40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 411 137. Terra (fourteen)

The Emperor slowly opened his eyes.

He was supposed to be in the webway, but he wasn't there now. He was now in a memory, and the sky was gloomy and dark. Sour and smelly rain fell from the sky and hit the ground.

The stone buildings hissed and sang in unison. The gargoyle squatted on the top of the building and stared into the distance, turning a blind eye to the cruelty beneath its feet. The cold and wet wind blew by, and the people on the street walked like zombies in the filth, rushing towards their destined death.

The Lord of Mankind looked around, and all he saw were miserable scenes.

Gangs train their young soldiers on street corners, drugs are distributed in turn, and the children do not feel cold in the cold wind, and even look rosy. They were naked, but they had weapons in their hands.

In ten minutes, they will rush into some people's homes or some slums and brutally murder the people there - the whole process will be very long, very long. Only then can they enter the gang.

They thought this was the first step towards a better life, a trial, but their qualifications as human beings had disappeared at this moment. A ghost will find them one day, or maybe it's medicine.

The drugs will completely destroy their unhealthy bodies in the next period of time. Of course, they may also die in a fire or be murdered by other people in the gang.

Even if you are lucky enough to survive for a while, you will die from body organ failure one day in the future.

Consumptive workers coughed in slums, and acid rain dampened the faces of corpses in the streets. Their eyes can no longer shed tears. These may be the last tears. This may be the last mercy of this cruel world.

The Lord of Humanity turned his head, perhaps because he couldn't bear to look any further, or perhaps because he heard footsteps.

He saw a man soaked by the rain, walking slowly in a dark alley with a knife. Passing several corpses along the way, rats gnawed greedily at them, starting with their fingers and then the soft flesh of their cheeks.

The men tried to drive them away, but the beasts were not afraid at all. There were so many of them, some of them straightened up, noses twitching, staring at the ghostly man in the rain, wondering what he would do.

The man looked at them, and a few seconds later, two blue lights suddenly lit up in his dark eyes.

The psychic fires were fleeting, and they turned into ashes in an instant, spreading all over the ground and getting wet with rain. The mutilated corpses lay on the ground, their eyeballs had disappeared, they were in a mess.

The man stared at the body and remained silent. After a few seconds, he bent down and carried them away one by one. He walked under an empty streetlight.

The tattered boots were soaked with blood, and the acid rain and blood mixed together, reflecting the weak light of the street lamp, presenting a charming and gorgeous scene. The man piled the corpses under the street lamp, then turned and left.

The pace still seemed slow, perhaps due to the bloodstained owners, who were lying peacefully on the side of the road, their throats slit. Not long ago, they were a group of arrogant thugs, showing off how many people they had killed tonight.

The man killed them. He had finished his hunt for the night. He was returning home, like a beast that had finished its hunt.

The Lord of Mankind stepped to follow. He spoke softly, called after him, and said a name.

"Khalil."

The man stopped and turned his head.

For the first few seconds, he seemed confused and wary. It took him some time to realize what was happening. Then the calm expression so familiar to the Emperor returned to the pale ghost.

Khalil lowered his head, glanced at his hands, and tried to hold the sharp blade in his hand. A smile appeared on his face, a terrible smile that was mixed with nostalgia and the desire to vent violence.

"Nostramo."

He said, his voice hissing in the rain, and the raindrops stopped at the sound of his voice - just like the world, it stopped in an instant.

The heavy rain stopped above them, and the weird howls and various killings in the night also stopped.

"Still back here?" Khalil asked inquiringly.

"The anchor of your humanity lies here," the Emperor said. "This conversation has been repeated tens of millions of times, Khalil. Your memories are fading faster and faster. I can reshape them, but I still need time."

"Ah." Khalil sighed regretfully.

"If you reach a certain point, or if it dissipates faster than I can reshape it—"

"——I will disappear." Khalil said softly. He was still laughing, as if he didn't understand what a terrible thing they were talking about. His voice was still that very special soft whisper, like the breathing of the dead under the night.

The Emperor looked at him speechlessly. Khalil shook his wrist and the blade disappeared in an instant like magic. The smile bloomed again, but this time it seemed much calmer.

"Since this conversation is destined to be repeated, why do you need to tell me about it?"

The Emperor did not answer the question.

"How is Terra doing now?" Khalil asked again.

His face was becoming paler and paler, and for a moment, there was a terrifying rage that almost burst this human skin.

The Emperor knew the reason. The battle in the warp was no secret to him. He was also one of the participants in the violent war. The Lord of Death, clad in golden flames, was fighting side by side with his crimson brother.

He should have died, but he wanted to fight, and to do so, he was willing to endure pain and suffering. He had endured enough during his lifetime, and standing on the other side of death, he laughed at their incompetence.

Revenge is everywhere, everywhere in the galaxy, this huge and tragic spiral is everywhere. Once it appears, it will not dissipate unless everyone lays down their weapons, eliminates hatred in their hearts, and coexists peacefully.

And this can never happen.

Therefore, it is an indescribable miracle that Khalil Lohars still exists today. The ghost also realized this. He touched his face, and the flames came out of his body and began to spread on his fingertips.

Khalil sighed sadly and said goodbye.

In an instant the world dissipated at the Emperor's feet, turning into nothingness, a pale and crude altar made of demon ashes.

He returned to the webway.

The Lord of Humanity closed his eyes wordlessly, golden light flashed in his hand, and began to reshape the memory again.

The evil of Nostramo rushed towards him, and the pale ghosts were killing furiously, but their anger could not be dispelled. He couldn't end everything by killing alone, the pain followed him like a shadow.

The Emperor saw every detail, maintained the flow of power, and began to push forward.

So the conversation repeats itself again. In the Nostramo that is reinvented over and over again, in the extreme pain that one does not have to endure, it is repeated ad infinitum. Then another time, and again, and again

The Emperor ruthlessly used his power to maintain this cruel memory. He watched it over and over again, and Khalil Lohars struggled in pain and reincarnation over and over again.

Then, in the acid rain, the ghost asked the question for the first time.

"How many times has this happened?"

"I didn't count," said the Emperor. "Do you want to see how Terra is doing now?"

"Okay." The ghost replied with a smile.

His face became almost transparent and his veins were fully exposed. The darkness in those eyes also twisted like a living thing, and the dead souls roared in it.

The Emperor silently raised his hand and showed him another scene.

The burning Terra immediately collided head-on from the dark distance - in an illusory but extremely real scene, after this conversation was repeated tens of millions of times, the ghost finally saw Terra's appearance again.

Of course, it wasn't what he wanted to see.

The cold wind was biting, and black snow drifted in, guarding the ghost's feet. He shook his head, but his figure began to change. Pale bone claws rose little by little from the shadows at his feet, crawled up his body, and eventually formed a suit of armor.

The gods and the lords of humanity stood side by side, looking at Terra and this planet that was unfamiliar to both of them.

The hive city was covered in snow, the wilderness turned into a glacier, and for the first time since the last ocean on Terra was stolen, natural water spread across its surface. Countless corpses lay swollen in the bitterly cold water.

They died in battle before this was even a glacier. Auxiliaries, Astartes, Skitarii - even civilians

Crazy scenes began to flash before their eyes one by one, in no particular order, and some seemed to have no logic at all.

They saw the roaring pilgrims, strapping themselves with grenades, rushing towards the demonic tide. They also saw children who were supposed to be living under the wings of their parents shooting light guns that were not designed for their size, but they still shot well.

Their parents fought below and they shot from the walls. The bloody ashes of war are rushing towards us, as a group of Imperial Fists fight to the death against Khorne's daemon army.

Behind them is a power station, the last one left. It is providing energy for all defense facilities within hundreds of kilometers. It is the last hope of a group of people, so the Imperial Fists stand here.

Ceramite or adamantium, bolt bombs or chainsaws - it doesn't matter, none of it matters in a war of this magnitude. They kill, they die, and so do the demons.

There were gunboats roaring through the sky at overloaded power, striking continuously for fourteen hours, and if they didn't crash, they would keep flying. They will bring bombardment to some war-scorched land where Titans stand.

Amid the horrific flames of the explosion, the God Machines charged at their enemies in fury. The ammunition has long since dried up, and the pilot is even on the verge of death due to high temperatures or some violent emotional resonance reaction, but this still cannot stop the machine spirit from bringing carnage to the enemy.

In other words, this cannot stop them from feeling the same as the Machine Soul. They have risen to the highest level, and from now on, they will be with the Titans.

The Skitarii launched charges again and again at the feet of the God's Machine. How could such a battlefield be without their presence? The ground has long turned into a bloody mud made of bullet casings and corpses. Regardless of the enemy or friend, regardless of their status in life, they have become a part of this war at this moment.

Then, they were mercilessly run over, steel boots, bare feet, crawler tracks - every minute, every second, countless people died and contributed to this place.

They don't care, no one cares.

Just fight and die. This is Terra, humanity's home planet, humanity's last line of defense. So they will die here - until they win, or until everything dies.

The ruthless machine works feverishly.

People who perform their duties die in obscurity, without even a chance to become heroes. The brave men broke out of the trenches, slain by the devil's spells, and fell in the path of the charge. Those who were once afraid now step into the meat grinder with a sharp knife in hand.

Death, death, death, death, death. The gods stood side by side with the Emperor, watching them die, watching these men they knew or did not know fight.

The Primarchs fight, the Astartes fight, the mortals fight. Fulgrim and Ferrus Manus fought side by side, resisting wave after wave of demon attacks in the most difficult battlefield.

The phoenix soaked in black flames had blood and tears on its face, crying for the deaths of its loyalists. The dead souls were telling their grievances in his ears. He couldn't forget it, he couldn't avoid it, he could only listen.

Ferrus Manus holds the Forgebreaker and fights at the forefront. His armor was covered in blood, and his hands were covered in scraps of flesh. There was no emotion on that cold face. Their children followed their father and launched a tragic charge towards the enemy of mankind that was glorious but no one could know about.

Rogal Dorn was on another battlefield. His battlefield was a command room covered with documents. He had been fighting here for the past seventeen hours.

He mobilized reinforcements, wrote orders, and sent people to die. Data after data flashed through his mind, adding deeper wrinkles to his brows. Unless the situation reaches the most critical moment, he will not be able to leave here.

This is his cage, his torture chamber - and Stubborn Stone accepts it happily. If the final moment did come, he would make it all worthwhile.

The god took a deep, deep breath.

"Sacrifice," said the Emperor. "That's all, we feel sorry for them."

The wind and snow blew by, and everything began to disappear, replaced by a broken glacier, and a short old man wearing a black robe. He seemed to feel something in his heart and turned around immediately when they appeared.

In the dark snow, they saw each other's faces.

The laurel wreath on the Emperor's head still shines, but the psychic light in the Mark Bearer's eyes has materialized and replaced his eyes. The mask on Khalil Lohars' face remained motionless, his eyes were deep and wrapped in flames.

"It's time," said the Emperor.

"I thought it could continue for a while longer." Makado sighed.

"You can, but you'll need to get the knife." Khalil laughed. "The gifts you gave out can still be taken back one day. How could you have such a terrible father?"

The wind and snow became stronger, darkness came, and their figures were covered.

　4k for this chapter, and the last chapter.

　　Father and son talk (music)

　　

　

(End of this chapter)