40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 472 193. Terra (fifty, so-called human)

Humans are creatures that can be easily killed, and Orr knows this very well.

He has verified the authenticity of this matter in many ways. Even without a firearm or a blade, it only takes 1.5 seconds to kill a person with bare hands. Sometimes even faster, you just need to hit the throat and temple with enough force to kill the opponent easily.

He has too many weaknesses, his whole body is full of vitals, no part of him is covered by fur, he is afraid of pain, and he can be easily manipulated.

The great paradox of these things is that humans dominate many worlds.

This thing is really strange. How can such a weak race be able to do such a thing?

Across the sea of ​​stars, descending from the sky, carrying out brutal genocide, and taking one planet after another as their own.

There are many butchers and executioners in human history, and these people slaughter their own kind. Then, just tens of thousands of years later, their descendants carried forward this tradition and brought them to other races in the galaxy.

Don't get me wrong, Orr is not a so-called 'human supremacist', and sometimes he even prefers animals to people, but he doesn't raise any objections to these genocidal horrors.

He knew what they had done to humans.

In essence, those actions of burning cities and destroying civilizations were just revenge, like this, like he was driving a bayonet into the chest of something. It barked loudly, and the sound was no different from the dog in Orr's memory.

Orr loves dogs.

So he drew his bayonet, kicked it to the ground, and followed up with a stab. The whole process is simple and straightforward, without any sloppiness. The canine appearance of the demon began to fade away, and in the royal court where Horus Luperkar was evolving towards the temple, even the demons became part of the sacrifices.

The veteran looked back with a helpless expression, but seemed to be inspired. He changed the language that only a few people understood and was even named 'Secret', and began to give Constantin Waldo a silent and comical explanation in a language that he could understand.

Orr stopped answering and just walked forward.

One of the Emperor's creatures and sons continued to mouth his ordeal.

War can change many things, Waldo, but this thing we're going through is not a war. These are two natural laws fighting and evolving.

He couldn't make any sound and his expression was extremely painful.

He repeated those three sentences, and even made a mocking joke at the end: Gold is his favorite color. You should know this better than us, right, Waldo?

But how can you be sure that this is Him speaking to us? Waldo asked suspiciously.

No, not yet, Waldo.

Why do you know him so well?

Orr stared at these paintings, his eyes sweeping over the corrupted picture frames that held them. He did not pay attention to the paintings themselves, but carefully observed the edges of the picture frames. Finally, his eyes settled on one of them.

The painting technique is extremely strange. The artist deliberately used extreme blur and large areas of color when writing, and the paint was splashed as if for free. However, he somehow sketched out a sharp enough outline, forming a clear enough armored giant among these color blocks, which looks very magical.

He was trying with all his strength not to look back and stare somewhere, not to look at the golden light that was twisting and intertwining with the scarlet brilliance. He'd already seen it once, and it didn't turn out well.

What are you doing We must leave quickly.

Deep into hell. Orr said that sentence silently.

But what really stopped him was the line of small words engraved on it.

Can you contact him?

Orr raised his head and asked silently. His right hand was holding the gem tightly.

The self-protection mechanism of the human body forced his brain to forget what he saw in those few minutes. Orr hated this feeling, but he also knew that if he didn't, there would be no way for him to regain his sanity.

A Raven Guard kill team was driving ahead of them, with Melos of the Blood Angels also standing on the front line. In terms of killing efficiency, he certainly couldn't compare with the Crow Guards.

But really he just wanted to find his brothers and share the sacred duty he had been given.

They silently absorb all the light in the dim corridor, reflecting colors that can make people suffer from epilepsy.

Orr's sanity was completely reshaped in those short and long minutes. If he was not an immortal, he would probably be a rotting corpse by now.

Waldo approached him restlessly, and the Spear of the Sun was slowly raised.

Have nothing to fear, just move forward, the oldest messenger.

damn it. He couldn't help but curse, feeling as if a huge boulder was weighing on his chest.

Returning from hell to earth with only my legs. Have faith and reshape the light. I will endure the torment because I have seen the light.

The veteran shook his head to himself and walked towards the painting. Its frame showed a decayed golden color, which seemed very unreal. Gold should not have such a reaction as if it was being tortured.

Of course, as a very typical selfish bastard, Orr didn't care about this matter.

One Blood Angel may not be able to compare with the Ravens, but what if they are a group? The descendants of angels have their own pride and will never be willing to lag behind, let alone on such a battlefield.

At this moment, the scene in the royal court began to become complicated and beautiful. The darkness just flashed past. The gloomy hall with the huge ivory pillars turned into a narrow corridor, paved with dark red carpets, and blood flowed from underneath. Gurgling out.

Any changes that take place in this damn royal court have their power behind them. As long as you understand this matter, you can find his inspiration from the clues.

The Marshal of the Imperial Guard caught up with him in two or three steps.

Constantin Waldo said, no.

He recited the words again, moved to the next piece, and recited them again. The boots stepped on the carpet, leaving dark footprints, and blood was printed on the bottom, scarlet and dazzling.

But even if he is, his memory is truly broken.

Orr turned around and moved to the next painting.

He used to be able to do a thousand things with one mind, but now he has to focus completely on one thing. It's a failure on my part, Orr, on all of us.

The Crow Guard and Melos have disappeared, and only Orr Persson and Constantin Waldo are left here.

In other words, everything that still exists here is a sacrifice.

Orr looked down at the gem on his chest. It was glowing, but the light was dim and very weak.

He had no room for conversation with me.

Constantin Valdo approached him warily, holding the spear tightly in his hand. Orr didn't need to look to understand what he was going to say.

There is still a dead man hanging upside down from the ceiling, with his hands folded on his chest. The decaying red walls were hung with crooked oil paintings, densely packed, each depicting a giant wearing pitch black armor. He had no face, or rather, he had not yet acquired a face.

Waldo's expression became confused, and he didn't recognize even half of the words he could understand from Orr's mouth. He has learned many languages, but now he seems to be illiterate.

But he had no choice but to keep walking, and so did they.

Orr said, I didn't, and kept walking.

The veteran didn't answer, just sighed. It took several minutes before he gave an answer in the seemingly endless corridor.

Do you think I miss you very much?

Waldo twitched his lips.

Their figures gradually disappeared into the deepest part of the corridor.

They went deep into hell.
-

There are many things in the world that can be solved simply with a sword. Sword, this weapon has been given a variety of special symbolic meanings by people because of its special appearance since its birth.

But there is only one reason for Sigismund's love for swords.

He swung it, and the smooth force and the perfect arc brought about by countless practices made this seemingly light slash kill three Sons of Horus at the same time. They still maintained their offensive posture before they died, and were not even conscious. Find out why you failed.

The champion retracted his sword, took two steps back, and returned to Azek Ahriman as smoothly as instinct, but at this moment he saw a gray shadow rushing forward.

That was Bjorn, running wildly past. The lone wolf's beard and hair were spread out, and murderous intent was boiling inside his sharp beast eyes. He rushed into the enemy formation like before and took on part of the Thunder's responsibility.

Saul Tarvitz held a sword in one hand and a gun in the other, providing covering fire. After a few seconds, Bjorn immediately turned around and returned to his brothers from the demonic tide without looking back.

How much longer? he asked, wiping his face and shaking his head.

Blood splattered, but the remaining three people's expressions remained normal. Azek Ahriman didn't know what was going on, but the other two really didn't care - similar things had happened millions of times between them, and if Bjorn didn't do this one day , they will not be used to it.

Give me a little more time. Ahriman answered thus.

This is really amazing - they can't make any sound, but they can hear each other's words in their hearts.

He held a book in his hands, its pages quivering. The scarlet characters twisted and danced on it, and the pages even began to fade. The traces of time on it had turned as pale as the bones of the deceased. Ahriman knew nothing about it, and the others remained silent.

You have the final say, blind man. Bjorn grinned and slung the ax over his shoulder.

The demonic tide is coming.

Bjorn rushed in first, his fist blades and sharp axes dancing wildly. Sol Tarvitz continued to provide covering fire, always alerting Bjorn at just the right moment to avoid dangerous attacks coming from his blind spot.

Sigismund stood half-step before Ahriman, and his blade was a pool of thunder that nothing could cross. In this way, they passed through this settlement of lifeless people, and soon found another imperial army.

I've always been fond of these hounds. Bjorn muttered. Look at how they fight, they are so brave. Hey, Azek Ahriman? Can you see it?

The blind man cursed him angrily, and the lone wolf laughed. The avenger ignored them and just looked at the only champion among them. Sigismund spoke before he spoke, as if he had already calculated when Sol Tarvitz was going to speak.

It's Kahn. He said. It looked like almost everyone had arrived.

Kahn?

Bjorn turned his head, looking slightly excited.

Is that the Kahn you often mention? Show me, Ad.

He affectionately turned the last syllable of Sigismund's name into a nickname, which seemed very presumptuous, but the Imperial Fist had no objection and just raised his sword to stab in a certain direction.

Looking along the blade of his sword, Bjorn really saw the famous Kahn, but not many people had actually seen him. The blue and white paint of the war hounds has been completely covered with blood, but it looks natural, as if it was born this way.

He wasn't wearing a helmet - only about a third of it, to be precise. Most of the helmet was completely destroyed by some kind of laceration, leaving only the lower half still on his face. He was holding two chain axes and was engaging in bloody hand-to-hand combat with the Sons of Horus.

The war dogs did not have an advantage. Their number was too small. It was roughly estimated that there were only a few hundred people. But the army of the Sons of Horus that was besieging them had at least two thousand men. Such a disparity in numbers could not be made up by the combat effectiveness of one or two elite warriors.

Bjorn touched his canine teeth and suddenly turned to look at Sol Tavitz.

What do you think? Lone Wolf asked.

We are Astartes first and brothers of Thunder second. The Emperor's Son replied. Moreover, you also understand Lei Lei's character, he hates this kind of thing the most.

Bjorn smiled silently and raised his hands, ready for battle. However, just a few seconds later, he put his hands down. There is no other reason, because a one-armed giant has been ruthlessly killed from the mountain of corpses and sea of ​​blood.

His shoulders were as broad as mountains, and his bare chest was covered with scars. His face had been blurred by blood to the point where it was completely impossible to see clearly, and his whole person looked as if he had been soaked in blood. Every time he took a step, blood mist spread from every part of his body.

Just by running, he has a terrifying power. His unabashed charge soon achieved results. The giant seemingly savagely charged into the formation of the Sons of Horus, slashing mercilessly with the giant ax in his hand, leaving blood and flesh flying.

No one can stop him, not even the elite Sons of Horus wearing Terminators. But they soon thought of a way - they began to raise their guns, aiming at the giant's bare chest, hoping to knock him down with an efficient volley.

They pulled the trigger, but the gun suddenly exploded.

Bjorn chuckled, lowered his body, and said without looking back: You know what, blind man? You still have some use sometimes.

Ahriman cursed him vaguely in his own blood, the anger in his eyes rising. The ancient book moves automatically without wind. The characters on it are scarlet and twist like living animals. Saul Tarvitz stared down and saw a line of text.

“Those who are favored by Him and believe in Him will surely perish by the sword.”

It's terrible. thought the Emperor's Son. They charged, straight into the bloody millstone of hell.
-

Bellows von Sharp stood up slowly. He took several deep breaths and finally calmed down. This sounds like a good habit, but you have to ignore the fact that he's doing it amidst a pile of corpses.

Eleven cultists lay beside him, four were disemboweled, two were beheaded, and the remaining five were impaled by him with a flagpole. The head and tail of this flag are very sharp, which is enough for cultists at least.

He walked up to a cultist and drove the flagpole deep into his skull. The blood sprayed out with heat, but Bellos didn't care so much. He just bent down to pick up his long sword, put it back into its sheath, and straightened his blood-stained shirt.

His pair of gold-rimmed glasses that he spent a lot of money to buy have completely disappeared.

What a shame. He thought as he pulled out the flagpole, held it with both hands, and began to wave.

He had done this countless times, usually accompanied by trumpets and roars to encourage the soldiers. But now he can't make any sound, he can only keep waving the flag

After about twelve minutes, some people rallied around the flag.

They don't recognize it and don't know what it means. They didn't understand why four golden lightning bolts passed through an Imperial Sky Eagle that was about to fly. They didn't know how many people had united under this flag or stood under its variants.

Bellos knew the answer, but he was too lazy to explain it. There was no need to explain it. This flag represents the courage and unity of humanity, a determination to kill all the scourges on Terra, and their fight for the Emperor.

Exactly at this moment.

This flag has been gone for a long time, and it was Bellos who re-sewed it. His craftsmanship is rough, but who cares?

A smile appeared on the flag-bearer's lips.

Countless mortals like him charged past him, colliding head-on with a swarm of Word Bearers. The Astartes are generally considered to be the main fighting candidates in the Great Crusade, and Belros knows this very well, just like the Thunder Warriors of the past. So, how much does it cost a mortal to kill an Astartes?

The answer is life.

It's enough to sacrifice your life.

Belros laughed silently, standing in front of the Word Bearers with an attitude that could be described as arrogant, waving the flag wildly.

He has experienced countless 'moments in history', full of glory and brilliance, and will receive heavy military medals as a commendation afterwards. These things will be written down and remembered. And this time I'm afraid it will be an exception. This is just a corner of the Royal Court of Luperkar.

It sounds cruel, but how many people care about the courage of a group of mortals?

Well, Bellos von Sharpe, chronicler of the Lords of Mankind and the Eighth Legion, remembers.

He will remember everything before he dies.

Take the recently deceased sergeant, who was cut in half by a Word Bearer, and the last thing he did before dying was to pull the trigger of his shotgun at the traitor's face.

The Astartes were also made of flesh and blood. They could fight regardless of pain, but they could not ignore the laws of physics - the knockback effect of the shotgun staggered him, forcing him to lose his balance.

Then someone picked up the sergeant's shotgun and fired a second shot at him.

He fell to the ground.

The mortal torrent instantly drowned him. Someone stabbed his eyes with a knife, someone smashed his armor with a gun butt, someone pointed a laser gun at the gap in the power armor and pressed the trigger, and some unarmed people chose to fall on him.

They roar, but their roar is soundless, like their death.

However, every death will be exchanged for a victory.

Belros continued to wave the flag, and only God knew how much he wanted to roar now. He was so old that he felt he had forgotten how to make a war cry.

He was wrong, it was instinctive and he never forgot it. Even now when he was not allowed to make a sound, he was still roaring in his heart, cheering for them, cheering for them, and crying for their sacrifice.

Yes, he is crying.

The narrator laughed and walked forward, walking leisurely in the hail of bullets.

It's not enough for him to dodge. There are no artillery bombardments, no swarms of fighter jets filling the sky, no magical creatures that will attack you from the ground, or powerful mutants, or modified flesh and blood tanks.

He walked forward, looking steadily straight ahead.

The space inside Luperkar's royal court has been expanded to a level that is terrifying enough, but Belros still doesn't care. He has seen many things a hundred times more terrifying than this.

His eyes passed through this battlefield and the next hell they would pass through, and the next hell.

He didn't give up until he saw that glow.

He waved the flag and declared to him.

We will fight for you as you fight for us. We will come to you just as you awaken us from our torpor. We will be your shield as you always stand before us.

The flag-bearer held his flag tightly, and suddenly, there was a roar of thunder in his ears, as if permission was given. So, in the next second, his roar echoed through the sky.

"For unity! For Holy Terra!"

This is the third voice, that of the Emperor's standard-bearer, used as a proclamation. Few knew his name or what his first slogan stood for, but they were inspired.

Everyone was inspired.

They run toward certain death.
-

Gavir Loken heard the thunder, and then he turned his head to avoid the attack of Gui Jianchou. Tarik Torgadun rushed out from his left side, raising his sword high and slashing at Ezekiel Abaddon.

The latter blocked with his sword and took several steps back. His face was completely filled with anger.

Loken couldn't help but laugh. He didn't understand why Ezekiel Abaddon could still show such an expression.

Then, sure enough, he saw Abaddon mouthing a silent rebuke.

traitor! Abaddon's face was consumed with rage. You once swore to fight for him, have you forgotten your oath? !

Tarik Torgadun shook his head at him, inserted his sword into the ground, and at the same time reached out to stop the fourth man—Little Horus, Horus Ashmand.

Screw your vows! Young Horus cursed. Do you know what your father said before he died? He said that thing would do evil all day long in his name! You're the only one stupid enough to see everything, Abaddon! Or maybe you are so shameless that you would rather deceive yourself than do the right thing!

I swore that I would fight for him. Unlike you, I am not a traitor.

In a corner of the battlefield, Ezekiel Abaddon slowly stood up straight. He faced three men, three brothers, two Luna Wolves, and one last Son of Horus.

What about him? Who is he? The corners of his eyes twitched, but that didn't make his hand that held Gui Jianchou tremble at all.

With one against three being an absolute disadvantage, Abaddon had every reason to turn this one-on-three battle into a hundred against three, or even a thousand against three. All he had to do was issue an order and retreat, waiting a few minutes for support to arrive.

However, for some reason, he didn't want to do that. This reason is very secret and special, and he is even a little reluctant to admit it. However, whether he wanted it or not, the fact had already happened.

He took the initiative to leave the group, and he took the initiative to wander around this battlefield, as if he knew that he would meet the other three people from the Four Kings Council, as if he understood that this was the end.

He tried to hold on to Guijianchou again.

Don't. Tarik Torgadun shook his head at him calmly. Don't do that. Throw down your weapons and surrender, Ezekiel, and you will be judged justly.

Go away, traitor! Abaddon glared at him. Don’t think I don’t know what you and Garviel Loken did without the knowledge of the Warmaster. You secretly colluded with other legions to destroy the flagship and kill your brothers! Are you worthy of calling me 'Ezekiel'? What kind of fair judgment are you worthy of?

He has gone crazy. Loken mouthed Torgadun and slowly raised his sword.

He walked towards Abaddon, and the two swords collided with each other in the next second. There was no doubt that this was another evenly matched battle.

They know each other well enough to turn any battle into a tedious back and forth where no one gets hurt or even bleeds.

Both of them obviously possess superhuman physiques and extraordinary skills, and with genuine murderous intent, they try to chop off each other's heads, but they are unable to truly win.

They were just in a stalemate, that's all. Two minutes later, amid the dancing sparks of the disintegration force field, Loken and Abaddon took a few steps back together, staring at each other. Even the frequency of breathing was so similar.

come. Abaddon laughed, his pale face full of sarcasm. Let's go together. Don't you still want to pay attention to the so-called fairness? Come and kill me, once and for all.

Tarik Torgadun approached him with his sword, but the sword was not actually raised.

Raise your sword! Otherwise I will kill you!

You know what, Ezekiel? Togaton shook his head calmly. Father didn't blame you, he just said you were a stubborn, stupid kid.

You are indeed very stubborn and stupid. If you decide on something, you must go to the end, otherwise you will never give up. But it's not because of these two qualities that you don't want to see the truth. You are just cowardly.

He took a step back and finally slowly raised his sword in an invitation. He wanted Abaddon to engage in a deadly duel with him on swords.

Abaddon's face began to twitch, he raised the ghost, slapped Togaton's sword away, and slashed at him. This attack has no rules at all, it is more like a kind of catharsis in despair.

Togaton easily blocked and counterattacked, not only knocking Gui Jianchou away, but also placing his sword across Abaddon's neck, but the decomposition field did not activate.

Abaddon felt nothing but coldness.

He opened his eyes in disbelief and saw Tarik Torgadun's eyes that were completely different from those of the past. The former gentleness could no longer be seen in those eyes, only coldness and sadness. Nothing else.

At this moment, for some reason, Ezekiel Abaddon suddenly thought of the water garden.

Why don't you.? he asked with difficulty.

Killing you here would be a relief for you, but you don't deserve relief, Ezekiel. Togaton interrupted him as expected and answered like this.

You need a fair trial, and you need to tell everything you know and see clearly. Do you know why? Because we want to clear the name of Horus.

He took a serious step back and raised his hand to point at a blazing light in the distance. It has risen, half golden and half scarlet, as dazzling as the sun.

The thing inside fighting the Emperor is not our father.

Our father would not slaughter his crew, pluck out their eyes, and hang them upside down in his court.

Our father would not stab his brother through the chest with a power claw, or throw his brother's offspring into the gladiatorial arena and ask them to kill each other for fun.

Our Father will not let the galaxy and Terra live in ruins, nor will he associate with these demons.

So who is he? Abaddon asked with hollow anger. Tell me, Tariq, who is he? !

is it. Togaton said. You should ask, what is it.

He put down his sword, moved closer to Abaddon, and put a hand on his shoulder.

Come with us, brother. It is not too late, now you can still atone for your sins, you can still tell the world that your father died fighting hard, and only after that did his body be desecrated and taken away. He is no traitor I implore you, Ezekiel.

Togaton said with a hint of pleading. Abaddon looked at him tremblingly, wanting to answer, and his lips even curved into the word 'good', but he was unable to finish the sentence.

His trembling turned into a convulsion in just half a second, and Torgadon quickly stepped back to find that Abaddon's eyes had turned black. Immediately afterwards, the sky-high braids suddenly fell apart, and he shook his head disheveled. After a few seconds, blood quietly bloomed from his eyes.

Then they heard a voice, the first voice.

its sound.

"You want to instigate rebellion against my last loyal heir?" it asked. "It's a pity that Ezekel is completely loyal to me. He is the last member of the Council of Four Kings, unlike you, who is a despicable traitor."

As he spoke, Abaddon's body began to gradually change. He was wailing as if he was being torn apart alive. And judging from the results, this is probably true.

His body was stretched in the blood, but his armor became tattered, and his internal organs suddenly fell from the hole in his abdomen, splashing a pool of dark dust.

The blood light continued to bloom, and some new chaotic power began to reshape him, allowing him to recover, but it was very rough, like a child playing with mud, using crude techniques and a careless attitude to create a specious monster.

Judging from the appearance, he is probably Abaddon. The details of his eyebrows and body size are no different from those of Ezekiel Abaddon.

However, just staring at him, Horus Ashmand felt an urge to vomit - this was not Ezekiel Abaddon. In just a moment, he was sure of this.

It looked like him, but it was already something else, something completely opposite to human beings, completely opposite, but yet so similar that it was disturbing. Moreover, this was only an appearance.

What exactly is it?

Tarik Torgadun had no answer. He just raised his sword and tried to block, but it failed to work. In the bloody light, his chest was instantly pierced by Gui Jianchou, and blood spattered.

Ezekiel Abaddon let out a sob that was his last voice.

Then, there is just nothingness.
-

"You can't win, father. You can't win because you don't know how to win against me," said Horus Luperkar.

"I don't need to win," the Emperor said.

"But how long can you hold on? Your plans and back-ups require your strength to proceed. You are their pillar, and you no longer have any extra strength to share with those weak mortals. Am I right? Father?"

"You are wrong," the Emperor retorted slowly.

"is it?"

"They are my support," the Emperor said. "Every bit of courage is especially valuable, and every death makes hope shine brighter. They are winning for me, and you only have a bunch of cursed lifeless people, and some pathetic traitors."

"What innocent words," Horus scoffed. "I can't believe this is what a monarch should say. Can't you see the reality? Their deaths mean nothing and you can't win."

"Like I said, I don't need to win," the Emperor repeated again.

His face was hidden in the stars, and his voice came from the barbaric era, traveling through endless dimensions and waves of chaos, and was reshaped in the energy of the subspace, and one ritual after another was completed continuously.

Time began to jump randomly, one time it was the Middle Ages, and the other time it was a habitable planet in the interstellar era. He is hidden in these places, between time and space, places that once existed but now no longer exist.

At a certain moment, he held a ring tightly. He held it so tightly that it dug into his palm and blood flowed out, drowning it.

"So, what do you need?" Horus chased after him, engulfing his body at this moment, and asked cruelly with his mouth full of blood.

The Emperor answered with his sword.

He didn't need to win, someone else was going to win this battle, and he

What he wants to win is the future of mankind.

(End of this chapter)