40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 814, Section 11: Walking with Fire (Part 3)

Hesiod's situation is better than Alvin had anticipated.

He had expected to see a collapse of order or something worse, but he was wrong.

Normally, he finds it hard to tolerate making mistakes, regardless of the reason or the aspect. But at this moment, he is glad he made a mistake, and even hopes that he can make the same mistake again and again.

However, looking at the bustling streets teeming with people, this brief joy was ultimately suppressed.

Who knows how many non-human beings are inside?

Was it the mother resting by the fountain with her child in her arms, or the tall man striding past them? Raven's dark eyes swept over these ordinary faces, seeing joy and happiness, or the small troubles of a peaceful daily life—a merchant haggling over a price, a child sulking with their parents.
These things are treasures that his homeland can never obtain again. The children of Nocturne have shed countless blood to bring them this precious peace.

But soon, I'm afraid all of that will be gone.

Realizing this made him very angry.

He continued upwards, climbing step by step up the surface of the high-rise building that served as the city's central hub.

No one noticed his presence. None of the busy eyes behind the reinforced glass and windows paid any attention to him, as if everything outside was normal. There was no tall giant in black and white armor clinging to the outside, and their own faces were even reflected in the crimson goggles.

He climbed all the way to the top—120 meters, not very tall, but it was a rare high-rise building on Nocturne Star.

The citizens of the sheltered city pride themselves on being civilized and progressive people who have shed the cloak of a barbaric tribe, yet they fail to realize that their habit of refusing to let buildings occupy the sky originates from their ancestors.

They try to distance themselves from the tribespeople, and may even ridicule or discriminate against them. But in the end, what is the difference between the two?

In Alvin's view, this was incredibly foolish. But he was merely a transient figure whose thirty-year term was about to expire, destined for another warband, and had no right to say anything about it.

He silently passed over the security devices on the top of the building, and the warning lasers covering the exterior walls ignored him. The automated turrets that acted on programmed commands were even less likely to detect them.

He arrived at one of the three security doors leading into the building and sent the message of arrival via a neural link to a temporarily created, non-classified communication channel.

Just a few seconds later, the extremely heavy door in front of him made a soft sound, switching from power failure to manual switch mode.

Alvin reached out and gently pushed the door open. The world behind it was bright and spacious, and even the staircase was made of very luxurious stone.

He quietly closed the door, stepped into the shadows, and walked down. Guards, surveillance cameras, and ubiquitous identification lasers once again ignored him; no one realized that a deadly assassin was infiltrating the area with deadly intent.

He arrived at his destination a few minutes later—a conference room on the twenty-second floor, where two salamanders stationed in Hesiod were telling the assembled tribal chiefs and citizen leaders the truth about the pillar of fire that had appeared not long ago.

Although it is a modified version of the truth, it does indeed convey some dangerous signals.

Alvin stood beside a guard, listening quietly, while almost instinctively counting the guards' heartbeats.

Five minutes later, the storytelling inside the room temporarily ceased, replaced by a chaotic discussion. High Gothic and the rough dialect of Nocturne mingled in the room, each voice expressing their own thoughts. Some were terrified, some calm, and others sounded as if they were dying, their voices barely audible.
The discussion lasted for almost an hour. Just as the guard closest to Alvin was about to switch legs, the door opened, and an old man with a flushed face came out first.

He was dressed in a standard tribal robe and even carried a long wooden staff; he looked older than him. He muttered angrily to a young man following behind him as he quickened his pace and left.

None of the important figures from Nocturne who emerged after them appeared to be calm. Some were furious, others were pale, and the slightly better ones were merely putting on a brave face.

Alvin memorized their faces one by one.

Through the eyepiece, each person's name and identity appear next to their face, along with accessible information and even their recent whereabouts.
Unlike other sanctuary cities, Hesiod's high-tech level meant that their daily travel records for the entire year were meticulously documented. This was originally just a small feature included in the system designed by the Mechanicus, and the Salamanders had never intended to use it formally, let alone retrieve it and send it to an assassin like this.

However, things rarely go as planned.

Alvin turned and left.

He had identified several suspects who had all left Hesiod for some time, and for extended periods at that. But that was the only lead; otherwise, they were all unremarkable, one of whom was even a model citizen.

Her name was Cortalana, and she was sixty-seven years old, long-lived and wise. Born into a wealthy merchant family in Hesiodne, she chose to enter politics after reaching adulthood. For many years, she had been calling on the citizens of the various sanctuary cities to abandon their prejudices, dedicating herself to eliminating discrimination, and strongly supporting the tribesmen in bringing ancient culture back to the citizens.

Beyond these things, she herself is also highly regarded. Even those who dislike her the most will reluctantly add a few good words after cursing her, because she has indeed done a lot of practical things in management and planning, and has also developed businesses, which has genuinely raised the economic level.

In recent years, she has been nearing retirement, but her prestige has only grown.
She became the first target.

After nightfall, he followed her car to an ordinary house, where the driver—a middle-aged man who was also not young—carefully helped Cortalana out of the car.

The old woman was no longer as beautiful as she had been in her youth, but her smiling face still brought joy. She greeted her neighbors and told the driver to hurry home for dinner, then strolled leisurely toward her house, completely unaware that Alvin was right behind her.

She came in, and he came in too. She took off her coat and went to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of tea; he went upstairs, found the study, and glanced at the letters on the desk; she sat on the sofa, put on her glasses, and began to read; he went to the basement and inspected the clutter.
It all came to an end with the ringing of the doorbell. Cortalana sighed, stood up, and went to open the door. Her neighbor's voice followed, respectful and warm.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the neighbor said, "I saw you were in a meeting so late, and you must be hungry, so I brought you something."
Sigh, Adya, I've already told you you don't need to worry about me so much.
That won't do.
Standing in the shadows of the living room, Alvin silently watched all of this.

He saw the old woman invite her neighbor inside, saying she had something for her, and then go upstairs. Her neighbor, a young woman still wearing an apron, looked around the house, then went to the dining room, placed the lunchbox she was carrying on the table, and opened it.

The aroma of stew wafted over, and the bright yellow light from the streetlamp, filtering through the thin curtains, illuminated the woman's profile, revealing a restrained happiness. A few seconds later, there was a sound on the stairs, followed by slow, soft footsteps. Cortalana, holding a brooch, approached with a smile, intending to present it to the woman as a gift.

Alvin didn't know the specifics of their relationship, but he figured they were probably more than just neighbors; they were friends. The younger woman often took good care of the elderly woman who lived alone, and in return, the elderly woman offered her some help with life experiences—that was roughly it.
But the woman who turned around was no longer the friend Cortalana knew.

Her face was churning, making it resemble a mask that had become too soft from being torn apart. The skin and flesh collapsed lightly, then split open, revealing a patch of darkness inside. A strange sound, like a dead branch being broken, began to echo in the restaurant.

A few seconds later, a long, thin, twisted, pitch-black human figure stood in front of the stunned old man.

It made a soft purring sound, like a cat's meow. It reached out its hand to the old man, and the darkness at its fingertips trembled with excitement, as if it were alive.

Alvin cut it in half with a knife.

His appearance was so sudden, so unexpected, and so swift. The monomolecular knife severed the unsettlingly thin hand completely; it fell to the floor, trembling, and began to transform again.

Flip, flip, flip. Blood and flesh returned in an instant, and the muscles at the cut writhed anxiously, searching for the body parts that had once connected to them.

The old man finally screamed.

The monster roared and threw a punch at the crow guard, which was easily dodged. Then it was split in two at the waist—this time the transformation was even faster, and it turned back into the woman's face as soon as it landed.

She looked at everything in front of her, bewildered and shocked, and asked in utter confusion, "What happened, Cortalana?"

The old man couldn't utter a single word; he just stumbled backward, swallowing back more screams.

"What's wrong with me?" The woman strained to look around. "What's going on?"

Aren't you dead yet?

Alvin recalled Norn's description of the flames.

With a click, he pulled the small flamethrower from his belt buckle, kicked the severed torso to the ground, and pressed the button to activate it. Blazing flames reflected off his black visor, the crimson goggles chillingly sharp.

But what came from the fire was not the howl of a monster, but the woman's genuine screams of agony.

She screamed in agony, desperately asking Cortalana why she was doing this, then burst into tears and choked sobs, strange hissing sounds coming from her throat.
The flames burned wildly, quickly engulfing the restaurant. Alvin turned to look at the old woman, only to find that she now held a portable light gun. She stood there trembling, the gun lowered, not pointed at him.

"What is that?" she asked, her teeth chattering.

Alvin didn't answer, but suddenly turned to look at the doorway. There, a father and son were running anxiously. The son was young and only worried about his mother, unaware of what the scream meant. The father, however, probably understood; his face was filled with disbelief and deep fear.

Alvin gestured to Cortalana, who then followed him as if in a daze. He walked towards the door, knife and flamethrower in hand, smashing the wooden door in two blows before striding out. The father and son froze in place at his appearance.

Of course, many more people—those who were living peaceful lives—are stepping out of their homes, trying to figure out what's going on.

Therefore, Alvin understood that he had to act quickly in what he was about to do.

But how can it be done quickly? He killed the woman because she showed him her complete transformation, but what about these two people?

Admittedly, they were living under the same roof as the monster and had no chance of escaping being transformed, but what if he was wrong?

As of now, they don't even know what these things are, and even Norn Corbene, who faced them and survived, can't explain it clearly.

He stood silently before the scorching wind and flames, weighing his options. They poured out from behind the door he had destroyed, almost as if from hell itself.

A second later, Alvin gripped his combat dagger and stepped forward.

Astartes's movements were so fast and efficient that mortals could not comprehend them. He arrived before the father and son in just two steps, and their shock and loss were completely transformed into fear.

Then he swung his knife.

He made the right bet.

The son's head fell to the ground, blood splattering as his body began to transform. The father's head screamed and rolled on the grass, utterly devastated by the deaths of his wife and son. He glared hatefully at the perpetrator, completely unaware that his own body was emitting an explosive sound.

Alvin calmly glanced back, then raised his left hand, and the muzzle of the flamethrower, bearing the mark of the Ash Hammer, glowed a blood-red light once more. A raging wave of heat erupted, engulfing them.
His inability to clean up the mess or conceal it was a regret, and a far cry from their style and creed during the Legion era, but the Sons of Korax of the Warband era no longer cared so much. He turned away, intending to take the old woman with him, to take her to a safer place.

Then he saw the latter transform in despair and pain, his face full of disbelief, as if asking: Am I one of them?
At the same time, amidst the crackling of the flames and that strange creaking sound, he heard footsteps, breathing, and heartbeats that suddenly became synchronized.

Are they all like that?

The Raven Guard calmly and resolutely shoved his knife back in and drew his explosive pistol.

(End of this chapter)