Chapter 244: Black Katie's Blade

Don't you think nine Haemonchi are too many? Yes, I mean, does your court need... nine elders? A great king, and eight viziers?

No, I think eight would be a better number, a number that better fits your number as a Primarch.

This isn't some goddamn numerology, you're fine with number fourteen, no, let's make it simple. Let's think about nine.

When you return to the Imperium, kneel before the false emperor's throne, beg him to forgive you for your sins of mingling with xenos, plead pitifully with the Emperor of Mankind not to remove you from your brothers - like two Primarchs you never knew, then, when your brothers hear, "eight founders", ah, they understand, you are number eight.

Yes, nine is a terrible number, a number that reminds people of the noble angels we all love. While you succumbed to the phantom of pain, struggling and sinking in the muddy flesh, drowning alone and despised in the deep swamp of suffering, he was happy to let the holy blood flow, and be eternally revered in the millennia to come.

Haha, dare you use his numbers, you humble little alien bat?

This is the most... insignificant reason why I decided to choose a Haemonculus to kill.

"What is this new invention, Conrad?"

Asdubar Victor did not rashly open the seal of the tin. No sane person in Gomor would casually open a sealed gift given by a Haemonculus, especially when there is even a built-in tiny simulation stand hidden in the container to isolate most detectors.

"This is not new, Asdubar." Conrad leaned over his desk and answered Victor's question while debugging the console connected to a large number of wires. The long-scaled alien fixed on the inspection rack twitched violently from time to time. "This is an improvement on an old invention."

He opened another tin can on the table and held the bottom of the can to Victor. Victor shook his head, took out a well-sealed injection from the can, injected it into a vein, and then threw the syringe stained with his blood into the air and shattered it with a tearing gun.

Conrad took back the tin can, opened a drawer, and wiped his pale fingers and long nails with a clean handkerchief hanging next to the console. He picked up a bullet from the drawer and crushed it directly in his hand.

The alien on the inspection rack suddenly burst into a shrill scream, and its scaly skin began to peel off by itself, like the skin of a ripe and rotten fruit being torn.

In a few seconds, except for a few inevitable large cracks, the alien's skin fell off from its body almost intact. After that, its muscle fibers slowly broke and fell to the ground.

"Airborne?" Victor asked, not sounding surprised. "This requires the operator to be absolutely cautious."

"Yes," Conrad smiled, left the console, picked up the skin that the alien had shed, and looked at the fine and reflective black scales on its surface, just like a stubborn child observing a shell newly picked up from the beach. "So, I give it to you."

"A virus that is not absolutely lethal, but is enough to destroy the mobility of any creature." Victor commented, his brain has begun to process which team to allocate this iron can of bullets to, and under what circumstances the attack will take place. "Don't let some creatures escape by dying."

"Who will your target be?" Conrad gently put the alien skin back on the alien that had stopped breathing, and his movements were gentle.

"Among the eight members of your association, this is the first Haemonculus to make a clear act of betrayal." Victor said sharply, "Perhaps we can confirm the target tomorrow. After your deliberate hint, someone will soon find your... brother."

"Hang the traitor's skin on the spire near the Black Sun, Victor. I know you have recruited a new batch of Scourge Messengers."

Conrad finished speaking, wiped his bloody fingers again, sat on his high stool with a hunched back, tapped his chin, and looked into the distance with his black pupils hazy.

"I erected a vertical pole above the gates, and I flayed the skins of all who rebelled and hung them on it. Some I threw at the foot of the pole, others I pierced with spikes, and others I bound with burning chains around the pole... I cut off the limbs of officers, those noble officers who had rebelled... I burned the captives. From some I took fingers and toes, from others I cut off noses and tongues, and from many I cut off the eyes, so that everyone would know who had done it."[1]

"A fascinating sight," Victor said approvingly. "One day I will do this myself."

"You may still say these words yourself..." Konrad Curze murmured, shaking his head, the shadow of his black hair covering his ghostly face. "And I, I will share the blood."

Victor smiled coldly: "And you, you have to deal with an assassination first, my friend. The Church of the Sun deeply regrets the failure of the dinner. You are the only one in the banquet hall that night who can be tracked and seems to be of limited danger."

——

Conrad Koz looked at all the dozen or so witches who broke through the simple defense outside the tower and came to him with a critical eye.

He deliberately moved to another tower on the surface, away from the defense system he arranged in his real nest, waiting for a battle that would be enough for him to enjoy.

In fact, he was extremely curious about how the Church of the Sun would exact revenge from a Haemonculus who could theoretically draw the power of pain from the crystal coffin and resurrect him - as a large church, it must rely on public revenge. To show off one's own reputation and give a reasonable explanation to the families and sects who sacrificed their lives.

And if they can't use more artistic or creative means to seal a Haemonculus in the gap between life and death, then a better way would be to repeat the hunt for eternity.

These female warriors wear half armor. The black layered armor contrasts with the pale and smooth expanse of skin, while the barbs and hooks on the armor turn all beauty into fatal omens. They seemed born to be able to dance on the tip of a knife, or cut off the enemy's head between the blades of a razor.

"Hecate's blade," Conrad Curze murmured, "you will die for blood."

The witch spirits began to act without saying a word. The bright green blades and blood-red braids cut vague flashes of light in the air, and the blade tips weaved bright nets.

The five wizard spirits stepped forward first, using violent attacks to satisfy the hunger on their blades. The primarch smelled the potion boiling in the blood of the female warriors, who loved the spilling of blood so much that they did not hesitate to use the potion of battle to enhance any beauty of the bloody dance.

Curze caught a hooked blade with his bare hands, pressed the blade lightly back between the wizard's ribs, and cut the enemy's flesh with surgical accuracy. The Witch Spirit's attack scratched the side of his face, leaving a pale indentation on the tough skin. In response, the wizard's skin was cut horizontally from his ribs to his left arm, leaving a bloody wound.

The sharp blade was snatched away by Curze, flashing like green lightning in the air at high speed, and a handful of blood sprayed out from the witch spirit's cut carotid artery like a garden fountain, pouring down like a heavy rain.

The Primarch leaped forward, his leather cloak rising to an exaggerated angle, revealing his skin covered with old wounds. He threw the blade, and the blade severed the slender upper arm of a wizard spirit. The witch spirit burst into ecstatic laughter and spun around suddenly, the edges of the barbs on the shoulder armor flashing with gorgeous light. The silver-gray Hecate dagger in the other hand struck sharply at Conrad's flank under his arm. Come.

The original body turned around, ruthlessly piercing the Witch Spirit's snow-white abdomen that was not covered by black armor with its long blade-like nails, and after one pull, pulled out part of the Witch Spirit's internal organs. The Witch Spirit continued to swing the knife unyieldingly, and the original body released her hollowed body, crushed her neck bones, and let the last hot breath spit out directly from the Witch Spirit's broken throat.

The witch spirits change the rhythm of their dance, and there is a rhythm in their every move. The rapid movement turns them into a violent whirlwind or a blur of clouds, even when their arms and collarbones are broken by Conrad Curze. , their raised necks still show strange elegance. The scarlet raindrops fall lightly, and the flash of light at the tip of the blade combines to create a mime-like surprise.

Konrad Coates created a series of exquisite battles, tearing the faces off the wizards, or tearing their lithe bodies into more than one piece, causing them to fall on the stage like ballet toys with broken clockwork. superior.

The incredible killing skills honed by these witch spirits were defeated by the precise and fast moves of the original body. The cloak swirled, more flash, more blood. Wave after wave of attacks were like waves caressing the sandy shore, bringing painful and bloody climaxes.

The blood-red mist slowly spread across the venue, making Coz feel as if he was drowning in a peaceful deep sea. He closed his eyes, listened to the breathing of the wizard spirit, and gave himself over to his fighting instincts.

When he opened his eyes again, the blood of the Witch Spirit was dripping down along the cracks in the ground and soaking into the lower level of the tower. Curze lowered his head, staring at the severed limbs on the ground and the black armor that could no longer fit on the broken body of the deceased, assessing the value of the skin of these creatures being peeled off.

The weather in Gomo has been pretty good recently, so he can produce more works. But Coates has a lot of leather stockpiles in his cabinet.

Maybe it would be a better choice to organize and sew the old accumulated inventory into a few sets of new clothes first - or use the scraps to make a few sets of short clothes and give them to the Haemonculi who were not killed by Victor, and then give them away One set for Victor, can also effectively consume too much leather?

As for his brother...even if Perturabo was a far cry from the brooding tyrant in the vision, Curze didn't think he would like the leather goods.

He suddenly realized that he had nothing to give to his primarch brothers.

Konrad Curze pushed open the window of the tower and watched the spikes on the surface of the Gomo building become sharper and colder under the dim light stolen from the surroundings by the ancient elves. Soon, patches of dark clouds appeared in the dark sky, filling the gaps separated by the towering spiers.

The clouds quickly expanded and took on concrete shape. When he confirmed that it was a formation of airships full of Raiders and Destroyers approaching his tower, Curze was not surprised, but for a brief moment, he couldn't help but think about what the Emperor would do if he died today. How to react.

Yes, other Haemonculi can of course use ancient technology to rise from the shadow of death, but he cannot. He is not an Eldar.

Conrad Coates lay quietly by the window, thinking about his life so far and his plans for the future. He sometimes felt angry with himself because he was plotting one plot after another.

After the skin of whichever Haemonculus was hung on the spire by Victor - he bet it would be Gabiad, the self-proclaimed smart fool, who would use today's attack as an excuse to start a series of high-profile and long attacks.

The balance of power that Gomorro still maintained on the surface would be broken by this, and gradually fall into division and fragmentation. This would not only quickly achieve the fame of Asturbar Victor, but also deeply bind the existence and achievements of the future Lord of the Dark Eldar to himself and even the entire human race...

Koz blinked and took a deep breath. This made him feel that he was drifting away from the only respectable side of the Night King in the illusion, and he was irreversibly and slowly sliding towards some kind of ghost that feeds on conspiracy in blood and chaos.

Although he still had an idea, an idea, an invisible promise, a bowl of poison or good medicine lurking in his blood, waiting to be shared with this sinful world in the end.

The fleet of the Church of the Sun descended from the sky, the hulls blocking the dim vision. Countless eyes were confirming the symbols engraved on the bow and the ether sails, speculating on what the arrival of this change meant.

A loud voice pierced through the dark lower layer of Gomor, proving that the previous witch spirits were indeed an appetizer; Conrad Curze even suspected that the witch spirits had not received strict orders at all. They volunteered to participate in this attack simply because of their love for the dance of the blade.

"Conrad Curze, what you did is a betrayal to the Haemonculi! Your colleague Gabiad has revealed your crime!" The visitor announced loudly, and the name he borrowed proved that Gabiad's betrayal was beyond doubt and he was not dead yet.

Otherwise, this accusatory speech would inevitably add the word "death".

Curze fiddled with his fingers boredly, wondering when Victor could kill Gabiad. When the blazing beam woke up from the turret, a commotion began to sound around.

The energy beam cut through the thin top of the spire, burned several other houses that no one cared about, and deflected when it reached Curze's tower. Fragments of metal and stone fell with the charred dead.

The Blood Lord calmly calculated the maximum limit of firepower that the tower could withstand, preparing to play his furious counterattack at the last moment of the tower's collapse and evacuate in time. He even made a face, feeling ridiculous for the angry tone he was about to pretend.

The lightning of the beam became brighter and brighter, illuminating the sky white. Curze heard a tile fall from the top of the tower, knowing that the last minute of the tower's collapse had begun to count down.

He suddenly wondered if it would be more dramatic if he crawled out of the ruins bleeding after the tower collapsed completely.

Or, waiting for any lucky or unfortunate Eldar to dig out his half-dead body from the bricks and tiles, and when trying to grab some valuables from his body, he found that there was still a weak gasp lurking in his chest...

In these tangled thoughts, the noise from another direction attracted Conrad Curze's attention.

When he smashed another sealed window with his bare hands, a shell happened to pass by his eyes and hit the fleet in the sky. Then the second one, and the third one.

The three-masted sailboat fell from the sky, and a large number of ineffective decomposition pulses and the hull that exploded into pieces exploded into a grand artillery firework.

On his retina, which was burning with pain, he saw a completely unexpected person standing in a modified hovering vehicle, relying on some kind of connection to simultaneously operate a large number of anti-aircraft missiles placed on different vehicles. The metallic luster flickered on his steel body.

That was how he found the brother whose reputation he had borrowed, the brother who should have no idea of ​​his plans, Perturabo.

Conrad Curze's eyes widened, and he felt his stomach begin to tighten uncomfortably.

[1] Adapted from "Path of the Renegade"

Another note: I was in a trance at the end of the semester. If I don't reach 4,000 in the future, please forgive me. I'm kneeling here in advance ()