant Tampa Firth, one minute before the explosion began, he felt a kind of coldness that only belonged to psionic energy. I sent to the think tank to investigate, and they In the report sent back, it was clearly mentioned that there were traces left by psychic spells at the scene, and the caster intentionally covered them up, but his level is not enough to completely cover up the evidence."

Khalil nodded thoughtfully, turned around, and bit by bit put on the white tunic provided by the Ultramarines.Looking at his relaxed look, it was difficult for Guilliman to connect the blood-soaked man leaning against the rock wall with him at this moment.

"What happened?" Robert Guilliman asked.

His tone was distinctly determined, obviously expecting Khalil to tell him one riddle after another, an attitude he wanted to illustrate his desire for the truth.

However, Khalil didn't play around with him, at least not this time.

"Your brother is mad," Khalil said quietly. "He tried to fight that thing and I tried to help him, but it backfired."

"But you were hurt." Guilliman frowned. "Besides him, there are those personal guards at the scene. I don't think they can hurt you."

"You're cryptically accusing your brother." Khalil laughed dumbly. "That's true, though. But he wasn't entirely responsible for the scars."

"What do you mean?"

Khalil thought for a moment in silence.

His performance made Robert Guilliman feel a brief moment of uneasiness—what could make Karyl Rohals so cautious?
His brows began to frown more and more, as did the emotions in his heart, churning non-stop until it became a torrent so turbulent that it almost broke through his reason again.

"People sometimes lose control." After a while, Khalil said in a soft voice. "During the cave, your brother completely lost control for a moment. But it's not like ordinary people, whose ability to think is temporarily controlled by the upwelling emotions. Actually, I think"

He paused for a moment thoughtfully.

"At that moment, he became anger itself," he said in a low voice. "Not being mastered, but being replaced. From this point of view, I am lucky."

"Luck?" Guilliman felt ridiculous. "You were almost killed by him."

Khalil shook his head.

"That's it," he said. "He won't do this kind of thing. You didn't see him trying to kill himself because he refused to hurt others. Forget it, Robert, don't mention these things. I will write a report to you after the specific situation."

He smiled slightly.

Guilliman looked at him gravely—glared, to be precise.

"A report can't solve my problem. Besides, how can such a thing be written into a report?" He folded his hands and shook his head.

"Let's skip this matter, since you have no objection as one of the parties involved. As for the thing behind his head, I have already checked it out. It is called the Butcher's Nail. It is a kind of psionic surgical implant. It was used by slave owners to torture slave gladiators. And Angron's model is specially made, which is more brutal than the normal version."

"Can it be removed surgically?" Khalil asked curtly.

"...It is almost impossible to guarantee his life." Robert Guilliman shook his head painfully, which was one of the reasons why he was so angry before.

"According to a gladiator named Carelian, the nail has been on him for seven months. The scan results of the instrument also confirmed his statement, Angron's entire cerebral cortex was almost extended by the thing The sharp cable pierced through it, and part of it has even extended into his spine."

Khalil nodded thoughtfully, slowly.

"I see," he said. "Then, let's meet him together, Robert, just so I can be an interpreter for you."

He chuckled lightly, Guilliman was puzzled by this, but agreed to his proposal.

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(End of this chapter)