Chapter 680 Interlude 62: Wolf, Lion, God (IV)

Chapter 680 62. Interlude: Wolf Lion God (4)

The annoying yet respectable Fenrisian was humming, low, long, and soft, but it was as if he was holding a sharp knife and rubbing someone's neck.

His voice was not clear, but it was enough to penetrate the surrounding wind and snow and reach the king's ears. In fact, for his hearing, the sounds that Leman Russ was constantly making from his throat at this time were difficult to be blurred by anything.

He heard every syllable and pause clearly, but he was not happy about it because the song was so strange.

The king had heard many songs, of course, soaring, majestic, plaintive, and he was no stranger to any style, including those primal howls that flowed from Fenris to the Milky Way.

Before his memory was soaked in blood, the Fenrisian he knew had sung several songs himself at a banquet. They were weird enough, either derived from priestly prayers or from pre-war roars, but they were in no way as good as the song he was listening to at this moment.

It should not be sung, nor should it be heard. The king thought so, and there was a real chill in his heart, forcing him to hold the sword harder.

Coincidentally, the hunter also dislikes the song, but he accepts it—why? The reason is simple, because this song helps him kill better.

The steaming stinky blood had already covered his body, but his eyes were still bright. His blood-stained blond hair shone in the snow from time to time, like ten million sharp swords piled in one place, dancing ferociously with the movements. .

And he felt as if he had returned to Terra, to the place where everything ended where blood flowed and corpses fell to the ground.

His senses were screaming, honed by countless life-and-death moments to the point where his keener perception conveyed every detail of the surrounding environment to him.

The vibration of the ground, the low roar in the snow, the smell, the footsteps, the sound of the wind - the hunter turned his head suddenly, and the five fingers of his right hand tore the air together with the snowflakes, and finally embedded them deeply into a warm and moist eye socket.

The hunter clenched his fists, letting blood and flesh splatter. The monster he hurt screamed and bent down. There was not a trace of muscle on the body that was too slender and weird, as if it was just skin wrapped around bones.

However, even so, it was far taller than the hunter, which was completely different from the demon that his bone spear hit. The hunter didn't want to pay attention to the difference at the moment. He just wanted to kill it in the fastest way.

Then the blade entered the body, and the sharp blade specially used for peeling skin was inserted from the chest with extreme cruelty, all the way up, slicing everything in sight along the way.

Once again, hot blood sprinkled all over his body, and the monster who had been hurt by him countless times turned around and ran away, using all four limbs together, carrying his last knife, wailing and screaming, like a hurt man. Stupid kid.

The hunter stopped tracking, bent down, grabbed a handful of snow from the ground, spread it on his face, and walked back with a sullen face.

He has no weapons left.

"I can't kill it." He said this very simply, and then looked at Ruth.

The latter clearly knew this, but did not give any answer. He was still focused on the work at hand - he was carving a certain pattern in the snow with the handle of the small ax in his hand.

A small diamond shape with four lines on the outside and a fifth line dividing it into two, like a simple and abstract eye.

Hunters have seen this pattern on many dead soldiers of the Sixth Legion. They call it an apotropaic charm and regard it as a force that can resist or protect them in the face of Chaos.

However, the hunter had launched an investigation, and through the research of the think tank in his legion, he finally came to the conclusion that the evil-exorcism talisman was originally a kind of endless power in the subspace.

In other words, it is no different from the evil force of Chaos. The hunter had been worried about this, but only for a moment, because he still remembered that the Fenrisian with this rune on his armor had stood side by side with the Emperor.

He will always remember these things, and he is the only one who remembers them now, so he can't forget them, not at all, even if it makes him die all over again every time he remembers these things.

The hunter's head began to hurt.

This forced him to stare at Leman Russ's face, which, for the Emperor's sake, was really no different from the man he knew, but the man he knew was dead.

They are all dead.

The hunter exhaled a trembling breath of hot air with blood foam, half-knelt in the snow, reached out to grab them and smeared them on his face, without caring about his image.

"I wouldn't do this if I were you." Ruth said casually without looking at him.

He was still concentrating on the work at hand, without or daring to neglect at all. Every rune that fell slowly glowed brightly, as if it were alive and constantly flickering.

"What do you mean?" the hunter asked in the coldness brought by the melting snow water.

Ruth finally turned her head with a half-smile.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He shrugged. "How is it? Do you understand?"

".not yet."

"Okay, big guy—"

Ruth couldn't help but smile, and when she spoke again, her voice had become serious and serious.

"——These snows are not a natural reaction product in your cognition. You can use them to calm yourself now, but after a while, they will make you crazy and crazy. You will lose all reason and then attack those around you. of all living things until you die or all living things are torn apart by you.”

The king added gloomily: "But our skin has already been wetted by the snow."

Ruth grinned happily and nodded to him: "So now you know the point."

The king took a deep breath for the third time.

"What's the reason?" he asked very briefly.

Ruth waved his hands, lowered his head and went about his own business, and his voice became a little absent-minded.

"Those things will go on for a while. You are basically asking me to give you a course on the history and mysticism of Fenris - I am not a good teacher, so please shut up for the time being. You are a loner. Either go and kill that thing like him, or stay silent, you hear me? Keep your mouth shut until I've done my job, my lord."

The hunter looked at him, then turned to look at the livid king, and let out a rare grunt of pleasure. Although his rough face remained expressionless, the emotion at this moment could not be hidden from the king's eyes.

He angrily raised his sword at the hunter and threw it away.

The hunter reached out and held it, slightly surprised.

"Let's go!" the king roared, and pulled out a short sword from his waist. His eyes seemed to be on fire. "Since staying here to protect the dead man will hinder his eyes, forget it! I'll go with you to meet the devil for a while!"

The hunter didn't speak, he just waved his sword, nodded, and plunged into the surrounding snow curtain, followed closely by the king. The sound of their footsteps quickly disappeared, and it was only then that Ruth released the laughter he had held up until now.

One of the wolves—the one without the spear—came over and nudged him with his head.

The Fenrisian looked back at it, slightly surprised: "What? Do you think I shouldn't laugh at them?"

The wolf didn't speak. Its eyes were exactly the same as those of most of the Sons of Fenris, with dark pupils and golden eyes filled with a kind of wild nobility.

Being stared at without a word by these eyes, even Leman Russ had to make some kind of concession.

He sighed, and the sharp canine teeth poked out of his lips for a few times in the next few expressions, but finally returned to where they belonged, without showing a threatening arc.

"Okay," Ruth said. "What you said makes sense. After all, they are not bad people. I know my mistakes and will correct them. I will not laugh at them anymore."

The wolf shook his head with satisfaction and returned to Leon El'Jonson's side. It walked around him a few times, and suddenly whined twice at Ruth.

The latter gave a low nasal sound without looking back, so the wolf lay down, stuck out its tongue, and gently licked the dead lion's skinny cheek.

Its body temperature seemed to be colder than the falling snowflakes, and each one was completely swept away by its tongue and swallowed into its belly.

While it was doing this useless work, the other wolf also lay down, and the Dionysian Spear in its mouth was carefully sent into the lion's right hand.

His muscles had stiffened, and there was no possibility of bending his fingers, but this did not prevent the Spear of Dionysus from staying in his hand with its superior design.

The wind and snow howled angrily, and the wolves whimpered quietly, as if in mourning.

Ruth didn't say a word, but his hand holding the ax became harder and harder, and veins popped out.

The apotropaic charms lit up furiously.

——

Khalil Lohars opened his eyes.

"You slept for less than twenty minutes."

A voice said to him, with a gentle chill. Next is a big pale hand with distinct fingers, which should be used for artistic work, painting or playing the piano.

Khalil stopped his chaotic thoughts, sat up from the bed, took the black tea cup held by this hand, raised his head and drank the hot potion inside, and nodded without changing his expression.

Konrad Kozpi stared down at him with a dead smile, standing beside the bed like a pale gargoyle.

"You're not going to let me learn those elegant arts at this age, are you? These things should be done as early as possible, while I'm young, and I've been dead for ten thousand years now, old man."

He asked confidently and without any respect, making no attempt to conceal the fact that he knew what Khalil was thinking in his heart. However, the person whose privacy was spied on was not angry at all, but smiled sincerely.

"If you think you are mediocre in this area, Conrad, I think you can also become a doctor."

"Stop chatting, father——"

If you ignore his threatening tone, this father's voice sounds quite pleasant. Khalil thought.

His idea was met with an annoyed snort, but Konrad Coates continued: "—How is the situation over there?"

At this time, his tone was full of worry again.

Khalil put down the tea cup, stood up, took the Inquisitor's coat placed at the end of the bed and began to tidy up his appearance. He didn't answer Coz's question first, but instead talked about another thing that seemed completely unrelated.

There was still light flashing outside the portholes in his room, and the wreckage of the battleship frozen in the vacuum was receiving the final judgment. The Dark Angels did not intend to let any of them remain, lest the power of chaos continue to harm the universe. domain.

It's cruel and cumbersome, but it's also necessary.

"Sometimes, Conrad, I have to believe in the word destiny." Khalil said.

At this moment, he had buttoned the last button on the collar. It was light gold and complemented the blood color of the lining of the coat, forming a strange harmony. His voice was calm and cold - unusually cold, so cold that even the Lord of the Night could not help but narrow his eyes.

The last time he heard this tone of voice was ten thousand years ago.

"Although I have always hated it and the oppression it brings to human beings with its subsidiary meanings, I must admit its existence."

Khalil slowly turned his head and looked at him. The originally human expression was fading away little by little, and the vitality that only belongs to a living person was quickly leaving this body.

The Midnight Ghost looked away, not wanting to look at this disturbing sight, but the evil ghost that had existed since ancient times still continued his story.

It started to freeze inside, freezing, dark ice.

"Countless coincidences, countless specious details - who dares to imagine that there are so many evil legacies on Fenris? The evil spirits who come to seek revenge in the dark night, the corpses who refuse to give up the battle, one after another firmly believe in the original faith shaman or priest."

His voice became lower and softer, and the beating of the heart in his chest also slowed down.

Konrad Curze finally growled unbearably, forcibly ignoring the boundary between life and death, and held the shoulders of the ghost in front of him with both hands.

"Stop talking." The Lord of Night gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. "Calm down."

His words seemed more like he was speaking to himself, and logically speaking, this dissuasion should have no effect - but it happened to have an effect.

Khalil Lohars twitched his cheeks and gave him a weird smile. Then, he answered the first question he asked.

"I think everything is going in the right direction," he said in a deliberately relaxed tone.

Kurtz lowered his head and stared into his eyes, then let go of his hand after a few seconds and took two steps back.

"After this is over." He whispered, with a hint of pleading in his voice. "How about just going back to Nostramo?"

"It depends."

Khalil said, still smiling eerily, like a hollow shell trying its best to imitate real flesh and blood.