Chapter 273 The Hunter of Souls, Echoes of the Curse
God-given things have their price.
Becoming a child of God is not a blessing, but a curse.
Bearing the curse, watching the fate, the fate shows the cursed and desperate future.
Prophets never die well.
——But he will never give in until death actually comes.
——————
The son of the demigod gasped in pain.
But he couldn't, couldn't, and didn't need to escape.
Starting his seizure here, in this dark, sealed room, did give him a secret sense of security before he fell into a sea of unconscious madness.
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.
It killed his beloved genetic father, and even the Lord of the Night was not immune to his obsession with the prophecy like poisonous wine.
The strong, artificially coded muscles of Astartes will also spasm, lose control, and contract unnaturally like fragile mortals-those patients with organic brain lesions. Pulling his strengthened, thick and iron-hard bones, sometimes tightening the body into a straightened string like a stiff corpse, sometimes forcing the genetically modified demigod to curl up Like a newborn baby.
And even at this moment, he had absolutely no control over what happened, but if it was just physical pain, he even thought it was bearable. But when the pain calmed down a little, the real The suffering and soul-cutting pain have just come.
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.
There is no hope.
He screamed, roared, and roared in his skull helmet engraved with the runes of Nostramo, and spit out a steady stream of words from his mouth that were produced in painful and inhuman torture with the edges of his canine teeth. The crazy gibbering of saliva flying out, these sounds turned into some buzzing vague resonance and indistinct beast roars after passing through the metal grille of his helmet, echoing in the place where all the furnishings were smashed by his head in pain. , in a metal cabin covered with debris.
In this world, anyone who is proficient in the psychic arts related to prophecy and divination knows very well that the usual prophecies are always vague, obscure, and hidden in thousands of places. There may be a glimmer of possibility about the future under the surface symbols that may be the same but need to be quoted and extended.
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 waiting greedily for a long time when trying to interpret it. But not here.
The cursed bloodline legacy of Konrad Koz is called a God-given gift precisely because it offers every heir who can inherit this God-given skill his eyes. With these terrifying and precise rich details cast in their minds, they can even be as precise as what color armor the enemy who will attack them next will wear, or where they will go next, and what they will see. planet, what kind of ships they attack and what kind of prisoners they get.
He tossed and turned in pain, hitting his head again and again against the metal bulkhead that had been knocked out of countless dents during the pauses in his 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 perhaps It was the result of decades of battles and expeditions to carry out the necessary plunder.
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.
So 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 Time has been stolen from them, and they are the ghosts of the former Legion, still living in the shadows of a past that has not yet passed.
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, and then he knelt there tiredly and began to regain control of his muscles. With the grasp of his bones, his second heart was the first to resume a smoother pulse, slowly pumping blood back into his pale first heart that had contracted and lost blood due to seeing those shocking scenes, making him feel dizzy. Therefore it 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 breathing function for a long time due to the omens he witnessed just now. Even the genetically modified extraordinary His physiological functions were beginning to be unbearable, but as long as he could recover, he would get better... Yes.
The bad apothecary member of the First Talon grunted and stood up unsteadily in the dark room without any light. His head still hurt, so much that it made him temporarily blind, but the problem was not big.
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 of the backstabs that stared at him and the explosive bombs fired from behind that had not yet pulled the trigger.
Suddenly.
Without any 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.
Taros Volkran let out an unprecedented howl in his room that no Night Lord had ever uttered before.
Every Night Lord aboard 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)