40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 836. 7. NEWVERMORE (Part 1)

The Judge sailed alone in the darkness.

The stars are distant, the vacuum desolate, and useless debris, hurled by several nearby star-shaped worlds, swirls and echoes in a dozen or so asteroid belts. They wait endlessly, hoping that one day they will finally shatter into pieces, ending this endless torment.

If they were conscious, they might beg this massive, passing warship to preheat its cannons and show them a final act of mercy.

Unfortunately, this ship had another mission.

It came here at the behest of its sole master, not to end the misery of a vast amount of discarded synthetic materials—it had important business to attend to, and was also carrying a prisoner who was extremely important to the empire at the moment, yet whose existence was almost unknown to anyone.

“I’ve finished reading my book,” Omega said to his jailer inside the cell. “When can you get me two new ones?”

The jailer looked up from his busy paperwork, glanced at him impatiently, and replied in a cold tone, "I'm afraid I don't have that authority."

"Please don't, Ms. Celestine."

Omega sat on his bed, smiling and spreading his hands, looking completely innocent.

"We've known each other for almost a year now, haven't we?"

“Yes, and that means your life will soon come to an end.” Celestine grew increasingly cold, his brows furrowed. “Sooner or later you will be taken to Terra and beheaded.”

"This is a good ending for me. But since that's the case, I should read more books, don't you think?"

Selestine did not respond further. Frustrated, she put down the quill, got up, went to the Hydra leader's cell, and flung open the door.

For some reason, the door wasn't locked.

After she finished doing this, she took two steps back, stepped aside, crossed her arms, and gave a cold snort to the prisoner inside the door.

Omega blinked cautiously and slowly asked, "Excuse me, ma'am, what does this mean?"

"What I mean is, I'm very busy, you should go to the adults and apply for the new book yourself."

After saying that, Celestine turned and left without looking back.

She strode back to the table and buried herself in the pile of documents that had almost formed a small mountain. But the force with which she wrote was suddenly much stronger, almost as if she were venting her anger.

Omega didn't reply. He quietly stood up, went to the edge of the cell, and closed the door himself.
His voice didn't sound again until several minutes later.

"I apologize."

Celestine gave a lukewarm "hmm".

“But I didn’t mean it. I was just bored, Sister,” Omega said sincerely. “We have been away from Chermos for seven months and eleven days, and in all this time no one has interrogated me, tortured me, or subjected me to any kind of torture to wear down my willpower.”

"To be honest, I was prepared to endure this before I turned myself in, but the worst injury I've ever suffered so far was just a punch from Fogrem. This is completely different from what I expected, and it makes my surrender seem like a joke."

“You certainly have a good sense of self-awareness,” Sellers said sarcastically without turning his head.

“That’s why I want to get a beating.” Omega shrugged. “Even if it’s a bad beating, I can take it.”

Upon hearing this, Celestine finally turned around and gave him a formal look.

Immediately afterwards, the fighting nun from the Order of the Martyrs stood up and pulled a gun from under her robes.

It appears to be a live-fire weapon, but its size and design language are quite different from the Empire's usual style. Its exquisite craftsmanship and unique streamlined body made Omega raise an eyebrow.

He suddenly stood up, rushed to the cell door, and began to observe it through the small window.

“Hmm,” he murmured to himself, ignoring Celestine who was checking the ammunition. “I’ve never seen this type of firearm before. How powerful is it, Sister?”

Celestine turned off the safety and raised the gun.

"Ah, very good. It seems you have a strong practical spirit. Well then, let's give it a try."

Omega laughed with interest, then pushed open the door, tore open his prison uniform, and pointed to his chest. The shackles on his hands and feet had already been removed, and in this state, given the Primarch's combat capabilities, even if he were aimed at by several times more firearms simultaneously, it would only take him a second or two longer.

He didn't need to put on this look of waiting to be slaughtered unless he did it intentionally.

Sellers slowly pressed his right index finger toward the trigger.

However, although she seemed to be aiming, her gaze was actually focused on something else, and she unconsciously tensed up.

She only now realized something was wrong, unlike Omega. The Hydra leader laughed as she turned and stepped out of the cell, causing the creature in the darkness to bark and pounce.
Countless sharp blades pierced his body, and before the blood could flow out, it was greedily licked clean.

Omega fell heavily to the ground, offering no resistance and allowing the thing to harm him. He gently raised his hand, cradling it in his arms, and slowly stood up.

Celestine held a gun in one hand and clutched her rosary beads to her chest with the other. Her expression was quite intriguing as she listened to the horrifying sound of bloodsucking.

"Bang bang."

Omega uttered two playful onomatopoeic words softly, winked at her, and still smiled.

"Shoot quickly, Sister, this is a demon!" he urged.

"Large".

A voice came from behind Celestine.

The monster, which was enjoying its meal, suddenly shuddered and lost its vitality. As if it had been killed, it fell off Omega's body and slowly dissolved.

The expressionless Grand Judge stepped out of the darkness, first glancing at the prisoner whose smile remained unchanged, then raising his hand to press down on the gun in Celestine's hand.

He spoke earnestly and offered his advice.

"Although it is also one of the jailers, you can still shoot it if necessary. Don't be too polite to it, Sister; sometimes it can't distinguish between public and private matters."

But it is...

“It doesn’t matter,” Khalil emphasized. “What it is doesn’t matter. What really matters is its current status. It’s a safety net, and it’s a jailer, but you’re the warden here. So if it misbehaves, you have to stop it. And if it does it again, you just shoot.”

“Yes, sir,” Celestine replied, bowing his head.

Khalil released his grip so that Celestine could retrieve his gun.

He turned to Omega.

The snake-headed man was still all smiles, but he had somehow retreated back into the cell, standing close to the wall, dressed in prison clothes, as if nothing had happened.

If it weren't for his unusually pale face, one might have suspected that everything that had just happened was an illusion.

“If there’s a next time, I guarantee you won’t even be able to read books anymore,” Khalil warned him calmly. “Stay put. It’s better for both of us. At least you won’t have half your blood drained away again. It’s not good for your health at all.”

Omega replied with an undiminished smile, "Bloodletting used to be a legitimate medical treatment, Uncle."

“Yes, but the number of people who have died for this is staggering. Also, don’t call me that.” “Why? Do I think you deserve that title, or are you, like Father, more biased towards the Imperial Guard? I just think they wouldn’t call you that.”

“Your father’s attitude toward the Imperial Guard is different from his attitude toward you. There’s no question of favoritism. Also, so far, the only people who have addressed me as such are you and Ruth.”

Omega paused, and the smile on his face suddenly vanished.

“However,” Khalil said, walking into the cell and closing the door behind him, “you want to know our destination, don’t you?”

"Yes."

"Then next time just ask directly, don't beat around the bush and call me like this."

“Okay,” Omega readily agreed.

"And don't challenge Sister Celestine anymore, she has a bad temper."

"I think—"

But Omega wisely swallowed the rest of his words before he could finish.

He raised his hands, turned around like an experienced mortal, and then slowly placed his hands on the back of his head.

"Anyway, sir, where are we going?"

Khalil lifted his bedsheets and found two small knives made from solidified porridge. He then flipped through each book again, but found nothing more.

He placed the two knives on the desk beside him and replied, "Savior."

"What?" Omega turned around in astonishment.

“Savior.” Khalil repeated. “You heard me right.”

"Then why did you bring me along?"

The Grand Judge chuckled, casually removed his hat, and habitually pinched the edge: "What would you think if I said it was just for fun?"

The snake-headed creature lowered its hand, turned around to face him, and said, "I will find it hard to believe for a while, and then I will believe it."

"You believe that? What if I said it was to kill you there?"

Omega suppressed the urge to sigh and began to analyze the situation seriously.

"I will die, that's for sure, but dying on a savior planet seems rather strange. Both of those things are unlikely, especially considering the destination."

His eyes suddenly lit up for a moment, and his tone became full of anticipation.

"Are they going to find Corax? Is he on the savior planet?"

“Perhaps,” Khalil said. “It’s still uncertain at the moment, but something is definitely going to happen there.”

Omega pondered for a moment longer, then spoke with a succinct answer: "A raptor?"

Khalil gave him a meaningful look and shook his head: "You know quite a lot."

Omega ignored his hints for the moment and quickly went to the desk.

He moved all the books off the table and placed them on the bed, then poured a glass of water onto the table. He dipped his finger in the water and quickly and precisely sketched a star map in the empty space beside him.

"The Fosar Sector is a subsystem of the Storm Sector. It produces a large amount of industrial and agricultural goods. Orcs frequently invade its borders, and its defenses are of moderate strength."

He spoke as he drew.

"The Salvation Star is located in its central part. Its main planet, Kiava, has long been a dead world. The other three worlds, which are satellites of the Salvation Star, were all ordered to be exterminated in the later stages of M31 and have now been completely destroyed."

He stopped, turned to look at Khalil, his tone grave and his expression extremely serious.

"If the raptor really appears, the existing Raven Guard forces are probably not enough to deal with it. That thing is a walking curse to them."

Omega's words were true. For the past ten thousand years, the Lord of the Saving Star has never ceased his hunt, and his offspring have been equally determined. Each generation of Raven Guards has taken it upon themselves to kill 'birds of prey,' and has suffered greatly in the process.

To this day, the position of Warband Leader has been passed down from Sharojin to thousands of people, but they have never given up this responsibility.

Apart from the necessary personnel remaining on their home planet and a small number joining the Medical Association, the rest of the Ravenguard either formed hunting fleets to search for battles throughout the Empire's territory or went to the warbands on the front lines to fight alongside their cousins.

Throughout their lives, they were searching for that moment of salvation that had become synonymous with fatherhood, completely unaware that they themselves had already become one of the saviors.
But the warp is such an unreasonable thing; the Ravenguards have made unimaginable efforts to end the Raptors. Yet, its mere appearance is enough to cause them unbearable suffering.

“Yes,” Khalil said. “That’s why I came.”

Omega's expression remained unchanged, as if he had expected this answer from the start, and he immediately followed up with another question.

“You can’t solve all problems with brute force,” he said, staring at him. “That demon must be killed the right way. Perhaps you can use brute force, but the price to pay would be staggering, and it wouldn’t be fair to the Raven Guards if you did.”

Khalil looked at him and returned the gaze with equal intensity, his tone seemingly wistful.

"You know far too much, Omega. Just how far have you infiltrated the Empire over the past ten thousand years?"

Is now the time to discuss this?

"No."

"Then please answer my question."

Is this the attitude a prisoner should have?

“No,” Omega said. “But I must know the answer.”

“The answer is, I don’t intend to do it the way you say. I am an inquisitor, Omega, and I have many ways to deal with demons.”

He left those words behind, put his wide-brimmed hat back on, and turned to walk out of the prison cell.

Listening to his receding footsteps, Omega lowered his head again, gazing silently at the star map he had just drawn.

Only when the water stains gradually dried and the sound of writing could be heard again outside the prison door did he let out a heavy sigh.

His cell had no portholes; the only source of light came from a small lamp on the wall.

He spread out the bed, slowly lay down, and stared at the ceiling without saying a word. The light and shadow sliced ​​his face into several pieces of varying sizes, and the muscles around his eyes were trembling gently.

After a while, the corners of his mouth couldn't help but turn up in a smile.

In that single second, his expression perfectly matched the human definition of sadness.

(End of this chapter)