40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 844, Part 15: Nevermore (Part 8, 13,000 words)

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He was killing.

Yes, amidst all the chaos and madness, this was the only certainty. The resistance he encountered when wielding his hands and the stickiness left by the blades cutting into steel and flesh had long been ingrained in his heart, like his modified genes—something that death could not take away.

He was killing, and he didn't stop.

Who is he?
In a corner of his mind, not yet consumed by madness, a faint voice uttered a name: Søren Volker. Then came a series of images, fragmented yet perfectly coherent to him. They were his memories and past; with just a hint, he could recall them all.
Finally, he remembered who he was.

He is Soren Volker, the current Chapter Master of the Ravenguard, with 231 years of service. He is the son of a miner, the son of a savior, and a completely unknown offspring of Kolus Corax. However, the only connection between them is a so-called bloodline obtained through genetic surgery; they have never actually met.

In the first fourteen years of his life, which were gradually fading into the past, Søren Volk never let his biological parents down. He studied diligently in the dimly lit underground classroom, exchanging all the rewards he received for his excellent grades for tangible goods to take home.

During the subsequent three years of gradual surgery and training, he earned high praise from his instructors and fellow recruits, and was even commended for exceeding assessment targets on multiple occasions.

But what comes after all that?
What about the longest, most brutal, and bloody war history that lasted a full 214 years?

Has he ever let anyone down?
Is it the savior and its people, or Kolus Corax, or those ancestors who shed blood for the name of the Ravenguard?
Soren sadly discovered that he was unable to find the answer.

But none of those questions matter now; all he knows is that he should stop.

He had to stop.

The reason is very simple: he was fighting.

He wasn't fighting enemies, traitors, aliens, or scum. He was fighting his own brothers in an extremely brutal way.

The skills he had learned in past training and the military discipline ingrained in his bones had been thrown to the back of his mind. Soren could vaguely sense that his body was being driven by something extremely terrible—it was laughing wildly and turning him into a tireless and painful beast, filled with despair and rage.

Besides this, Sauron understood something else.

Without awakening the elders, no one in the band can rival him.

The new recruits were no match for him; no matter how outstanding they were, they couldn't withstand a single move from him. The veterans weren't much of a threat either. If the company commanders teamed up and launched a sneak attack, they could seriously injure him. But that was about it.

But the elders were not awakened, nor could they be awakened; they remained asleep on the space station.

Sauron had anticipated that if they all died here, and the Primarch did not wish to return for some reason, then the responsibility of rebuilding the Chapter could be shared by the Tech Sergeants, Apothecaries, and Elders.

This was a contingency plan for the worst-case scenario. He didn't want to make such a cold decision, but he had no other choice.

"Come to your senses," Søren Volker told himself with difficulty. "Your duty is calling."

He wanted to open his eyes, to see, but he couldn't; a real and profound darkness obscured his vision.

This reminded him of some worlds he had visited, where ancient customs still exist—people would cover the faces of the dead with black cloths during burial to prevent restless souls from trying to peek into the world. They firmly believed that there should be a chasm between life and death, and that the dead should no longer have any attachment to anyone or anything in the world.
But Soren knew that this was not the case.

Moreover, he did not die.

He was merely being controlled by an extremely severe mental illness caused by a genetic defect; he should have enough willpower to break free from it.

Clinging to this hope, he tried again and again, but to no avail. He realized with despair and anger that he simply could not overcome it.

Yes, if he could truly break free from the black mark on his own, there would probably be precedents within the chapter already—so many heroes and martyrs, what makes him worthy of surpassing them and becoming the first? Just because of that ridiculous prefix of being the youngest chapter leader?
All was silent. Søren Volk was as desperate as a condemned prisoner and as bewildered as a child.

He was helpless, and the deep darkness had no intention of letting him go so easily. It continued to transmit extremely faint sounds and sensations, and Sauron had gone too far down the path of shadow. His excellence had now become poison, slowly eroding his heart and flesh, tearing away at his very core.
He knew perfectly well what he had done.

Decapitations, heart stabs, waist cuts, rib strikes, thrusts, diagonal slashes. Unparalleled memories of slaughter and extraordinary power. These two should have been used to fight humanity's enemies, but now they are being used on his brothers: peers or juniors, those adorned with medals or those with great potential.

It doesn't matter anymore; they've all turned to dust.

An overwhelming grief pierced Sauron's heart like a sharp knife, adding to the deep darkness within him, a grief he was no longer aware of.

Regret, sorrow, and despair raged together, tearing the young Star Child's soul to shreds, and his remaining spiritual awareness began to fade.

Memories shattered once more, perception gradually faded, and even the faint sounds from the outside world disappeared little by little, until only silence remained.

Then, he arrived.

Sauron's first sensation was fear, followed by the cacophony. He couldn't understand where that fear came from, because he had never truly been unarmed before.

As a child, his world was enveloped in a reliable order; as a recruit, he became one of the protectors. Much of his training up to this point has been about fearlessness. But the latter is different; it's like being dragged out of the deepest ocean floor.

As the pressure dissipated, all the light and sound relentlessly assaulted his senses in the same instant. A thick, viscous red, along with the burning night sky, began to crush his eyes, while the endless roars and howls of war machines around him rained down on his eardrums like cannonballs.

A deep hum and a strong feeling of weightlessness took over, crowding out what little consciousness he had left.
And then, in an instant, the blackness returned.

Soren Volker silently began to swing his blood-stained claws, while the man who had captured him with one hand did not flinch, letting the deadly sharp edges scrape against his breastplate.

The disintegrating force fields attached to them should have completely shattered his old armor, but they repeatedly failed, leaving only new wounds that scattered sparks and illuminated the pale and tired face of the newcomer.

"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely.

Søren Volk couldn't hear a thing.

The newcomer raised his free left hand, his long, slender fingers curving like eagle claws, then extended and swung, severing Sauron's lightning claw with his own flesh and blood.

Six broken steel blades fell into the blood, and the disintegration field immediately went out of control. Arcs of electricity began to rage wildly across the arm armor, but Sauron seemed oblivious. Only half of his helmet remained on his head, and the exposed half of his face was twitching grotesquely, like a person having an epileptic seizure.

The newcomer pursed his lips and let out a sigh atop the small hill of corpses.

Suddenly, someone coldly gave an order from behind him.

"kill him."

The newcomer ignored him, tightened his right hand, causing Soren Volker to faint instantly, then picked him up, turned him around, and looked at the ghost in blue and gold armor.

Conrad Coates smiled and tilted his head, the burning night sky arrogantly looming over his black hair.

“Kill him.” He changed his tone, urging more quickly. “Hurry up, Corax.”

Kolus Corax understood perfectly why Conrad Coz had said that.

At this moment, Søren Volker has been consumed by the black brand, which has temporarily transformed him into a monster, causing him to commit such a bloody crime. But soon, he will regain his senses. He will escape this terrible despair and madness and regain his sanity.

What will he think when he looks around at that time?

Corax didn't want to think about the answer.

Smiling, Coz asked again.

Do you want him to live with regret and torment, just like you and me?

The Lord of the Ravens made no response to this. He turned around again, stepped down from the pile of corpses, and placed Soren Volker in a small clearing that was not yet covered by bits of flesh and broken bones. Then he planned to disappear into the shadows and head towards the Raven Tower.

Of course, Koz wouldn't let him have his way. The ghost emerged from the darkness and grabbed the shoulder of the Lord of the Crows, who had inexplicably slowed down considerably, with its icy hand.

The latter suddenly struggled free, but the shadows that had always been like loyal dogs, at his beck and call, did not carry him away. He simply stood there, neither turning back nor speaking.

He remained silent, like a stone sculpture.

Koz chuckled and slowly began to speak.

"That thing has already entered the city. You can probably sense it, right? The city's residents have all been dispersed, but not your legion's soldiers. Those recruits are fighting, but unfortunately with little success, though at least no one has died. Their blood connection with yours isn't very deep yet; the genetic disease and that thing's power can't reach their souls. That's a good thing, but they probably don't think so themselves."

He lowered his hand, and the blood-smelling night wind blowing from afar made his scarlet cloak flutter wildly, its edges sharp. He casually tore off one side with his right index finger and held it in his hand, temporarily silencing the irritating, monotonous sound.

With his hands behind his back and holding his cloak, he walked over to Corax, bent down, and tried to see the similar eyes hidden among the latter's falling black hair.

“Brother,” he asked softly. “Do you need my help?”

The pale stone sculpture slowly raised its head, glanced at him, and then shook its head.

"You can't help me with anything."

“I doubt it—you need at least one more person who can keep the recruits and the Raven Tower in check to command the battlefield for you, don’t you? In that case, Conrad Coz is willing to serve you, Lord Corax, with utmost loyalty. Trust me, I will do a very good job, I swear on the honor of my Eighth Legion Primarch.”

"you"

“I’m not being sarcastic.”

“I didn’t say you had it,” Corax said in a low voice.

"Really? But you sound really unhappy, bro."

“I’ve always been like this, and besides, you don’t look too good either.”

"Me? Oh no, I'm doing great. Apart from having a stupid younger brother who's driving me crazy, I have no worries at all. Even that old man who always seems to lose something every time he goes out has been behaving himself lately."

Koz paused, and when he spoke again, his voice had become softer than he had ever used before.

"Let me help you, Corax."

“You can’t help me,” the Lord of the Ravens repeated. “It is my sin, and only I can resolve it.”

The Night King smiled again and repeated his words.

"I don't think so," he said.
-
Seventeen-year-old Raven Guard recruit Tovers Gaunt quickly wrapped a roll of bandage that smelled of medicine around his bare right arm.

He didn't yet have a full-fledged power armor, or even a black shell implanted in it. He wore a set of scout armor manufactured at the Rahn II foundry, 0.7 light-years north of the Salvation Planet. Compared to true power armor, this armor was remarkably quiet, but also much thinner.
However, although he wore armor called 'Scout,' he was not a scout within the chapter.

The Raven Guards had long realized that the rule in the Astartes Code that recruits should serve as scouts was utterly absurd. Intelligence is the lifeblood of war, and such an important thing should not be entrusted to inexperienced recruits.

Therefore, pre-battle reconnaissance and other related tasks were all handed over to the most elite veterans, while only the reconnaissance armor was retained. It remained the most loyal companion to the new recruits who were not yet qualified to receive their own set of power armor.

However, it offered virtually no defensive capabilities. Otherwise, Tovers wouldn't have needed to personally perform emergency bandaging.

He wrapped the bandage tightly, put on the tourniquet, bit down on it, and moved his right arm around for a while, feeling a tingling sensation in the wound before picking up the sniper rifle again.

Through the sniper scope, an Astartes, clad in black and white power armor, walked slowly down the deserted streets of Raven Tower.

It remained indifferent to everything around it, slowly making its way towards the Raven Tower. It appeared harmless, but Tovers knew exactly what it was.
Two minutes ago, the first line of defense of the outer city, composed of recruits who had carried out more than two combat missions, was declared breached.

No one died or was captured by the black brand, but everyone was seriously injured. Ignoring the orders issued by the chapter leader, they chose to engage in close combat after running out of ammunition. The thing then took them down one by one with extremely standard Raven Guard combat skills, almost like giving a lesson.

This is consistent with the description of it within the chapter—it will not harm the Raven Guard unless they attack it first.

Even so, it was merely a 'warning,' and would never take anyone's life.
What truly caused the Raven Guards to suffer a surge in casualties when facing it was actually called the Black Brand.

Tovers knew about this serious genetic defect; it was no secret within the chapter, almost everyone knew about it, but he had never truly experienced it.

Until ten minutes ago, he heard countless terrifying roars coming from the usually silent wartime channel. They came from veterans, company commanders, and chapter commanders, while the Raven Guard was not a chapter that would issue war cries during battle.

Tovers' mind went blank at that moment, and only one word came to his mind.

Ok.

That's what he thinks now too.

Ok.

He steadied his gun and pulled the trigger on the thing.

A large, bright muzzle flashed and disappeared in an instant, as a standard anti-vehicle sniper round, capable of tearing through a tank's outer shell, hurtled towards it. The Raven Guards' mortal enemy made no move, continuing its leisurely stroll until it was shattered to pieces by the bullet.
Through the sniper scope, Tovers observed its splattered flesh and blood, watching it slowly writhe back to where it had been. He knew that in two minutes at the latest, the thing would revert to its previous form and continue its journey towards the Raven Tower.

They will not die, they will not waver, they will not stop. What terrifying soldiers.

The recruit shook his head, changed his magazine, puffed out his cheeks, and endured the pain as he got up.

His right arm split open again, and a huge amount of blood had soaked through the bandages. This was the price of using this new weapon without wearing full power armor.

Tovers shouldered his gun and ran towards the next sniper position, leaving drops of blood in his wake. He still had no ideas in his mind; only that one word remained.

Ok.

Okay, okay, okay.

He reached the third sniping point in eleven seconds.

"I've arrived," he reported to the others.

"How many more shots can you fire?" someone asked in the chat.

Tovers raised his hand to touch his right shoulder, then ripped off the original bandages and tourniquet, and went through the standard medical procedures again before answering. He knew in his heart that two more shots would render his right hand useless, and then he would have to use his left hand instead.

"Until death do us part," he said.

"You bastard," the man cursed. "You'd better not die."

Tovers forgave his rudeness, for if the man were in the same predicament, he too would have sworn angrily.

For no other reason than that this person was Ike, his childhood friend.

They were like family, studying together, growing up together, joining the Raven Guard's reserves, training together, and gradually undergoing modification surgery. Now, they are one of the last 120 operational ground units in this mission.

Ike and the other 109 people waited in the inner city, beneath the Raven Tower. They were to do everything in their power to delay until all the airships on the airstrip outside the city had taken off with civilians, and then the technical sergeants inside the Raven Tower would initiate the self-destruct sequence.

As for Tovers and the other nine?

They were the best recruits selected for their sniping skills, armed with the temporarily issued 'Death Star' MK1 anti-tank sniper rifles, to buy more time for everyone.

“These ten guns will definitely be of use,” said the technical sergeant in Raven Tower at the time.

However, in Tovers's view, this was just choosing the tallest among the short.

He had no sniping skills whatsoever. This was the first time in his life he had ever handled such a terrifying gun. He had only fired four bullets, and he didn't even remember to adjust the scope until after firing the second shot.
But now is not the time to talk about these things.

Alright alright.

On the rooftop of a detached house, Tovers set up his gun and waited quietly.

Three minutes later, a deafening gunshot rang out from his northwest.

That was the sound of another shot fired by someone in the sniper team, indicating that the monster was heading in his direction.

Tovers nimbly got up, picked up his gun again, and ran towards the sixth sniper point—there was no need to go to the fourth and fifth sniper points anymore, the route that thing chose could only be effective at the sixth sniper point.

He reached the designated position in twenty-two seconds, only to be shocked to find a recruit from his group already jumping down, his right hand covered in blood as he fought the monster hand-to-hand. He was wielding a chainsaw sword, his attacks incredibly fierce, and he had shattered it into several pieces in just a few exchanges.

The results were outstanding, but this was not a pre-planned tactic.

Tovers angrily fixed his gun and let out a whistling sound that sounded like a bird's call. The recruit immediately grabbed his sword and ran away.

Two seconds after he left the firing range, two more bullets blasted the road, sending dust and debris flying. As the smoke cleared, a large hole remained, and at the bottom of the crater, bits of flesh were writhing.

"Move to the next ambush point!"

Tovers yelled at the recruit in the group's channel. The recruit looked up, nodded, and leaped back to the top of a shop, grabbed his gun, and ran.

Watching him walk away, Tovers brought his scope closer. Staring at the gruesome, ever-adheding flesh and blood, a second thought finally surfaced in his mind.

Emperor, Corax, give me the power to kill it.

He secretly hoped for it, and a minute and a half later, the monster walked out of the pit unharmed.

It looked up at the towering, colossal tower that reached the heavens, then slowly walked over.

Tovers calculated its speed, waiting for the right moment to fire. However, the more he observed it, the more inevitably a thought arose in his mind—he felt that the monster was actually very tired. Its walking posture was like that of a miner who had been working non-stop for four days and just wanted to go home and get a good night's sleep.

With a sharp slap, Tovers slapped himself, then angrily berated himself: What are you thinking? This is a monster! It's not human!

He moved closer to the scope, only to find it completely dark with nothing in front of him.

The recruit was stunned, incredulous, and even in his astonishment, he thought that his slap had hit the scope.

Helpless, he began to recalibrate as instructed in the manual, but no matter how he rotated the knob on the side of the scope, all he could see was darkness.

Before he knew it, Tovers' face had turned bright red.
At that moment, he heard a soft laugh.

"I'm a little sorry, but this is actually for your own good," the person said sincerely.

The recruit scrambled to his feet, grabbed the combat knife tucked into his thigh, and charged toward the direction from which the sound came.

However, the imagined scenario of the blade piercing flesh did not occur. His beloved knife merely struck a piece of blue-gold metal before shattering into pieces, leaving only the hilt, bare in Tovers's hand.

"Um"

The pale-faced giant looked down thoughtfully, then raised his hand and patted Tovers' shoulder reassuringly.

"I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you later."

The recruit trembled and took a few steps back, staring—or rather, glaring—at the newcomer's pale face and dark eyes without uttering a word, as if he had seen a ghost.

Several seconds later, he finally raised his trembling hand, but he could only point at the person and couldn't utter a single word.

The Night King could tell from his expression that his understanding was probably flawed.

However, instead of revealing the answer, he quickly calmed his expression.

He lowered his eyes, his lips turned down, and adopted a numb expression as he asked in a low voice.

"So you recognize who I am?"

"Yuanyuan."

Koz almost doubled over with laughter.

Amidst lighthearted laughter, he didn't give the recruit much time to react. He simply stepped forward, put his arm around him, turned around, and led him to look down at the street below.

There, another giant stood bare-handed before the monster. His face was also pale, but not as deathly as the one embracing him.

Upon seeing him, Tovers suddenly understood something.

“That’s right,” the person holding him said happily. “That’s your original form.”

Tovers looked down, then looked up at him, and asked in a hoarse voice, "Then who are you?"

“Me? I’m Conrad Coates.” “Who?”

“Conrad Coates, kid, didn’t you ever take a history class?”

“I…I have,” Tovers stammered. “But, but you—”

"—I'm dead, right?"

Tovers nodded repeatedly.

The Night King looked down at the recruit who was still confused about the situation, and his smile widened.

However, he didn't explain anything; he simply raised his right hand and waved it in front of Tovers. And in less than a second, the monster and Kolaus Corax vanished without a trace.

Tovers suppressed a terrible impulse and did his best to calm himself down.

"I need an explanation, sir."

Conrad Coates gave him no explanation, and then did only three things.

The first thing he did was use a key of unknown origin to break into the Raven Guards' communication channel; the second was to identify himself and have the technical sergeant send a drone to verify his identity; and the third was to take over command.

As the night breeze blew, the Night King stood with his hands behind his back before the magnificent gates of the Raven Tower, gazing at the 120 new recruits guarded by the Dark Ravens, and smiled slightly.

"Would you like to get some medals?" he asked coaxingly.

No one cares about him.

He shrugged: "Then I'll take it as you guys wanting to."

Numerous shadows rose from behind him, the gloomy midnight blue rushing out amidst the screams of the technical sergeants, each carrying a new recruit, charging out of the city, towards the old Raven Guard soldiers who were still alive but not far from death.
Within seconds, the area in front of the Raven Tower was empty, leaving only Conrad Coates.

He turned around and looked at the heavy door that had carried ten thousand years of history, still with his hands behind his back.

“Bring Sharokin down,” he said calmly. “We need his help with the rest.”

"But, sir..."

"He won't wake up, will he?"

"Yes," the technical sergeant replied hesitantly over the communications channel.

“That’s not important,” Koz said. “Also, don’t call me ‘Sir’—it’s one thing for these recruits to call me that, but you’re technical sergeants, you should have read the full records, you can’t possibly not know that I hate being called that, right? Have you even read Bellos von Sharp’s books?”

The technical sergeants fell silent. Finally, someone asked, "Is this the time to talk about this, sir?"

Koz laughed.

“No, but it’s absolutely necessary to preserve a sliver of humanity in the midst of a war that can drive you to despair,” he said softly. “My brother just couldn’t learn that; he was too humane, too kind.”

"Where did he go?" someone else asked.

"Go to a place that shouldn't exist, and do things that only he can do."

As Koz spoke, he squinted and looked up at the dark night sky above the planet of salvation.

Above, countless airships, like scattered stars, were carrying Corax's brethren to places free from calamity. Meanwhile, on the ground, the surviving Raven Guards were being awakened one by one.

Those painful past events need not be repeated. The Lord of the Dark Raven can finally avoid having to choose one option over the other and then regret his choice for the rest of his life.

I told you long ago that this would cause you great suffering, the Night King thought. But you didn't listen; you refused to listen. You're stubborn, just like all of us.

He sighed.

But this also makes you a better person than us, Corax. I wish you success in rescuing it, and in rescuing yourself.

In your words, this is called...
“Never again,” Coz said softly.
-
As one of the Primarchs, one of the commanders of the Astartes Legion, and one of the original members of the Imperium—the most bloated, massive, and malevolent violent institution in human history—Omega could confidently assure anyone who intended to ask him about Chaos that he was an expert on such matters.

The meaning of 'very proficient' can be roughly understood as: knowing the truth.

Go a little deeper: to know the truth about the world.

Since ancient times, the people living on Terra have been passionate about creating various religions. They drew inspiration from the mountains, natural phenomena, wild animals, and their ancestors, weaving one myth after another. Thus, religions gradually formed. This was inevitable; when large groups of people who believed in the same myths gathered together, religions were bound to emerge.

However, regardless of how this organization, which combines progress and ignorance, thrived and has consistently influenced the course of human history for thousands of years, it still has a certain positive aspect in terms of its existence.

Even emperors would not deny this.

In one of his manuscripts, he clearly wrote: "The first thing any religion must consider at its inception is how to arrange a place for the dead. This is a good thing; it puts people at ease."

As one of the few people who have seen this manuscript, Omega has some questions to ask.

He wanted to ask, do the dead really have a so-called destination? Hell, Heaven, the Underworld, reincarnation, Valhalla?

Ten thousand years ago, when he posed this question, neither the ruler of the seal nor the emperor answered him. Now, however, he has the answer; he can answer his past self.

No, there isn't.

These places, fabricated in human mythology, do not exist in the real world. Before emperors ascended to the throne, in this cold and cruel universe, when a person died, their soul had only one destination.

subspace.

There, if one is lucky enough, perhaps the soul can be reduced to dust by the power of the vast ocean before being captured by demons and the four ancient beings, vanishing completely. But if one is unlucky, one can only become a slave or food—more often than not, both.

This story might bring tears to the eyes and anger of any believer in an ancient religion, but it is the truth.

The truth is, the warp is worse than hell.

The demons in Hell torment suffering souls because they committed sins in their previous lives, but the demons in the Warp will not be swayed by any reason. There is only one thing that truly motivates them: their own nature.

They may be bloodthirsty, licentious, obsessed with manipulating people's hearts, or fond of wallowing in filth.
Once this is understood, it becomes clear that they are not so-called living beings; all the wisdom and personality they possess are actually castles in the air built upon these ugly natures.

They thought they possessed free will, but in reality, even their master—the ancient Four—was merely a slave to their own nature.

Unlike humans who can go against their own nature, they cannot, not even in death.

Once you understand this, you can understand Omega's current predicament.

In short: He wanted to die, but the demon named Larch wouldn't allow it.

Let's analyze this more deeply: He wanted to completely sacrifice and burn his own soul. And Larcher, this demon belonging to the Fifth Evil God, was willing to go against his own nature of annihilating the souls of sinners, choosing instead to let him live.

How could such a thing happen? Omega thought, both amused and exasperated.

Of course, despite his thoughts, he remained highly professional and dedicated to his work, and no monster could survive a single round under his and his sharp blade's attacks.

Therefore, in theory, this battle should have been quite easy, but that wasn't the case—there were simply too many enemies, and what Omega needed most right now was time.
Looking back now, seeking help from Large was undoubtedly a very foolish decision. The best thing he should have done at that time was to take Sister Celestine with him. Otherwise, he wouldn't be in this situation now, suffering a fate worse than death.

However, Omega doesn't regret it.

It has always been like this from the beginning. Once he makes up his mind to do something, no matter what changes happen along the way, he will never complain or give up halfway.

Moreover, the matter was not as simple as it seemed; he had not saved a so-called nun, but rather...
"later!"

A hissing sound rang in his mind, interrupting his thoughts, followed by a complaint.

"Why do you all like to let your minds wander during battle?!"

Without turning his head, Omega shoved the sword into something's body and then pulled it out with a vengeance.

He sighed as the feathers fluttered around him and yet another soul floated up, finally finding release.

“Because we’re all idiots,” he said. “Although I don’t know who else is in the group you’re referring to as ‘you all’.”

Large roared in response, uttering a few names.

Omega was taken aback.

As he waved his free left hand, summoning dark lightning at the cost of his own deeper corruption, he tried to get some answers.

This time, however, Larch refused to chat with him anymore, only letting out a hissing, angry roar to make him focus on the fight.

The snake-headed creature couldn't figure out what this strange demon meant, so it kept quiet and continued its slaughter.

The longsword, embodying the most bizarre and evil aspects, seemed to come alive in his hands, each strike bringing a bloody harvest.

Unbeknownst to many, feathers began to swirl incessantly, and filthy ethereal flesh smeared the deck of the Judgement, making this majestic yet sinister ship resemble a ghost ship from a horror story—but this wasn't entirely unfounded, since there really wasn't a single crew member on board.
This is a good thing in another sense, as it means that it is still functioning normally at this moment.

Larch's voice echoed in Omega's mind again, carrying obvious reproach.

"You're overthinking things again."

"."

Omega made up his mind to stay focused for the time being, lest this guy annoy him to death.

He was going to die soon, and he wanted a quiet death rather than dying amidst the wrath of a demon—that would be too ridiculous.

He continued to swing his sword, hacking and slashing with great force, occasionally unleashing lightning to sever the monsters' convergence. Countless souls of the dead Raven Guards rose in a vast, surging manner from the shredded flesh, heading towards an unknown distance.

Most of them looked bewildered, as if they didn't know where they were. Only a very small number understood what was happening, and among this group, only one soul had enough power to come to Omega's side.

“I don’t know you,” the snake-headed creature said in a hollow and terrifying voice, looking at him.

The crow guard gave a warrior's salute before speaking.

"You don't need to know me. But to be honest, we were very puzzled back then as to why the 20th Legion, despite nominally betraying us, was basically absent during the entire Great Rebellion. However, now that you are standing here and still hold the power belonging to the Wasteland, many questions no longer need to be discussed."

The snake-headed man had no idea what the guard was thinking, but he was too lazy to correct him. He just sneered and habitually put on a "keep away" face.

"Stop talking nonsense and get lost," he said in a deliberately gentle, malicious tone. "Otherwise, I'll skin you alive."

“My lord.” The guard looked at him unmoved.

"Is there anything else?" Omega asked impatiently.

"I want to say that you are doing something stupid."

Snake Head almost laughed in anger—given his experience, cultivation, and shrewdness, this was truly a miracle, yet this nameless Raven Guard had managed to do it, and there was even a follow-up.

"Moreover, this is not only stupid, but also meaningless."

The Raven Guard continued, keeping the explosive barrel in front of him burning—a barrel that no one had been able to detonate successfully for a full ten thousand years.

“I won’t keep you in suspense any longer. You must know about the raptor, right? If you do, then our identities are no secret. What I really want to say is that the monster left its lair not long ago and headed towards our savior. I don’t know what’s going on on the ground, but it probably won’t live much longer. Once it’s dead, we’ll be free. So, you’ve truly done something meaningless and incredibly foolish.”

The snake-headed man added with a cold laugh, "Besides, I did it voluntarily, didn't I?"

“Yes.” Raven Guard nodded. “You are incredibly stupid; I simply cannot understand it.”

"You audacious bastard!" Omega roared in fury. "Do you think I can't do anything to you, that's why you're spouting such nonsense?!"

Crow Guard sighed.

"No, I just want to advise you. Put down that sword, and leave. Leave quickly, before it drains you dry. I've fought alongside too many of the Eighth Legion's blades. Many of them like to choose their own coffins while they're alive, selecting one before each battle. But whether they choose or not, when they're buried, those coffins are all empty, just cenotaphs. The flames of the wasteland will burn all enemies, but they won't spare those who wield them either."

He paused, then said with deep sorrow, "It is the sharpest sword in the world, but it has no sheath, my lord."

He vanished after saying that, leaving Omega standing there, seething with rage.

He wasn't really angry at the man's rudeness; he was simply annoyed by his hasty departure. After all, he had so much more to say to this man.

This is unusual, because he is the kind of person who would rather not say a word than speak his mind. However, the current situation is somewhat special, because the crow guard did indeed point out some of the things he was thinking.

Yes, what he's doing right now is incredibly stupid.
Putting aside the fact that these monsters are actually just one of the secondary disasters caused by the demon called Raptor, which can be solved by eliminating it, the fact that he willingly allowed Larch to possess him is already hard to understand.

It should be noted that as the only remaining serpent head, Omega has never put himself in danger in the past ten thousand years. Such a thing is tantamount to suicide and is the complete opposite of his usual style of doing things. Besides, what benefit would he gain from doing this?
No, not even a little bit.

"Well, why should I do this?" he thought to himself.

"Yes, why did you do that?" a voice asked from behind him.

Omega sighed, loosened his right hand, and actually threw the sword down.

He collapsed to his knees, vomiting blood, his vision blurring. A pair of boots came into his view, followed by frenzied thunder and screams, like some kind of commentary.

Always.

Omega smiled through the excruciating pain and blood as she remembered something.

An invisible hand pulled him up, revealing a calm, pale face. The owner of that face looked at him carefully for a moment, then asked softly.

“Did you see anything?” Khalil Lohals asked.

Behind him, countless raven-winged monsters were dying. Some were struck to pieces by lightning, others were strangled by the ship's metal, which suddenly began to writhe like living creatures.
Therefore, it seems that he was actually prepared to send them to this ship.

Omega chuckled self-deprecatingly as he watched more transparent, illusory souls fly overhead in a vast, orderly procession, then salute the man in the Inquisition uniform.

"I"

Omega paused, swallowed the blood in his mouth, and forced a harmless, ingratiating smile.

"I just feel there's no need for another person to die."

"I'm asking you, what did you see?" the Grand Inquisitor pressed, neither confirming nor denying.

Omega did not speak.

Perhaps he didn't want to talk, or perhaps he couldn't; the latter was more likely. After all, Larch had already gotten off him, and the cloak, which had once again defied its own nature, now looked listless, wanting only to quickly return to the darkness to rest.

It could certainly leave after eating and drinking its fill, but without its help, the snake's head, which had been almost completely devoured, would have suffered a terrible fate.

Since leaving the nutrient tank, he had never been this weak in his entire life. It was a complete joke; how could a Primarch be so weak?
Omega even doubted whether he could lift a fork now. After thinking for a while, he felt that he probably couldn't.

However, a few seconds later, he still managed to say something.

“She’s not just a simple nun, is she?” the snake-headed man asked.

The judge nodded expressionlessly.

Omega took a breath, smiled, and suddenly his speech became fluent.

“I knew it. But that’s completely pointless. A nun who works by your side and takes my statements can’t be an ordinary person. The moment I saw her, I knew exactly who she was—she’s a saint who hasn’t been ordained yet, right?”

“Perhaps, maybe, should, probably,” Khalil said.

The snake-headed creature ignored the ambiguous adjectives, its eyes suddenly flashing with light as it began to murmur.

“Then she shouldn’t have died here. The same principle applies to making the best use of resources, Uncle. I know all this. A saint is only formally canonized after death. I’m very knowledgeable about the state religion, and I know that those devout individuals with the potential to be canonized will unleash tremendous power before they die. In that case, Celestine shouldn’t have died here. She should have died in a disaster that could have saved countless lives; that’s where her precious life could have truly been put to good use.”

Khalil shook his head, but the snake head didn't react. So he moved closer to it so that the eyes, which were gradually losing their function, could see his face.

He shook his head again, firmly and slowly. This time, the snake head could barely be seen.

"Was I wrong?" Omega asked, utterly bewildered.

"From your philosophy's perspective, you're not wrong. After all, to you, everyone is a tool, and everyone must be sacrificed at the appropriate time for the future of humanity, whether they like it or not. So Celestine really shouldn't have died here, otherwise..."

Khalil paused briefly, then uttered a rather vulgar business term with a blank expression.

"Wouldn't that just turn into a losing proposition?"

"Then why did you shake your head?" Omega ignored his dry humor, or perhaps he didn't understand. He just pressed on with increasing surprise.

Khalil spoke with a mixture of pity and dissatisfaction.

"Because just now, you betrayed the cold philosophy you've upheld for ten thousand years. It made you ruthless, made you kill in the name of salvation, and it's the most important reason you've gotten to where you are today. But now, you've personally joined the ranks of those fools who aren't thoroughly bad, nor firmly good enough."

The snake's head gave a snicker, its teeth gleaming in the blood, and the stained pearl was still a pearl.

"I just made a stupid mistake for a moment," he took a deep breath. "Aren't you the same kind of person?"

Caril did not answer the question, but smiled silently, a smile that even La Endymion would not mistake for him being about to kill someone.

In fact, if the tribunal for the people were here, he would probably be inspired to paint.

An invisible hand slowly descended, placing Omega's body on the deck that should have been cold.

The judge crouched down, removed his leather gloves, and neatly stuffed them into the breast pocket of his coat. Then he took off his wide-brimmed hat and placed it over the Primarch's face. It was a rather comical act, as it barely covered his eyes.

The snake-headed creature weakly uttered half a question.

"Stop talking and save your energy. You're going to have a lot of trouble coming up."

As Khalil spoke, his eyes shone with a blue light that represented psychic energy.

“I’ve seen a lot of people who are tired of living, and I’ve seen too many madmen with their own extreme philosophies, but you’re probably the most foolish one of them. You put everything on the scales of calculation, thinking that this will make more people live better, and you’re willing to sacrifice everything for it. But I have two things to tell you, Omega.”

“First, Ms. Celestine is not a saint; she is your father’s chosen one, and she will not die. Second, you will not die either, because I have been studying medicine with Jairzinho for decades, and I am now a very good doctor.”

"In other words, you missed a lot of information, and information should be the foundation of your livelihood. This is the price you pay for your betrayal."

He stretched out his right hand, and a burst of blue light appeared, revealing a huge scalpel in his hand.

The snake head used all its strength to let out a loud laugh, and then was deprived of its ability to make a sound with a hint of disdain.

"Shut up, ugh," the Grand Inquisitor said utterly rudely. "And bear with the pain."

Omega didn't understand why he said that at first. "Aren't you a very good doctor?"

He wanted to ask, but the opportunity had already passed.

(End of this chapter)