40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 604 122. Dark Expedition (Forty-three)

Sanguinius felt as if he had been split into two people, or two different parts. There was no up or down, left or right, inside or outside, just him and the other him.

He was suffering from the violent torture of Kabanha. The demons of Khorne loved and were proficient in resorting to violence, violence that could not be escaped. What's more, his enemy at the moment was Kabanha.

His sword was still in his hand, but he had very few opportunities to resist. The demon would often stop him with its fists before he could organize a decent resistance, or simply use its fangs to force him to defend himself with his sword.

The battle was hard enough, but Sanguinius still had to endure another kind of torture.

Yes, he was fighting Kabanha, in an unfathomable sea of ​​blood, surrounded by the corpses of his warriors. But he was also in another place, a place covered with yellow sand, that was his home, Baal.

The night sky was low, bringing a cold wind, which was in stark contrast to the boiling heat of the surging sea of ​​blood. The two things that were destined not to fight hand in hand were now combined into one, throwing silver needles of torture at him, piercing his flesh and blood, and piercing his soul.
I'm screaming.

Sanguinius sensed this clearly. He could even feel the desire for blood echoing deep in his throat. The sea of ​​blood seemed real and fake. It was clearly there and smelled pungent, but not a single drop of blood flowed into his dry mouth.

His fangs left deep white marks on the edges of his tightly clenched lips. The devil laughed at this and said some half-truthful words. The steel whip in his hand once again wrapped around his wings, taking away more flesh and bones.

The pain was so intense that no one could bear it without reacting. Sanguinius saw himself swinging his sword with an indifferent and detached perspective.
In a trance, he suddenly stood on a piece of yellow sand and began to stare at the night sky.

In his hand he held a weapon, a crudely made metal spear from today's perspective, made by the tribe that had taken him in. They had tried their best to make the weapon worthy of him, but had failed.

This is true for any weapon in his hands. He himself is the most deadly weapon, and nothing else can conceal this fact, no matter how much effort the craftsman who made them put in.

The tip of the spear was dripping with blood, the blood coming from a terrifying beast lying not far away - the Baal Fire Scorpion. The terrifying beast was generally about three meters long, and its ferocious temperament allowed some individuals to grow to about five meters.

The carapace is thick and heavy, enough to withstand a volley of explosive bombs. They move quickly and are extremely powerful, and their barbed tails can easily pierce most alloys. Their poison is even more terrible. In the Baergu language, it is said that they would rather die of thirst than disappear in flames.

This flame refers to the fire scorpion's toxin. Once poisoned, the toxin will quickly burn the victim from the inside out until he dies. This special burning will not stop unless the fire scorpion decides to eat him or is burned to charcoal and ashes.

Is this some corner of my memory? Sanguinius asked himself.

He racked his brains but still couldn't remember. This was probably because he had killed so many fire scorpions that the related memories were already too numerous and complicated.

As a wild beast, their meat is edible. The people of Baal often try their best to hunt them. As long as they can kill one, they don't have to worry about any food problems for the next month.

Their meat is delicious, eaten in any way, and is very easy to preserve. Sanguinius often hunted them for this reason. His tribe needed food, and Baal was very poor. Without food, people could not survive.
"Sanguinius—!" Cabanha roared, pulling him back into his agony.

The angel responded with a low roar, his face twisted and ferocious, looking more like a beast than a demon. But Kabanha was still not satisfied, it flapped its wings, roared and rushed towards him. The angel was about to raise his sword to intercept, but the world in front of him changed again.

It was still the same night sky, and the same cold desert. The fire scorpion's corpse was steaming, and its blood was spreading all over the sand dune.

Am I crazy? Sanguinius asked himself again, but his body had already walked towards the fire scorpion involuntarily.

He raised his hand and instinctively thrust the spear into the tail of the dangerous beast, sliding his right hand up to the handle near the tip of the spear and began to cut the deadly scorpion's tail. The next step was to remove the sharp limbs, six in total, three on each side of the body.

Finally, he scraped off the dense barbs about half a meter long on the carapace with his spear, then inserted his limbs into the body of the fire scorpion, lifted it up with one hand, and walked down the sand dune steadily.

The whole set of movements was smooth and flowing, as if it had been done millions of times.

Where am I?

No one answered. He hoped that someone would answer, but no, no one responded - no, actually there was someone, but that was not the 'words' he wanted to hear, just a simple echo from the past.

"You are my son, a Primarch, my ninth general, an indispensable component of a great cause. You were taken away by the enemy, and I have never found you until today. But I am not sure if you are still pure."

The sky was spinning and the night wind was howling wildly. It began to change and became a hot wind, and then night turned into day.

The scalding yellow sand began to emit the temperature that Sanguinius was most familiar with. His boots hissed and the tough animal hide seemed like it could catch fire at any time under such high temperatures.

Not far away stood a solitary figure. There was no flying vehicle as he remembered, nor were there any imperial guards in golden armor. These guards were only loyal to his father.

No, none of that, just the Emperor himself. Just standing there.

Are you here to answer my questions, father? the angel asked silently.

His father shook his head.

So what are you here for?

His father shook his head.

Answer me, please, father. I beg your help, I must
His father shook his head.

"No," said the Emperor. "No one can help you."

The Emperor's form began to crumble, like a castle made of gravel being blown away by a strong wind. Starting from his face, it gradually turned into flying sand.
Wait, it’s not sand, but blood?

The angel's eyes widened, and a long-hidden desire urged his body to rush towards the pool of blood before his mind could react.

A sweet smell that he had never smelled before entered his nose, stimulating his mouth and tongue to salivate. He wanted to drink a lot right now to relieve this terrible desire.
He grabbed it, and his fingers touched a wet pool of blood, but that was not the blood he wanted.

No, not the kind he needed.

Which one does he want?
"Sanguinius—!"

Kabanha laughed wildly, grabbed his hand, and slammed him hard into a group of corpses in the sea of ​​blood. His broken wings were forced to collide with the weapons in the hands of the dead people due to the huge force, and more pain came instantly, but it also made him sober immediately.

fear.

What was I thinking? What was I craving? I...
"Focus!" the demon scolded, and then blurted out words that made it sound like a bloody philosopher.

"If you can't resist, accept it! Our instincts are such horrible things, killing, blood, violence." "Don't say you don't like the feeling of the sword cutting across the enemy's neck, don't say you don't like to see the desperate look in their eyes before they die - resorting to violence for everything is our nature, even the race that you are stuffed into is the same!"

"Humans are weak and short-lived, but they are the most violent and bloodthirsty race in history. They first used fists, then sticks, spears, and stones for tens of thousands of years? The war has never stopped! Never!"

"You belong to these things, you belong to the killing brought by violence, you are born to be like this, bathing in blood, feeling rage, and seizing honor. If you can't resist it, accept it! Accept it quickly, angel!"

The Kabanha ended its persuasion and suddenly grabbed Sanguinius among the corpses of the warriors. Its eyes were boiling like an erupting volcano in hell, and once again, the angel saw his own reflection in them.

He sank into it.

"No," said the Emperor. "No one here can help you."

The angel knelt on the yellow sand, with beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. He knew exactly what he had just longed for - his father's blood. That was what he longed for.

The secret he had hidden in the darkest and deepest part of his heart was thrown into the light, into the scorching sun of Baal. But this was only one of the secrets. He had many more desires. So many, so many that they were hard to count.

His hands were suddenly buried deep in the sand pit, and his ten fingers had reached a limit of strength, and had begun to hurt himself. Resentment, shame, pain, so many complex and indescribable emotions rose up in his heart, and along with them came his memories.

Ten thousand years ago, in Signus, his guard captain Azkalon covered his bloody wound and smiled to show that he was fine. That smile was so pure, but his throat suddenly tightened and a tremor followed.

He would never forget this scene, which was why it was chosen as the starting point in this series of tortures. Immediately after that, more images rushed out of his mind, more images of war.

Blood, blood everywhere, blood of his enemies, his descendants, his brothers' descendants, his brothers.
A thought he thought he had forgotten came back at this moment.

What would Fulgrim's blood taste like? It must be sweet, unforgettable, intoxicating.

What about Conrad? Most of them are mellow and cold, like holding an ice cube in your mouth, almost cutting your throat, but with a long aftertaste.
The blood of Roger, Perturabo, Vulkan, Robert—the blood of these men, the blood of his brothers—

"--fighting!"

A roaring voice tore through those fantasies and brought him back to the sea of ​​blood. A demon furiously threw him in another direction, and the steel whip in its hand pierced deeply into his golden armor.

Sanguinius should have fought, should have resisted, but the dryness that was surging in his throat destroyed everything. He did not resist because the endless sea of ​​blood around him was too fascinating.

How many dead bodies are there here? It is hard to count. Their blood forms this ocean, the blood of warriors, an unspeakable temptation.
At this moment, Sanguinius smelled at least tens of thousands of completely different and charming aromas, each of which made him want to drink it up immediately, but he didn't.

He closed his mouth tightly, allowing the fangs to pierce his lips and blood to flow out.

His blood is now part of the sea of ​​blood.

Sanguinius shuddered and closed his eyes—voluntarily.

He returned to the yellow sand.

"No one can help you here," the Emperor said. "This is your hell, my son."

"Admittedly, you can describe this abnormal desire as a defect deep in your genes, but you actually know what it is. It is a chain reaction carried in your essence, just like water can quench thirst and a sword can hurt people. There is a direct and close relationship."

The Emperor's words were rational and direct, getting to the heart of it all, the point of it all - his essence, his desires.

Blood thirst.

Trembling, Sanguinius looked up at the sun of Baal. The Emperor had vanished, but his voice still echoed, slowly changing.

"No one here can help you." Once again, he repeated. "No one, except yourself."

Kabanha's roar never ceased, and the temptation of the sea of ​​blood continued from beginning to end. He fought, retreated, fought again, and retreated again. His body was covered with wounds, his golden armor was broken, but he always held the sword in his hand.

The world in his eyes is hot and restless on one side, with the sun blazing in the sky. On the other side, it is boiling and burning, full of corpses. Desire and violence, killing and death, predicament, but it cannot be avoided and must be faced.
In the sea of ​​blood, Sanguinius held the sword with both hands, and Kabanha laughed wildly with satisfaction.

On the yellow sand, Sanguinius looked around and saw no one except himself.

He is the only one here.

The Emperor was not here either, he had not been here from the beginning. From the beginning, there had only been the Angel. He had imagined a father figure to help him, but his father was not here.

There was only him here, his desire, and all this pain.

"Only me." Sanguinius panted and stood up.

I have to beat it.

He drew his sword and faced the demon.
-
Calistarius could feel a tearing sensation, his consciousness leaving him.

Soul transfer, spiritual out-of-body experience - call it what you will, it is described in many mystical schools, and the young think tank could rattle off ten thousand different names for it.

But it mattered not, he was entering the Warp with no protection, no help, only a bloodstained and crude statue of the Emperor, and his undoubted blood connection to the Primarch.

"How can I find you, Primarch?" Calistarius asked anxiously. "Please, answer me.

No response came from the ever-changing vast ocean, his body in the material world was as stable as before, and the statue of the emperor in his hand did not have any magical properties.

His brothers aimed their guns at his head. Fires were blazing on the bridge. On the portholes covered with blood, a fleet was slowly approaching across the void. The blue-gold and large U on the outer armor of the ship shone brightly. It was obviously carefully polished.
Soon, a destroyer discovered the arrival of the Ultramarines. It was called the 'Wrath of the Expedition' and its captain was named Ivoninus, an ambitious young man, the descendant of a war hero, eager to prove his loyalty.

He died twelve minutes later, from a lance of light that grazed a Crusade's Wrath, fired by the Ultramarines' fleet.

Another war—a far more terrible one—had begun.

(End of this chapter)