Chapter 238 Midnight Dance
"In the darkness, a gunshot sounded, and the wheel of fate moved slowly. Perhaps it was a human suggestion, a shadow of long-term planning..."
The singing of the troupe leader floated like a spider silk in the hall that had already fallen into chaos. The originally wide hall became narrow in the intersection of guns and knives. Light and shadow collided and confused in a limited space. The noise quickly brought everything in the banquet hall into an expanding chaos.
The attacked Haemonculus Konrad Curze rushed into the crowd with a chuckle, killing anyone he thought was sinful enough indiscriminately - which meant that he was killing any Eldar who entered the range of his blade.
"What's going on!" Perturabo shouted behind the Primarch who suddenly rushed into the crowd.
Although he had no good feelings towards the Eldar, he saw his blood relatives said nothing and rushed directly into the crowd of attendees, using their sharp claws, extraordinary grip, and the exquisite art of assassination to easily and happily roll up a bloody whirlwind mixed with screams. His mechanical heart was once again shocked to the depths of the transformer and energy conversion pump.
"They are guilty, Val!" Bloody Cain's roar was like a rolling storm, "Children of Isha! Are there any righteous people in this city?"
The Flowered Eldar slowly uttered their songs in the silence of a cappella, cold and deep, opening with a subtle, trembling prelude, and its melody was tortuous. The melody quietly penetrated the hustle and bustle of the banquet hall, like the cold wind on a winter night, passing through many corners.
"The drama was suddenly interrupted, our warning had already been heard, Cain's anger was magnificent and urgently needed to be appeased and smoothed out..."
The horn of war sounded, and the Blood Orcs danced in the dark hall, their hands stained with blood, just like the origin of the term Bloody Cain.
When the first knife thrown to resist Curze's killing accidentally injured another nobleman, the situation was completely out of control. No matter how the host dissuaded them, the Eldar had begun to take advantage of this opportunity to attack and eliminate their long-time opponents. The hall fell into a chaotic frenzy.
The roar of war drums rolled in the dim air, and the murder and blood that usually hid in the depths of the underworld were suddenly brought to the hall by the blood lord.
Warriors and slaves rushed at each other or nobles with their weapons, and the troupe accompanied them with all their heart: the symphony of iron and fire collided violently in the air, the crisp sound of swords and sharp roars intertwined into a strange syncopated major, and even the neighing of war horses was simulated by the rapid bowing of the strings.
"The play on the stage, although frustrated, must continue to be performed, and the actors continue their journey with dark fear. Until the moment of the curtain falls, everything will be quiet!"
The Avatar laughed wildly and shouted, fulfilling the threat they had sent as a warning. The red, blue, yellow and black shadows accompanied the Blood Orcs, searching for and killing anyone who disturbed the performance - similarly, this meant almost everyone.
The Pied Eldar stepped on the blood of their blood relatives with their toes, jumped onto the table, and swiftly stepped on the silver-white dinner plates and the heads of the corpses lying on the table, like a phantom in a dream, moving and shifting. In the more intense breath of psychedelic gas, the masks of the ghouls emerged in the deep murderous intent, bringing deepening fear and dancing in the dark night. The death clowns in black clothes and heavy guns stepped on the shoulders of the dead, harvesting pain and bringing destruction.
And Perturabo has begun to carry all kinds of flying fragments and crystals, looking for a way to exit this terrifying chaos.
The outbreak of all the chaos made the Primarch who grew up in a sound and conventional social rule feel inexplicable, and his strange brother, whose name he still did not know but could recognize him, was obviously excited to the greatest extent by the blood.
He sincerely believed that he should withdraw from the chaos and save himself, and then consider formally getting to know the newly appeared brother again, as well as determining what kind of environment he was in, how to find the lost Morse, and finally return to the empire, etc.
"On the ever-changing stage, every turn is profound; until the final curtain is unveiled, the mystery can be solved." A new voice was soft and cold, passing through the entire banquet hall, bringing a foreshadowing of the final fate.
Perturabo immediately stopped and looked for the source of the voice.
The tyrannical storm was like a shrill scream, suddenly exploding in the center of the banquet hall, and then decomposed into millions of broken blades, cutting the snow-white skin of all the Eldar present who had not seen the sun for a long time. Blood and pain overflowed on the hot skin surface, accompanied by heart-wrenching panic and extreme fear.
A black-robed man floated in the center of the hall, leaning on a purple-gold throne covered with dark purple gauze, with a piece of exquisite gauze draped over his shoulders. Mist filled the air around him, and the sound of blood dripping into the pool echoed in the void.
He held up his face with a strange cold white mask in his left hand, and casually threw out some blood-stained gold sand and crystal clear crystals, even bullets of poison crystals and fragments of star darts with his right hand, as a reward for all the corruption and chaos.
The most terrifying thing is that any Eldar can feel a sense of familiarity in the actor, as if the pain of being deprived and mutilated when the crisis that broke out decades ago passed through the skin. Higher than war and death, one thousandth of the source of the Eldar's true fear is imitated here.
"At the peak of prosperity, at the time of glory, the root of corruption is secretly nurtured." The person who plays the hungry man sang softly, stretching out his words, "Degeneration comes like a shadow, and the curse brings desire, and the desire grows..."
The Flowered Eldar gathered together, performing the battle and defeat with the Thirsty One, whimpering and dropping their blades into a fake death. The light dust spun in the air, and the power shattered into colorful reflections. The purple-gold light engraved mysterious marks on the foreheads of too many people at the banquet, and the strange and morbid colors stripped lives from their bodies one by one - these deaths were extremely real.
Perturabo wanted to move forward, and then he heard a familiar psychic energy touching his consciousness. He adjusted his overly excited mood and accepted it calmly.
+Wait, Perturabo. This play is about to end. +
The Haemonculus bathed in blood suddenly felt an unknown force pulling him up from the corpse and blood. He struggled for a while, unable to resist the sourceless magic, so he gave up immediately and floated in front of the actor like a statue.
"Blood Hand Kane..." The actor smiled softly, pinching his throat, "You belong to us, God of War."
Conrad Curze responded with a sharp claw attack, but his attack was stopped an inch away from the actor. He was thrown out and fell backwards. The blood on his body quickly solidified into scarlet ice crystals, and then shattered in a solid state, breaking into thousands of remaining fragments.
Perturabo caught the falling Conrad Curze and was about to ask the Primarch who was still immersed in the aftermath of the killing some questions, when he saw him put his finger up at his mouth, observing the last performer intently, and making unspeakable gestures.
"Darkness and corruption are born together, and from now on, they are all midnight dreams. You will welcome eternal torture in the darkest remaining sin."
After a long period of darkness and silence, the smoke covering the entire hall slowly faded, leaving a silent corpse on the ground.
The black-robed man fell to the ground, threw off the mask on his face, and walked towards the two Primarchs. Behind him, the fallen Pied Eldar crawled out of the corpses one by one, somersaulted, held hands, and lined up lightly.
"Perturabo," the black-robed man said, "Conrad Curze. Friends, hold hands and bow together. It's curtain time now, even if there are no living people to appreciate it."
"Oh, there's one more." Curze suddenly said.
Outside the hall, an Eldar dressed as a Haemon servant returned to the room with a poison crystal rifle and bowed deeply.
"An extremely wonderful play, a gospel from midnight. I hope to see this drama performed again in the society of the Dark Eldar. By the way, I am Asturbar Victor, everyone."
"Well done, the first shot of the night." Curze said leisurely.