40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 556 74. Dark Crusade (, Sacrifice and Gods)

If Kaspius had been allowed to speak freely, and he had been able to do so, he would have roared in the dialect of his native land.

He would tell everyone in the cabin how he was feeling and rant about how weird it was. He simply couldn't stand this strange feeling.

Don't get me wrong, of course he is a person who is very receptive to new things, but now, the scene before him has gone beyond the limit of what the word 'new things' can express.

He'd seen the Eldar, with their pointy ears, their spindly and spindly appearance, and every word they spoke sounded like they were giving alms to beggars.

He has also seen demons - and even if he has never seen them, he has heard of them. In this era, in this dark space, how many people who run on ships all day long have never heard of them?

He has also seen humans fucking, is this part of this parallelism? He himself is human!

Kaspius stared at himself, racking his brains to find an explanation to stay rational. This explanation does not have to be very reasonable, but it must be able to explain the current situation.

It had to explain three problems to Kaspius' already fragile mind.

First, why his friend's corpse turned into a demon covered in scales and feathers. Second, why did those Eldar kneel down to this cloaked man. Third, why is this cloaked man?
Your Majesty, why is it so cold all of a sudden?

Kaspius' teeth began to chatter, and three seconds later, he realized that this was not a special phenomenon that only happened to him.

Everyone he saw showed similar symptoms. A cold that did not exist and should not exist invaded the depths of each of their blood vessels, rubbing inside them like a sharp knife without mercy. .

Then it goes deeper, all the way to the heart or brain, freezing everything a human being has, plunging them into an eternal winter.

Five seconds later, except for the Eldar, they all fell to the ground, falling into a blissful sleep of deathly silence and unconsciousness.

There is no malice in this dream, no aliens, demons, or all the sufferings that need to be worried about in daily life. There is only the moonlight covered with gauze, and the darkness that brings warmth.

They will lose their past heaviness in this dream, and when they wake up again, they will forget that aliens visited, demons were born, and
Khalil raised his right hand and gently pressed it on the head of the demon.

It has not yet completely shed its human skin, which hangs loosely and bloody on its scales and feathers, and its teeth circle around the beak like a necklace, showing a kind of orderly madness.

The demon trembled and felt his touch. Every detail that made up its existence was opening itself up in turn under the gaze of some kind of power. No secrets could exist anymore.

Its name is accurately cut out from the dividing line between flesh and bone by the blade of nothingness, its victims and conspiracies are grasped from the gaps in time, and those worlds that still exist or no longer exist are in its The shadow screamed, revealing its evil deeds.

A hand gently opened its chest and took out a heart. Its skin was the second thing to be taken, and the bones were last. The pale hand stripped these things from its stolen body, leaving it a steaming puddle of rotten flesh.

It cried out in despair, but was powerless. It could only watch as its bones were made into a scale, and its tough skin was cut into pieces by nails, kneaded, and made into weights. The heart was placed on the right end of the bone scale, still beating, with dark blood dripping from it.

"The Lord of Changes sends you my most sincere greetings." The demon cried.

"Ah."

The weight was thrown onto the left end of the scale, darkness surged, and cries spread, arousing a tide of chaos in the dead hangar, from which a light of enlightenment that could drive ordinary people crazy was born.

The demon screamed, and its remaining flesh began to deform. Some kind of power that came from the same source as it but was extremely pure entered its dry blood vessels from the light.

This power is so small that it is not even enough to summon a change spirit, but it can make the remaining spirit of the demon undergo strange changes. Its flesh and blood began to harden, and mechanical structures and flat surfaces were gradually born in the light, replacing everything in the flesh and blood.

Khalil tilted his head and stared at it, looking at this small silver Rubik's Cube and frowning.

"You're still funny," he said knowingly.

"I've always been like this." A voice in the Rubik's Cube replied. It sounded ordinary, even like the voice on a gramophone.

"But what I'm telling you is, it doesn't really have much to do with me, my dear old friend."

Khalil nodded noncommittally: "You put a beast inside the body of a captain - and that's exactly why he died of a heart attack."

The gramophone responded to his question gracefully.

"No, no, you got the order wrong. He died of a heart attack first, and my informants took advantage of it later. I did lose a lot of things, but I will never be reduced to this level."

"Like you, I am a person who has requirements for rituals or sacrifices. If I are a door, then the person who can open me must be thirsty for knowledge and have a desire for the unknown. We are determined by the rules. Benefits, but also bound by the rules.”

"As you can see, I am just a little prisoner with shackles but still struggling to dance, my friend. Have you ever seen me harm those ignorant people?"

Khalil ignored its words, he just glanced at the Rubik's Cube, and it flew into his bloody hands. He carefully explored its surface with his fingers, feeling the secrets hidden behind each line, and narrowed his eyes slightly.

After that, he slowly spoke. The gramophone snickered and made a sound at the same time as him.

"First of all, I'm not your friend."

"Of course, but I think that I am your friend. I saved you. Do you want to deny this, God of Justice?"

"Secondly, I'm not a god."

"It's the same old thing again, well, yes, yes - of course you are not now. After all my efforts to push the situation, of course you can proudly say it, Khalil Loja Ers. But humans are a race that never learns, and you keep repeating the same mistakes, which is why I like you so much.”

"Finally, what did you do?" Khalil asked in an indifferent tone, and the gramophone suddenly became serious.

"It depends on what you're asking. Your resurrection, or the stories that are unfolding in Robert Guilliman's realm?" "The latter," Khalil said coldly.

His answer made the gramophone suddenly make a sniffing sound, like a greedy poisonous insect addicted to addiction, digging into the powder pile with his festering nose, frantically sucking in the source of stimulation.

The gramophone laughed, its sound becoming ethereal, like a roar or a chant. It seems to have become an experienced opera singer, performing this last stage play at the cost of his own sanity and life.

It whimpered, screamed, and shouted.
Finally, it laughs wildly.

"Ah, I can already smell their complex scents. Darkness, terror, beauty, hope, perdition. Humanity's choices, eternal beauty - can't you see, my friend? Can't you smell those sheep? The smell of ignorance?”

"Lower your head and search humbly like a mortal, Khalil. I want you to witness this unintentional poem with your own eyes. When you find the truth, we will meet again in a place without darkness."

Khalil clenched his right hand, and the Rubik's Cube instantly turned into powder. A sudden breeze blew from the other side of the darkness, sinking the powder into his shadow. A flash of psychic light bound it tightly.

The scales, weights and heart quietly returned to nothingness, the deck rumbled, and the Moose's engine was still running.

If nothing unexpected happened, it should have taken this ship to the other end of the Five Hundred Worlds to sell the common coal mines near Andemang to those cold worlds that lacked such resources.

But now, it probably can no longer do this.

Khalil turned around and looked at the two Eldar. His gaze wasn't exactly gentle, but it wasn't cold either. They were oblivious to his gaze, closing their eyes tightly and covering their ears with their hands.

They were doing this long before the demons could speak. It seems like a child's play, but it actually completely blocks vision and hearing.
See no evil and hear no evil, right?

"It's your turn," Khalil said.

His voice penetrated their weak self-protection without any hindrance, tearing it to pieces easily. The truth is often so cruel that their self-protection is useless in the face of higher-level forces.

The Eldar obeyed, opened their eyes, lowered their arms, and stood up. One of them immediately made the right sound in High Gothic.

"Thank you for your mercy."

Its voice was respectful and so beautiful that it seemed like a palace dancer was speaking. The evidence of the so-called superiority of the Eldar tribe to others can be seen here.

Khalil looked at it impassively, studying its face carefully. From facial features that are similar to humans and more refined, to smooth and white skin.
His gaze was not aggressive, as calm as a windless lake, but it made this Elf suddenly become frightened.

It forced itself to calm down and said tremblingly: "I beg you -"

Its companion continued: "——We come with friendship."

Khalil shook his head. He raised his right hand, which was still full of blood, and pointed at the crowd. His index finger pointed at Kaspius accurately.

"That's ridiculous, Ada. If this Kaspius could hear him, he would probably laugh uncontrollably. He is a well-informed man, by any standard, but he doesn't. Become more enlightened.”

"In fact, it's just the opposite. The more he sees, the more he hates you. He has seen your self-destructive compatriots many times in his life, from the edge of the star sea to the other edge, from one planet to another, just like Bed bugs were seen in the living area.”

"And he is just the guard captain of a small businessman. Within the empire, there are countless people like him. Hatred is not water without a source, Ada. Even if you don't investigate what happened in the old night, you definitely can't be called leaders. Come to be friendly.”

He smiled contemptuously, and the smile was extremely sharp, completely unlike the expression he would show.

"In other words, you are asking for something from me, so you are so friendly. So tell me, what is your purpose?"
-
Robert Guilliman stared intently at the light curtain in front of him, focused and peaceful, as if he was reading a book.

His current Chapter Master, Tigris Deken, stood behind him, his hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist, his unsmiling face full of coldness.

The light curtain fluctuated, and two spiritual races appeared on it. They stood stiffly, their lips opening and closing, as if they were having a conversation with someone. But there was no sound in the room. The portraits of the Emperor and King Connaught hung high on the full bookcases, staring at all this without giving any attention. Comment.

After a few minutes, the light curtain went out, and Robert Guilliman took a deep breath and stood up from behind his desk.

He agreed to Khalil's proposal, but, being a very skilled politician, he was well versed in the art of bargaining.

After persuading him alternately as the Lord of Macragge and then as the brother of Conrad Curze, he succeeded in getting Khalil to place a concealed mechanical gadget under his cloak.

It was a success, and even though Khalil turned it on much later and without turning on the recording function, it was already a certain degree of victory—at least it didn't allow him to find another chance to shake hands.

He chuckled at what was not a joke, and Durken looked at his primarch and asked worriedly: "We can move at any time, my lord."

"No need to waste fuel. He has already solved the problem, and you have seen it, Deken." Guilliman turned his head and smiled at his Chapter Master.

"He handled it neatly and beautifully, without any bloodshed as he promised - so why should we rush in and waste ammunition on all the remaining aliens on that ship?"

Deken nodded silently. Guilliman looked away, tapped the table thoughtfully, and said, "But we need to prepare a cell."

".Primarch?"

"Didn't you read your lips? The last words the two aliens said was, please let us help you - in other words, get my alien advisor. We are on the twenty-fifth floor. Meet on deck”

"Mortarion, you have won again."

Guilliman turned around and strode out of his office. Tigris Deken lowered his head, pretending not to hear the primarch's mumble at the end of his sentence, and called Third Captain Janus Adeas via the ship's internal communication on his desk, then quickly followed.

(End of this chapter)