40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 786 7. Fireworks Show (9.3K)

Night had fallen, but the temperature had not dropped at all, still dry and hot. Sevatar looked up and saw stars scattered in every corner, forming ribbons or discrete clusters. The moon stayed quietly where it belonged, enjoying the surrounding of the stars.

He hadn't seen such a clear night sky for a long time.

I won't talk about the situation in my hometown for now, after all, bringing it up in this kind of topic would only be a bore.
However, looking at the night scene, Sevatar recalled and was surprised to find that he had only seen such beautiful scenery on some garden worlds, which meant that the government of Nuceria must be very concerned about the natural environment of this planet.

The role played by Warhounds and Angron was probably not significant. After all, if you look closely, it was the Ultramarines who drew up the initial political and architectural blueprint for Nuceria when it was first reconquered.

As for later, the Sons of the Red Sand and his legions who participated in the Great Crusade obviously had no time to deal with the affairs of their homeland, but fortunately the Ultramarines did leave a very good foundation. It was so solid that when Angron returned here after the end of the Heresy, he even found that he had almost no problems to deal with.

Due to their painful past experiences, the people of Nuceria are extremely wary of corruption and other things, and because they are descendants of slaves, they also have a great passion for construction. It can even be said that even today, this passion has not faded.

However, its influence is not as great as it used to be.

Something is stirring in the shadows.

The War Dogs cannot see them. They have no tradition of getting involved in politics, and they do not want to get involved. Although they are still very closely connected with the people of Nuceria, some things can only be answered by going to every corner of the world in person.
As for Angron, he was busy with another matter and had no time to spare for the moment.

But it doesn't matter. Sevatar leaped up and thought to himself in the strong wind. Someone is very happy to do the dirty work.

Ten seconds later, his feet touched the ground without making any sound or even raising any dust. He had left the great city and was now heading west.

Kalil wanted him to find Iskandar Khayon tonight, which was not a difficult task. Sevatar had even locked on his location.

It is worth mentioning that this has nothing to do with psychic powers, but is entirely based on his intuition.
Everyone in the Eighth Legion got something different after death. Some got a magic sword, some became the embodiment of pure violence, and some were closely connected with darkness. So what about him? What did he get?
It is difficult to describe Sevatar in detail. After all, he is not dead at the moment - half-dead, this word can be used humorously.

However, one thing is certain.

His intuition, which had been constantly forced and evolved in the long and bloody struggle and hunt over the past ten thousand years, has merged with the suppressed gift of prophecy.

In other words, Sevatar can now foresee or divine certain things simply by his own thoughts without using psychic powers.

He had tested the accuracy of this new intuition not long ago, with the help of Kaiul Sahora, Skaldrik, Sheher Coldsoul and the Hunter.
Yes, he used this cheating method to beat them one by one in the duel cage, leaving them with bruises and bloody heads.

Although using it or not wouldn't actually affect the results, he did need some experimental subjects - and he really, really, really wanted to do it.

Besides, he didn't even thank them or apologize.

Who made you all want this job? This is our tradition.
The First Son of the Night grinned happily and continued to run towards the direction where he sensed Khayon was.

Speed ​​has always been his strong point, and it is even more so now. With just his feet, Sevatar completely left Bastola City and arrived at a desert in less than an hour.

This place is deserted, with only a few unfinished tourist camps at the edge.

The workers played the piano and sang in their own dormitory area. The aroma of barbecue wafted from far away, attracting some desert predators to come over hungry, but they left in anger when they realized that this was human territory.

Fortunately, Sevatar did not have this trouble. He sneaked into the construction area, climbed up an unfinished observation tower, and used its height to observe the surroundings. Soon, he located a slightly special area at the end of the desert.

There were tall rocks everywhere, which, although severely weathered, still had the most basic shapes. And under the guidance of his intuition, Iskandar Khayon was deep in this huge rock.

Sevatar jumped down again and landed silently in the depths of the desert, but did not approach rashly.

Iskandar Khayon was a Thousand Son, and, as one of the last to have been granted amnesty after the catastrophe on Prospero, allowed to use his psychic powers again, only God knew how many warning spells a Thousand Son would have placed around his temporary abode.

Sevatar cautiously walked around the huge rock five times, observing it back and forth until he was sure that there was no magic set up here. Only then did he hide in the darkness and step inside.

For some reason, he was not very inclined to be a polite guest and pay a visit with normal etiquette.

He had no grudge against the Qianzi, nor had they had any friendship in the past, but he did have an old matter to settle.
This group of people who have survived from ten thousand years ago have a very small circle, and they may not be able to gather together once every few hundred years. And Iskandar Khayon played a little joke at a party when Sevatar was not there.

He called the Nightblades Bats, and another Legion that acted in a very similar way Crows - although there was nothing wrong with this, it still annoyed Sevatar.

Today happens to be an opportunity for revenge.

With a silent sneer, he followed the darkness and reached the depths of the rock, where he saw a simple sand-brick building.

It was only two stories high. There were some pottery jars and a chair that was obviously too big for an ordinary person stacked at the door. The candlelight flickered softly beside the window of the right room on the second floor, illuminating a huge figure who was reading a book.

Sevasta stared at him in the darkness for a while, and at the right moment when he was turning the pages of a book, he jumped up, climbed onto the window sill and entered the room, blowing a breath of cool air towards the candlelight.

The light went out, and Iskandar Khayon suddenly jumped up.

Without any hesitation, he turned around and rushed towards the direction where the cold air came from.

This was certainly within Sevastopol's expectations.

He showed up, ready to take on the psychic spell, but he didn't expect that what the latter threw at him was not a spell at all, but two daggers that were taken out from nowhere.

The force was fierce, the angle was tricky, and the speed was extremely fast. Although it was not faster than Sevatar's hand, it was enough for Khayon to clench his fists and hit him.
Two muffled sounds rang out in the darkness.

"As a Thousand Son, you actually chose to fight me in hand-to-hand combat?" Sevatar said softly, exerting force with both hands, and won the brief wrestling match. "You are very brave, Iskandar Khayon."

"And you are a lunatic! Yago Servitarion!"

"Oh, cousin, you and I both know that—" Sevatar let go of his hand and shrugged. "—I am crazy, and I have never concealed this."

"Yes, yes! I know!" Khayon replied sternly. "But I never thought you could be so crazy! What do you want to do? Kill me?"

"If I really wanted to do this, I would have killed you and your brothers ten thousand years ago." Sevatar folded his hands and laughed nonchalantly. "None of you can escape, especially Azek Ahriman. I will enjoy grinding him to ashes."

Qianzi's expression suddenly turned gloomy, and for the first time, light appeared on the index finger of his right hand.

Sevatar glanced at the light and suddenly whistled, his smile not diminishing at all: "It seems that someone doesn't hate his brother as much as he said."

"That's enough," Khayon said coldly. "What are you doing here?"

"Of course I'm looking for you. What else would I do—observe you and this lady secluded in the desert?"

Sevatar turned around with a smile and bowed to a woman who appeared at the top of the stairs.

The latter had black hair and a serious expression, holding an activated power axe in her right hand. She did not make any special response to Sevatar's words, but simply turned off the decomposition force field and then bowed her head.

"It is an honor to meet you, respected Imperial hero Yago Sevitarion. My name is Lula Salin, and I am a psyker attached to the War Hounds. I am stationed here on the orders of the Chapter's Librarian Esper to monitor Lord Iskandar Khayon."

"Hey, did you just tell him your secret identity and purpose?" the person being monitored objected rather unhappily.

"I do not see any need to hide this from Master Severtarion."

"You're not really intimidated by his title of Imperial Hero, are you?"

Khayon waved his arms exaggeratedly, took a step forward, and hooked the shoulder of Sevatar, whose expression had become grim for some reason.

"Don't do that, Lula. You are the descendant of the legendary Captain Lotara! In terms of seniority, your ancestor even joined the army many years earlier than this imperial hero!"

"She and I only share a surname, so there is no reason for me to be proud of her deeds." The monitor said calmly. "So, my Lords, can you please not bring me into your arguments? In addition, I must report what happened tonight immediately, please forgive me."

She bowed deeply and disappeared into the darkness right in front of them.

Sevatar narrowed his eyes and waved his hand unhappily to dismiss Khayon's familiar behavior, but then he sneered again as if he had thought of something.

"You're obviously not welcome here. The War Dogs even sent a hero to monitor you. How about it? Do you feel constrained, Thousand Son?"

"At least better than you," Khayon retorted. "How do you think they will react when they hear that you, a hero of the Empire, have sneaked into Nuceria in a simple manner? I bet you that within two minutes, more than three hundred fully armed war dogs will fall from the sky and come to you and me."

"Oh, they won't," Sevatar said lightly. "They probably have more pressing issues to deal with."

Following Khayang's previous actions, he raised his hand, hooked the latter's shoulder, and then brought him to the window.

"What? I thought you hated physical contact."

"How come?" Sevatar laughed exaggeratedly. "You don't think I always kill people with gauntlets on, do you? Sometimes you have to break some necks with your own hands."

As soon as he finished speaking, before Qianzi could attack, he raised his right hand and pointed in a certain direction in the night sky.

Dozens of seconds later, a ball of fire suddenly ignited from the far end and rushed straight into the clouds. The momentum was so great that even the two people standing in front of the window could see it clearly.

At the same time, there was a sound of something falling downstairs, mixed with curses in the Nuceria dialect.

Sevatar smiled and waved, gesticulating as if enjoying the sight.

Iskandar Khayon was silent for a while, and suddenly asked a nonsensical question.

"You finally couldn't help it?"

Sevatar raised his eyebrows and looked back: "What do you mean?"

"Don't you know? Many officials in the empire are extremely wary of you. After all, you have almost run out of rewards. They have been discussing whether you should be given some planets if you make another great contribution."

"However, some people think that you will eventually start a rebellion. After all, you have always been at odds with them and have openly mocked them. In this case, they think that the Empire had better prepare in advance."

Sevatar took a deep breath.

"First of all, I know this shit." He said slowly. "Secondly, are you fucking mentally ill?"

"Maybe." Qianzi said ambiguously. "So, if they really gave it to you, would you take it?"

"What do I need them for?!" Veins popped out of Sevatar's neck. "Burning them for fun?!"

"If you want, it's not impossible. After all, your title at that time will probably be, let me think, Nostramo and King of the other fifty worlds?"

Sevatar stared at him and said nothing more.

This gaze was obviously very important, or maybe his expression at the moment was indeed terrifying enough. In any case, Khayon did not make any jokes that could give those officials a heart attack, nor did he make any more jokes.

He waited patiently for a while until Sevatar's expression eased a little before he asked.

"So, what's going on?" he asked very seriously.

"Caril Rohals is here," Sevatar said. "He wants to see you."

Khayon leaned back in shock for a moment, his pupils shrinking sharply.
-
Turning back the time to two hours before nightfall in Nuceria, around five in the evening, two tall strangers arrived at the gate of the 22nd Fire of Vorthax's base in the city of Bastola.

When questioned by the guards, the two men, who looked similar, jointly produced a document. A few minutes later, an officer hurried to the gate of the barracks and took them in.

The two were extremely silent along the way and didn't even observe the situation in the barracks. The officer wanted to start a chat, but after getting no response several times, he lost interest.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at the door of a separate wooden house located not far to the right of the soldiers' training ground.

Through the window, the two could clearly see a familiar face. He smiled at them and waved.

The officer left, the two looked at each other, reached out together, pushed open the door, and walked in.

"It's been a long time." An old and hoarse voice said. "In fact, I didn't even think you would actually come back."

"You are looking down on us brothers a little bit," said the younger brother Yorkland.

"is it?"

Accompanied by a burst of laughter, a burly shadow slowly stood up from behind the desk.

He was an old man with white hair and beard. His face was like a sculpture carved with a knife, full of wrinkles. His eye sockets were very deep with a pair of eyes stuck in them, making it almost impossible to distinguish the color of his pupils.

He was very old, as could be seen from the age spots and the condition of his skin, but he was still incredibly strong, with extremely broad shoulders, and seemed full of energy, which was completely different from his age.

He left his desk with his hands behind his back and came in front of the two men. The medals on his gray military uniform were shining and his leather boots were polished clean.

"The Emperor of God has eyes. I, Tlaal Almuka, have never thought so!" he said loudly.

The two brothers said nothing.

The old man frowned, and after a few seconds he suddenly waved his right hand firmly: "Well, I think so too. After all, it was me who gave the order to retire."

"And we didn't pass the test." Yorkland continued. "So this has nothing to do with you." "Yes." Chulanko took over his brother's words. "We just want to return to the Legion."

He spoke these words seriously and sincerely, not at all as if he was being driven here by an inquisitor - which was not surprising, after all, these were indeed his true words.

This remark seemed to move their leader, and Tlaal Almucar pondered for a moment before answering.

"In theory, soldiers who are discharged due to failure of psychological evaluation cannot be drafted again. But I have promised you two brothers that I will give you a second chance. So, God Emperor, follow me."

He walked past them, opened the door and walked out. The two brothers quickly followed him and soon arrived under a building.

After passing a series of complex security procedures, they entered an elevator and went directly to the 36th floor. In the elevator, during the brief interval while waiting for it to rise to the floor, Yorkland spoke in a low voice.

"Sir, why does the legion's base need such a tall building? Shouldn't we be looking for a fortress?"

"This is the style of the Nuceria people." Old Trall replied calmly. "They like tall buildings like this. Haven't you been to their cities? For example, Bastol? That's a good place."

Yorkland frowned.

Half a minute later, the elevator door opened, revealing an unremarkable military-style corridor behind it.

The old man walked in first to lead the way for them. They passed one closed door after another along the way and finally stopped in front of an open door. A military doctor looked up at the outside of the door.

"Well, come on in," said Old Trall. "Second psych evaluation—don't let me down."

Brother Chulanko hesitated for a moment and was about to step in, but Yorkland raised his hand to stop him.

At this moment, an extremely complex expression was surging on the young man's face, which was almost impossible to describe in words. But it only lasted for less than a second, and soon, his expression returned to calm.

"Sir," he said. "Did you know we were coming?"

"Of course not, why would you think so?" asked old Trall kindly.

Chulanke was stunned for a moment, and it was very obvious. He looked at his brother in disbelief, and then turned to look at their superior.
Soon, the unconcealable brutality erupted from the depths of his eyes, and his fists were clenched until they made a creaking sound.

Yorkland sighed and patted his brother's shoulder.

There was no need to say anything more. The two of them, one on the left and one on the right, rushed towards the old general together.

The latter just took a step back calmly, then raised his hands and threw two punches at a speed far beyond that of ordinary people, knocking them to the ground. The whole process was so short and fast that it could not even be called a fight.

He bent down and spoke earnestly.

"I thought you would be smarter, Yorkland. Why did you have to make such a fuss? Wouldn't it be better to walk in like your brother, get a second psych evaluation, re-enlist, and become a glorious soldier of the Fire of Vorthax again? Why do you have to lie on the ground like this, with three of your ribs broken by me?"

"And you, Chulanko, you and your brother have always been different. He thinks too much, while you think just enough. You are the kind of model soldier that every officer wants. I have only one complaint about you. You listen too much to your brother. You should think more independently."

No one answered him. After a moment's breath, the two brothers supported each other to stand up and rushed towards their leader again.

This time, Old Trall did not hold back. A strange expression flashed across his face, driving him, forcing him to break the brothers' limbs and cruelly break the remaining ribs.
He stood there with blood on his hands, and didn't speak for a long time, until the military doctor in the room came out, and the old flesh on the old man's face trembled, as if he suddenly came to his senses. He raised his hand, looked at the still warm blood on it, and his throat rolled up and down several times.

"Clean it up," the military doctor said in a commanding tone. "We still have to get them to tell us what happened on Trading Post A-310-7."

The old man nodded dazedly, but his hands began to shake as if he had a drug addiction attack.

In just a blink of an eye, he fell to his knees, his knees slamming heavily into a pool of blood. The splattered blood fell to the corner of his mouth, prompting him to immediately stick out his tongue to lick it clean - the taste of blood seemed to turn on some kind of switch, causing him to bury his head in the ground without any image, and sip the blood like a wild dog.

The military doctor sighed and kicked him to the ground, looking helpless.

"Damn it, I told you to clean up first, Trayl! You can just tear them apart and eat them afterward, why do you have to eat now?"

The old general sat up trembling, shaking like a truly old man on his deathbed.

He murmured: "I can't help it, I can't help it"

Waste. The military doctor cursed inwardly, but there was no other way, so he bent down and decided to drag the two men into the room himself - but at this moment, the light in the corridor suddenly dimmed.

It was not the lights going out due to electricity, nor was it the night falling after the sun went down, but an indescribable sudden darkness.
The military doctor's mind collapsed silently at this moment. He didn't even realize what was happening at this moment, and his sanity was completely swallowed up by a shadow.

His soulless body fell to the ground and soon began to twist and deform. After being "promoted" by the evil god, his body was no longer bound by the soul and immediately became the favorite of countless demons and monsters in the subspace.

As long as they seize it, they can get a body that can move freely in the material world for free.
At such a critical moment, the shadow did not move, but waited patiently. When the soulless corpse stood up again, and its flesh and blood were bulging due to the chaotic evil things inside, it suddenly summoned the rage and sent it directly to the wasteland of bones.

Listening to the miserable screams of those things, it happily came to the side of the two brothers who were on the verge of death.

They were naturally unaware of its coming; in fact, they were now completely unconscious.

The shadow observed them carefully for a while, and finally covered the two of them - there was a creepy creaking sound, and in a few seconds, the two stood up again, but their eyes had turned pure black.

The darkness in the corridor dissipated at this moment. Tlaal Almucar raised his head subconsciously and saw two faces that were so calm that they did not seem human.

They opened their mouths at the same time, uttering the same bone-chilling sound.

"Some people are waiting for you." They grinned, the darkness in the depths of their eyes surged violently, and countless faces loomed behind them. "Don't let them wait too long."

Four hands stretched out at the same time and grabbed the old man's shoulders tightly.

He inevitably screamed.

Coincidentally, at this moment, a brilliant fire broke out from somewhere outside the window, and a visible air wave came from a distance, sweeping across an area, even causing the glass of the building to make a strange buzzing sound.

The demon possessing the two brothers couldn't help but laugh wildly.

It manipulated their bodies to grab the old man who was in a state of revenge, smashed the glass, jumped down, and ran wildly in the direction of the fire.
-
Since a long time ago, when Caril decided to devote himself to this never-ending work, he has been thinking about a question. This question is actually not complicated, it can even be called simple - in short, it is just one word.

effectiveness.

To this end, he developed many skills. Just like a butcher thinking about the accuracy of the knife and a miner looking for weak cracks in the rock, he also gained a lot of knowledge in the process that ordinary people would not even think about.

These things helped him find and enter a local art auction house thirty minutes after leaving the building.

Less than three minutes after the auction began, he had already identified 22 people. An hour later, when the auction was over, he tracked them to a secret villa in the suburbs of the city.

Then he started killing.

No announcement, no words, he just pushed open the door, walked in and started killing.

In less than a minute, he killed all twenty-two people, including the original ten people in the villa, leaving only one who was almost scared crazy.

Two minutes later, he got all the information he needed from this person, who then carried him out of the villa and rushed to a famous bar in the city.

It has a history of nearly half a century and is located on one of the busiest streets in Bastola. It has never chosen to open branches, but has continuously bought surrounding shops for expansion.

Today, it has almost become a city within a city, a place of enjoyment large enough to accommodate thousands of people partying at the same time.

And here comes Khalil.

He still chose to enter from the front - holding a half-dead man covered in blood in his hands, he entered the bar from the front. Not only that, the two doors even floated behind him.

The fully armed security personnel rushed out, but the guns in their hands exploded after they aimed, knocking them unconscious. Some of them were killed directly, while others survived.

The music that resounded through the sky was still playing, and the men and women who filled the dance floor and indulged in joy did not know what they would face next.
It was not until two heavy doors, each six meters high, flew across the opening of the dance floor, smashing the huge speakers that were playing music and the band on the stage into pieces, that they realized what was happening and screamed.

Khalil watched all this expressionlessly, loosened his right hand, letting his captive fall to the ground temporarily, and then jumped straight onto the dance floor.

Thus began the most cruel, most gorgeous and most horrific killing the prisoner had ever seen in his life.

At first glance, he saw many heads flying up.

Screams followed one after another, and the crowded crowd began to surge, but only a few people were able to escape, and more people were killed by a flash of silver light before they were even trampled to death.

Soon, in just a few seconds, the sunken dance floor was filled with broken limbs and heads with different expressions. Blood filled every corner at a speed that was enough to drive people crazy, and the waves were surging, like a lake being hit by a storm.
The prisoner watched all this in a daze. People around him kept leaving screaming, but he remained sitting there until the man in the blood-stained clothes, who had completed everything, returned to him.

"We should go now." The man said softly. "Where is the next place?"

The prisoner gave a name dully, and the scenes around him flew by, his already confused senses not helping him understand how they were moving.

He only knew that he seemed to be living in a dream - in just a blink of an eye, he came from the blood lake that could drown people to a place he had visited many times.
This is his favorite private club to hang out in during his free time. It is full of people like him, all powerful and influential.

Here, he can enjoy all kinds of things that are simply unimaginable in the outside world.

Then another five minutes.

Five short minutes, five indescribable minutes.
Blood splattered across his face, screams and pleas for mercy blurred his eyes, and the sound of bones and flesh being cut destroyed his hearing.

He had been so familiar with these sounds in the past, and even considered them to be some kind of music when he was in high spirits, but now they sounded so horrible to him.

Before he knew it, he began to cry, tears streaming down his cheeks. He fell to the ground sobbing, begging for death and release.

And the man whispered no in his ear.

“Let’s go to the next place,” he said. “And the next place and the next place.”

He seemed to smile.

“It never ends.”

Yes, it was endless. One massacre followed another, and it never stopped. Everything about him was destroyed. He used to think that he had already transformed into a completely different being from a mortal.

He used them as food, as raw materials for his canvases and sculptures. His peers thought the same, they stayed high up in the darkness, waiting for the moment to come, waiting for the fuse that would change everything to be successfully ignited.
But they forgot one thing, they were not the only monsters waiting in the darkness.

And now the monster had come, drawn here by what they had done, bringing a storm of destruction.

He saw clearly that every dead one of their kind was dragged into a wasteland. He could even hear their screams coming back from the world of the dead.

Those voices were not always their own. There were also voices of other people, people whom they had originally thought were small and insignificant, mixed in, like the sound of rain during thunder.

The voices were laughing.

"No, no!" He wailed, gouging out his eyes and piercing his eardrums. He didn't want to see or hear anymore. "No! No!"

He promised, begged, cursed or screamed incoherently - but it was all in vain. When the man asked him where to go next, he was left with only one choice.

His eyeballs were crushed into sticky powder in his hands, but he could still see the man's dark eyes.
He kept watching and watching until the end finally came, until the last stronghold of the Cult of the Joyful Dancers in the city of Bastola was destroyed.

The man touched his forehead gently and asked, "Are you ready?"

He opened his mouth and cried, tears of blood slowly flowed down, and his heart was filled with infinite happiness and a desire for death.
It's finally over, it's finally over. He screamed in his heart like crazy. I can finally -

——"Ah, I almost forgot to introduce myself." The man seemed to smile. "My name is Caryl Rohals."

With a whoosh, a cold and evil wind swept over and enveloped him.

The man's pale face approached him in the darkness, then slowly changed into a bone face.

A dark yet scarlet flame slowly ignited from the empty eye sockets.

"Go," it whispered. "They are waiting for you."

The rage was gone in a flash, and Khalil loosened his grip, letting the prisoner, who had already turned into a corpse, fall to the ground.

He looked around, observing what he had done—the bodies hanging from the crystal chandeliers, the bodies nailed to the paintings he had painted, the bodies cut off, torn, and beaten to pulp.
He looked carefully and soon discovered a magic circle hidden in the basement of the club.

Sighing, he gathered his psychic energy and sank it deep into the building. Then he walked out of the main door and raised his hands in front of hundreds of black gun muzzles.

"You're a little late." He said to the war dogs' guns. "Fortunately, I've already finished the job."

As soon as he finished speaking, a burst of flames suddenly erupted from behind him.

(End of this chapter)