40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 782 3. The Evil Visitor
For Lebor Tokar, everything that happened in the past two hours seemed like a dream.

First, his old lover and subordinate contacted him without his permission and said that she might have been exposed. But, in the name of pleasure, how could this be possible?
You know, his sect had been planning about Balinda Lessoron's identity 310 years ago. From her birth, schooling, to her failed medical examination, to her connection with the gangsters of A-7-.
All of this has traces to follow, and no matter who investigates, they will never be able to find out anything.

Secondly, his subordinates also said that the spiritual power of the Soul-Taking Needle had disappeared.

When Lebor heard this, he didn't even react to what she was saying at first.

The spirit disappeared? The spirit that was forged from the bodies of the most loyal followers of the Joy Dancers through complex sacrificial rituals just disappeared like that? Could it be that the damn stubborn old thing that always obstructed them had somehow become a psyker?
But there was no way the woman who was now Balinda Lessorone could lie about such a thing. She might have been a shameless liar, like all of them, but now she was reborn.

Her new life comes from the gift of the Joy Dancer, as does her blood, and the Dancer will never tolerate betrayal.

Unless that betrayal could bring enough happiness.

With this in mind, he did wonder if Balinda had really betrayed him, but the woman's subsequent mention of the regular meetings dispelled his doubts.

After all, what traitor would be foolish enough to run back to base camp and attend a routine meeting with all members of the sect after he might be exposed?
However, in order to confirm, Lebor still made preparations and asked the woman to come to his home.
Yes, his home is located in the quiet and warm 'Artist's Harbor', a small residential area with an independent ecological dome.

His house was not very conspicuous among them, and there were almost no visitors on weekdays. Compared with other artists living here, his place was completely deserted and extremely quiet.

This was the biggest reason why he joined the sect.

However, if one calculates the time carefully, he has been a believer for nearly twelve years. According to the elders in the sect, this is a very good year, which means that in another six years, Lebor will be able to get a new promotion.

By then, he will go one step further, from a gentleman with a noble appearance to a handsome man like a god. His arms will be slender and white, with explosive power, and most importantly, his "perception" will become more sensitive.

Happiness, pain, sorrow. All these will become his food, just like everyone else.

—If that strange voice hadn’t come from the other end of Balinda Lessoron’s communicator.

"Okay." The man said. "I will visit you soon. Please wait for a moment."

When Lebor heard this voice, everything in his heart completely disappeared, and he didn't even have the energy to be angry at the damn traitor Balinda.

Like a whirlwind, he rushed into his basement and completely destroyed everything related to the sect and the beliefs of the Joy Dancers.

He learned from the sect how to deal with these things: objects made of human skin were dissolved with specially formulated acidic substances, and secondary creations of "artworks" were completely killed and then burned with promethium flames.
Leibor completed the above two steps very quickly. Amid the last cries of the long-dead babies, his eyes turned to the last and most difficult two pieces of evidence - a pair of bone carvings and a painting drawn in blood.

Looking at them, his heart was filled with pain and he even shed tears involuntarily.

The bone carvings were made from his own body when he was still a mortal, and it took him two full years to complete them. The painting was even more extraordinary, and its raw materials came from a regular meeting, when a high-ranking believer admired his artistic creation and specially drew a part of his own blood and gave it to him.

The blood of that lord was fragrant, and he tasted a little of it himself, and the taste was so delicious that he felt like he was in heaven.
He wanted to lick them all clean, or fill the entire bathtub and soak himself in it until the blood dried, but he was a painter after all.

With that bucket of blood, he painted the masterpiece before him - the naked, pious, fanatically prostrating human Lord at the feet of the dancers.

He used this painting as a springboard to his first promotion. It is his life, and the biggest reason why he is who he is today.

"Oh, oh"

Lebor knelt down under the painting in agony, covering his head and wailing, completely forgetting about escaping.

The fear temporarily left him, and was replaced by true mourning.

Sweat wet his soft blond hair, tears dripped from his blue eyes and slid down his white cheeks.
In a trance, he saw a flash of light, a silver light.

It seemed like a mirror, reflecting his current appearance - how pitiful it was! The fragility of a woman and the heroism of a man, the androgynous, the smooth skin under the gauze
Lebor immediately fell in love with himself at this moment. He trembled uncontrollably, hugged himself, cried, and whispered his love.

But he forgot one thing: there were no mirrors in his basement.

The silver light fell, turned back once, and then fell again.

"I told you I'd be visiting soon," a voice said to him. "You don't seem to take it to heart."

Lebor covered his face, or what had been his face—a whole piece of skin, half a nose, lips, and fragments of bone. He stared in shock at the pile of flesh and bones in his hands, and for a moment he even forgot to speak.

It took him more than ten seconds to realize the pain.

He screamed, but the visitor ignored him.

He walked to the barrel of mixed strong acid that Lebor had prepared in advance, looked down inside, then turned his head to glance at another metal barrel that was burning with promethium flames.

Finally, he looked up at the painting, then walked to a wooden table and grabbed a pair of bone carvings on it.

They were delicately carved into a man and a woman embracing each other, their faces blurred but their figures enough to bear the highest admiration and the lowest fantasy.
The visitor brought them to Lebor, handed them out, showed them to him, then clenched his fist and let the powder fall through his fingers.

Lebor suddenly felt an unspeakable pain in his flesh. No, no, it was deeper than that, the pain came from the depths of his soul.

It was so violent that it destroyed his sanity in an instant. He didn't know why it happened. In fact, he didn't know anything now. He had become a faceless creature that only knew how to wail and rolled around in this filthy basement.

The visitor let him suffer this extreme agony for a while, then bent down and lifted him up.

Lebol knew nothing about this and continued to scream loudly, with tears, snot and tissue fluid constantly flowing down his face.

It seems like he is annoyed, or he just wants to move on to the next stage.
In short, the visitor raised his right hand, put his fingers together, and pierced Lebor's wide-open mouth with four fingers like swords, while his thumb pierced deeply into his chin like an iron hook.

Then he gently exerted force and pulled off Lebor's tongue and entire jaw.

Blood gushed out, and Lebor fell to the ground, still shaking, dead or alive. But for some reason, he didn't make a sound anymore. "Let's give him some time to calm down," the visitor said.

He turned and looked at a woman at the basement entrance, smiling and gesturing.

In extreme fear, the woman took a step forward. She thought the visitor wanted to let her pass, but in fact, the gesture was not meant for her.

A hand fell like a mountain, pressing on her shoulder. A voice sounded, exactly the same as the visitor's, just as soft and gentle, but full of coldness.

"He didn't call you."

The woman whimpered and fell to the ground, curled up, hugged herself, and prayed continuously. The owner of the hand sneered, stepped over her, and walked to the center of the basement.

"How is it?" asked the visitor.

"We found something interesting in the safe in the study," the man replied in a low voice, still with a cruel smile in his voice. "He also carefully set up a pressure trap and a self-destruct device. It seems that we have encountered a very resourceful organization."

The visitor did not speak, but nodded, and the man continued.

"Inside the safe was his identification, then some correspondence, mostly with a few local patrons of the arts. Nothing special about it. A large sum of money, and some gold. And finally, this."

He stretched out his left hand and handed out a black hexagonal box. Its surface was very smooth, but it didn't look like it had been polished, as if it was born in this shape.

Other than that, there was nothing special about it. The visitor picked it up and looked at it, and found a small trigger mechanism at the bottom.

He plucked it, and the hexagonal box unfolded itself gracefully and lightly, with the top blooming like a flower, and then a soft and pleasant music slowly sounded.

The visitor listened to it calmly, but without making any comment, he returned with the box to Lebor, who had somehow stopped trembling, and threw it down.

The hexagonal box fell against Lebor's cheek with a bang, fragments flew everywhere, and several long black needles inside rolled out, shining a dull light.

The promethium flame crackled.

"The Soul-stealing Needle, is that what it's called?" the visitor said patiently. "According to the Empire's definition, this is a third-class evil object, meaning anything that specifically causes people to fall and corrupt."

"However, you are indeed quite creative. You actually thought of using your own soul as a sacrifice, which is considered a devious method even in a cult, to make people silently fall seriously ill, and then suddenly and miraculously recover one day. Even if your personality changes drastically because of this, it is understandable."

"Who would have thought that the reason for their personality changes was because they were replaced?"

Lebor slowly raised his head, looking very unbelievable. Every muscle fiber in his skinless face was throbbing, and his eyeballs were almost sliding out of their sockets. His fear was obvious, and then some vague sounds sounded - it seemed that he was finally going to speak.

The visitor laughed, squatted down and shook his head affectionately.

"Hush, hush, forget it," he said. "Don't bother yourself. Look at yourself, Mr. Ryder. How are you going to speak now? You don't even have a tongue. So, yes, you are right. I didn't say that to you just now."

He stood up, still smiling, but turned and walked towards the basement door without hesitation.

Ryder immediately cried out in panic, the sound that burst out of his throat was so sincere. He couldn't speak, but his plea didn't need words as a carrier.

He squirmed, stretched out his hands with all his might, and actually grabbed the visitor's trouser leg.

The latter slowly stopped and looked back, and his smile had disappeared.

Ryder let go of his hand as if struck by lightning.

The visitor calmly pointed behind him.

The action was so gentle, yet so irresistible, that when Ryder looked back, he saw hundreds of pale, bloody hands suddenly reaching out from the darkness of his basement and grabbing his body tightly.

Each finger was like a sharp knife, piercing into his body.

He screamed in fear, his voice loud and clear, as if he had suddenly gained wisdom and knew that he was a lamb about to be slaughtered.

"They are waiting for you," the visitor said. "Don't keep them waiting too long."

As soon as he finished speaking, Ryder disappeared from the spot and was dragged into the darkness.

He left behind only a long trail of blood, spreading and spreading on the stone bricks, extending to those places not illuminated by the firelight, those corners belonging to the dead.

The sounds of a baby's contented chewing and strange laughter began to echo.

Balinda Lessoron stared at the corner where Ryder disappeared, stunned and silent, until a shadow covered her.

She looked up and saw a pair of eyes that were also shrouded in shadows.

"Now it's your turn," the visitor said. "Would you mind telling me about your sect? I might be interested."

He didn't need to say anything more because Balinda Lessorone screamed out everything.
-
"When are we leaving?" the tall robot bodyguard asked in the night.

"Now," replied the merchant, who was about to go to Nuceria to sell water. "I never like to keep people waiting too long."

"I think so too." The robot servant grinned.

They walked side by side through the colorful night, crawling on the energy transmission pipelines between buildings and fighting against the cold temperature. Hot steam rose and merged with the cheap light. People came and went, filling the streets and alleys. Countless dirty puddles reflected everything indifferently, and passers-by avoided them for fear of getting themselves dirty.
Only occasionally, a foot would step directly into one of the dirty puddles, without a care in the world, wanting only to destroy the numb scene.

(End of this chapter)