40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 55 55. The Great Cleansing ([-])

It came as promised.Khalil thought.

Standing on top of a minaret, he looked down.

Quintus after the rain always exudes an unbearable bad smell, and the rotten stench of acid rain is far from the limit.

Puddles on the pavement produce a more complex chemical smell after a short stay, and every detail in the Quintus is pushing this smell to the top.

In a sense, the rain can also represent a side of Nostramo-whenever you think this is the worst side it can present to you, it will always give you a better copy. bad.

This world seems to be conscious, deliberately mocking you in this way.

However, for Khalil, what is really unbearable at this moment is not the complicated and bad smell, but a kind of confusion that ordinary people cannot detect.

The latter is more unbearable than the former.

He looked silently towards another block 300 meters away, where gunshots were already erupting.

The big purge came as promised, and the family that had promised to enter the nest had disappeared, but the gangs obviously did not intend to give up this glorious tradition.The gunfire tonight was more intense than every night before, and the whole city fell into madness.

A thought arose in Khalil's mind.

They need it.

Shaking his head lightly, he jumped off the steeple and landed in a dark alley.

He didn't need to look to know what was on the street outside the alleyway—patrol gang members were holding guns, patrolling their territory.Few of them were still sane, and the smell of hallucinogens hung in the air.

Khalil came slowly to the entrance of the alley, he stepped over a sinkhole, leaning against the wall, very quiet.His breathing was almost imperceptible, and his tall body was completely hidden in the darkness.No one noticed his coming.

But he wants them to notice.

So he came out of the darkness.

A few pale faces found him, their dark eyes were full of dullness—a direct and naked danger signal suddenly appeared in the brain filled with primitive impulses such as violence.

Their brains started screaming, yelling and trying to make them escape.But they have no chance.

"Good evening," Khalil said.

His voice was soft, but loud enough for everyone on patrol to hear.There were 47 people in all, and they all heard his voice.

The next thing to do is very simple.

Dash forward, snatch the weapon, bend it, and throw it, killing anyone trying to run away.

Go ahead, snap two heads off, deflect one's spine with a careful kick, then crush his throat to save him from pain.

Step back, elbow, shatter two hearts.Bow to dodge incoming bullets, jump up, and strike again.Palms together form a knife, cutting horizontally, stabbing straight, and slashing.
kill.

After 1 minute, Khalil was the only one standing.

not enough.

He turned his head, sighed, and in the most ostentatious way rushed to the base of the steeple where he had stood.

The wall turned to powder, and he burst through it.

The gangs who heard the movement inside and wanted to come out to support instinctively looked this way, but their eyesight only had time to capture a fleeting shadow.And then, before they shoot, they hear a greeting.

"good evening."

There was a lot of gunfire - and then another 3 minutes of death spreading.

Khalil stood in the messy hall and nodded thoughtfully.The terrible smell of burnt metal and synthetic chemicals rushed into his nostrils, but the too strong smell of blood overwhelmed everything.

First gang. Solved.

How many more?
A number came to his mind, and Khalil laughed—the purge usually lasted three or four days, and one night was not enough for Quintus' gang to solve what they wanted to solve.

However, for Khalil, one night is enough.

He lowered his head and glanced at his blood-stained hands.

Killing to stop killing is not the answer, he knows it all too well.

If you want Nostramo to completely change, the first thing you need to do is to establish a passable order.At least it can't be worse than it is now, and to do this, I'm afraid it will take decades of hard work.

Building is always a hundred times harder than destroying.

But he has no time now.

In a sense, that gigantic ship in orbit around Nostramo at this very moment changed everything.Khalil can't see whether this change is good or bad for the time being, but he knows one thing.

In any case, it couldn't be worse than it is now.
-
"Tiger joins the sheep."

Roger Dorn shook his head: "This speed, this efficiency, is he planning to clean up this nest all night?"

"Perhaps it is."

Ferrus Manus nodded noncommittally. "He has cleared six gangs in the last 15 minutes and they are simply unstoppable."

The sound of their conversation echoed in the room, and the two giants stood on the left and right sides of a long table, and the holographic projection cast a blue light in the room.A red dot is moving rapidly through the hive of eerie spiers and stacked buildings.

"Have you persuaded him?" Don asked after a moment of silence.

"I just said I could help," Ferrus replied calmly.

"That's all, but he refused. I guess he felt that the new order brought by the power is not much different from the existing one in this hive, at least the workers can't tell the difference, they will only think that we Another institution that rules by violence."

"In a way" Dawn shook his head. "We are."

"But what he's doing now is no different than using violence to destroy everything."

Ferrus couldn't help sighing. In front of him was an exquisite long black box, made of wood with detailed carvings on the surface.

"He's a Nostramo."

Rogge Dorn crossed his arms and carefully observed the movement of the red dot on the holographic projection."That small difference is enough to change a lot of things," he said.

"He created an image."

Ferrus frowned. "A fearful image, a vengeful ghost—moving in the dark to avenge those who died in vain. When Conrad told this, I thought he was telling some ancient legend. , I didn’t expect it to be true.”

"So?" Don asked, staring at his brother as he asked the question.

"So, what can an image change?" Ferrus replied slowly.

"Is it possible that an image can awaken those who are numb? Conrad talked about the fire, but I have no idea how the fire can keep burning in a world where it rains all the time."

"Promethium."

".what?"

Dorn nodded calmly and slowly to his brother, his jaw raised so convincingly: "Promethium flame."

Ferrus' expression finally became a little weird, and he took a deep breath: "Is this a joke, Roger?"

"I'm not kidding."

"But the flame I just described doesn't exist in the real world, it's not a real flame, it's a kind of spirit or rebellious will—you can't use promethium as an example to refute me."

"I can."

"you can not."

"I've already refuted it."

Roger Dorn said seriously. "Promethium flames do burn in rain—and why do you suppose a fire of the kind he started couldn't burn in a Nostramo storm?"

"because."

Ferrus was stunned—yes, why?

He lowered his head, thought carefully for a while, and then agreed with his brother: "Maybe you are right, Rogge."

"Do not."

Rogge Dorn shook his head again at this moment, and Ferrus frowned at his reaction, a little puzzled.

"I don't know if I'm right, I'm just making a hypothesis, Ferrus."

"Assumption?"

"Yes, whether he can succeed or not, we have no answer. The complexity of Nostramo is rare for us."

"Actually, you and I both know how a world that feeds on people and even forms an atmosphere should be dealt with under normal circumstances. If it weren't for Conrad's obvious desire to transform this place."

He stopped talking, and Ferrus nodded silently.

"Anyway—"

Don supported the table with his hands and stared at the holographic projection. "—Let's talk about something else, it always strikes me as weird to talk about a one-and-a-half-year-old trying to remake a world like this."

"He's not without help either."

"His helper is far more pessimistic than him." Don said expressionlessly. "And his helpers who are about to arrive...their ideas may not be very positive."

"Conrad is their Primarch."

"It's not that I haven't been contradicted by my adjutant."

Don shook his head. "Everyone has their own ideas. It would be a bit too sad if just obedience to the father of genes can obliterate the cognition of right or wrong."

"That's true—but, are you implying that the Eighth Legion may directly launch a purge of the entire Nostramo, Rogge?"

"I'm not implying, that's what I feel and once they arrive, we're leaving."

Don's expression became a little serious. He frowned, and his eyes under the short gray hair narrowed slightly: "Do you think a one-and-a-half-year-old child can resist his criminal sons?"

Ferrus was silent for a moment, and then even chuckled lightly.

"Don't worry, Roger."

Facing Dawn's puzzled eyes, Ferrus let the smile on his face that should have been fleeting stay longer.

He said: "Conrad was very perceptive—Fogan would agree with me on that. And, even if it had happened, Caryl Rohals could not have remained indifferent."

"That's what I'm worried about," said Roger Dorn expressionlessly.

(End of this chapter)