Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 273 The hunter of souls, the echo of the curse

God-given gifts have their price.

Being a child of God is not a blessing, it is a curse.

Bearing the curse, watching fate, fate shows the cursed and desperate future.

Prophets never die well.

——But he will never give in until death actually comes.

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The demigod son gasped in pain.

But he couldn't, couldn't, didn't need to escape.

Beginning his seizure here, in this dark, sealed room, did provide him with some secret peace of mind before he fell into a sea of ​​unconscious madness.

It killed his beloved genetic father, and even the Lord of the Night was not immune to his obsession with prophecies like poisonous wine.

hopeless.

The scene that appeared in his eyes, which were considered a gift from heaven, was always so hopeless and empty - in the endless dark future, there were still only sacrifices, battles, constant losses and endless wars.

There is no light.

And even at this moment, he has absolutely no control over what is happening. But if it is just physical pain, he even thinks that it is bearable. But when the pain calms down a little, the real suffering will cut into the soul. The pain of opening has just come.

The strong, artificially coded muscles of Astartes will also spasm and lose control like fragile mortals-those patients with organic brain lesions, and the muscles will contract unnaturally, pulling him to be strengthened. The bones, thick and as hard as iron stone, sometimes tighten the body like a stiff corpse into a straightened string that is almost broken, and sometimes force the genetically modified demigod to curl up like a newborn baby.

The metal cabin is just another cage for him, and his power armor can defend against external attacks almost as often as it can defend against internal impacts.

This god-given gift made him valued by many people, and also made him abandoned by even more people.

He screamed, roared, and roared in his skull helmet engraved with the runes of Nostramo, and spit out from his mouth an endless stream of idiots with saliva flying from the side of his canine teeth that were produced in painful and inhuman torture. After passing through the metal grille of his helmet, these sounds turned into some buzzing vague resonance and indistinct beast roars, echoing in the metal debris on the ground where all the furnishings were smashed by his head in pain. In the cabin.

In this world, anyone who is proficient in the psychic arts related to prophecy and divination knows very well that ordinary prophecies are always vague, obscure, and hidden in thousands of potentially identical and needing to be quoted and Under the extended surface symbol is a hint of possibility about the future.

Omens of fate are as brittle and fragile as dewdrops on spider silk before the sun rises in the morning. If you are not careful, you will fall into the mouth of the lifeline manipulator who has been greedily waiting for a long time when trying to interpret it. But not here.

The cursed blood legacy of Konrad Curz is called God-given precisely because of the terrible and precise richness it pours into the eyes and minds of every heir who can inherit this God-given skill. The details can even be as precise as what color armor the enemy will attack them next, or where they will go next, what kind of planet they will see, what kind of ship they will attack, and what kind of armor they will get. of prisoners.

He tossed and turned in pain, hitting his head again and again against the metal bulkhead that had been knocked out of countless dents between screams.

His ancient helmet faithfully guarded the integrity of his head and protected his skull as always - for them, being in the hellish space was just a matter of escaping and evading pursuit or carrying out necessary plunder. The resulting decades of battles and expeditions.

The time enslaved by the supernatural etheric law quietly slipped away from them at an irrational speed. Every time they wandered in reality, every time they saw old things that were now beyond recognition, it would aggravate everyone who realized this. The secret pain in people's hearts.

Therefore, most people here have long since learned not to think carefully about how much time has passed - but the prophet reluctantly realized that ten thousand years, a full ten thousand years, had been removed from them. Stolen away, and they are the ghosts of the former legion, still living in the shadows of the past that has not yet passed away.

When the double pressure of the burning pain of mental hallucinations on the body gradually subsided like a tide, the ancient apothecary began to pant. Then he knelt there exhausted and began to regain control of his muscles and bones. His second heart was the first to resume a more steady beat, slowly pumping blood back into his pale first heart that had contracted and lost blood due to seeing those shocking scenes, and the dizzy feeling gradually disappeared.

The scroll bar warning of hypoxia and suffocation gradually left the edge of the eyepiece of his helmet. He must have lost his respiratory function for a long time due to the omens he witnessed just now, and even his genetically modified extraordinary physiological functions began to be unable to withstand it. , but as long as he can recover, he will get better... Yes.

The bad apothecary member of the First Claw grunted, staggering upright in the dark room without any light, his head still hurting, enough to make him temporarily blind, but not a big deal.

There was no lighting on this ship, and the extraordinary ones did not need it. Their natural and acquired enhancements allowed them to see in the dark freely, while the mortal crew were only allowed to use weak lights for lighting when moving the farthest. Most people have also become accustomed to using things other than their eyes to live and operate everything on this ship - it takes an average of sixty-six days to develop a habit, and the replacement time of several generations of mortals is long enough for a helpless approach. Becoming natural comes naturally.

Although this predicted epileptic seizure came very quickly, it should be over by now. Although he was still in pain all over his body, he was more concerned about when his weakness would leave.

He knew that he had supporters among his brothers, but what was left to him and his reputation were more eye-catching backstabs and explosive bombs fired from behind that had not yet pulled the trigger.

Sudden.

Without warning, an extremely dazzling black lightning surrounded the gold and silver, cut through the fog of time and space, landed here, penetrated his soul, and violently split his eyes.

The Midnight Lord's pure black eyes, which were accustomed to a lightless environment, were completely overwhelmed by this astonishing light.

Talos Vol'korlan let out a howl in his chamber that was unprecedented and cruel that no Night Lord had ever uttered before.

And every Night Lord on the Blood Covenant who had not yet taken off their power armor had their eardrums pierced by the shrill wail of the First Claw Prophet from the communication channel.

Footsteps hurriedly gathered towards this cabin in the darkness, carrying the rusty and fishy smell of blood and metal.

(End of this chapter)