40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 810, Section 7: Gods and Men

Darkness enveloped the bridge of the Judgement, but Constantine Waldo remained unmoved.

The Spear of the Sun leaned against his hand like a harmless stick, radiating golden light as always—and this was the only remaining glimmer of light in this boundless darkness.

Something was very unhappy about this, and it let out a threatening growl, spreading chill and bloodlust.

The Imperial Guard Marshal calmly looked at it, reached out and grasped the spear. The originally faint light suddenly became bright, almost to the point of hurting one's eyes.

The thing roared, its already ferocious appearance becoming even more terrifying. Constantine sneered, and with a wave of his right hand, he handed out the Spear of the Sun God—with a clang, two rows of fine fangs bit down hard on the blade of the artifact, preventing it from advancing an inch, yet golden light still shone out.

A wisp of smoke carrying a burnt smell immediately rose, and a burning sound echoed in the darkness.
The beast released its grip and transformed into a shadow, lunging at Constantine Waldo.

The Imperial Guard Marshal held his spear out to block, but it mysteriously dispersed, ignoring the Sun God's Spear. It stubbornly endured the scorching light and bit at Waldo's neck. Although it seemed that blood was about to splatter on the spot, the Imperial Guard Marshal remained calm and simply took a step back to dodge the attack.

At the same time, he swung his hands, and the spear once again pierced the beast.

A heavy, sharp collision sound rang out again, golden light scattered, sparks flew, and the ferocious beast roared as it fled into the darkness, far away from the attack range of the Sun God's Spear and the vortex of Waldo's terrifying martial arts.

From the top of the latter's head, it silently leaped out, its form expanding to its limit, its eyes filled with bloodlust, its finely edged teeth poised to bite off the head of the Imperial Guard Marshal.
A long, pale hand appeared silently and forcefully grabbed it.

"Haven't you had enough?" Khalil asked gently.

The darkness trembled for a moment, then climbed up his arm and transformed back into the coat.

“And you—” The judge frowned and turned to the Imperial Guard Marshal. “—Why did you have to provoke it?”

"Since I have nothing else to do, this is a good opportunity to settle my score with it."

"Grievance?" Khalil repeated his words, unsure whether to be angry or laugh.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten,” the Imperial Guard Marshal sighed. “I still remember the feeling of it wrapped around my neck.”

"I thought this matter was long over."

“I remember, and it remembers. I do my duty, and it does the same.”

"It is a demon."

“Sometimes you can be terribly heartless.” The Imperial Guard Marshal shook his head. “I even feel a little indignant on its behalf.”

Khalil smiled, glancing down at his coat. Larch, having received some kind of permission, reluctantly began to wriggle.

A few seconds later, Khalil looked up and told Waldo, "It says it thanks you for your words, but it will still take revenge."

Waldo casually picked up the Spear of the Sun and nodded to a scarlet eye that floated up behind the Inquisitor.

“I’m waiting for you,” he said.

A moment later, they gathered around a tactical table on one side of the bridge. The familiar, floating blue light was like a merciless mask, obscuring Waldo's face. He slowly lowered his head, sinking into a world of data and simulations, remaining silent for a long time.

Khalil waited patiently, not intending to comment on the impending war.

A moment later, the Imperial Guard Marshal pointed to one of the seven great cities.

Heliossa, also known as the City of Lighthouses.

It sits on the vast coast of Gaisal and is the most isolated of all the sanctuary cities. Even Clemence, located in the desert, cannot compare to it, since Helios can only be reached by water and air.

Khalil gazed at the colossal city on the holographic map, the hand-drawn illustrations he had seen in Gaun's book flashing through his mind. The pure white walls reflecting the dazzling sunlight were the main reason for its nickname, the City of Lighthouses, but he felt that the city was more like a lonely pearl fallen in the middle of the sea.

“Assuming we really have to confront the demonic tide on Nocturne, this is most likely to become their primary target,” Constantine Waldo said. “While most demons lack any tactical thinking or strategic direction, those who worship the Blood God are different. If their god so desires, they can also execute exquisite tactics. However, I think the situation will be worse. I don’t think they will shake the veil and send out large numbers of minions as they have in the past.”

He pointed at Khalil, who gave him a thoughtful look.

"Because you are here, and since you are here, the quantity becomes meaningless."

“Perhaps,” Khalil said. “Who can understand their thoughts? These embodiments of concepts are actually changing every second. Moreover, what governs their behavior is not some so-called personality.”

“Indeed,” Waldo agreed. “Trying to understand them with the logic of 'why' will only drive people crazy. Instead, we should ask why?”

His expression turned bitter, an emotion Khalil had never seen on him before. But he was right.

Yes, why not?
Indeed, numbers are meaningless in the face of Khalil Lohals, but why not?
Their relationship is not a simple numbers game of give and take, but a complex interplay where each is intertwined with the other.

War brings benefits to Khorne, but the bursts of wisdom and humanity that occur during the war can make Tzeentch and Slaanesh applaud it, not to mention the widespread plagues after the war, the physical ailments of disabled soldiers, and even their mental illnesses.
So, why not?
He closed his eyes, sinking his mind into the depths of darkness, and as always, they rejoiced, celebrating his return.
The wasteland seemed to call out, and the wandering spirits above waved to him. The demons of the Eighth Legion gave the Eagle Salute to their chests, but he did not stop and continued to venture deeper.

Gradually, many things inhabiting this distorted and terrifying other world took notice of him. Some glanced at him indifferently before returning to their eternal slumber. But many more, those beings known in the human world as the Unborn, screamed at his arrival.

Then the gods arrived immediately.

"haven't seen you for a long time."

The image of a recruiter he had once seen emerged from a nebula with a grin, and tipped his hat to him in salute.

"How come you have time to come back to us, brother? And in such an unguarded state?"

Khalil glanced at him, then with a flick of his wrists, two sharp knives slid out of his sleeves.

The recruiting officer burst into laughter, waving his hands repeatedly as if he were scared.

“Your threats are as direct as ever.” It laughed uncontrollably, almost to the point of breathlessness. “But have you ever heard of a word, brother?”

“All bark and no bite. I know,” Khalil said. “Unlike you, I’ve had a few books to read.” The recruiter froze, his smile fading—but this time, only this time, a genuine smile welled up in the depths of his ever-changing eyes.

“What about the other three?” Khalil asked.

"Ah, they're all busy with their own things," the recruiter shrugged nonchalantly. "I can tell you a little bit—our little sister is planning to let her jewel out to play. She's itching for a beating and needs you, her strict older brother, to teach her a lesson, but unfortunately, you seem to have your mind elsewhere."

Khalil remained unmoved.

The recruiting officer clicked his tongue and sighed in disappointment, "What a pity."

“He will fail,” Khalil said calmly. “But it makes no difference to Him.”

“Yes, yes, that’s certainly true for her—but aren’t you worried?” The recruiter raised an eyebrow, quite curious. “Aren’t you afraid we’ll use this time to do something you can’t accept?”

“I believe in Feralus Manus.”

"what!"

The recruiter let out another sharp, piercing laugh, the aftershocks of which, like the concentrated explosion of millions of world-destroying bombs, swept across the nebula they were in from the inside out.
When the laughter subsided, the nebula had disappeared, replaced by a glittering glass house.

The recruiting officer gracefully opened the door, removed his hat, bowed, and extended an invitation to Khalil with utmost humility.

"Please come in," he said softly. "I have something I'd like to discuss with you."

Khalil laughed too, but it was a contemptuous laugh.

A thought flashed through his mind, and his surroundings changed rapidly. He found himself sitting in a chair inside the glass house, with a cup of hot tea in front of him. The dark tea leaves inside were exactly the same as the cup he had tasted in Vulcan, even the quantity was exactly the same.

The recruiting officer sat down opposite him, his index fingers crossed on the table, whistling lightly, his feet swinging under the table.

“Ah, ah, ah.” The recruiter withdrew his right hand, raised his index finger, and shook it at him, diverting his attention from the cup of tea. “I wasn’t there at the time; I saw it later. You can’t stop me from exercising my nature, can you? I’m thirsting for knowledge, brother.”

"Thirsty for knowledge, yet not daring to be truly omniscient and omnipotent."

“And what about you?” the recruiter countered. “Do you dare to devote yourself wholeheartedly to the sacred, great, and just cause of revenge? Do you dare to completely surrender yourself to this endless, brutal work? You don’t, brother, just as the paralyzed man on the brass throne refuses to bless every war, the cancer patient in the garden doesn’t want the world to be silent forever, and our little sister is both wanton and innocent.”

"We are a collection of contradictions."

He laid his left hand flat, raised his right hand to support his cheek, and grinned at Khalil.

“In other words, we shouldn’t have developed self-awareness, but we have, and it’s so strong.” The recruiter looked up and sighed deeply. “Oh no.”

Khalil picked up the cup of tea, but instead of drinking it, he poured it over his shoulder and placed it on the table. The scalding hot tea overflowed from the cup, but not a single drop spilled onto the table.

The recruiting officer extended a finger, dipped it in a drop of the liquid, and wrote a line of small characters on the gleaming tabletop.

It initially had no meaning, but it quickly twisted into the first language ever used by humankind, followed by a second and a third, which evolved and differentiated over tens of thousands of years in a flash, eventually settling into a beautiful line of cursive High Gothic script.

[Take care of her, hurt her, so that for a long time to come she won't be able to gather power and act on her own nature. I'll help you this once, how about it?]

"Why?" Khalil asked.

The conscription officer dipped his brush in the second drop of tea and patiently wrote the second line of text.

Because she's playing with something she doesn't care about at all, something that's very important to me. I need to maintain my uniqueness, brother, you know that perfectly well, haven't we already worked on it once?

Khalil sneered, "You're frighteningly honest."

The recruiting officer smiled slightly, nodded to him, and mouthed: "Only for you."

“But I didn’t come here to ask for your help,” Khalil said, slowly standing up.

The evil god, the most powerful deity in the material world throughout history, flashed by briefly, merely a phantom, yet it was still enough to make the recruiting officer feel like he had thorns in his back.

He knew the reason behind it—this god had once harmed him, even bringing him to the brink of death, and this connection had resonated throughout the Warp for countless years. Therefore, if this evil god were to reappear in its full glory one day, he would find it difficult to contend with it.

But he didn't care.

“Yes, I know.” Tzeentch smiled and stood up. “I understand you’re just here to issue a warning, and I believe you’re determined to go down with the fight to the bitter end. But you’ve come to the wrong place, you’ve come to the wrong person, brother.”

"I didn't contact you."

“What’s the difference?” Tzeentch retorted. “In this ocean, who doesn’t act according to their own will? The fact that you met me first means you wanted to find me—once again, you’re pushing everything onto me. You and the race you protect are so alike, always blaming others.”

Khalil fell silent, and flames of rage rose beneath his feet, beginning to burn the glass house.

Tzeentch sighed and sat back down, straightened the glass, put on his hat, and gave him a salute that was both serious and comical.

“This matter has nothing to do with us,” he said calmly. “What you are dealing with is the opposite of yourself.”

Flames rose high and burned everything—at the last moment, as the recruiter's face was about to melt, he asked a very abrupt, yet very sincere, question.

"Have you thought about how this will end?" he asked.

Khalil opened his eyes, his right hand twitched, and the dagger was in his hand again.

“With this,” he muttered to himself. “With your deaths.”

(End of this chapter)