40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 598: 116. Dark Crusade (Thirty-Six, Adventure in the Cemetery of Calistarius)
The steady burning of incense, from Baal, and the yellow sand candles transformed by special technology added another scent to it.

Through the mixture of the two substances, young Calistarius was able to truly calm down and fall into a deep sleep.

He didn't want to always rely on external things to achieve this, but in recent years, as he went further and further on the path of psychic power, he no longer had the chance to experience deep sleep.

One is that he himself resisted instinctively - in his subconscious, he himself did not want to dream.

Although Calistarius was young, he started out as a compiler and had read all the books in the think tanks' collections. He knew too well what a psychic who entered a deep sleep might do.

Second, his psychic powers were holding him back.

It was as if even his psychic powers knew that once he dreamed, something extremely terrible would happen.

But now there is no time to care about so much. With a large army in front of them and no news from their allies, the only clue is a mysterious psychic signal.

Out of a sense of responsibility, Calistarius could no longer refuse, but he was not the kind of fool who would act rashly. He had the help of three other Librarians, the Blood Knight, the Lamenter, and the Flesh Tearer.
With such a powerful psychic force and the help of a stabilizing magic circle, Calistarius is confident that he can block some of the influence that may come from chaos.

As for the rest, he could hold on.

"We will do our best, Calistarius." Luciferos, the Flesh Tearers' Librarian, stated in a calm voice that was completely inconsistent with his chapter's culture.

He was shrouded in a complex world of deep blue, and his face was also blurred, hidden under a dark hood. From Calistarius's perspective, he could only see a mysterious chin.

Realizing this made the young Blood Angel feel an urge to smile, and he did not hide it, but released it. Under the psychic link, the communication between the Librarians was extremely fast.

As expected, the Flesh Tearer uttered a snort and gave a stern admonition.

"I admire your character for remaining optimistic despite such a heavy burden, young man. But you must understand that behind this matter there may be huge horrors that we will never see in our lifetime."

"Don't scare him, Lucifer." Mephistas of the Weeper said with a smile. "Come and prepare for the ritual."

He clenched the rosary in his hand, and a burst of light emanated from it.

A few seconds later, it was handed to Lucifer, and then to Petrus Tular of the Blood Knight. The taciturn, ferocious giant grabbed the rosary and roared in a low voice.

"Boy!"

He poured his spiritual energy into it, and then threw the rosary out. Calistarius caught it steadily, and then heaved a sigh of relief.

He had already felt the powerful force hidden in this ancient instrument. The infusion of the three think tanks had temporarily upgraded it into a tool that could provide him with sufficient support.

The young Librarian held it tightly, then nodded to his relatives and lay solemnly in a sarcophagus.

The heavy coffin lid followed closely behind, closing little by little, making an extremely sharp and piercing friction sound, which should not happen between stones.
The expressions of the think tank directors suddenly became serious. They looked at each other and regarded this as a warning, wanting to postpone their actions.

However, the young man in the sarcophagus expressed his opinion firmly.

+We can't waste any more precious time, my Lords. The Emperor must have sent us here for a reason, and we must not let him down.+
"If you insist, then we will support you." The Weeper responded in a serious tone. "I believe that the brave must be rewarded."

The next second, the sweet smell of blood began to boil in the room. It was a drop of Sanguinius' blood, which was ritually processed and dripped into the brow of Calistarius.

Then, the lid of the sarcophagus suddenly closed, the ground lit up, and a huge amount of blood suddenly gushed out from the deep grooves that had been reserved long ago, completely surrounding the entire sarcophagus. At first glance, it seemed as if it was floating in a sea of ​​blood.

Inside the sarcophagus, Calistarius' consciousness gradually sank into his heart. He hadn't been this calm for a long, long time. There was no more cold agitation brought by psychic energy, or the faint expectation of carrying out a certain task, only a deadly peace.

He breathed, breathed, and breathed. From long to stop, until there was no more warm air coming out of his nasal cavity, and then a burst of light suddenly bloomed from the rosary in his hand.

Outside the sarcophagus, the three think tank directors all saw an illusory shadow rushing out of the coffin, holding a string of heavy rosary beads in his hand.

It soared into the sky, and with the help of the think tank directors, it sank into the subspace and began to carefully search for the source of the psychic signal.
What they didn't know was that Calistarius was not gone, he was merely sleeping.

He hadn't had such a peaceful sleep for many years. There was nothing to worry about. It was pure and peaceful, peaceful and pleasant. Waves of pleasant wind blew past him, blowing across his cheeks, making him reluctant to open his eyes for a long time.

So, what is that soul that rushes out?
No one had the answer, least of all Calistarius. In a world where time was blurred, the young Blood Angel had just ended his slumber. His mind was completely blank, and he could only vaguely remember that he had something to do.

But what exactly is going on?

He was a little confused and just sat up. However, apart from the sarcophagus under him, the world before his eyes had completely changed.

The think tank directors disappeared along with the light of the Yellow Sand Candle, and in their place was a gloomy yet peaceful cemetery. There were coffins everywhere, but no one had buried them in peace, and no tombstones existed.
What? Are all the people buried here nameless souls?

Calistarius frowned, and immediately realized the problem at the moment. He had forgotten something very important to him, and he was now in a place that was obviously out of place.

So, where exactly is this place? The answer is obvious.

I am in the warp. Calistarius frowned and left the sarcophagus quietly.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, he felt an incredible coldness. He almost felt that his soul was frozen - if there was such a thing as a frozen soul.

The Blood Angel took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and began to observe the cemetery.

He soon discovered that there was a wind coming from nowhere, which was exactly the same as what he felt in his dream. There was no malice in this wind, only pure tranquility. It blew without any sound, and it was so quiet that it was shocking.

Calistarius remembered this, chose a direction based on his intuition, and strode towards it.

He didn't know how long he had walked, but the scene before his eyes remained unchanged: the gloomy cemetery, the cold temperature, and the tightly closed sarcophagi.
Calistarius helplessly turned his gaze to a sarcophagus, which was closest to him.

Do we really want to do this? The Blood Angels asked themselves.

He hesitated for several reasons: he did not feel the foul stench of Chaos here, and, as he spent more time here, his keen senses returned.

At this moment, Calistarius could really feel the souls sleeping in the sarcophagus, and he could even vaguely feel their dreams. Peaceful and tranquil, without exception, perhaps with some differences in details, but generally speaking, they were all good dreams.

He was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly took a deep breath.

I'm very sorry.

He walked towards the sarcophagus, fists clenched, still wondering if this was a deception or if he had truly come to a resting place for the dead contained within the Warp.

His reason persuaded him to accept the former, because how could such a place exist in the warp? However, his intuition said: No, it really exists. Do not disturb those peaceful souls, Calistarius, do not do this.

Calistarius walked to the sarcophagus and hesitantly placed his right hand on the top. Then, a pale hand quietly emerged from the darkness, took his hand, and pressed it against the surface of the sarcophagus.

"Hey." A pale ghost smiled at him in the moonlight. "Believe me, this will not bring good results."

The Blood Angel pulled back his right hand abruptly, and at this moment, his face was almost as pale as the ghost's. But he failed to do so, because the hand had already caught up with him and firmly grasped his right hand, bringing a chill hundreds of times more terrifying than the previous low temperature.

Calistarius could have continued to struggle, but he had no time for that now. He looked at the ghost, a look of shock on his face.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" the ghost asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I, I" the young think tank stammered. "I have seen your portrait"

"Hmm?" The ghost gave a mysterious smile. "Where did you see it?"

"My father's—"

"--Shh, hush." ​​The ghost shook his head at him, and his expression suddenly became stern.

"Please be alert, young man. I am a creature that exists in the subspace. According to common sense, what I am is still debatable. And you have already identified me as the person you imagined? And what's the matter with that portrait?"

The Blood Angel held it in for a long time before finally saying, "Didn't you tell me not to say it?"

The ghost grinned, loosened his hand, and then naturally hooked it around his shoulder.

"I want to hear it now."

"."

"Ok?"

"My father, my Primarch, painted all of you," Calistarius whispered. "The Departed, that's what he called the set of paintings. They hung in his room on the Red Tear, where I met him once, and so I saw your face."

"I?"

Calistarius nodded, his eyes drifting to the crown on his head.

The ghost looked sideways in surprise: "Oh, you mean, I'm wearing this in the portrait?"

"Yes. Actually, the portrait of you is different from what I saw in the books. I can't understand this difference because it is too huge. The Primarch saw my doubts but didn't explain. He just asked me to write down the details of the portrait and said I would use it one day."

The Blood Angel took a step back, knelt on one knee, and bowed his head. "Calistarius greets you, Night's King."

A chorus of praise came from the darkness.

Conrad Kurtz looked at him expressionlessly, then suddenly glanced back into the darkness, and the praises suddenly ceased.

He sighed and reached out to pull the young think tank up from the ground.

"Listen, Calistarius, you'd better not mention that title, other titles, and my name here. It involves something I can't tell you. Anyway, it's nice to meet you, Mephisto."

The Blood Angel looked at him in confusion.

"Mephisto? My Lord, I am—"

"--I know," Conrad Curz replied softly.

At this moment, his eyes were filled with sadness that Calistarius could not understand.

Who was he mourning for? The Blood Angel wondered, but could not come up with an answer.
-
"You played well," Gabriel Seth praised halfheartedly.

He held his broken nose and slowly stood up. Blood gushed out from between his fingers and stopped after a few seconds. Opposite him, Dante, who was slowly taking off his training clothes, shook his head calmly.

"Are you satisfied now?"

"A little." The Flesh Tearer smiled savagely. "At least you've proven that you're not just a facade."

Dante shook his head, turned around, opened the duel cage and walked out. Apart from here, there was no light anywhere else, and no one was there. Even the servitors were completely dismissed. It was obvious that the two chapter masters did not want their fight to be seen by others.

But Dante knew that this was a joke from the beginning.

He knelt on one knee.

"Primarch." Dante's voice echoed in the darkness, and Gabriel Seth's face changed as never before. "I'm sorry."

Flesh Tearer breaks out of the dueling cage.

"Why are you apologizing?" a voice came from the darkness. "It was indeed a wonderful battle. You were evenly matched and the winner was only determined at the last moment. Hand-to-hand combat is really interesting, but I want to know, who among you came up with it? I mean, not using swords."

"It is I, Primarch." Gabriel Seth answered with difficulty, and then tried to kneel down, but was stopped by a gust of wind. Sanguinius flapped his wings and walked out of the darkness, with a smile on his handsome face.

"Why are you acting like you've done something wrong, Gabriel?"

"I"

"We shouldn't have a dispute at this time, Primarch." Dante bowed his head and explained for him. "If you are disappointed, we are willing to accept the punishment."

The angel chuckled and turned away. Seth looked at the direction he left in confusion and anxiety, and suddenly lowered his head to glare at Dante. However, just a few seconds later, Sanguinius' voice sounded again from the darkness.

"I'm not disappointed. Rather than ostracizing each other, I'd rather see things being sorted out in the duel cage. But, there's one thing I have to tell you. There's a separate duel arena on the Red Tear that hasn't been open to anyone for nearly ten thousand years."

"During the Legion era, we had close dealings with the War Dogs, and that duel field was built for this purpose. Or rather, a sand pit, from the ancient tradition of Nuceria."

"Next time, if you are still dissatisfied with each other and want to fight, I hope you will take your swords and roll in the sand pit."

The two chapter leaders, one taller than the other, looked at each other, not knowing how to answer.

(End of this chapter)