40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 730 22. Catching Eagles (Eight, 7.5K, the Limit of Pain)

Ten thousand years later, how many people will there be in the Third Legion?

Before today, Fulgrim could give a definite answer.

Five hundred and twenty-nine.

But now, he no longer dared to confirm.

He had long anticipated that this disaster would inevitably lead to extremely serious casualties in the legion. Every one of his descendants would stand up in the face of disaster regardless of the consequences.

Perhaps it's because they were taught too well, or perhaps it's just because they are bound by the tradition of "having to uphold the honor of the Third Legion"
But, no matter what, Phoenix understood that his legion would suffer heavy losses in this war.

He did not want to think about it, but he accepted it - as Astartes, as children of the Emperor, dying in such a war was their destiny, and what they had pursued all their lives.

To die in battle, to die protecting the defenseless, what could be a more worthy ending for a warrior?

Even if the Third Legion was completely extinct after today, he would accept it. Because this was the choice of his descendants, and they carried out the name of the Emperor's Children with their own will.
But he would never accept what was happening.

"What do you think, my lord? Come on, step forward and end their suffering." Typhons leaned on his sickle, panting, and whispered slowly.

His voice echoed in the cave, and the thick fungal carpet and the mosses that had grown wildly due to the infection of the rotten flesh and pus of the Great Unclean Ones bounced it back softly, distorting it, tainting it with an undesirable dampness, and making the low, muffled hums born of torture even more obvious.

The sword in Phoenix's hand began to tremble - in front of him, a thing whose existence he didn't know how to describe was slowly moving forward under the guidance of the evil power of chaos and the influence of the fungal blanket.

It was bloated, with a circular appearance, but that was actually just a poor imitation of the true circle shape. It was just a mass of dying Emperor's Children twisted into a mass by some external force.

A ball, a collection of the Emperor's children who have been tortured, sown with plague, their flesh and blood melted by some kind of germ and their bones blackened, and who are unable to live or die.

Fulgrim recognized every one of them - how could he not recognize his own children? From the operating table without anesthesia to the training ground, from the armor ceremony to the independent work.
He was involved in every major moment of their lives, in other words, they were actually involved in his every day.

In a sense, they are the continuation of his life, his interpretation of the word "hope", and one of the reasons why he dares to face this dark future.

But now, they look like this.

"Forty-nine, a gift to our great grandfather." Typhons continued to pant and narrate, vowing to continue the torture to the end. "Your offspring are very tenacious, but fortunately we always have some grace to share."

He walked forward slowly, took a few steps, stopped in front of the profane Ball of the Dead, and patted the cheek of one of the princes with his left hand.

He immediately trembled and suddenly experienced a spasm, and the arm that was stuck in his brother's gaping chest began to shake uncontrollably, bringing up the blood that was gradually turning into a sticky dark color.

He was in great pain, and he didn't know whether it was blood or tears flowed from his already cloudy eyes, but this could not exempt him from Typhons' generous gift.

After a few seconds, he opened his mouth and began to vomit - pieces of meat, bones, blood, and internal organs - he vomited out everything, but still did not die.

He was nothing more than a hollow, shrunken shell, encased in crumbling ceramic steel, linked to his brothers in what would likely be eternal torture.

Phoenix stood there trembling all over, and there were some indescribable sounds coming from behind his helmet. He could feel that the fungus blanket and the cave were returning all the pain of his offspring to him, like an echo wall, reaching his ears and making him feel the same.

Scabelathax watched the scene with fascination - it was not only concerned with Typhons' superb skills in sowing the plague, but also the strong emotions that arose in the hearts of the Emperor's children and Fulgrim at this moment.

It rushed around in this cave, being wrapped, absorbed, and released by the ubiquitous fungal blanket. It could fully perceive the details. As a great unclean being, as an outstanding plague spreader, how could it not pay attention to these extremely important details?
Pain, regret, anger, numbness, it especially loves the last one, the balance between life and death is extremely fascinating, checks and balances each other, transforms each other, everything in the world cannot escape its law.

Just as its loving grandfather had taught it: You must never let those weak souls face decay and withering directly, you must first let them die, and then let them live again. Repeat this cycle until they transcend the line between life and death and see immortality.

It came to the other end of the ball with a smile, intending to take out its little collection and use it, but it did not do it directly.

The reason is simple, it respects Typhus.

The latter has been deeply involved in the material world for many years, and has already proved his ability with one world and soul after another captured by Nurgle. Moreover, he is also a very good plague breeder.

Unlike other members of its species, Scarabellasax will not feel any dissatisfaction towards those outstanding newcomers unless they first develop jealousy and hostility towards it.

It has a tolerant heart and believes that the love of a kind father should be shared by everyone - from this point of view, perhaps it can also explain why it can stand in the garden for endless years.

The Great Unclean Ones come and go, but Scarabelasax remains forever, and its existence is a testament to my grandfather's dedication to kindness and friendship.
It looked at Typhus, who nodded slightly, and it smiled slightly.

The next second, one of the forty-nine was pulled out by it, with a loud and muffled breaking sound, and the emperor's son was held in its hand.

It carefully looked at the poor being who was about to die, put down the big knife, and gently touched his exposed spine and ribs with the index finger of its right hand. But it obviously didn't expect that such a gentle touch would also shatter those bones.

The Great Unclean One looked at Typhons again with embarrassment, then opened his mouth and exhaled a burst of eerie green light, which enveloped the prince.
When the smoke cleared, the prince had become a completely different person. His armor had shrunk completely, like a slab of stone embedded in his swollen, almost translucent body, and underneath was some strange black.

His eyeballs had become a home to hollows and pits, where mold and parasites swam freely, but he still retained his sight - in the hands of the Great Unclean One, he turned his body sideways in this shrunken posture in extreme pain.

He didn't want the Primarch to see his face, didn't want his father to recognize who he was through that unrecognizable face.

Real tears rolled down from the tear glands that were still intact. The Great Unclean One looked at him sadly, empathizing with his tenacious vitality, but also ecstatic that he could withstand such an extremely delicate evolution of the plague.

It turned around and put the prince back with a dexterity that was completely contrary to the word clumsy, and deliberately made his face face inwards to prevent his wishes from being violated.
"As I said, your offspring are very tenacious." Typhons' voice gradually became more certain. "Each of them is an excellent breeding ground for the plague."

"Ahhhhhhhhh-!"

With a broken roar - or rather a scream - Fulgrim transformed into a bolt of lightning, hurtling straight towards Typhons and Scarabellax.

His caution disappeared, and was replaced by madness, which was exactly what Typhon had expected.

He knew what Fulgrim and his legion had experienced during the Great Crusade, and he knew that no matter how strong the will of the Chemoss was, it would never be possible for them to continue to embrace reason under such circumstances.
He watched Fulgrim step onto the fungal creep.

An expression that could hardly be called a smile slowly blossomed as the facial muscles that had become stuck to the helmet worked, like a rotten but still blooming flower.

In short, Phoenix stepped onto the fungal mat.

"Come on." Typhus said softly.

Countless Nurglings emerged from the fungal blanket, giggling with contradictory expressions that combined malice and innocence.

They had been waiting for a long time in the thick jungle, and Fulgrim had been right to be cautious, but he had now completely abandoned them, and the fat little demons immediately seized upon him.

They jumped onto his legs, hugged his ankles, pulled his arms, bit him with their teeth, hit him with their funny fists, and rammed the sharp horns of their foreheads into the armor plates. They used all their strength and made the Phoenix completely unable to move in just two seconds.

They called out Scarabellasax's name in joy and laughter.

The Great Unclean One responded with a happy smile, the big knife already in its hand.

It rushed towards the immobile Phoenix, knocked it away with a slash, and then followed up with a heavy chop, slamming Fulgrim into the deep of the fungal blanket from more than ten meters in the air.

This heavy Nurgle creation did not reduce the impact force at all. Phoenix was even unable to move for a moment. He fell into a deep pit created by the strange power of the Great Unclean One.
But the monster didn't let him go.

It rushed over with a loud laugh, praising the Nurglings for their cleverness, picked up Fulgrim with one hand and threw him away, then charged closer again.

The big knife was held in its fat hand in a weird and funny posture, and its long-blunted tip pierced through Phoenix's chest half a second later, nailing him to the rock wall.
Boiling blood gushed out from the wound and the connection between the helmet and the power armor, and the situation was reversed in an instant.

Typhons limped forward; it would take some time for him to recover from his injuries.

The injury was not caused solely by Fulgrim. He was summoned from the Material Plane to the Garden by Nurgle in a short period of time, and then sent from the Garden to the Material Plane to Chemos. The interval between the two was too short, and he had no time to resist the influence of the veil.

But it's all worth it.

"How's that, Typhons?" Scarabellasax looked at him happily and whistled again. "I told you that we would work together happily, didn't we?"

"Of course, my lord." Typhons bowed to it. "After this, I think your ranking will rise to the first place."

The Great Unclean One smiled and waved his hand, very gently throwing down a piece of its own rotten flesh and feeding it to the group of Nurglings that had just tied up Fulgrim for two seconds.

"Hey, that ranking is not important at all. Grandfather set it up just to give us something to do in our long lives - otherwise we would just stay in the garden all day like some people. By the way, speaking of this, where is the damn gardener? Now it's his turn to take the stage."

Typhons looked sideways into the depths of the cave, feeling the breeze, he nodded, turned around and said, "Lord Slimx will be here soon, but I think we can start preparing now."

"Go ahead, Typhons, you deserve it, your plan worked perfectly."

Scarbelathax answered like this, and then immediately turned and walked aside, teasing the group of Nurglings, his laughter sometimes high and sometimes low, without interruption.

Typhons bowed to it again, then holding the scythe, he slowly approached the phoenix nailed to the rock wall. Just a glance, he could see how miserable Fulgrim's situation was at the moment.

In the previous battle, one of the important reasons why he was able to confront Scarbelathax head-on was that he was not hindered by anything and could give full play to his swordsmanship to play to his strengths and avoid his weaknesses. This was also the reason why he was always reluctant to step onto the fungal blanket in front of them.

However, after that war, he eventually returned to his mortal form, which meant that Fulgrim's advantage would be instantly wiped out if he were to be directly hit by a Great Unclean One.

You know, Chemos is already filled with Nurgle's power at this moment, and the concentration in this underground cave is even more terrifying. It is very likely that Scarbelathax's appearance this time is its most powerful yet.
However, at this moment, Typhons discovered that Fulgrim was still holding the greatsword tightly.

A mere body of flesh and blood, hit head-on twice by such a force, actually still had the strength left to stick the sword in its broken hand bones?

it's a pity.

Looking at this noble Primarch from outside the attack range of the giant sword, he slowly shook his head.

"My Lord," Typhons said without any respect, deliberately using honorifics. "I think you have been defeated."

The person being questioned remained silent. He could hear heavy breathing behind his helmet, but it was not smooth, as if it was blocked by blood. "However, I believe you are familiar with the word failure." Typhons laughed. "Am I right, my lord? Do you remember your descendants? I mean, those who fought each other for you and killed each other for you."

Phoenix stared at him coldly, his gaze through the cracked goggles was strangely dead.

"Are you calling for revenge again?" Typhons asked again. "Ah, I think you are probably doing so, but unfortunately, you will no longer have the chance. The power of your grandfather has obscured the world, and the god is leading his army to attack the garden. He has no time to waste on you."

He laughed again, and this time it was loud and full of malice.

He turned around, walked to the ball of flesh and blood made up of the emperor's sons, and began to sow the plague on them one by one. The sound of flesh breaking was endless, and the uncontrollable screams came one after another.

Soon, he had personally seeded each of the forty-nine with a special plague taken from a cauldron used by Nurgle himself.

It will corrupt their flesh and soul, transforming it, bringing out the strongest emotion within them - overwhelming despair, drawing on whatever else is left and refining it.

Typhons could not help but feel a little emotional, he knew that his father had put a lot of effort into this. The kind old man called him into the garden and explained many things to Typhons in front of his hut.
He needs a new messenger to spread an unprecedented plague across the galaxy, which will bring his power to its peak. For no other reason than that the time of reincarnation has come.

He waited patiently and planned for ten thousand years, and was willing to let go, allowing the great plague that was once everywhere to recede like a tide, just for this moment - the moment when the human empire turned from decline to prosperity.

The Lord of Change threw away a vital authority ten thousand years ago, and since then, the empire has been slowly recovering. Today, they are even developing technology again. How can the loving father tolerate this moment that represents change and hope?
He is the God of Despair, the master of stagnation and decay. He will reverse all of this and completely shatter the hopes of the Imperials and the dreams of the Corpse Emperor.

Typhons exhaled a deep, deep breath of rancid air, patted the Emperor's Children who had fallen into coma, turned around, and took a last look at Fulgrim.

"Do you know how much our grandfather has worked for you?" he whispered. "He was even willing to pay a huge price to keep your legion's progress at a standstill."

"Stubborn, rotten, unable to replenish. He wanted to show you a more peaceful path after what you have experienced, but you sought out the evil god instead - so you have brought this upon yourself, Fulgrim. You deserve this damnation, but it does not matter."

He smiled again, and pointed to the path they had come from, which led to the deepest part of the cave. There, a creature riding on some strange multi-legged snail was approaching slowly.

It was dark green all over, and the decay common to Nurgle demons seemed to have no effect on its face. The bone shape under the single eye and the monotonous muscles together created an extremely boring and serious face.

As soon as it arrived, it brandished its pruning shears and walked towards the ball of flesh and blood next to Typhons with a stern face.

"Get out of the way!" it roared. "The flower of despair must be planted as quickly as possible, otherwise it will wither prematurely!"

Typhons tactfully made way for the humorless and old-fashioned gardener and turned to walk over to Scarbelathax.

The Great Unclean One looked down at him and suddenly asked, "Do you also find this guy annoying?"

"Lord Slimx did his duty."

The demon snorted, picked up a Nurgling that had drilled into its neck with dissatisfaction, threw it into its stomach, rewarded it with an intestinal speed slide, and then fell silent.

Apparently, even such an ancient and favored Great Unclean One as him did not want to disturb Slimx, Nurgle's chief gardener, while he was working.
In front of Fulgrim, the gardener began his work, first waking up the princes who were forced into coma by pain, and then cutting off their limbs with precision and speed.

The Emperor's son screamed silently. He no longer had any organs that could make any sound, but he had to scream. He had to find a way to release some of the pain he was feeling at this moment.

And he was not the only one. All the princes who were touched by Slimx's pruning shears showed the same symptoms, but only a few of them were lucky enough to make a sound.
Seeing this scene, Typhons was stunned for a moment. Even for his bloated body, this posture was very obvious. The Great Unclean One standing beside him was the same. On that ugly and ferocious face, a bit of incredible humanized expression emerged.

"That's--?!" It lowered its voice and growled in shock. "Father, am I seeing things?!"

"I'm afraid you're not mistaken," Typhus replied in a low voice.

There are stories about Slimx and his pruning shears, and they are all popular in the garden, and every Nurgling knows how he prunes the plants that belong to his father. But his pruning shears do not have this ability, this ability to make people feel the purest despair.

With a shudder Typhons confirmed it - it was a pair of pruning shears once used by Nurgle himself.

Once again, he had a new appreciation for how serious Nurgle was regarding this sacrifice.

No wonder the loving father was willing to pay the price himself to send these demons with names and surnames to Chemos one by one, and no wonder He said that he would personally command the creatures in the garden to deal with the invaders. He was determined to capture Fulgrim and would not tolerate any mistakes.

Typhons bowed his head in awe and shock, paying his respects to the pruning shears.

A few minutes later, the gardener finished his work. The ball of flesh and blood had disappeared, and the ground was covered with a black color that was almost like withering.

They were once the limbs and torsos of the emperor's sons, but now they looked like this. Their heads were smashed one by one by the gardener who swung the pruning shears at an extraordinary speed, and then ground into ashes with a sickly pale color.

It held them in its hands, jumped off its mount, and slowly walked towards Fulgrim, who was still unable to move on the wall.

He looked extremely sad and desperate - and that was indeed the case.

This is true. Whether it is the gardener himself, the Great Unclean One, or Typhons, they can all sense this through the echoes in the cave and the feedback from the surrounding moss.
Thus, the Gardener was unsuspecting of the Primarch, who still held his weapon, and simply stepped closer, thrusting the embers with its long, slender fingers into the wound on Fulgrim's breastplate.

The situation was exactly as it had expected, nothing changed. Fulgrim did not resist at all, but leaned against the rock wall with his head tilted like a numb zombie, allowing it to complete the task peacefully.

The gardener nodded with satisfaction, and immediately began to prepare to call upon the power of Nurgle. It wanted the flower of despair to bloom as soon as possible, the sooner the better, so that things could become a foregone conclusion.

It bent down and sat beneath Fulgrim like an old peasant, placing the pruning shears on its knees, closing its eyes, and began to recite a poem in praise of Nurgle in a language that cannot be described.

Typhons and Scarabellax closed their eyes and joined the gardener in chanting.
And because of this, they missed something crucial.

"boom--!"

A thunder-like muffled sound suddenly arose in the cave.

Typhons opened his eyes in disbelief. What did he see?
A phoenix that has escaped from its trap, or a group of demons that have swarmed out and appeared here at an inopportune time?

No, neither. What he saw was the tiny figure of Gardener Slimx and his pruning shears being neatly cut in two from top to bottom by a huge, dark sword.

The sword had been stuck in Fulgrim's completely shattered hand, powerless and harmless, but it now shone with unparalleled power with an indescribable brilliance.

Or, fury.

"No!"

Scarabellasax let out a sad cry. It was not that it was sad about the gardener's death, but it could not accept that this perfect plan failed at the most critical moment.
How could this happen? How could this happen? It screamed in anger and jumped on the spot. The Nurglings that were so happy a few minutes ago all hid in its body in fear, fearing that they would be affected.

"crunch-"

Like metal rubbing against metal, a hand grasped Scarbelathax's rusty sword and slowly pulled it out. More blood gushed out from the wound that was so terrible that it was almost a huge hole in the chest.

But the owner of this blood managed to stand firm on his own.

He pulled off his helmet with one hand, and instead of throwing it away, he gently hung it on his belt. The face that was exposed did not have a mad smile, nor did it have the calmness caused by the extreme rage.

It was an abyss, and all emotions disappeared without a trace.

Chemos's phoenix began to run, dragging the sword with one hand, as fast as a blood-stained purple shadow.

He was extremely wounded, he was still in despair. The cave transmitted all this back to Typhons and Scarabellax in its entirety and without omission, but it also covered it with something else and transmitted it into their hearts.

Its name is fear.

The third second after landing, Phoenix arrived in front of the Great Unclean One. He thrust the sword blade buried deep in the fungus blanket and stone, and slashed into the fat flesh, like slashing into the undulating waves.

The Great Unclean One belatedly began to counterattack. Its counterattack began with a roar and a swing of its right fist, and ended with a blue sword light that was brighter than ever.

The darkness in the cave disappeared completely, and Phoenix kept swinging the sword, swinging the sword, and swinging the sword until Scarabellasax was completely turned into a pile of steaming rotten meat.

How fast was he? No one knew. How angry was he? Typhons beside him knew it clearly.

The cave still faithfully performs the function it was created for. It allows Typhus to carefully experience every emotion that the Phoenix has at this moment. Like peeling off a cocoon, he reaches the depths of Fulgrim's heart at the junction of life and death.

He saw forty-nine Emperor's Children, or rather, their despair, their regret, their pain, and -

hope.

He heard a word from the forty-nine Sons of the Emperor who had been enduring the ordeal without saying a word and who only screamed in agony when things were at their limit.

"Please save everything, Father."

This sentence had been buried deep in their hearts since they were fused into a ball of flesh and blood by the witchcraft, and they had never spoken it out. Even when they fell into a coma due to excessive pain, this sentence had never been expressed or spoken out before they found an opportunity.

They hid it so deeply and so well that Typhon and the others didn't even have a chance to notice it before.

Typhons was extremely confused - how could this happen? How could they do such a thing? They couldn't possibly have the strength to resist in that situation.
"Oh, they do," Phoenix said hoarsely. "They are the Emperor's Children."

A flash of light representing destruction flashed before Typhons' eyes, and before he could react, he felt a sense of emptiness in his waist.
Nurgle's blessing began to fade away quickly, and incomparable pain rushed into his corrupt body. He screamed more miserably than ever before, and looked down, but saw only his lower body lying on the ground.

The phoenix reached out and grabbed his horn, dragging him into the deepest part of the cave as if he were dragging garbage, while he screamed.

"There are two more." He took the time to say to Typhons, his voice still calm. "Live for now, traitor, and let me kill them for you to see."

Amid the gushing blood, he slowly smiled.

(End of this chapter)