40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 590 108. Dark Crusade (Thirty-two, a corner of Yago Sevitarion’s memory)
Sevatar had lost count of how many walls he had broken, but fortunately he was too lazy to count. He didn't care about it, just as he didn't care how many things he had killed.

For a person like him - or a creature like him - killing has long become an instinct engraved in his blood vessels.

There is no need to think about how to swing the weapon, or whether to dodge the attack. All you need to do is give your body to your violent instincts and let it release the unspeakable cruelty. That's all.

"You have unleashed a beast." Cassidorius' death whispered in his ear. "I wonder if you still hold its reins?"

Sevatar responded calmly.

Reins? Sorry, they never existed in the first place.

The bone fangs turned violently, and were carried towards the direction of killing by a superhuman force. A monster with wings on its back had its chest cut open. It tried to resist, but how could Sevatar give it such a chance?
He drew back his weapon, swung his claws to grasp its spine, and then pulled it out violently, pulling out the spine and internal organs in one blow.

The dark blood and parasites from the warp fell to the ground with them. An unspeakable stench immediately spread, but the culprit raised the butcher knife again.

The halberd fell, and the fangs of this demonic weapon once again cruelly sank into the monster's body, excitedly inflicting pure violence, forcing it to bleed more.
The blood vessels wrapped around the edge of the halberd also got a share. They spread out quietly, then pierced deeply into the monster's flesh and began to suck its essence in big gulps.

In less than half a second, accompanied by a creepy swallowing sound, the demon dried up into a perfect specimen, with fear all over its face.

Sevatar thought that killing should feel good. After all, he killed a demon, an enemy of mankind, and this often meant honor.

Those Astartes who kill demons of this level alone will be regarded as the future of the company after returning to the company and will be trained as a priority. They will receive the inheritance left by their predecessors, or weapons, or armor, and then take on more responsibilities until they die.
And if a brave soldier in the Imperial Guard miraculously managed to do this with his cheap weapons such as a combat knife or a lasgun, the entire Munitions Department would be in an uproar.

The propaganda department would use up every bit of ink and do its best to print one article each week, then put the soldier in the most conspicuous place and use the largest bold black font.

In a matter of months, his or her deeds would spread to every Imperial world still within the light of the Astronomican, and all soldiers would know about it and passively follow this person's example.

Eventually, the soldier's original unit might even name a new company after him.
Years later, he or she will become one of the countless heroes who hold up the empire. This is truly a great honor.

But Sevatar felt nothing, even though he had killed a dozen such demons in just a short while.

He walks here, killing, destroying - but he gets no honor, and he doesn't want it.

"You abandoned us!" the demon in the belt cried hoarsely. "You promised to save every innocent!"

"I broke my promise." Sevatar responded in a whisper. "Hate me."

He smiled as he walked deeper into the darkness, but the voice of Robouti Guilliman echoed in his ears.

If he was not so mad that his memory was wrong, then it was a sunny afternoon. The Lord of Macragge stood five steps away from him, not by coincidence but by careful calculation.

A huge shadow was suspended in the azure sky. The Glory of Macragge, which had just ended a pursuit, was parked in orbit for repairs. Gunboats and shuttles filled the sky, but the beauty was still there.

The Ultramarines and Midnight Blades came and went behind them, and the sounds of tires and tracks of troop transports and the engines of some anti-gravity vehicles mixed together, sounding quite noisy, but also presenting a strange order.

Robert Guilliman, with his armor stained with blood and his temples gray, said tiredly: "If you continue like this, you will kill yourself sooner or later, Yago."

"With all due respect, my Lord, my mind is still strong."

Guilliman frowned at his slightly frivolous tone, so he did not hold back and spoke again sharply and bluntly.

"Normally, it is a common practice for officers to lead their men in battle. This can boost morale and help them anticipate the enemy's moves. But you are different, Yago. The reason you always stand in front of your brothers is just because you want to die."

"Don't rush to refute me with a bad joke or self-deprecation. You know in your heart that I'm right."

"Van Cleef has patiently trained you. I don't believe you are incapable of shouldering the responsibilities that come with being a commander. You have the ability to pull together the details of a battle, but you rarely use it."

"Most of the time, you simply handed the power of command to your adjutant, then rushed into the enemy camp and let the enemy overwhelm you."

Sevatar still remembered his reaction at that time - he turned and walked away, leaving Robert Guilliman far behind.

Two days later, the Lord of Macragge, who had finished his rest, found him again and expressed his earnest hope that he would change and stop wallowing in pain, which was an act of complete cowardice.

Sevatar did not respond, but he felt that his expression was probably very scary. Otherwise, the Ultramarines standing behind the Primarch would not have quietly and stiffly placed their hands on their weapons.
He didn't blame them, and his own lieutenant had done something similar. Sevatar knew that if he had shown any sign of crossing the line, the lieutenant would have brought people to pin him to the ground without hesitation.

escape.

The eldest son of the night chewed on this word and suddenly smiled. There is actually no difference between humans and animals. Seeking benefits and avoiding harm is one of our instincts. Therefore, there are many ways to escape in this world.

Some people choose to be alone and live in seclusion, while others choose to ignore the world and stay numb.
He chose to fight.

As long as he fought, as long as he wielded his weapon, as long as he hovered on the edge of death, the pain in his heart would be temporarily forgotten. As long as he did this, he could forget his own incompetence.

Sevatar continued to move forward and continued to dig into his memory. There was nothing to do here anyway, so he was too lazy to look at the ugly faces of those monsters. There were some more beautiful faces in his memory. For example, Sanguinius.

"You must cheer up." The regent of the empire, the glorious archangel, comforted him with concern at a banquet table. The table was full of food, and the aroma was fragrant. Although Sevatar had no appetite, he still felt that they suited Sanguinius very well.

Fireworks were rising outside the French windows on the right side of the banquet hall, and their light was extremely bright in the night. The boiling people of the empire were celebrating the arrival of Sanguinius, singing praises and celebrating the festival.

The Archangel held a tall golden cup in his hand, which was filled with bright red liquid, exuding the faint sweetness of pure blood. He was wearing a dress that was light gold, with extremely fine black agate lines on the edges as embellishments.
Sevatar remembered these trivial things very clearly, but actively forgot Sanguinius's expression at that time. Therefore, in his current memory, the archangel's beautiful face was actually a complete blur.

There was no way around it. The compassion and pure sorrow that Sanguinius showed naturally at that time were too noble for him to accept. For the next hundred years, he would feel a dull pain in his eyes every time he thought of this incident.

But not everyone would persuade him in this way, there are some people who understand him.

"I had a plan on the way here. I wanted to say that Conrad would be proud of you, but I decided not to mention it. Of course he would be proud of you, and there was no need for me to say that."

The one-armed, bloodstained giant stood on the hot sand dune and spoke calmly. As the sun set, the bodies of the orcs lay beside them, scattered all over the place. The blood dyed the yellow sand red, and the fishy smell lingered for a long time.
The iron braid on the giant's head trembled slightly in the hot wind, causing a shiver in his cheeks, and the pain gnawed at him like a shadow.

Sevatar knew the reason, but he could do nothing. Those souls could not come back. They had their own resting place. Unless the owner of the wasteland took action himself, they would never be able to return to the Son of the Mountains.
Ironically, the people of the Empire now regard his disability and scars as a symbol of honor. The image of the one-armed warrior is centered in Nuceria, and countless people regard him as the highest example of a warrior.

Many fanatical soldiers even wanted to imitate him and cut off their arms. Angron got angry after learning the complete reason. This terrible trend slowly subsided.

But the trend had already been formed, and the warlike Nucerias forever followed this giant they admired, naively believing that he had an indestructible body and that what beat in his chest was not a heart but a solid wall of iron that would never feel pain and would never hesitate.

That was not the case. The fact was that Angron was human. If one were to deliberately make the dogs of war angry, then Sevatar would say that he was gentle.

What a terrible joke. Sevatar thought so and couldn't help but let out a numb smile.

"Pain is proof that we are still alive," said the giant on the dune. "For people like you and me, it is almost the only way for us to feel the reality of being alive."

"So, although Sanguinius has been asking me to do this -"

He suddenly lowered his head and exhaled a breath of hot air that smelled of blood. Then, Angron expressed his opinion word by word, very slowly and seriously.

"——I don't want this, I'm not going to do what he says. Listen, Yago Sevitarion, those things belong to you, whether good or bad, they belong to you. No matter what you do, I understand."

"I will not share your pain, nor will I take away your numbness. I am not qualified to do such a thing. After all, you and I are both immersed in pain. Just remember one thing, don't let it consume you."

I have none, son of the mountains, Sevatar whispered, gripping his halberd tightly.

What about you? Why have you been so isolated for so many centuries? What happened on Nuceria? Your brothers are worried about you.
Sevatar stopped thinking and couldn't help but feel self-deprecating: I have already fallen to the point where I have to spend my time reminiscing about the past, and I still dare to worry about other people's situations?

He gripped the halberd tightly.

The bloody and demonic weapon seemed to have sensed his thoughts, and the bone fangs that were originally biting a piece of blue crystal suddenly stopped turning.

Those throbbing blood vessels flowed from the front, gently yet powerfully grasping his wrist, returning the power gained from killing to him without reservation.

It couldn't understand what Sevatar was thinking, but it trusted him, so it gave him everything it could.
Sevatar calmly lowered his head, looked at the halberd, and smiled slightly.

"I'm going to call you Judge." He said. "It's not a good name, and it's even a bit cliché. What do you think?"

The saw teeth spun rapidly, making a wild howl.

Sevatar laughed and broke through the fence once again.

He had no idea what was in the darkness. The silver tower blurred his perception, not only making it impossible for him to identify the direction inside the tower, but also making him lose contact with the outside world.
However, this was not the work of the only prisoner in the Silver Tower, and in the darkness, it began to whisper to the non-existent walls.

"I do not understand why you are doing this. Yes, it comes, but it is not what I want. I was born to kill Cassidorius Delcunas, not that fool called Van Cleef."

"Please don't forget why I came here to ask for your help. If it hadn't forced the oath on me, how could I be your prisoner here willingly?"

Its eyes sparkled like two yellow lanterns. It blinked, waiting for the wall's answer.

It sounded absurd, but the wall did answer it, the sound was as soft as the scratching of feathers. It listened carefully, and then actually smiled.

"I see." It nodded. "Then I will wait. Please tell Lady Joy that my Lord's invitation to Her is still valid."

The wall disappeared, but the darkness remained. The beast stretched out its wet tongue, no longer calm, and licked its hands ferociously.
Its body was neither human nor mortal, with a hunched back and a dark stone hanging from its chest. After a while, when the trembling subsided, it stretched out its saliva-soaked hands and reverently held up the stone.

"Yes, my Lord," it whispered. "I will soon be freed, and your father's shame will soon be atoned for."

(End of this chapter)