40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 792 13. The Limit of Hatred (IV)
A voice sounded quietly in the darkness.

"How many times are you going to do this?" he asked calmly but disappointedly.

"It's been ten years since I've—"

"—My question is, how many more times?"

After a long time, he got the answer.

"I do not know."

"I thought so." He smiled sarcastically but predictably. "But then again, this power is so obedient to you, its ruthless master, that you can call it at any time. Have you ever thought about why? You have already abandoned that body."

"No."

"why?"

"Revenge is a matter of course." The god who was born in the barbaric era replied. "So it always responds to requests, no matter who asks."

"But there is a price," Konrad Curze said quietly. "It has different plans for each person who calls upon it, and it longs for you to take the reins."

Thunder rumbled, but He did not answer. He just walked deeper into the cave in the darkness, and finally stabbed the sharp blade in his hand into the body of an evil beast. It did not wake up, but fell into a deeper sleep.

"Lorgar Aurelion."

The brother who once had a grudge and is now dead whispered its name with a heavy sadness. The god sat down, stroking its deformed and tortured body, and remained silent.

There was silence in the darkness.
-
He has been here.

A long time ago, he had been here - but where exactly was this place?
Ruins covered in blood, the sky blackened by smoke and flames, the shaking ground and the giants in scarlet armor.
Is this a battlefield or some unknown hell?

He looked around in confusion, but an old face suddenly appeared in front of him when he turned his head.

This man had no hair, and his skin seemed to be born so pale and smooth, just like a worm. His eyes were deeply stuck in his eye sockets as if they had been punched by a fist, and his prominent brow ridges made every gaze particularly sinister.

And those tattoos.

He looked at them in confusion.

A pitch-black, strange pattern that looked like a character spread from the left forehead to cover half of the side face. Upon closer inspection, they were even moving.

"Is the matter done?" the man suddenly asked.

He was startled - was he talking to me? And, for some reason, he felt uncomfortable when he heard this person's voice, and there was a burning pain on his back.

The pain was so real that he immediately turned around, thinking that someone was whipping him from behind, but that was not the case, there was nothing behind him.

"Very well," the tattooed man continued. "But I want you to do one more thing - I want Robouti Guilliman to come here after us just in time to see them breathe their last."

Who? What?
Before he could think, a mist suddenly came and enveloped the man. The mist dissipated under his feet, freezing cold, and there seemed to be something hidden in it, but he had no intention of looking, and just walked forward, trying to find the man again.

Admittedly, he instinctively disliked the other party, but he still wanted to know more about Robert Guilliman.

He seemed to have some impression of this name, but he happened to be a person who had nothing but fragments of "impression".

Maybe I can remember who I am. He thought about this and moved forward anxiously.

The cold fog was dispersed, but it did not make the things in front of him clearer. Instead, it made everything covered with a strange halo. He walked and walked, and he didn't know how long it had been. Sweat was dripping on his forehead, and the coldness penetrated deep into his blood vessels.
Then, something emerged.

No, that's not right, it shouldn't be simply called a 'thing'.

He stopped in shock and fear, and a corner of his mind suddenly tensed up as if struck by lightning.

What he saw, if described in detail, could be called a pit filled with dying men, some wearing armor, some not, some with their hands and feet taken away, some flayed, and countless other tortures inflicted on them out of sheer torment.

And, somehow, they didn't die - but the horror this hell brought him was not over yet, the fog continued to dissipate, and more deep pits appeared in his sight one after another. Even a rough estimate showed that there were hundreds of them.

He began to tremble uncontrollably, then knelt down, tears slowly streaming down his face as he felt the indescribable sorrow.

He didn't know where this emotion came from, and he didn't want to think about this pointless question at this time. In the final analysis, these people shouldn't be treated like this.

After all, they are human beings too.
A low whistling sound came from the sky, but it did not attract his attention. The instinctive sadness and regret that came from nowhere had engulfed him.

It wasn't until a tall blue-gold shadow came up to him that he finally raised his head.

He saw a man who, like himself, was in the same sorrow and regret.

The man's short gray hair was stained with dust and blood, and his armor was covered with marks from swords and guns. He stood straight, staring silently at the scene in front of him in the wind that smelled of rot and blood.
Who are you? He was about to ask, but then he remembered the words of the tattooed man - Robert Guilliman.

You are Roboute Guilliman? Why would he do this to you?

As if hearing his question, the blue-gold giant spoke in a low voice. His voice was completely inconsistent with the pain on his face, and it sounded very calm, as if he was completely out of the matter. However, he could hear the emotions hidden in it clearly.

"Why?" Robouti Guilliman asked, as if asking him.

Another man came up from behind him, this man wearing the same blue, gold, and white armor as him, but slightly smaller.

He walked to Guilliman's side, and stared at the horror in the pit with him, sighed deeply, and then answered his question.

"They hate us, my Lord, and so they want to make us miserable."

"I know, Gage," Guilliman whispered back. "I certainly understand what the Word Bearers want, revenge, sacrifice, or just plain pleasure - we have seen too much of this depravity in these days. I just don't understand why they would use my brother's name to justify all this evil."

He raised his hand and pointed to a certain place in the deep pit, where someone had very carefully arranged a line of words using broken bodies.

[In the name of Lorgar Aurelion, we dedicate this miracle to you, the respected Lord of Five Hundred Worlds. May your people be forever happy and peaceful.]

The man called Gage was silent for a moment: "Perhaps this is exactly what he wants?"

"No." Guilliman denied again. "He would not do such a thing. After the Perfect City, he hated me to the extreme, but this is still not what he would do. Lorgar might attack me and rush towards me with the determination to kill me, but he would never vent his anger on others. He is not that kind of person."

"But he's dead."

"not yet."

"Sir!" Gage said emphatically. "He's dead!"

Guilliman slowly lowered his head and gazed at him.

"Not yet," he repeated, very seriously. "He's still there, Gage. Underneath that skin, Lorca is still there. I saw him."

"You sound like the ravings of a madman."

Guilliman remained silent, seemingly thinking, gnashing his teeth again and again. Finally, he shook his head. A bloody wind blew up from the bottom of the pit, carrying away the last sobs of the people inside.

"Perhaps." He said. "Take care of it. We need to leave as soon as possible."

"We are short-handed, my lord."

"The Word Bearers are no different," Guilliman said calmly. "Since Calth, they have attacked every world in their path, regardless of the cost. They have a step ahead of us, a tiny step, a tiny advantage that any commander with any sense would have used better, but they didn't. They are also suffering heavy casualties now, Gage, our people are no cowards. We cannot fail them, we will pursue them and kill them all, leaving no one behind."

He raised his hand and made a firm gesture.

"Burn it," said Guilliman.

And just like that, he turned and left.

The cold fog came again, engulfing everything, and he still didn't stand up.

The scene just now was still circling and reverberating in his mind, crushing everything. The pain brought by thinking destroyed every inch of his rationality. He wailed again, his eyes red, and dug the ground with his head.
After an unknown amount of time, he stood up drowsily and was not surprised to find himself back under the bloody sky.

He rushed to the mirror breathlessly.

"Why?" He was bleeding from his mouth and nose, his face pale as he grasped the edge of the mirror. "Why?"

The creature in the realm did not answer at all, its scarred body still bound by the torture device. Whoever trapped it here must have malicious intent, otherwise there is no way they could have designed such a punishment to torture it.

Realizing this, in the agony of thinking, he burst into laughter. The laughter was sharp and piercing, and he fell backwards, collapsed on the ground, screamed, and rolled on the ground - he was still thinking, even though the pain did not allow him to do so.

But this time, he was determined to resist.

He's been obeying for too long, why not rebel for once?
If you die, just die!
The pain forced him to groan and beat his head, trying to cover up the unbearable pain with greater pain. The huge force broke his bones again and again, and his brain burst and seeped out of his mouth, nose and ears. The strong wind whizzed past him, hitting him like millions of blades piercing through his body.

Even if it's Lingchi, it's no more than this, right?
He gritted his teeth desperately and continued his stubborn rebellion. The more intense pain came violently, turning him into a bloody man in an instant, and completely scattering the thoughts in his mind that he had worked so hard to get.

However, whether it was a miracle or a prelude to greater despair, a question always lingered in his mind, and no matter how much the pain tortured him, it never dissipated.

who am I?
It was so simple, but after it had echoed in his mind tens of millions of times, it had become a new instinct, deeply engraved in his bones and blood.

Even as the pain spread throughout his body, transformed him beyond human form, and plunged him into a deep coma, the question still echoed.

Over time, it becomes more than just a problem.
"Who am I?" He murmured it unconsciously in the endless nightmare.

The thing in the mirror suddenly raised its head, and the iron chain rattled as it stretched to its limit.

It pounced on the edge of the mirror, its posture extremely humble and cautious, like a person who was about to die of thirst walking into an oasis in disbelief - it simply couldn't believe this was real.

To confirm, it looked at him carefully again and again, until his life was about to come to an end, and all this had to be repeated once more, and the shriveled skin in the mirror finally made up its mind.

It stood up slowly.

A dry cracking sound came from its ankles, and the torture device made a strong request, asking it to kneel down, but it did not respond. Then, it was the turn of the collar around its neck to come into play. A huge force came from it, pulling it and causing it to fall heavily to the ground.

The iron chain connected to the handcuffs made a terrible scream and tightened in an instant, tearing his hands apart and causing him to kneel on the ground with his back completely lowered.

A heavy pressure came afterwards, pressing its forehead hard against the ground, like a slave bowing to his master.
A lowly slave.

It slowly clenched its fists and then stood up again - the physiological structure of an ordinary person at this time would probably have been completely destroyed by the torture instruments that pierced the body, and would have long lost the ability to move.

But it was different, it had once been something far superior to ordinary people. Even though its flesh, blood, heart and liver had been eaten away, some of its essence still remained.

The man who took everything from it looked down on this part of its essence, thinking it was cowardly and incompetent, but he did not erase it, but bound it in some way within the skin. It can be said that he turned the remaining part of the skin into a slave and a domesticated dog.

In his spare time, he would relax his control a little, listen carefully to the silent wails and curses of the skin, and find great pleasure in it.

The skin slowly walked to the edge of the mirror and then walked out.

In an instant, its form began to collapse due to disobedience, but it ignored it and just came to the man, then lowered its body and approached his ear.

Its voice had been taken away from it long ago, used to deceive or incite murder, but what it was doing now did not require a voice.

Ultimately, it’s just whispering to yourself deep down.

"Lorgar Aurelion." The skin spit out this answer.

As soon as the words fell, it disappeared. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes tremblingly.

The fog came, covering the blood-red sky. He remembered everything.
-
At first, Luo Jia saw a boy.

He had a pair of violet eyes that were so wide that they seemed to be glowing.

He had a perfect figure and handsome appearance, far beyond the boundaries of beauty, and even had a halo around him - but he was crying.

To be precise, sobbing.

He fell to his knees, taking the lash. The black, barbed whip lashed his back again and again, and the pain was secondary, because it could not actually hurt him. This boy was something extraordinary, and the whip that would tear the skin of an ordinary person only left a few marks.

But he would still cry - in the final analysis, he would still feel pain. However, the pain he felt most was not physical, but mental.

He didn't understand why he was treated like this. "Remember, don't do it again!" Kor Phaeron said sternly. "Never test my patience! Know your place!"

There won't be a next time. Luo Jia thought. Because the boy has learned his lesson, he knows that you are just bluffing, you are terrified by his intelligence and photographic memory. You are jealous of him, but you have to establish your own image of authority and reinforce it.
So, when the boy recited the mantras from the so-called scriptures as you instructed, what he got was punishment.

The whip continued to fall, and Luo Jia counted silently. Twenty, thirty, forty.
The boy's screams of pain gradually turned into muffled groans, and then into long, heavy breaths. Kor Phaeron's arms gradually became sore, and he gasped for air, sweating profusely from exhaustion, as if he was the one being whipped.

On the forty-fifth stroke, he dropped the whip unable to bear it.

"Detention!" he roared. "You stay here until I call you!"

The door was slammed shut and the footsteps faded away.

The boy wiped the tears from his face with his hand, got up sobbing, then knelt down again and began to pray in the language of Colchis.

Four mighty ones, four gods who sit above the stars.
He pronounced their names in this world one by one in Colchic language, and then asked innocently - why is my Lord unhappy? Why is he angry because I did what he asked?
There was no answer from the darkness.

Luo Jia came in front of the boy and squatted down.

"Because he's afraid," he told the boy. "He's afraid of you, but he has to control you. He sees you as an opportunity."

The boy couldn't hear it, and his prayer ended more than ten minutes later. At this time, footsteps were heard outside the door again.

Half a minute later, the door was cautiously pushed open, but the person who walked in was not Kor Phaeron, but an ugly, aging slave.

He was wearing ragged clothes, and his hands and feet were covered with scars. He tiptoed, closed the door, and came to the boy.

"Nero?" the boy called out his name in confusion. "Why are you here? You shouldn't be here! If my Lord saw--"

"-Shh, shh."

The slave quickly stopped him and took out a cloth bag only half the size of his palm from under his tattered clothes.

Its shape had been altered by some fluid, and it looked heavy, like something old from a tree. The slave handed the pouch to the boy and smiled.

"I brought you some water. Drink it quickly. He will definitely punish you tomorrow. You won't be able to drink any water for at least three days."

"So what do you do?" the boy asked.

"What should I do?"

"This must be your water," the boy said, with a matter-of-fact tone, as if he should know these things he shouldn't know.

"Slaves work forty days and nights to get a sip of water to drink, and there are at least four sips here. This is the result of your hard work for at least one hundred and sixty days and nights. I drank it, what will you do?"

"Drink it quickly." The slave answered him after a while and wiped his eyes with his hand. "I'm not thirsty at all."

"you're lying."

"I do not have."

"I can hear it." The boy said, but then paused. "Why did you lie to me?"

"I didn't lie to you." The slave sighed. "After becoming a slave, I have become accustomed to thirst. Remember? I told you last time that I used to be a teacher."

"I remember you said that you became a slave because you taught the wrong things to the wrong people. But I don't understand, Naro, you are obviously right."

The slave was slightly stunned: "Do you think I'm right?"

The boy laughed happily, as if the previous hurt he had suffered did not exist at all.

He clasped his hands together sincerely and passionately and said to the slave: "Yes, all people are equal."

"Hush!" The slave once again made that quiet whisper, but this time it was full of warning. "Don't tell this to anyone else, or you'll be in big trouble! My views are heretical, and the oath forbids them from being taught!"

The boy was startled, but soon recovered and began to ask more questions. The slave wanted to stop talking about this topic, but he couldn't, so he could only continue talking.

They talked like that until dawn, and he taught the boy something very different from what he had learned from Kor Phaeron, and then he slipped away.

Luo Jia stood up.

He knew what would happen next - twenty days, and in another twenty days, the boy would grow into a young man, a strong and intelligent man.

But his mind was still immature, and Kor Phaeron cleverly exploited this, carving his ideas and his authority deep into the boy's mind and using it to his advantage.

The time for him to reap the benefits would soon come. Twenty days from now, when the boy would physically become a young man, Kor Phaeron would be attacked.

Some people who hated his violent style took him hostage, and the boy killed them all.

Things officially became irreversible from this point on, and once the blood of innocent people was stained, there was no way to erase it.

The boy helped Kor Phaeron eliminate dissidents along the way, and he also demonstrated various miracles in the eyes of ordinary people, becoming the holder of the truth in the oath.
From one city to another, his knowledge gradually increased, and his demeanor reached perfection. Anyone who saw him would involuntarily feel joy and happiness, and people who converted to him gradually spread throughout Colchis.

Then he killed Nairo.

What is the reason? There are probably many reasons. Kor Phaeron's secret manipulation and instigation; the evil of Colchis's so-called faith and the people's natural acceptance of killing and blood; the boy's own indulgence and only thinking about respecting the will of his so-called adoptive father.
And most importantly, a group of unbelievers. Or rather, the last unbelievers.

Not everyone decided to believe in the boy and his oath as soon as they saw him. There were always people who thought that gods were unreliable and wanted to be self-reliant. They lived in the mountains or deserts, and it was difficult but they were still self-sufficient, and even developed cities.

But for Kor Phaeron, this was intolerable, so he began to instill something more brutal in the boy - unexpectedly, the boy actually accepted these things. Thus, in the conversion of faith throughout the world, one massacre after another began.

Many cities were ravaged by bloodshed, and those who did not keep their promises were beheaded.
Nairo watched the process, but he could do nothing until the last moment, until the last day before the Emperor's coming, when the slave's conscience could no longer bear it.

He overstepped his authority and tried to persuade the boy not to obey Kor Phaeron.

The latter flew into a rage—or perhaps it was terror—and in any case he struck the slave with his fists, intending to kill him.

Nairo did not sit there and wait for death. He pulled out a dagger and wanted to defend himself.

It was at this time that the boy took action.

By the time he came to his senses, everything was over.

After so many years of preaching, fighting, and slaughtering, defending Kor Phaeron had almost become his instinct. Therefore, when his master praised him for a good job, the boy just nodded as before, as if nothing had happened, and threw away the body of the slave who had brought him water and talked with him all night.

Lorgar Aurelion slowly clenched his fists.

He stared at the boy in front of him, and felt his throat itchy as he looked at this still ignorant child.

A strange emotion gradually spread out, and he knew what it was - hatred. Apart from this, there would be no other thing that could make people so malicious. He really wanted to kill the child now to avoid everything caused by him in the future.

That everything.
Tears of sorrow rolled down from Luo Jia's eyes along with a long sigh.

He remembered everything—literally everything.

From Colchis to the Great Crusade, from the destruction of the City of Perfection to the betrayal of Erebus, he was trapped in darkness, his legion was changed, his body was wantonly occupied and distorted by the Unliving, they used his voice and his appearance to sow lies over and over again, causing the Word Bearers to completely corrupt.

The boundless blood debt originated from him.

Starting from Cos, for the next ten thousand years, every bloody incident, every bit of suffering, and every bit of despair that befell innocent people that mankind experienced would be blamed on him.

His descendants became the running dogs of the evil god, his brothers suffered endless torture because of him, and his father died because of him.
The accusations were like a mountain pressing down on him, making it impossible for him to turn over. This was just right, this was what he deserved, he should be spit on and cursed.

But there is always someone who knows the truth.

He laughed slowly, a weak, sad, mad laugh.

Why would anyone be willing to fight for him?
Those who never met him, those excellent people, who could have had a better fate and future, died in his name.

Starting from Angle Tai, one person after another.
He was chosen, and learned the truth from the hermit, trembling and terrified, but always firmed up, and did not throw him into hell and ignore him.

For ten thousand years, that drop of blood has been passed down continuously.

The tears gradually turned into tears of blood, Luo Jia fell to the ground trembling, his back hunched, his hands clasped together tightly, his head buried deep in his arms, and he roared like a wild beast.

Hated it, he hated it - he hated himself for being a slave to Kor Phaeron, hated himself for killing innocent people, hated himself for not seeing the truth of the so-called Colchis faith sooner.
Once hatred surged, it could never be stopped. It surged in his heart, bringing countless bloody incidents and the laughter of the gods to him. The endless hatred made him see clearly how each of his descendants died, and how those innocent people were sacrificed by his legion. He saw it all clearly.
All these finally come down to one name.

Erebus.

The mist came and covered him, and his shape gradually changed in it.

The ever-burning flames of anger melted his eyes, burned his eye sockets, and blazed like a torch. The spiral horns broke through his forehead ferociously, bathing in blood, pointing to the sky. His teeth became sharp, and his face was distorted by excessive hatred and anger. He stood up hunched over, and the dark flames rose from the soles of his feet, rolled up, and in the blink of an eye, they were about to spread to the top of his head.
A hand pierced through the mist and pressed down on his shoulder.

"I won't persuade you," the evil god said calmly. "I just want to tell you that your desire for revenge will lead you to a wasteland. That is the land of the dead. Once you go there, you will never come back."

Lorca responded with a roar that was totally inhuman.

"I told you, I won't persuade you." The evil god let go of his hand. "This is not the reason why I came here, Lorgar Aurelion, and I will not stop others from seeking revenge. But I have been entrusted by someone to bring this to you."

He reached into his bosom and pulled out a golden stone.

Luo Jia's sight seemed to be stuck on it.

"Is there a limit to hatred?" The evil god spread his palms and muttered to himself. "I don't know the answer, but you are the one who is closest to this concept among all the innocent people I have seen."

"Your hatred is enough to drown the whole world, especially your own. You hate yourself, even more than Erebus. So you want to die, Lorgar. You want to devote yourself to hatred once and for all - but think about it carefully. How is this different from your past behavior?"

"You once devoted yourself to the deformed beliefs of Kor Phaeron and Colchis. You also devoted yourself to the so-called truth of salvation. What about your own will? Have you ever thought about what you really want to do? But it doesn't matter."

The evil god threw down the stone and turned away. In the blink of an eye, his figure disappeared and his voice became very distant.

"Revenge is always sought. Make your choice. It is your power."
-
Ten minutes flew by.

The power of the evil god faded, and the human image regrouped and gained the upper hand.

Caryl Rohals opened his eyes and waited in the cave, still holding the knife in his right hand, which was cold to the touch.

Conrad Curz's voice sounded in his ears, soft and thoughtful.

"The limit of hatred is more like its opposite. Everything will turn into its opposite when it reaches its extreme. Okay, father, what is the opposite of hatred?"

"."

"Why aren't you talking? Okay." Coze chuckled. "What's next? What's going to happen? It doesn't seem to be over yet."

Khalil shook his head.

"It's love." he said suddenly.

".What?"

"Next, we wait and see which of hatred and love will prevail in his heart. If it is the latter, then he can come back."

The Night King sighed in great annoyance.

"Can't you just say it all at once?!"

"I'm sorry," Khalil said sincerely. "I was just remembering that I was once like him, alone in the dark, remember?"

"."

No one answered him, and Conrad Kurtz seemed to have disappeared suddenly. After a long time, his voice was heard again.

"Remember." said Midnight Haunter. "And it's always you who finds me first."

(End of this chapter)