Chapter 1011 The Blade of Night
The hunter appeared from his lair, his hungry eyes scanning his messy surroundings.
He quickly adapted to the new environment, like a predator entering a fertile hunting ground, and then a mysterious smile appeared on his face as pale as a corpse.
He opened his arms, embraced nothingness, and enjoyed the darkness.
This chessboard of shadows, this black jungle, this empty mountain peak, here, he feels like his hometown.
But his hometown——
But it was not a good place in his memory, Aprisis Hive, a city that was too vast.
On its crumbling foundations, where scarred stone and snow-covered ridges meet neat rows of reinforced concrete and steel, the city is built into a deep chasm in the planet, its iron base like a tree Like the roots of a rusty giant tree, it is coiled in the dark cave. Countless industrial grinders continue to expand behind it. The cracks are billowing with smoke like the devil's breath. A toothless mouth stretches out to the devastated ground.
Above it, the lowest towers and levels grow out of the polished rock like molds, and many heavy gates come into view, countless roads through the wilderness, and finally into closed spaces to seal Protect yourself from the cold.
Then it was destroyed - by his own hand, just as the Primarch had done to his own planet.
After waking up, with urgency and excitement, he left, jumped into the sensational shadows, and transformed into a ghost flashing in the shadows.
This is the enemy's rear. He should be more careful, but he knows that there will be no real enemies here.
He climbed over the vertical supports, claws scratching, hooked feet planted, leaping between silent ladders, then hanging upside down like a corpse.
He heard the sounds coming from the passages on both sides clearly, so he froze his body and pretended to be a rag on the wall.
In such a chaotic pile of buildings, a huge giant transformed into an invisible figure with unimaginable flexibility, like a midnight presence.
Then, he drew out his claws, stared at the blade and trembled, waiting, every muscle tensing for it.
With every sense running wild and alert, his mind found itself free to wander, the past seeping into his memory like oil into a sponge: wandering like death through the night.
When the attack came, the palace was in chaos, and his false father urged him to stay there, but he chose to flee, rushing through halls and corridors crowded with screaming servants and roaring guards. In the force field generator room, although the old tech-priest tried to stop him, he pierced the old monster's only remaining organic eye with the ceremonial dagger given to him by his fake father on his tenth name day, taking away his forged The genetic key - a gift from his fake mother, representing an identity he was never meant to be - initiates the shutdown of the palace shield.
After a few minutes, the shields were lowered and destruction came.
The voice gradually faded away, and he returned to his cold and ruthless mood.
He thrust his claws out, as if between his ribs, and slid into a crevice in the rock, letting the darkness swallow him up.
This place has no logic. Various simple houses are stacked on top of each other. There are messy stairwells between each other. They are flanked by pious statues and missionary pulpits, but they are still chaotic. .
The ancient staircase leads to nowhere, the tunnel passes through knotted girders and plastic garbage, twisted and twisted cables spurt out from the chaotic partitions, coiling upwards, the collapsed tunnel is re-drilled Turning on or around, the sluice gates opened, gurgling, and the floors were covered in scaled slime.
This is the largest refugee camp in the Red Sand Mountains. It is said that there are nearly one million people piled up.
These people are hopeless, useless and have nothing, split into criminal gangs large and small, looking for fungi and carrion in the dark——
In his opinion, these are not humans, but animals, rats.
The Hunter felt a twinge of nausea. If this was a reward for loyalty to the Emperor, he had chosen his side wisely.
He withdrew his thoughts, focused all his attention on the footsteps of the approaching prey, and released his right hand - at its tip, the hook of the gauntlet was slightly bent.
Two men came out of the tunnel next to him. They were wearing jackets and iron beards. They spoke softly and walked cautiously, like they had been liars all their lives.
In these caves, caution is as natural as breathing.
This does them no good. In at least two breaths, the first one was already dead. Before his brain even realized the threat, a pair of sharp blades rushed towards his face from the shadows, sliding across his eye sockets like icicles.
The hunter shook off the body and emerged from the alcove, facing the second man.
In his memory, the voice of the master he killed was hissing, like pouring sand, flooding his mind:
"Show them what you can do What, steal their hope, just like the shadow steals the light, show yourself to them. The weapons are similar, but the effect is eternal. Fear, fear is the weapon."
In the corridor, standing in a pool of his fallen friend's blood, the second man looked into the nightmarish face, trembling, choking, and began to scream.
“Look at me.”
The hunter said, extending his hand to the other person.
Of course, this man can't see anything, he is simply blind.
They all are.
By the end of the second day, there were twelve of the prey, seven men and five women.
The hunter was amazed by the variety of their reactions, most screamed from the start, when he met them, when he flexed his claws and growled, when he used his paintbrush like an artist Painting their horror, carefully adding breathless gouache of horror to the oil of horror, his heart raced with the justice of what he was doing.
And they threw their little heads back and screamed.
However, some people were silent, staring in shock, like silent animals-black eyes bulging, lips twitching, and faces pale.
In these cases, hunters snatch them away with their claws, sliding through layers of debris to sheltered spots where they can leisurely recover their voices.
Then you can start screaming.
One of the women impressed him so much that she knelt down and began to pray, some murmurs to the Emperor.
The angry hunter cut off her fingers one by one, enjoying the change in her demeanor.
One of the men tried to fight him, which was insignificant.
He lurked among the ruins, in the corner of a settlement crowded with refugees, considering this palette of horrors like a painter planning to mix new colors.
But always, this joy is tempered by hatred, rage, and anxiety about failure.
What, he asked himself, had he learned from his killings? What did he discover in his many works, in his many depictions?
Nothing.
He painstakingly depicts what he witnessed on his hunting grounds, carving it lovingly into the skin of each victim, yet their ignorance remains intact.
Ever since he killed his former master and truly took control of the warband, something has always been swallowing him and gnawing at his soul.
He staggered through the darkness, lost in thought, venting his rage on the broken masonry of the ancient building.
But none of this helps.
So, once again, emptiness struck after the hunt, and he left here, crossing a long distance, and returned to the place where he started.
The servants said, is that Sar Bodon, or some other Garmo Zejie, seems to be looking for him with something?
But he didn't care and didn't want to pay attention.
It was dawn and he was tired——
(End of this chapter)