40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 816, Section 13: Walking with Fire (Part 5)

Living a long life isn't all good, but it's not all bad either. At least Constantine Waldo can now glean some details from his long life that are helpful in the current battle.

Interestingly, they are just some ancient folk tales.

He read about Terra in books back when it was still just Terra and hadn't yet been given the prefix 'broken'.

These stories are often related to monsters, such as those that eat human fingers, steal babies at night, cause pregnant women to miscarry, and turn husbands from down-to-earth good people into drunkards and gambling madmen—all of which at first glance seem to be nothing more than admonitions containing folk wisdom.

To be honest, he wasn't interested in these stories at the time, which were either bizarre or terrifying—when you live in an era where witchcraft is rampant and technology far more evil than witchcraft shrouds the sky, stories are just stories.

These stories don't bite or eat people, but the monsters in them do, though unfortunately they can't actually jump out.
But what if it comes out? What if it's real?
More than one person has thought about this, and some people who make a living by playing with words have even tried with great joy to expand this idea into a new story.

Regardless of whether they ultimately completed it or gave up in agony, sometimes, the things in books really can bite.

Waldo calmly turned and thrust his weapon.

The radiance on the Spear of the Sun God, which had remained bright since the start of the battle, now shone with an explosive intensity. It fulfilled its duty as a weapon, viciously and mercilessly piercing flesh, then twisting, biting, and slicing.
Blood splattered, and the wounded creature feigned pain and roared, but to the Imperial Guard Marshal's ears, the sound was nothing short of mockery.

“I know I can’t kill you,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you.”

"You too, my friend, you too," the monster laughed in response, its blood gushing forth. "You've stabbed me countless times with that spear; its innate talent is helping you see my face clearly. How are you? Satisfied? Isn't my face handsome?"

As it spoke, it suddenly widened its yellowish eyes, gouged out its eyeballs with its fingers, and tossed them up and down with its claws, mixed with wet, sticky blood, looking utterly comical. Its body also changed at the same time; its flesh twisted like clay, and was forcibly molded by an invisible hand into a gloomy-faced middle-aged man.

He put his eyes back in their sockets, then grinned, revealing a few crooked teeth hanging from his shrunken gums. His eyes were pitch black, and his skin was deathly pale, sculpted from the long-deprived earth. His arms were covered in tattoos, the gangster habits clearly and unmistakably there, proclaiming that he came from a vast, long-destroyed prison.

It was created by the ancient Terran nobility, initially used to imprison criminals, but later used to throw innocent people into it as well.

Centuries passed, and they had long forgotten that another group of people lived underground. Thus, the prisoners were forgotten until the army of the Lord of Man broke through there.

Waldo's memory came into play again, and he quickly connected the face with the former First Company Commander of the Eighth Army.

The monster stared at him, reached out and broke off a tooth, then swallowed it, deliberately making its expression grotesque and terrifying.

"How do I look? Do I resemble his father?"

Constantine Waldo finally showed some anger.

"You only dare to do this now."

He stopped speaking, raised his arm with murderous intent, and cleaved it in two with a spear.

It feigned pain and screamed, dramatically holding up its internal organs, its mouth split in two, screaming and cursing from both sides—perhaps realizing it was getting boring, the seemingly gruesome injury healed instantly in the next moment.

It stood up with a laugh, then wiped its face, and in the blood, the face looked completely different.

A woman's face.

His skin was dark, marked by the hardships and wars of life. He held a high position for a long time, yet he was a brutal leader.

She was executed for stealing water.

"How about it?" it asked with a smile. "You see? I know a lot of things!"

"A pathetic scheme; that's all you can do."

"A scheme?!"

It burst into laughter.

"You overestimate me, esteemed sir! I have no interest in elaborate plans or devising ways to gain the so-called advantage in battle—that's the privilege of people like you. You were created for the purpose of fighting, but I am different. I was born solely for..."

It stretched out its long, slender, bright red tongue, licked its lips, and transformed into the shape of a woman and her young son amidst the trembling of flesh and blood.

“I suppose I’m just trying to make you suffer,” it said, shrugging, with the face of young La Endymion. “Of course, it would be even better if some of them died.”

Waldo had given up on dealing with it, but, as he said, he couldn't kill it.

Ordinary demons are nothing against the sharpness of the Spear of Apollo; no matter how strong their bodies or how blessed their armor, the weapon forged by the Emperor himself will kill them with screams of agony.
This thing is different; its life and death are firmly tied to the future Cassidolius Delcunas, while the messenger is probably still lying carefree in his cradle.

But that doesn’t mean the Imperial Guard Marshal will let it get away with it.

He swung his spear, severing the legs of the body it had now fabricated, then reversed the spear and thrust it forcefully through its forehead, embedding it deep into the volcanic rock.

At the same time, the ground began to tremble—he and it turned around simultaneously, looking towards the entrance of the passage.

The demon smiled, as if he had seen something he had always wanted to see, while Waldo's eyes were filled with heaviness.

He pulled out the spear, and it laughed maniacally in gratitude. Its flesh then surged and transformed into a muscular behemoth, charging almost madly at another demon.

Waldo, of course, would not stand idly by. He immediately threw out the Spear of Apollo, but unexpectedly, it was struck in mid-air by an invisible force and sent flying back.
The woman in the blood-stained dress looked at him, her lips, which seemed to be smeared with blood, trembled slightly.

“Don’t interfere, we’ll take it away,” she said with an inhuman calm.

The agile movements of the demon beneath her proved this statement.

It raised its hands and, amidst the oncoming high-speed charge, accurately located the head of the giant beast that the monster had transformed into. Then, with a swift swing of its hands, it forcefully slammed the beast to the ground.

Black pebbles flew everywhere, and behind the thin veil, the face, no longer human, became even more distorted.

Finally, it let out a low growl.

The woman raised her hand and gently stroked its cheek, then spoke again, her voice becoming soft and melodious, her words hissing.

The black flames slowly ignited, with extreme restraint, not spreading, but merely enveloping them.

The Imperial Guard Marshal swept past them like the wind.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

He received no answer from the one he sought; instead, the thing roared at him fiercely as it trembled, about to be driven away by the curtain.

“You always just let us down and then offer an apology, how noble! Please allow me to ask you, Constantine Waldo, how many similar things have you done in your life?!” Constantine Waldo gripped the Apollo Spear tightly and ran upwards.

It took him less than four minutes to see the Lord of Fire Dragons mercilessly beating his enemy with a warhammer. However, instead of attacking the dark humanoid figure with the flat of the warhammer, he kept using the sharp, armor-piercing spike to wound it repeatedly.

Waldo raised his hand again and joined the battle with another successful spear throw.

The Lord of Fire Dragons spun around and appeared beside it, his warhammer now bearing a different blade—he stretched out his body, raised the warhammer high in the most unadorned posture, and then brought it down heavily.
For some reason, the world fell silent for a moment; even the faintest sounds of the ceaseless thermal activity within the extinct volcano ceased. Light was destroyed, darkness was banished, and everything in the world seemed to vanish unreal, only to return at breakneck speed.

As if in retaliation, the noise was amplified a hundredfold, affecting even Waldo to some extent, while Vulcan remained completely unmoved.

He raised his warhammer, coldly examining the remains scattered in the pit, now reduced to gelatinous powder, before glancing up at the Imperial Guard Marshal.

"Did you know beforehand?" he asked abruptly.

“Even if I could, he wouldn’t allow it,” Waldo replied, equally abruptly.

Vulcan nodded, accepting the explanation, and the intense feeling of being inhuman finally subsided.

Waldo walked to his side, reached out and grasped the Spear of Apollo, preparing to receive the revelation it brought, but instead missed.
He felt nothing; the past, images, revelations, flaws—none of these appeared before his eyes.

"Failed?" Vulcan asked, unsurprised.

Waldo frowned, staring at the contents of the pit, unsure how to answer.

The Primarch chuckled softly, its meaning unclear, then crouched down, grabbed a handful of pebbles with its left hand, squeezed them tightly, and threw them into the pit—instantly, a raging fire ignited, reducing those things to nothingness.

“I don’t know if your weapon failed, but mine certainly failed,” Vulcan said, staring at the flames. “He used that dagger to save his life at the last moment and escape the material world.”

Waldo knew about it, but he actually made a little joke about it: "I thought it was you who caused it."

“Me?” Vulcan glanced at him. “If I could.”

He gave a rare cold laugh, without saying a word. Behind him, a golden-glowing spirit carrying an embryo cautiously approached.

Waldo frowned, staring at the familiar face, and immediately saw the desire hidden beneath the calm, and the fear that arose from it.

He waved his hand, causing the tail of the Sun God's Spear to pierce the rock, then walked over, stretched out his hands, and gently took the shimmering blue light.

During this time, the warp entity with the face of Horus Lupecal glanced at him several times, but Waldo never paid him any attention from beginning to end.

Left with no other choice, he turned to Vulcan.

Just then, the Lord of Fire Dragons also stood up.

“Brother,” the entity said sincerely.

Vulcan turned around, showing no reaction to the address, his expression eerily calm.

He picked up the warhammer again, placed it diagonally in front of him, and then swung it lightly, as if drawing a dividing line.

The physical figure's expression inevitably turned somewhat sorrowful, but he seemed to know the main reason why Vulcan did this, and he actually took a few steps back.

“I understand,” he said with a sigh.

“You understand nothing,” Vulcan said.

He turned his head and glanced at the embryo lying in the arms of the Imperial Guard Marshal. Under the blue light, it was still stained with blood, growing strong in its mother's flesh and blood.

The elixir provided enough nutrition for it to grow to the stage of natural childbirth, and the psionic simulated environment kept it unaware of its own situation.
But what has happened cannot be changed. This child, whose gender is not yet known, has lost both his father and mother, and has never even received a name.

Admittedly, it will receive much help in the future, but no amount of help can fill this void.

The narrator lowered his head with difficulty. "I already know those things."

"Really? What are your thoughts?" Vulcan asked.

The entity was clearly stumped by the question; he didn't know how to answer it, and he couldn't even hide his emotions, which raged across his face like a storm, eventually coalescing into a resolute expression.

“I want to make amends,” he said slowly.

"What's the point?"

"At least it can make things a little better."

Vulcan shook his head: "For millennia, countless sacrifices have long since darkened the future of the empire. Sooner or later, humanity will no longer need us."

The flames, seemingly real yet illusory, ignited as the words fell, rising and pulsating as if they possessed life and consciousness.

In an instant, the entity found that the world beneath its feet had changed. The dark volcanic rocks and winding lava had disappeared, replaced by muddy country roads. Sunlight pierced through the clouds and shone on its face, bringing a burning pain.

In a daze, he realized that he had never seen the sun during each of his summons.

A very familiar voice came from behind me.

"give up."

The entity swiftly turned around and saw a face that also belonged to Horus Lupecal.

He was stunned, his expression incredulous, but he quickly relaxed, as if he had realized something.

The person, shaped by memories, slowly spoke.

"To those in the know, your attempt to take full responsibility is naive. But to the uninformed public, you've already become the ringleader. Imagine a traitor suddenly announcing his return and trying to atone for what happened back then? Can you tell how ridiculous that is?"

The entity frowned, not really understanding what he was talking about, but still patiently replied, "You don't understand, but I can turn all of this around—"

"Horus is dead," the memory whispered. "Therefore, whatever you do is meaningless."

A hint of anger finally surfaced in his eyes.

(End of this chapter)