40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 462 185. Terra (forty-three, wearing his skin)

"So, this is actually a pilgrimage?" Ole Persson asked breathlessly.

He shouldered the gun and rested its butt, which was once in good condition, on the ground. It had to be, otherwise he wouldn't be able to stay standing. Orr's waist was almost too tired to stand up straight.

The path Konstantin Waldo chose was becoming increasingly rugged, as they entered ruins, went deep underground, and finally had to climb with bare hands a structure made of twisted metal intertwined with the living dead that were not yet dead. huge mountain of corpses.

At this moment, Orr's military uniform was covered with blood-red handprints, which were all marks left by the dead.

Waldo didn't answer, but looked around warily. Orr wasn't sure if he didn't hear it or if he was deliberately ignoring him.

Along the way, he had already had a preliminary impression and understanding of Constantine Waldo's character, so he spoke again and asked a second time.

"Is this a pilgrimage?"

Still no response, Orr raised his gun and began checking its condition. He sincerely hoped that this bolter could stay with him for a little longer. However, what he learned after careful observation made his heart sink suddenly.

The gun belt has been worn to the point that it can no longer be hung on the shoulder. The strong composite rope has been corroded and weathered by something unknown to the extent that it looks like an antique.

There were many irregular spots on the barrel, which probably looked like dried blood. Orr quickly wiped them with his sleeves, but they never disappeared. Instead, his dark green sleeves turned into a dull rusty red.

"No." Constantine Waldo finally answered, his voice carried away in the breeze. "This is a journey of betrayal."

Orr raised his head from his busy schedule and looked at him, and then came to a conclusion: "Did he say something to you again?"

The Admiral of the Custodes turned around and began to use the height they were at to observe the ground of Terra.

"I suggest you keep an eye on it."

Orr lowered his head and continued wiping. He didn't seem to care how grubby his sleeves got.

"He will always use some words to confuse your mind and achieve his own goals. Can you remove this thing from my neck?"

Constantine Waldo looked down expressionlessly, and after half a minute, he slowly moved away the Spear of the Sun.

"Not again."

"I think," Orpeson said slowly, glancing up at him. "Even if there is, there's nothing you can do against me. So, let's be honest - what did he tell you?"

The Marshal of the Forbidden Army suddenly felt the urge to smash his eyes with a fist. Only a third of a second after it came, he felt incredible about this matter.

He had murderous intentions towards the mission target, and this was absolutely unacceptable.

Waldo quickly looked away, hurriedly focusing on his instincts, and began to try to find out where the next path was.

The current level of chaos in Terra is simply shocking to anyone who sees it. It is like a huge complex Rubik's Cube, with countless secrets and paths hidden within it.

Waldo naturally cannot master everything. I am afraid that only the Emperor or Malcador can truly find every hidden secret on Terra at this moment, but Waldo does not need to master it, he only needs to feel it.

A few seconds later, the scarlet cloak behind the Forbidden Marshal began to flutter again. He silently walked down the other side of the mountain of corpses. Orr hurried to follow, walking with great difficulty.

Compared with going up the mountain, the way down the mountain is much more difficult, not to mention that the mountain they are walking on is by no means a natural product made of stone and soil.

Orr frowned, enduring the wails coming from under his feet and the solid, soft and hard touch of the corpse, and gradually caught up with Constantine Waldo, who was slowly slowing down.

Then, he heard an answer.

"Yes, this may indeed be a pilgrimage." The Imperial Guard admitted unwillingly, as if forced by someone.

"But we are not pilgrims," ​​he emphasized. "We're just. No, you're just a traitor."

Orr looked down at the bulge on his chest. The gem and the metal base were torturing his chest.

He held the gun in his left hand and held the gem firmly in his right hand to stop it from shaking. A burst of warmth bloomed from the palm of my hand, bringing a little warmth.

Orr grimaced and spoke in a low voice.

"In the past, some devout monks would believe in the theory of original sin. They believed that humans were in debt to God and therefore were born sinful and needed to atone for their sins with extreme piety."

"They will do anything to show their piety, such as donating all their property and giving to the poor. Or they may hold knives and ride horses into the so-called pagan cities, killing all the men, and then killing all the people. Women tied to the stake.”

"They also claim that this is a kind of pilgrimage, which is nothing more than an armed pilgrimage. Under the protection of religion and the so-called gods, they are free to do anything permitted by the doctrine. Compared with this kind of thing, killing is simply the worst thing. A minor sin.”

"But you also have religious beliefs." The Imperial Guard said meaningfully. "You also believe in a made-up god, Orpeson."

"Do you know how many gods there were in Terra in the past?" Or Persson immediately asked. "Thousands or tens of thousands of gods can be born on a piece of land. There may be dozens of gods who bear the name of justice."

"However, the definition of justice is very broad. A knight who has been canonized by the church can claim to have justice while burning, killing, looting, and bullying innocent people. Human beings have been like this since ancient times. Gods are just fabricated clay dolls that can be redefined. countless times."

"So, why should I believe in a good god of my own making?"

Waldo did not answer this sentence, but suddenly stopped and pierced the chest of a deceased person with the Spear of the Sun in his hand.

Her young body immediately stopped twitching, and her crying stopped as well. She looked at the sky with a dull face, and the wrinkled face of Orpeson was reflected in her turbid and dark eyes.

The veteran sighed, squatted down with difficulty on his rusty knees, and closed his eyes.

A few seconds later, the Spear of the Sun was slowly pulled out, without bringing out even a drop of blood, and this was not because of Waldo's superb skills.

It's just because her blood has dried up.

"Keep moving forward," the Admiral of the Imperial Guard said in a low voice. "We still have a long way to go. Besides, you can continue talking."

"What? Are you interested in this kind of topic? I thought you would never chat with me, a traitor." Orr stood up and deliberately became rough. "What do you want to hear me say?"

"Continue with the topic of gods, Orperson," Waldor said, turning a deaf ear to his provocation.

"I think I have nothing more to say." Orr refused. "Also, please tell him that if he wants to hear these clichés that I have said many times before, he should come to me himself."

"I want to hear it myself." Waldo said calmly. "It has nothing to do with the Lord."

Orpeson looked at him in surprise. For a moment, he even forgot to speak, and only the awkward silence slowly spread. And when the silence finally passed, the matter was also abandoned together. They stopped mentioning it and just went on their way.

Sweat streaked across Orr's face like rain. He struggled to control the shaking of his legs and tried to observe the ground with only the corners of his eyes. He didn't want to look directly at any dead person anymore, that kind of staring at each other was too torture.

Probably several hours later, they returned to the ground. At this moment, the sky has completely plunged into darkness, with only the faint golden light trying to pierce their cover.

Waldo held onto his spear with a serious expression, protected Orperson behind him, and began to move forward cautiously. Orr swallowed the smoke-filled air in big mouthfuls, trying to calm himself down.

They looked like two blind men at the moment, trying to fight against the darkness with their natural flaws. There were a few times when Orr wanted to ask Waldo - where have you taken us?

But he didn't ask this question after all, because the breeze after another had replaced the Forbidden Army and gave him the answer.

From the wind, Orr smelled a smell that he had only become familiar with in recent decades, that is, the special smell of burning promethium flames. He kept twitching his nostrils, smelling the smell that might contain trace amounts of toxins, and felt an undue comfort.

They kept walking, and time lost its meaning again. Both remained silent and began to endure the torture.

This is not the first time they have experienced the consequences of time chaos. This feeling is like being in an infinite cell, but there is only darkness around you. You are sentenced to endless walking. The only way to complete the punishment is to walk, all the time. Go until the end of time.

But the warden didn't tell you the specific time, nor did he give you any ruler by which you could figure out the time. There was only darkness, sore knees, weakness dripping with sweat, and dry lips.

Orr gave up the idea of ​​cursing, held the gem in his hands, and began to pray groggily.

I know you can hear me, and I know you probably can't answer me, but are we really on the right track?

It's been a long time since you've given me any guidance through gems. If we're on the right path, you can shine a light so that even if something comes out of the darkness and bites my insides, I'll know who I am. A worthy death.

You messed up Terra so badly, you understand? You should be more cautious

The gem began to heat up slightly, and bright light came from between Orr's fingers. A gust of wind suddenly hit, forcing Orr to close his eyes, followed closely by a sound that was so loud that it almost made one's head explode.

"Forward!" a man roared. "In the name of Mortarion, break through this barrier! Lord Vulkan and the Salamander brothers need our support!"

Orr opened his eyes and saw a group of Astartes wearing gray and white armor. Constantine Waldo stretched out his hand to pull him over without saying a word at this moment, with such force that Orr almost thought he was going to be thrown away.

However, after only a second, he began to wish that he could actually be thrown away.

As the ground shook, he saw a cannonball fall next to him and Waldo.

Being directly hit by a shell on the battlefield is not terrible, because you will die unconscious. But if it falls next to you, I'm afraid you will have to endure a round of terrible torture that is short but long enough to almost eternity. In the eyes of the injured, everything in the world will slow down.

Most people will scream in agony for the first time and have no awareness of external things. Others would stare at the sky, as if they had lost consciousness and were just bleeding. Only a very small number of people can get rid of this pain quickly and win a chance for themselves.

Orr didn't know which one he was. After the violent explosion ended, he could only lie on the ground covering his head and moan softly. He felt that all his internal organs were out of place, his ears were ringing, and the back of his head hurt like a heartache.

But without giving him time to breathe, one hand picked him up again, very roughly. Orr reluctantly looked up and saw Constantin Waldo, who was running expressionlessly with blood oozing from the corner of his mouth.

The fire was soaring into the sky, and the surroundings were filled with dust and rotten stench. At this moment, the true face of war opened its ferocious claws towards Orr and enveloped him.

Orr cursed loudly and instinctively put his finger on the trigger of his bolter. It's paradoxical, but even though he was clearly shaken into this state by the shock wave caused by the shell, he never let go of the gun. Not only that, he even started shooting

Waldo let go, allowing Orr to hit the ground. The veteran wearing a blood-stained military uniform clearly had blood on his forehead, but he still started to aim and fire in a standard kneeling position.

His vision was blurry, with almost only simple color patches distributed. But this also strengthened his clear understanding of the relationship between the enemy and ourselves in a disguised way. Those wearing gray and white armor with occasional green and gold embellishments were his own people, while those with sickly dark yellow or dark green were naturally the enemies.

He was so focused when shooting, as if he had entered a state where only primitive wildness remained. The Marshal of the Forbidden Army looked down at the target of his mission and felt a sense of absurdity - who is this traitor?

While he was thinking, he tightened his grip on the spear, turned the tip of the spear, and pierced something behind him. The soft and sticky touch and the terrible stench failed to shake Waldo's cold thoughts.

He turned around step by step, his spear trembling, provoking the enemy in an instant, spinning it in a circle, and slamming it onto the ground. Waldo took this opportunity to draw out the Spear of the Sun, stepped back, raised his left foot high, and dropped it heavily.

In a dull sound, a head was crushed by his feet. The flesh wrapped in the rotten dark green armor immediately began to disintegrate, and blood as thick as pus and various pieces of meat leaked out from various openings in the armor, which was extremely disgusting.

Waldo frowned, feeling a little dizzy in his mind. He saw some not-so-good things, so bad that he even wondered if he was going the wrong way.

Then he saw Vulkan and the thing that was fighting with him. Waldo hesitated. He didn't know whether he should call this scene a battle.

And Vulkan knew that this was not a battle, it was just destruction, like using engineering equipment to destroy dangerous buildings in an old city somewhere.

The war hammer roared past, smashing the air, destroying everything in its path with great force, and finally hit a twisted and swollen breastplate. The thing that was hit didn't react at all, it looked like a corpse.

His armor and flesh shook for several seconds under the blow. A huge hole visible to the naked eye appeared in his chest, and internal organs and minced meat suddenly poured out, but there was only deathly silence in those cloudy eyes.

A huge scythe was swung by him and struck Vulkan with the same level of force. The Fire Dragon Lord raised his left hand and knocked the sickle away with a punch before it hit him.

He swung the hammer again, shattering the corpse's knees with calm determination.

He fell to the ground, putrid miasma and acid sprayed out from the wound, completely polluting the surrounding environment in an instant. Maggots rolled and jumped for joy in the blood-covered mud.

Vulkan was actually indifferent to this. He raised his hand and lowered his arm straightly and smoothly. The warhammer violently smashed down, completely shattering the corpse's head. However, the hand holding the sickle was There was no intention of letting go at all.

It was waved again, and even because of the angle, Vulcan was forced to take a step back. With just one step, the corpse stood up again.

Hammered and flattened armor embedded itself in the body, hanging from its shattered bones and juicy entrails. Two colorful, insect-like wings spread out quickly from behind and began to vibrate.

The eyes of the corpse fell out of their sockets, and the chin and broken face were tilted and held together by the hyphae wrapped around the flesh, stubbornly remaining.

His eyes without any sense of self were staring at Vulcan closely. The pupils of his eyes were developing lesions and were so turbid that they looked like double pupils. However, if you look closely, you can find that those densely packed things in the eyeballs are actually insect eggs. .

They are multiples of seven and a certain sum of three. They are eyes, decay, endless reincarnation, a word, a name.

Nurgle.

Constantine Valdo, who witnessed this scene with his own eyes, felt the urge to vomit. Almost instantly, he gripped the spear tightly and was about to run out and tell Vulkan to stop, but the voice from within the link told him to calm down. Don't be impatient.

So, he watched the corpse keep vibrating its wings and fly into the sky, but the continuous buzzing sound never stopped.

Vulkan turned around suddenly and began to charge. His dark face and lava-like eyes turned this charge into a mythical legend of world destruction. The Lord of the Fire Dragon is the God of Destruction responsible for the destruction of the world. Every step he takes is enough to make the earth tremble.

He was already very fast, at least faster than he was before, but he was still not as fast as the flying corpse.

He smashed through the dark clouds, his scythe rotated and cut, killing a dozen fighting Death Guards in an instant. Mycelium spread from his body, deeply wrapping the chopped corpses.

As if they had self-awareness, they spontaneously bypassed the armor plates and penetrated deep into the flesh, devouring all the essence belonging to Mortarion's heirs and replenishing their own bodies.

The corpse's face suddenly began to recover.

Someone roared behind him.

Vulkan galloped forward, knocked him away with a hammer, grabbed his feet and plunged him into the ground. The Fire Dragon Lord grasped the war hammer with both hands and began to destroy the wings in the pit he created.

The first hammer landed on the back, shattering the insect wing on the left side into pieces. The second hammer fell on the side of the waist, splitting the entire corpse into two, but the third hammer could not fall. The corpse blocked the blow with a sickle, and the remaining wing vibrated again, leading him to stand up. body.

Vulkan chased after him and punched his swollen face, destroying the newly healed face again.

With just one punch, Vulkan knocked the corpse's head into a crooked shape. The head hung strangely on the left shoulder, and its eyes slowly flowed out like fragments melted by the high temperature.

"Die," Vulkan began to plead in a whisper that was completely inappropriate for his size. "Die quickly."

He punched again and completely knocked the head away. Then he dragged the body with waving arms out of the pit and found the head. He raised his foot to crush it, then raised his hammer, and began to swing it numbly and mechanically, imprinting it on this horrifically battered body again and again.

Each blow can create a deep pit, and each blow is enough to kill many immortal creatures.

However, he was not dead. He had no head, his spine was completely broken, his armor and flesh were fused together, his two knees were reduced to pieces, and the remaining half of his wings were torn off by Vulkan's hands and thrown aside.

But he is not dead, he cannot die, he has no life at all.

The Fire Dragon Lord took half a step back with blood all over his body. He was tired, and anyone could see how tired he was at this moment.

Long before this moment arrived, he had killed this corpse countless times, but after all, he could not kill an inanimate thing.

Then, we have no choice but to destroy him.

Vulkan changed his tactics and began to fight with all his strength, trying to destroy the body. He used promethium flames, used plasma, and also tried to lure him into a trap and immobilize his hands and feet so that he could not move.

But the promethium element cannot destroy his flesh and blood, the plasma energy group cannot evaporate everything about him, and the trap has no effect on him. He can cut off bound hands, feet, bodies and even heads by himself. Then he would crawl out and stand up again.

Then everything can only be attributed to the last resort - the simplest, most direct, and purest violence.

Vulkan began murdering his long-dead brother with his hands, over and over again, with no end in sight.

He is the one who inflicts violence, but he also suffers in the process.

The question of whether the Primarchs were human has long been a perennial question. Opponents believe that they are just laboratory products created by the Emperor, and that their beauty and tallness only prove their ruthlessness.

Those in favor will use many examples to prove their arguments, such as Robert Guilliman's proper governance of the Five Hundred Worlds, and Vulkan, the Lord of Fire Dragons.

There is no need to say anything, just mention his name, and now, even if there is a person who truly believes in this matter standing in front of Vulkan, I am afraid that he will no longer think that the original body is human. .

So, this time...did he succeed? At the cost of abandoning humanity, deleting unnecessary emotions, and throwing away kindness, brotherhood, and everything he once held on to, did he succeed in killing this corpse?

Vulkan clenched his war hammer, unable to come up with an answer, and the war hammer fell again. There were dull echoes one after another from the deep pit, which was particularly obvious even on this chaotic battlefield.

The Death Guard, who were at war with their own traitors, noticed it. The Salamanders, who vented the wrath of the Gene Father with fire, and swore to bring peace to the common people, noticed it. Demons, traitors, and even the echoes in the darkness all noticed it. Noticed it.

Constantine Valdo did not look away from the beginning. He kept staring at Vulcan. Until this moment, he saw the Fire Dragon Lord's eyes that were filled with nothing but numbness and deathly silence.

And the hyphae from the deep pit floated silently to the back of his head.

The Imperial Guard moved and began to run wildly.

Orr Persson shouted after him: "Where are you going?!"

He didn't realize that the gem on his chest was blooming with undetectable brilliance.

Waldo didn't answer, he just charged. The glorious gold battle armor has long lost its former luster, blood is all over it, and it looks like rust after drying. But the Spear of the Sun is not like this. The Spear of the Sun is always bright and dazzling, it is the blazing sun in the sky and hope itself.

Faster. Waldo told himself. It must be faster, otherwise it will be too late.

In a place he hadn't realized yet, his emotions were boiling. That emotion is called anxiety, and if you dig deeper, you will find that it is actually just a lead, something that the Imperial Guards inherently lack. This thing is called empathy, or empathy.

In other words, Constantin Waldo did not realize that he was sympathizing with Vulkan's experience and feeling regret and sadness for his misfortune.

He just ran, just ran, turning the spear upside down in the process and pointing it at his chest. He jumped into the pit and shouted loudly like thunder.

"Vulkan!"

The Fire Dragon Lord turned his head slightly.

"boom!"

With a muffled sound, the warhammer in Vulkan's hand fell into the deep pit.

He had a confused look on his face because he didn't understand two things. First, why did Constantin Waldo show up here and shoot down his weapon? Secondly, where does the power of the Marshal of the Imperial Guard come from, which can even deprive him of the weapons he has firmly grasped?

But he had no time to ask this question. Before all these questions were uttered, a spear was handed into his hand by the Marshal of the Forbidden Army, and then turned into an illusory light, piercing Constantine deeply. ·Waldo's chest.

Vulkan saw a pair of golden eyes, felt a warm connection, and then heard his father's voice.

However, this voice was full of anger. The language he used was beyond what Vulcan could understand. Is that really language? Can the language codified by human beings be so majestic and contain such power?

The primarch was shaken, dizzy, and felt horribly insignificant, as if he was just a rock facing the waves. It wasn't until a long, long time later that he realized that his father was not yelling at him, but Facing another thing.

His father was using his eyes to see the world and his voice to roar at the thing inside Mortarion's body.

"You killed my son! You stole his body! You denied him rest!"

The Lord of Mankind roared hoarsely, his voice as loud as ten thousand people shouting together. He used Vulkan's hands to pull the spear from Constantine Valdor's chest.

The corpse didn't answer, but opened its mouth, and three yellow eyes bloomed from its throat. Time stood still, the darkness was pierced by light, and Orperson saw a golden thunder quietly blooming from the deep pit. There was no sound, only the shocking power that almost destroyed the entire battlefield.

The light came and enveloped him. He thought he was dead, so he closed his eyes and knelt down.

He thought that was the end, until a terrible pain shot through his knee.

Orpeson opened his eyes in pain and heard a cough. He turned around in a daze and saw an Astartes with blood on his face walking from behind him, staring blankly ahead. After a while, he seemed to notice Orr's gaze, so he lowered his head and pulled him up.

"What's your name, Captain Orr Persson? There are logos on your clothes." The man nodded towards him. "I am Nathaniel Gallo, Death Guard. We have won, you can put down your guns for now."

Orpeson turned his head and looked forward, and saw the mountain-like body of the Fire Dragon Lord kneeling in the pit. He couldn't see his face, but judging from the expression of Constantine Waldo, who also had his head lowered, they should be mourning.

"We won?" Orr Persson muttered.

"Temporarily." Gallo said. "It will come back, I know it will come back, but we will always stand."

He touched the eagle emblem on his hand, smiled slightly, and suddenly seemed to remember something, and asked again: "Have you ever seen the Emperor's Children? There is a company commander named Sol Tarvitz among them. Have you seen him, Ole Persson?"

Orr shook his head.
-

"Anyway, he told me to let me say hello to you on his behalf if I saw you." Orr Persson said. "Anyway, Nathaniel Gallo says hello, Captain Saul Tarvitz."

The Emperor's Son nodded and touched the eagle emblem on his right arm armor. Azek Ahriman held out a loaded bolter behind him, Thunder was sharpening his sword, and Sigismund and Bjorn stood together, staring into the distance.

Constantin Valdo raised his spear expressionlessly.

"Come on, now that you have brought the letter," he said. "We still have a long way to go."

Orpeson sighed, shrugged, and said, "He's almost like my jailor."

Sol Tarvitz smiled silently: "Good luck to you, Messenger."

"I'm not a messenger." Orr stood up and held the gem on his chest tightly. "I feel like I'm just an unlucky bastard."

He turned around and left with the Marshal of the Imperial Guard.

　Updated, 8k

　　

　

(End of this chapter)