Chapter 274 Over the World of Carrion
“What happened to him?” A voice said softly in a vague and hissing voice, “Although...he has left us Fifty-five nights, but it still seems unusual.”
—The way this man pronounces this guttural sound and the many hollow syllables is like what’s outside his window...
What's outside the window?
Where is the window?
Who is he?
Who is thinking in his head?
Who is talking in his head?
Confused and painful thoughts were twitching and beating in the biochemical tissue under his skull. He realized that he was weak and in a bad state.
My Su-Ann meninges did not start, someone stopped it from doing what it was supposed to do.
An idea suddenly breaks in, like a bright reminder scroll bar floating in the haze.
And another thought came even more suddenly along with the black electric light that he didn't want to look at again: they are coming. They are coming. We're coming.
Who?
Who is coming?
Is this another prophetic dream and epileptic seizure? How long had he been away from his brothers this time?
By the way, did someone just say "Fifty-five nights?"
He heard the soft and vicious whisper of the dead warband think tank in his ears, unique to Nostramo. The accent was like the sound that saliva mixed with acid would make when it corrodes human flesh and blood.
Then he recalled the visions and conversations in his broken dream just now.
That seemed to be the last layer of illusion before returning to reality from the cursed talent deep in the soul.
Llewin was unlikable, short-sighted and unintelligent when he was alive, but after his death - especially since his body, missing below the pelvis, is now nailed to his After becoming the empty skull sight decoration opposite his throne on the bridge of the ship, this brother became obviously smarter and more organized when he spoke.
He remembered their exchanges on the false bridge, and the meaning of their Legion—Dominion—Fear—Order—Humanity—Fight—and everything.
Those who seemed to have been conveyed many times through the will of their Primarch ten thousand years ago.
On the farthest eastern border, beyond the radiance of the Star Torch, lies the world of carrion, Thesaguarsa, built by living humans and obsidian, as well as the dark ultimate art of the Eighth Legion's genius. Finally in the palace.
There is only madness and the pain deep in the bone marrow caused by madness, running through all defenses. Nothing can resist it, and no one can help.
"What are you going to do in the end?" The Primarch's long hair, as black as the night of Nostramo where there has never been sunlight, has now become dry and fragile. Talos stood there , together with the company commanders, amidst the endless wailing of countless living faces on the floor that were carefully maintained, we saw the ominous frost and snow, which represented depletion and abandonment, dyeing the temples of the Primarch that had become thinner white.
"My children, my son," he sat on a throne made of the bones of countless innocent people. He was surrounded by castles made of corpses or living corpses of men, women, old and young. There was still life in the corridor outside the throne. The stitched faces on the floor were wailing endlessly toward the ceiling.
"If I leave, what will you do? In the end? Will the killer who has never seen the light of day become a cockroach that avoids the sun? When exposed to the light, it will disperse in a rush, eating only to survive. Living by rotting, even though the claws are sharp, it is still terrifying, but it makes no sense."
This caused a chill to flow through the spines and nerves of almost everyone in the throne room.
The Prince of the Night whispered, holding his head, and his long, claw-like fingers casually tied his long hair into a knot at the back of his head, so that his face could be revealed.
The Primarch is getting up.
Those wails began to turn into screams of true terror as the Primarch slowly rose from the throne room like a black, gaunt tower.
"Armor me, she is coming, my ordained death. Sevatar." He hissed softly, "Come to me. I want you to watch."
The voice of a company commander broke the invisible fear in the room, "My lord, Sevatar is dead." "What?"
My temples are white as snow. The Lord of the Night turned sideways towards the officers, his eyes were dim and dull, the black pupils dilated to the extreme, and there was only night, like a dark ocean.
"Chief Captain Severtarion has passed away a long time ago, my highness."
The Primarch of the Night Lord roared angrily in the dim throne room, revealing his sharp points that were ground like shark teeth. Fang seemed to be asking when, where and how his remaining loyal heirs, his prince of crows, and his chief captain dared to die before him.
There should be more questions and answers and past battles to follow, but those memories that were not far away to him but flashed across the galaxy ten thousand years ago began to split from the edges of his retinas, like It is like an iceberg that breaks off the ice sheet of the continental shelf, falling, drifting, and gradually melting.
Just like the Eighth Legion gradually lost every leader and every trustworthy brother in the drifting battles and massacres.
In the end they all obeyed the Primarch's orders, and every Night Lord present knew when and where their father would die.
They followed the wishes of the Gene Father and built the final black palace for his growing decline and eventual death.
None of them disobeyed their father's orders, they all made way for the assassins to move forward.
They were silent, not one of them raising their weapons against the daughter of Callidus.
They witnessed the last moment when the Assassin arrived in the dark throne room and the Primarch rose from the Throne of Bones and moved forward.
The copy that was obtained from the Temple of Callidus by Vandrod, who became the "Supreme", called on the Night Lords to obtain it, has been copied many times since it was obtained, and has spread among the large and small groups that the Legion has split into. Carried around by the Nightborne in small warbands.
Each viewing leaves a new imprint on their souls.
"Good, now, at least I have control over my death."
? !
No? !
No! !
wrong! ! That's not what the Primarch said at the time! That's not what he said!
What did he say? ! What did he originally, should he, should have said? !
"Death is nothing, compared to..."
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The prophet twitched and exhaled on his commanding throne, The iron chains that bound his neck, waist, and limbs were rattling as his body became stiff and stiff.
The mortal crew around them who were trying to focus on their work did not even dare to breathe lightly. In the bridge, where only the auspicious auspicious light and the data panel were dimly illuminated, hundreds of eyes reflecting the glimmer of light were observing furtively. Command what happens on the throne deck.
The pharmacist's voice was quick and sharp.
"Press him down! His heart can't stand it anymore! Both of them!"
Talos's eyes under his helmet were bloodshot, and he began to roll his eyes, and the ghost of psychic energy Blue lightning crackled around him.
“Damn it!”
(End of this chapter)