40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 647 30. Belated Judgment (Three, Ten Thousand Eyes War Gang, 6k)

I woke up.

Dark, as always. This is what I asked for, I don't like light, at least not anymore. In the past, when I finished my meditation, the candles burning in the room and the breathing of my brothers would tell me where I was.

But now it is different, there are no candles, no light, no other people, only me. But I am not completely alone, I have a secret buzz to keep me company.

I know where this sound comes from, but I don't know how to describe it in simple and understandable language.

For me, the sound came from the engine room of the battle barge, the Blade of Truth, and it had been there ever since she was offered to the gods three centuries before.

However, the mutants, beastmen and other hybrid savages on the ship called it "heartbeat", and they believed that it contained the thoughts of the Blade of Truth. As long as they could decipher the mystery inside, they could survive the wrath of the Blade of Truth from time to time.

And I'm like, this is all bullshit. It was just sacrificed, that's all, there's no real reason for it.

We took it from the dogs of war, changed its name, and dedicated it to the gods, it was as simple as that.

As for the things that follow, it's just a chain reaction.

I stood up and began to check and organize myself according to the custom left to me by the Corps.

I first made sure my knight's tunic was intact, then the winged sword emblem I had stored in an inconspicuous corner of my belt compartment. After that, I checked the status of my weapons and armor.

It took me three minutes to do this, long, but worth it. The tranquility brought by meditation was transformed into a small cloud in the corner of my mind by this movement, which continuously provided me with a kind of mental coolness.

I straightened my chest, put on the helmet, opened the door and walked out of my room. Behind the eyepiece, I could clearly observe the world in front of me.

A world full of filthy bastards.

My room is located on the second deck. Anyone with common sense knows how important this place is. However, even in such an important place, I can see countless beastmen. They are crowded in the halls, corridors and rooms opened up the next day to pray.

These degenerate subhuman bastards were taller than we, the Astartes, but they were not human at all, just beasts. I tried not to look at them and walked past them.

However, the dirty graffiti on the walls, floor and ceiling and the chaotic and violent scenery outside the porthole never let go of my nerves.

They teased me continuously, giving me an urge to kill.

So I stopped, moved my feet, and continued walking in a different direction. A few minutes later, I came to the door of a corridor decorated with a large number of skulls. The endless skulls seemed to be telling me something.

I walked in, alone, and arrived at a special place.

I still don't know how to describe this place, I can only say that it is very wide, covered with blood-stained yellow sand. Many people are standing on the edge, watching a battle in the middle of the yellow sand.

In the middle of the yellow sand, a giant wearing black armor like me was fighting another giant. His opponent was wearing blue and white ceramsite armor, no helmet, and his face was covered in blood.

I want to leave. I don't like this.

"Bello."

I turned and saw Oramon. A knight like me, a Calibanite who had joined the Legion a little over half a year before me.

"Oramon. How's it going on the court?" I greeted him and asked a casual question.

I actually don’t care what is happening on the field. This yellow sand pit is not our tradition, it belongs to the War Dogs, although we have preserved it in a not very good way.

The reason I changed the subject was just to get him to stop paying attention to me.

"Oh not so good. I think our brother will lose."

Olamon said, and he followed my idea perfectly. I saw his eyebrows above his pale eyes frown together, and his facial features began to twist together.

Spending so long in the warp and receiving the blessings of the gods have caused us all to mutate to varying degrees. It's okay for me because I'm not pious enough, but it's different for Auramon.

He is devoted to a god of pleasure, and although he has only recently joined this cause, it seems to me that the signs were laid long ago. His pursuit of art and his desire for beautiful servants have long revealed to me what he is like now.

But, again - yes, he was mutated. His eyes changed color, and his skin color, and I could see his veins through his face.

I think this is probably just the beginning.

"Why do you say that? Charnelle is in the upper hand," I said.

I'm not kidding, this is indeed the case. Shanel - the black-armored giant currently fighting on the field - truly has the upper hand, having knocked the captive from the warhound to the ground twice.

If he wanted, the battle would probably be over soon. As always, the warhound would be killed, the body dragged away and fed to the demons or something worse on the ship.

"He underestimated him," said Oramon contemptuously. "And underestimating the enemy is a taboo, Bello."

He turned his head and looked at me, and spoke in a slow tone, showing his respect for me.

"Although his opponent is very young, with perhaps less than twenty years of combat experience, and in very poor condition, he is still a descendant of Angron. Garnael's underestimation of his foe will cost him the battle and his life."

His words still failed to arouse my interest in watching the fight, but in order not to spoil his fun, I turned my head and took a look at the fight.

It didn't take me long to realize that there was nothing wrong with Oramon's words. Charnail was indulging his own desire for torture. The young war dog was not.

We destroyed him and his squad, sixty in all, in a raid half a month ago. The Warhounds are thriving, but it's still a huge loss.

And if we consider the planet they swore to defend but was bombed into cosmic dust by our fleet, the hatred would probably be even deeper. Not to mention, the hatred between us and them actually started a long time ago.

Three centuries ago, when we seized the Blade of Truth, we also destroyed several of their battleships and the auxiliary troops on them. Those people were regarded as brothers and sisters by them.

To sum up, I had reason to believe that the war dog would seize every opportunity to kill Garnaiel, and my belief came true.

Just as Shanai swung his sword again and knocked him to the ground, and raised his hands like a champion to accept the cheers or jeers of the audience, the war dog quickly climbed up.

Shanel quickly put away his sword to block. I don't like him, but I won't erase his efforts in swordsmanship. Blocking and counterattacking were completed almost at the same time. He opened the chainsaw axe of the war dog and stabbed with a backhanded sword, hitting his opponent's chest and abdomen.

This destroyed important organs and the spine. If Shanel wanted to, he could cut open the war dog's chest. The power sword would help him do it very smoothly.

But, as I said, he enjoyed torture, so he twisted his wrist slowly, trying to see more pain on that young face.
The war dog seized the opportunity and rushed forward, allowing the power sword to cause more serious damage to himself, but he also took the opportunity to bite open Shanel's neck with the chainsaw axe.

They fell to the ground together, and we could all hear Garnael's cry of injury and the war dog's dying cry bursting from the depths of his throat.

"For Angron!"

He roared and used his chainsaw axe, fists and teeth to tear Garnai's head from his neck.

He won.

The owner of the bunker was very unhappy about this. The owner of the bunker was called Zadkar, who used to be a clear-headed commander. But now, he is a bloodthirsty madman.

When needed, we would let him out to kill our enemies and briefly sober him up before he started killing us. When not needed, he would hang around the bunker, inviting people in for a fight.

Anyone can step into these sands, but the main event is always Astartes vs. Astartes. From what I have heard, he has done a lot of disgusting things here. We have taken many prisoners and wasted them all on this.

There were many within the warband who were dissatisfied with him, but my master Serafax did not respond to any of the discontented voices.

Therefore, for now, the crazy Zadkar can still linger here unscrupulously and vent his bloodthirsty desire anytime and anywhere.

I saw him jump into the sand, and before the 'after' came, I looked away, ready to turn away. I'd seen enough, and I'd come here to kill a few beastmen legitimately, bleeding them dry in a one-on-one duel.

It's not something particularly difficult to do, but I must be careful myself, they are the darlings of the Darkness after all. I didn't intend to come here to watch a few Astartes get slain, whether they were my brothers or not.

"Where are you going?"

Amid the roar of Zadkar and the sound of blood and flesh splattering, Olamon asked me this. I ignored him and just walked away.

Today, the relationship between me and my brothers has changed a lot. The brotherhood still exists, but only among a few people. The more people, like Oramon, Shanel or Zadkar, they have changed.

They won't hurt me, they know me, they obey my orders, they even try to please me, but that's just because of my status. In other words, there isn't much left of the Legion era.

My only consolation in this matter is that it is much the same with the Imperium. Every Astartes I have seen so far is a product of the so-called Codex.

It is ridiculous that they can shout and fight for the Emperor when they have never seen him.

I went up all the way and saw more twisted things along the way, such as demons bound by chains, wizards whispering in corners, and caveman monsters licking their flesh.
If I hadn't learned to turn a blind eye to these things long ago, I would probably be very distressed. The elevator that remained inside the Blade of Truth that led directly to the main bridge also comforted me in a mechanical way - at least it was still familiar to me.

I thanked it and stepped into the main bridge. Unlike what I remembered, it was empty, with no busy crew members or servitors. Correspondingly, the instruments they needed to operate were destroyed.

The battle barge no longer requires instruments to operate, it has become another form of life.

Look at the main bridge if you don't believe me, look at the darkness, the symbols, objects, and half-dead demons hanging all over the observation windows. What other ship could have such a thing decorating its bridge?
I lowered my head and walked towards the throne in the darkness.

"Ah, you've arrived just in time, Bello," my master Serafax said cheerfully.

I was a little confused - he was not usually a very happy person, maybe he was in the past, but definitely not now.

He had been my captain, a knight-captain, a true Calibanite with red hair. He had commanded me before the Caliban Heresy, and we fought side by side after it.

As for now, he was a man who was hard to describe in words. He had grown taller, and his red hair was burning like a flame, and so was half of his face.

This signified that he had received a blessing from one of the gods, and the resulting mutation was seen by my brothers as a symbol of power and authority.
I was saddened by this, and I obeyed him because he was my superior, my brother, and the one to whom I now served. But they were different, at least most of them were not.

They were loyal to him only because he had power.

In other words, Serafax's Ten Thousand Eyes Warband has power.

Years of looting have accumulated a huge fleet of more than 200 warships. The piety and sacrifice to the gods have exchanged for many blessings and useful knowledge. Everyone who can go deep into the warp has heard of our name, even the devil will know us.

Am I proud of this?

"Come here, my friend."

Serafax waved to me. He was sitting on a throne surrounded by books and silver amulets. The steps under his feet were covered with blue runes and magic circles. I looked at them carefully, making sure I had a place to step before walking to his side.

Only then did I realize that he was holding an imaginary spine in his hand.

"What is this?" I asked.

"One of the spies we sent out," Serafax replied with a smile. "Remember Leona de Las?"

I searched my memory, and a woman's face slowly emerged. As Serafax said, we have many spies across the stars who provide us with information and intelligence.

Normally they will remain loyal and honest for a long time, until they feel they have gained the power to challenge us.

This kind of thing is not uncommon, and we always benefit from it - to be honest, it is not difficult to kill them. It is even easier to give their savings, strength and souls to the gods or demons.

So, yes, we raise more than just spies.

I nodded.

"She's probably dead," Serafax said lightly. "And both her body and soul are gone. I can't sense her soul. Someone took her soul before we did, and that person even cracked the horn we left for her."

He showed me the vertebra in his hand, which was gradually solidifying. I had seen this happen many times, but I couldn't help but feel a strange tingling sensation deep in my bones.

I think I would never get used to this even if I watched it a thousand times. How could the human spine be used as a messenger? And it could be used across such a distance?

He and I waited patiently, and half a minute later, the piece of spine finally took shape in his hands.

"And, whoever this person is, he left us a message." Serafax spoke slowly.

He looked up at me, the eye that was not replaced by fire was looking at me patiently. I didn't say anything, and as always, I left the decision to him.

He smiled and crushed the spine. A dull explosion sounded quietly between his fingers. The bone fragments should have fallen to the ground, but were pulled into the air by an inexplicable force. A shadow slowly appeared among the flying bone fragments.

He stared straight at us. He had deep green eyes and faded blond hair. He was old, and though I didn't really recognize him yet, the thought came to me immediately, followed by a wave of sadness.

He's old, I thought with horror.

Only after that did my mind tell me who he was, instinctively.

My fear grew into trembling.

The lion is old, I think.

I couldn't control my instinctive reaction and turned to look at Serafax, wanting to seek help from him, but I found that his face was calm, as if he had expected this day to come.

Even so, his clenched fists on the armrests of the throne told me that he was not calm at the moment.
"Wanyan, listen to me carefully."

A familiar voice came slowly, forcing me to turn my head to look at the projection of the lion and accept his cold gaze.

Ten thousand years have passed in the material world. We have gradually transformed from hiding and fleeing, and although we still need to enter the subspace to hide, the lion has never gone away.

Word of him and the imitations he created to try to replace us still reaches us, but even so, I haven't heard his voice in a long time.

I had no sense of the time of ten thousand years until I heard his voice again. The coldness and murderous intent were real, just like Caliban back then, and I had to take a deep breath to calm myself down.

"One hundred centuries have passed, and you still refuse to face the truth and your own mistakes. You kill, plunder, and indulge at will, tainting my name with my blood."

His projection slowly moved forward until it became a look down that was full of contempt.

"There is no doubt about it," the lion declared to us. "You are all traitors, traitors to humanity."

I shuddered as if I had received an electric shock. I knew in my heart that what we were doing was not glorious at all, but...
A hand grabbed me. It was Serafax. He held my hand and looked at me with concern. The lion's projection paused, probably because of him.

"Do not be misled by him, my friend," Serafax whispered.

I nodded reluctantly, and Serafax squeezed my hand, and the lion's voice sounded again.

"Today, all the innocent and guilty people who survived the tragedy on Caliban have received what they deserve, but you are the only ones who are still avoiding me. If you are not cowards, come to Kamas."

The lion straightened up expressionlessly.

"I promise on my honor that there will be no ambushes or traps. This matter needs to be resolved. No matter how you view me, the truth of what happened on Caliban must be told. I'll be waiting for you in Kamas."

Kamath. I quickly searched my memory, but Serafax's laughter followed right after, interrupting my thoughts.

I looked at him puzzled, and found that he was laughing happily. This kind of laughter can't be acted, the lion's words must really make him very happy, otherwise he would never laugh like this. I looked at him in confusion.

"Oh, don't be offended, Bello. I just didn't expect our Primarch to actually speak of his honor."

He looked at me and exhaled lightly with great satisfaction.

"You don't know it, Bello, but honor means nothing to the lion, at least not in the face of victory. He is the kind of person who will give up honor for victory, and the same goes for us."

He stood up slowly, and the vestments he wore seemed to be dyed red by the burning flames. A sudden light appeared as he stood up, and the entire dark bridge was as bright as day.

I looked around, wanting to observe this rare scene, but I saw something that shocked my heart and even my soul.
It was a mirror, or at least it looked like a mirror, a huge, silver lake suspended upside down reflecting our own image above our heads.

"Don't look at it." A hand pulled me back on track, and Serafax warned me kindly. "That is a gift from the Lord of Change. You can't look at it directly, Bello."

"You are the last sane one among us. I must rely on your sanity. Otherwise, even I will become a servant of the gods. I serve them, but only temporarily."

He placed his hand on my shoulder, waved his left hand, causing darkness to fall around us again, and led me down the long steps.

"Remember what I told you?" he asked.

Of course I remember.
“The opportunity to do it is very soon,” Serafax told me. “On Camas.”

I looked at him and found that his only remaining eye was shining with a light that I couldn't understand at all. I could only read pain and sadness from it, and as for more things, I couldn't tell at all.

He noticed my gaze and looked at me, then raised his hand to take off my helmet and looked me in the eye.

"Brother," he called me in the voice of the Legion. "Let us wash away the shame, from now on. The tragic song of Caliban and the Knights will no longer exist."

I bowed my head in obedience.

(End of this chapter)