40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 422 148. Interlude: In the Wave of Chaos

Malcador could smell a very obvious burning smell, but it was not the smell of angry flames burning the demon's corpse, or the smell of promethium flames.

In fact, it was the smell of his own skin burning—his psychic powers spiraling out of control.

The consequences of witnessing the ascension of a deity are astonishing, insubstantial at first, but soon the full picture becomes apparent. If he dared to lower his head and look directly at his palm at this moment, he would see the layers of ashes burning again under the influence of high temperature.

The palm-printer suddenly thought of a cold joke that wasn't very funny.

Fire burns things to ashes, so what happens to the ashes after they burn?

Answer: Machado.

He smiled a little, though not too obviously. His vision was still there, his sense of reality was still there, so the pain was always with him. The pain like pins and needles surged from my mind like a tidal wave that never stopped.

However, he didn't care and just activated his spiritual energy again.

Someone far away in the remaining webway gave a warning cry, but Malcador only responded with a single syllable.

Now, only he can do this.

When the gods go to the killing fields, they want to destroy hell with their own hands.

When his master must hold his breath and concentrate on fighting through the waves of chaos.

When everyone is fighting and dying - only Malcador, the Marker, can bring them more intelligence or messages, can allow words to be relayed to each other, and can bring commanders and soldiers back together.

Only he could bear the weight of the entire empire at this moment and become one of its cornerstones.

again. Just like in the past, he stood side by side with the man in golden armor, standing on the deserted continent of Terra and looking at the stars.

Just start all over again. Makha thought too much. He was still laughing and didn't stop.

His thoughts began to rise, and his spiritual energy turned into a protective shell, carrying him into the vast ocean of the Thousand Sons, the terrifying nightmare of human stargazers, and the place where the dreams of countless wise men have been shattered for thousands of years.

He saw those horrific pictures again. This terrible ocean had never been friendly to him. The fury of the warp descended upon him in a swarm of terrifying flies, and Malcador drove them away with a wave of his imaginary sleeves.

A vicious snake hissed at his feet, pronouncing his name and a curse.

"Makado! You will die without a burial place!"

It pissed him off.

The palmer paid some attention and quietly pressed it to death - in the past, of course he would not have done such unnecessary things, but it was different now. He felt a strong sense of freedom.

This feeling of having a heavy burden lifted off his shoulders and regaining his heroic ambition restored a vitality that had been rare in his youth back to his heart. He continued to move forward with this precious vitality, and soon he saw his master.

The laurel-crowned Eurasian barbarian weakly covered his wounds, while burning his strength to maintain the last remaining memories of Khalil Lohars, and at the same time, he needed to let one of his dead heirs burn in the golden fire. Fighting everywhere in the waves.

They all saw each other, and Malcador could even see his own reflection in his master's eyes that were like glass at the moment - a young man wearing white robes, but with a pair of calm eyes.

They greeted each other briefly and then said their goodbyes.

No need to talk, everything can be explained clearly with just one thought.

He pounced on the golden heat wave, which hurt all harmful insects, but had no reaction to him at all, and even seemed gentle. During this time, the heroic spirits watched him float by in surprise, and only a few could barely identify who this flashing white shadow was.

He floated towards the front of the fire wave and soon found the fourteenth son of the Lord of Humanity.

As always, a giant among giants. The armor hung on his body as if it was molten, and thunder lurked in the drifting clouds, dancing fiercely behind him.

His face was hidden under a white hood, and his white hair that seemed withered in the past now showed a pure color. He holds a bright 'lantern' in one hand and a golden flame sickle in the other, harvesting the lives of demons.

In front of him, they can only run away, because this is not the world where false life can be obtained. If you are killed here, you will really die and will not have another chance to be reshaped.

"Mortarion."

With a little bit of relief that only he knew, Malcador used his original voice to call out to the Lord of Death in the golden flames. The latter responded immediately, but his voice sounded like a distant echo.

"Why did you come here?" the dead demigod asked sadly. "Has Terra already—?"

"I've never seen you so emotionally exposed before." The Patron responded with a joke, quickly explaining it without resorting to annoying riddles. "Terra is still alive and will always be. Your father sent me to you."

"he got hurt."

Mortarion tightened his grip on the scythe, his voice suddenly becoming angry. Thunder is rolling, and the child who used to live in the shadow of his father now has his own dignity.

Throughout his life, he resisted. Later generations may evaluate these resistances as meaningless, but they all serve as annotations for this moment. Every time you endure, every time you move forward with a heavy load, every time you roar at the evil god between life and death

Malcador smiled reassuringly.

"It's just temporary," he said. "He is the emperor."

Yes, this injury will heal one day. In his heart, Malcador said this.

"I want to know about Terra," Mortarion added. "Here, I can't see what's happening in reality, and my father won't talk to me. He doesn't have any extra energy to talk to us."

"A few words can't describe its current situation, but we are still fighting." Makado said. "And we will keep fighting until we are completely victorious."

——Then, so do we. Said the dead demigod.

His voice formed a rolling thunder in the ocean of chaos, and the clouds were gathering.

It's just the remnant soul that doesn't matter anymore, quality is far more important than quantity. The most precious and righteous qualities of the Primarch named Mortarion were found here. He is worthy of his name and worthy of anyone.

Malcador nodded and left immediately. He is a messenger and he has to talk to many people.

For example, at this moment, he left the golden heat wave and the dark green miasma of corruption, and arrived at a blood-red wasteland.

There are endless wonders in the subspace, but few are so violent. Under the gaze of the scarlet sky, Malcador saw the person he was looking for, but that person did not see him. This is as it should be, there are some things that once taken away you will never have again.

The blind Crimson King is smiling.

"It's you." He turned around in the midst of the killing, his fists stained with blood, and he casually dropped the demon corpse that was torn in half alive. "Hello, Malcador."

"Hello, Magnus."

The greetings of the Palm Bearer ended in countless roars, which came from the sky. He looked up and observed Magnus's enemies according to human rules and habits. They were a group of terrifying demons wearing armor, huge in size, with tattered wings, but with an aura that could cover the sky and the sun, and they definitely did not appear alone. The number of them was almost despairing, but it only made the smile on Magnus' face become gentler.

The rage disappeared in a flash, and Magnus raised his hands amid the chorus of praise from the undead.

Behind him, there are two forces fighting each other. One of them is wearing strong armor and has a crazy look on his face. The other side also looked crazy, but looked colder. There weren't many people carrying weapons, but everyone could summon angry flames.

Such a battle is terrifying, and Malcador knows in his heart that if there is no external interference, the two forces may be entangled until the end of time. Even if there is no time to talk about here.

But now he wanted to know more about what Magnus would do.

The answer didn't keep him waiting long.

Magnus began to chant the true names - the true names of the demons, chanting them in a way that transcended words.

This was certainly not knowledge he had dug up in the past, but he stood with the people who died in vain. In the past, he was one of the perpetrators, and now he has sworn to avenge them, so they paid back in vain.

The connection of hatred rises layer by layer in the burial ground that belongs only to them, and begins to trace back endlessly in the vast ocean until those names are transmitted back from a time that does not exist, and the murdered person tells the name of the perpetrator with red eyes. The Avengers.

A true name was spoken, and a magic circle appeared in the sky. Although it could not fully obtain the desired effect from the power of Chaos and their masters, it could temporarily slow down their movement speed and even their thinking speed.

And that was enough for Magnus.

He put down his hands, and a burst of fire suddenly lit up behind his closed eyes. Malcador heard a low and loud voice. It was a spell from the long past, from an era when the stars had not yet been discovered.

Then the second, the third, the fourth - without stopping, spells based on vengeful fury emerged from the void one after another. Magnus did not hold back, and he did not need to hold back.

This is the place where hatred and revenge go hand in hand. His power is endless and his killings are endless.

However, there was a roar of disgust in the sky, and a scarlet eye that occupied the entire sky stared down, with an insatiable thirst for blood and disgust for the spell cast by Magnus. .

"Don't you like it?" asked the Crimson King. "Then get down and fight me."

His words surprised the person holding the seal, and made the evil god strangely turn from anger to joy. While roaring, he generously gave a blessing and engraved it on the end of Magnus' blood-stained robe. .

"You have changed a lot, Magnus." The palm-printer spoke with emotion. "but you--"

"——People can only grow if they experience loss." Magnus replied calmly. "And I lost almost everything, Malcador."

"Maybe not everything." Malcador replied thoughtfully. "You have some of your heirs still alive, Azek Ahriman, Iskandar Khayon, Phousis Taka."

"I am no longer the Primarch of the Fifteenth Legion, Magnus, Malcador." The Crimson King actually appeared indifferent, only clenching his fists slowly.

"Standing in front of you now is just an avenger, a carrier and agent of the desire for revenge for the dead."

He paused for a moment and suddenly shook his head.

"It's time for you to leave." The former Fool said quietly in the killing field. "I heard voices on Terra."

He made a decisive decision.

"Someone is calling for vengeance, but that voice does not belong to the living. It sounds like Fulgrim's voice. But you and I both know that Fulgrim does not need to call."

Malcador nodded heavily, and his vision returned to his body. He is proficient in many secret techniques, and such techniques are just a piece of cake. He opened his eyes and saw Constantin Waldo.

"Handprinter."

The Marshal of the Imperial Guard greeted him, leaning on his arms with his spear still polished. His right hand was bent like charcoal and hung in front of his chest. Two wooden boards, a rag, and such crude medical treatment appeared on his body, which was completely strange.

"How long have I been gone?" Malcador stood up slowly. His body was still old, but the vitality he had brought back had not disappeared.

"Sixty-five minutes," Waldo said. "I hate Mortarion's numerology, but there are just too many coincidences."

The palm bearer looked at him in surprise.

"What's wrong?" the Marshal of the Forbidden Army asked expressionlessly.

"You seemed to have made a joke just now."

Waldo shook his head and curled his lips secretly: "He is with us, which makes me feel complete."

"He's in the webway." Malcador retorted. "What's the matter with you, Waldo?"

"I'm talking about connection." The Marshal of the Forbidden Army tapped his temple with a hint of ostentation, and his performance surprised Malcador even more.

"You seem to have a strange sudden optimism, Waldo."

"He revealed to me our destiny, our ultimate destiny."

The golden-armored guard slowly and mercilessly painted a terrifying smile on his face. Malcador knew that in the surrounding darkness, there were more soldiers of the Wanfu Regiment exploring this place.

Terra has been transformed, with vengeful spirits infiltrating the land, turning it into a living hell surrounded by darkness - and the Custodes will never waver from this.

"What fate?" Malcador asked.

He already had the answer, but he still asked.

"Guard him until we win for him," Constantine Valdo declared proudly. "We will stand by his side. From the beginning to the end."

The palm bearer nodded, remained silent for a moment, and suddenly told a joke: "Now you will receive more hostility from his sons."

The leader of the Ten Thousand Husbands laughed rarely. He had been broken for a long time, but now he was whole again - to make him whole, there was actually no price to pay, he only needed his master to give him a mission.

The palmer closed his eyes again and connected his thoughts to the sky.

There, an angel split the clouds and descended into hell.

　Update completed, add 1k more, update 9k after waking up.

　　

　

(End of this chapter)