40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 798 19. Night Talk
“Talk?” Angron asked.

"Let's talk," Coates said.

"What?" Angron asked again.

Koz shrugged and floated away like a ghost: "Anything is fine."

At this moment, everything was silent. The nights in Nuceria were not known for their noise. The day and night in this world seemed to belong to two completely different factions that were incompatible with each other.

During the day, it is dry and hot. If a stranger who knows nothing about it comes here, he will definitely be shocked. Moreover, if he is still ignorant, he will probably point to the giant scorpions and poisonous insects in the desert and shout - This is Hell!

But what about at night? Well, at night, this place is
The word that should be used here, the first adjective, should be quiet.

Then came the cold.

Finally there was silence—the silence of a graveyard.

This is difficult to explain. Only by experiencing it yourself can you understand how appropriate the word "cemetery" is.

Many famous scholars or simple geeks have tried to solve this problem, or at least understand it. To do this, they have traveled far and wide, wandering like homeless people in the ruins of the desert or forest.

They were later protected and opened as landscapes, with tickets costing only twelve yuan or free. However, in the days when those people had just discovered them, to visit these places, what they paid was not money, but life.

Ghosts roam the slave owners' arena.

It's an interesting statement, and no sane person would believe it, let alone try to figure out whether it's true or not. But if you could go back to that era of collective madness and find a lunatic who actually went to one of the thousands of ruins, you would know that it's true.

Wandering?

linger.

For a long time.

Too much blood, too much hatred, too much resentment. Even if they are dead, even if their souls have dissipated, the echoes left behind still stubbornly remain there, with empty eyes and curled fingers, and skin and flesh as pale as frost in a freezer.

"I still don't know what we should talk about, even though I've thought about this scene many times."

Angron said that he was not looking at Curze as he spoke this, but was looking up to heaven.

Tonight, there is not a single star to be seen in the entire sky, as if they had suddenly gone out.

"I said, brother, anything is fine," Curze said softly and gently. "Even if you want to discuss with me what it was like when I killed someone for the first time, that's fine."

Angron turned around, as if intrigued by these words.

Coze laughed—the kind of cunning, happy laugh that comes from someone who has succeeded in his evil plan.

"The first person I killed was a teenager."

He spoke fluently, as if he had not experienced the incident himself and was just retelling it.

"This kid was probably around 14 or 15 years old in Nostramo at the time. This age was no different from an adult, so it was only natural for him to join a gang and do evil things with them."

"At first, he was doing OK because he was easily manipulated by others, which was a good thing for his new partners. Who would hate someone who would follow you to the rival gang's territory to cause trouble just because of a few words, and would have no complaints even if he lost a hand for it?"

"Until he got infected with one of those drugs, a particularly potent concoction, dangerous enough to destroy certain vital areas of the brain with the first injection."

When he said this, he stopped and raised his hand to gesture.

His eyes were still gentle, but his movements were not. The sharpness of his gesture almost hurt Angron's eyes.

"Then he went crazy," Coates said softly. "That's how he went crazy. He started chasing that drug like a dog. He would do anything for anyone who gave him a tube of it."

"So, three weeks after joining the gang, he was thrown into the street in a crazy, half-crippled and completely lost state. I don't know whether his friends were kind-hearted or simply wanted to see him cause more trouble, but they didn't take away his gun."

"Just think, a crazy, drug-addled cripple roaming the streets at midnight with a gun that's powerful enough to kill everyone around him."

“How did you kill him?” Angron asked, his only remaining hand clenched into a fist.

"I twisted his neck and tried my best not to cause him any pain." Coze turned around with a half-smile. "Khalil told me at the time that we shouldn't let him suffer any more. I agreed."

He put down his hand. The hand that had once been angry and gloomy and made a terrible gesture now rested steadily on his waist, and a shadow emerged.

Angron looked closely and actually saw a young boy.

His eyes were dark, like all Nostramo's, and his face was pale. He had only one hand, and in it was a gun.

Koz rubbed his head and smiled.

"I'm sorry, but I had to mention you," he said to the ghost. "I hope you're not mad."

The boy shook his head rapidly, as if laughing, the kind of half-shy laugh that only children have. Then he disappeared.

Angron stared at where he had been, took a breath, and turned the subject back to himself.

"I think it's fair for me to tell you who I killed the first time," he said seriously. "But I don't know as much as you do. All I know is that he was a strong man, and when he appeared, the announcer hired by the slave owners called him Brown."

"I don't know if that was his real name, actually, I almost forgot I had to kill him. I was standing on the sand full of bones, wanting to sweat, wanting to turn around and walk away, but I couldn't do it. A few minutes later - I think it was three minutes later - I killed him."

"How did you kill him?" asked Coze, and he stopped smiling.

Angron raised his left fist, held it up, and then calmly shook his head.

"The audience went crazy, you know? The slavers went crazy too. They knew I could defeat powerful beasts, even modified monsters, but killing someone was something completely different, especially since I killed a fully armed man with just one punch. They screamed about it, as if they had seen some incredible miracle."

Curze walked over—or floated over—and patted his brother on the shoulder. For a while, they said nothing, just silence, the starless night above them.

Until the Lord of the Night reopened the topic.

"What do you think other people would think if they knew what this conversation was about?" he asked suddenly.

"It's hard to say," Angron said. "But I know a few people would disagree."

"Who?"

"Perturabo."

"Um that's the beginning of the list, okay, any more?"

"Roger."

"Hey, what are you thinking, you one-armed cripple?" Curz raised his eyebrows. "You put them together?"

“Come on, psychopath—is there any way you can talk about Abo without mentioning the rock?” Angron raised his eyebrows in the same direction. “Neither of them can do that themselves.”

Coz laughed dumbly: "It's reasonable. This court accepts it. The third one?"

"Sanguinius."

"Hmm?" "What?"

"This court feels that you are biased."

"Ha!" Angron laughed. "Believe me, he would do that. But he wouldn't coldly call you weak like Perturabo did, nor would he stare at you silently like Rogge did. He would just walk up to you and ask you if you were okay. But you could hear the hidden meaning in his words, and you could see it, too."

"What do you mean?"

"He asked you if you were alright," Angron said, still smiling. "Everyone cares for others in their own way, but Sanguinius is the only one who can make you feel ashamed and grateful at the same time. Honestly, I don't hate it because it's not his intention, he's just... too glorious. Even he hates it."

"You mean he hates himself?"

"Yes," Angron said. "At least in part. He was more or less aware of it when we last met, and it made him even more miserable. I think he felt unworthy."

"Oh, that's not fair." Curze pretended to be very unhappy and made a sound of displeasure. "I really want his wings. Or blond hair. You see, I look like a ghoul, maybe it would be much better if I had blond hair."

"If you really ask for it, he might actually give it to you."

"No, forget it." Coz refused the matter swiftly, including himself half a second ago. "The court continues to question you, please answer - is there a fourth person on your list?"

"Yes, but I don't want to talk about it."

"why?"

"I doubt if you, the judge, will go and complain to them privately," Angron said, narrowing his eyes at him. "You are thinking of that right now, aren't you?"

"No." Coz spread his hands calmly. "Really not."

"Then you give me your word."

"Hey, this is just a casual chat, do we really need to make it so serious?"

Seeing his innocent look of blinking repeatedly, Angron couldn't help laughing.

He hadn't laughed so comfortably and naturally for a long time. At this moment, he didn't need to worry about any hidden threats or impending terrors. He just needed to devote himself to this brotherly chat. Just like a pair of brothers from an ordinary family, sitting on a chair and talking to each other after not seeing each other for many years, with a chessboard in front of them and a glass of wine at hand.

Angron sighed at this thought, and after a moment he covered his face with his left hand.

"What's wrong?" Koz asked.

"We have lost so much. You have lost so much too."

"But we got more, you big fool." Curze chuckled nonchalantly. "And everyone else got more, too."

“I know,” Angron said, his voice muffled beneath his broad hand. “I am only sad.”

His choice of words was very precise.

Yes, sad.

Apart from this, what else can describe the feeling at this moment? This melancholy that penetrates into the bone marrow is not heavy, but it has been pressing on my heart. Every time my heart beats, it jumps once, and then presses down, pressing my heart into a thin piece.

Koz looked at him thoughtfully, his eyes surprisingly gentle.

After a moment, he said, "I really need to find a way to get Robouti Guilliman to see you like this."

Angron dropped his hand and glared at him.

"The little clerk will scold you with tears in her eyes," Curze said, trying to suppress a smile. "Then she will hug you and comfort you."

"You sharp-tongued bat-demon," Angron scolded. "He'll beat you up first!"

The two looked at each other in silence, and it was unknown who started laughing first. In any case, one of them started this gentle and long laughter.

Their laughter spread far and wide across the wilderness, far enough to become distorted and turn into a weird echo. But even so, the laughter did not become scary.

About ten minutes later, a dark cloud gathered in the center of the night, and rumbling thunder was heard from it, but no rain fell.

"Is it him?" Angron asked.

"Yes," Curze said. "I think he has already gone to that poor bastard's house in Vashtor. He is too ambitious but not capable enough. He thinks he is special and can calculate everything like those four, but he is wrong."

He shook his head as if with pity, and his voice gradually became lower.

“And it’s completely wrong.”

The thunder continued, and a flash of lightning struck, illuminating the faces of the two men and everything on the ground. It was almost like the end of the world.

"He said before," Angron considered. "He was going to hang him in this Vashtor house?"

"It's just a description. Actually, we should kill him in the warp. This is the fastest way to achieve the best results. Just wait and see, brother. By tomorrow at the latest, everything in the material world that has contact with him will show abnormalities. It may explode or shut down on its own. In short, they will be reduced to nothingness along with their master."

Angron frowned. If worry had a physical form, it would be what he would look like right now. “Will this not cost him something?”

"No," Curze said. "Because Vashtol is... well, it's too weak."

Angron looked puzzled by this statement.

"You probably want to ask why he was so weak, but still able to cause such a mess?"

Koz said this prophetically, and then immediately threw out the answer, as if he was asking and answering his own question.

"Because he paid something and established a small relationship with that dissolute monster. For Vashtor, if this thing succeeds, then in the future, Nukeria, you and the war dogs will no longer be the helpers of the empire, but his slaves."

"Of course, he has to give a large portion to his sponsor, but he doesn't care. He just wants to get his hands on the material world, just like the other four. He is jealous of them, and it has always been like this. All the demons know his thoughts, and so do the four gods, but they don't care."

Angron was not shaken by the horrible world he had described, and his expression remained calm. "It's a pity that Khalil cares."

“It’s a pity that none of us care,” Curze said. “All the dead in the wasteland care.”

He turned to look at his brother, and in those dark eyes, Angron saw something that told him that Curze was telling the truth.

Not only that, he also saw many familiar faces. Those who died with hatred, people he knew.
They saluted him, a silent greeting, and the fire of hatred burned fiercely.

We won't allow it, they said. We won't allow it.

For a few minutes, the brothers continued to talk, sad or laughing. At dawn, the inquisitor returned, his hands bloody but his clothes unwrinkled.

"What did I miss?" he asked.

"Nothing," said Conrad Curz. "Now get back to work, old man—you've got lots of reports to write."

He chuckled, dispersing into the last bit of darkness before dawn.

(End of this chapter)