Chapter 280 "At Least Wear some Pants" (Updated)

Talos Valcolan stood on the dusty grounds of Thesaguarsa.

The prophet of the Eighth Legion was trembling.

His slave pilot Septimus (Seven) stared uneasily out at his master from the pilot's seat of his Dark End Thunderhawk gunship.

Opposite them were all the fallen members of the other seven claws who had gathered. Even the blood-eyed raptors left their usual hiding places and shadows and appeared in front of everyone.

The leader of the Weeping Eyes, Ruflix was trying his best to straighten his severely mutated body in front of a tall figure that stood out from the crowd with his sharp claws that were no longer suitable for human standing posture.

The Night Lords gathered there did not show their usual frivolity or cruelty. They just knelt down respectfully and saluted.

Septimus swore that he had never seen so many Night Lords. His demigod masters gathered together like this, but bowed to only one person. There was no plot, no contest, no sign of intrigue, they just Kneeling there with all his strength, and awaiting any command from the unusually tall figure.

This scene was so bizarre that the slave immediately decided that if he was allowed to go back later, he must tell Octavia about it - wait, those respected adults are... are Are you crying? !

The slave's face showed a look of genuine surprise for the first time in more than ten years of serving the Eighth Legion.

————

Just a moment ago, when he landed quietly at another landing point and planned to wait for his master to wake up, the prophet jumped up from his slumbering fever dream as if he was completely frightened. , nearly turning his slave into a puddle of organic dirt on the bridge.

The pilot touched the wound on his neck fearfully.

But fortunately, his master's frantic movements seemed to be frozen by some communication before the blade of Olum* (Talos' weapon, relic power sword, trophy from the Blood Angels) severed his windpipe.

Next, he was asked to drive the soul hunter to the designated coordinates.

The Prophet of the Eighth Legion had never looked so distraught. The master of the slave driver took a roll of medical tape from his thigh strap and threw it to him. He sternly ordered him to bandage it himself, and at the same time asked him to reach the coordinates as quickly as possible - as quickly as possible.

"This is impossible."

Septimus listened to his master's cold denial, pursed his lips, and pulled the propelling rod as hard as he could - even though he was one of the slaves with the best mechanical knowledge and skills his master had ever had, a slave like Thunder Eagle After all, the creation is a vehicle developed for genetically modified tall warriors. Its driver's seat and driving structure are still surprisingly wide for a mortal adult male, but on the Cursed Echo, which only has a total of eighty-one Space Marines. , the best personal pilot Talos could find for himself was Septimus.

Slave Seven hurriedly and haphazardly wrapped pressure tape around his bleeding neck, all the while hearing the dark murmurs that continued behind his Master's breathing grid.

"This is impossible. We were...I witnessed his end with my own eyes." Talos's voice was solemn, and through his bone-white skull mask it became even deeper, like the roar of a gargoyle.

"Right here, right in Thessaguarsa, right in the Black Fortress, right in the hall behind the Howling Corridor. We weren't allowed to stop that Callidus assassin. I saw him slain. I saw that The assassin took action, and I, along with thousands of other brothers, watched in oppressive silence as the bitch completed her work, she stole his crown, his relics, her gloved hands held tightly Clutching the long black hair on my father's head, my other brothers watched her run away."

Septimus's face was already covered with sweat, and his biochemical left eye focused and zoomed uneasily, making a slight clicking sound as the mechanical iris moved, but most of his attention was still on the pilot's auspicious device. "Owner……"

Talos's bone-white visor suddenly turned around, and in the pitch-black cockpit, the flashing light from the instrument panel slightly illuminated the skeletal face that seemed to be roaring.

"I was the only one who disobeyed his orders. When everyone obeyed my father's order not to seek revenge, and I was the only one chasing that soul, I personally killed the bitch who brought him death!"

The Thunderhawk's engines roared low, their destination in sight.

The Night Lord raised his legs, and the servo motors and electronic muscle bundles led him to the gunship's hatch exit amid the joyous sound of the machine soul that had swallowed many power armors before eating.

"If such a noble dead could really be resurrected, it would be an unquestionable event in reality and in the warp, and in the past few decades, my second sight inherited from my genetic father has never seen... No sign of this."

The Prophet of the Eighth Legion said finally, gripping his ancient relic bolter as the hatch slowly fell.

"All I see are visions of more and more enemies and our end."

"So, I will rip off alive any charlatan who dares to pretend to be the noble, extraordinary, great Night King of the Eighth Legion, and let his wails spread to the damned heart of the Imperium."

The slave pilot, who did not have any psychic talent, felt a cold feeling of fear when he listened to his declaration.

————

When Ramizane realized that he was now a physical entity, and was staring at by five or more sharp-eyed, fully-armed genetically modified soldiers of the Eighth Legion, his first reaction was to start moving his eyes and frantically search for any cloth or other things that could be wrapped around his waist.

His idea was very simple.

- If he was going to be killed or chopped, at least he couldn't be naked...

He slowly straightened his hunched back and found that he was actually very tall now, so he quickly reached out and pulled down a piece of fabric hanging on the top of the drop chamber that had decayed and covered with dust for who knows how many years, and the original pattern could not be seen, and wrapped it around his waist, then he exhaled and carefully looked at the other people here who had not made any big moves since they landed.

There were more and more Night Lords wearing worn-out power armor with lightning patterns, but they still just stared at him, not getting too close, and had no intention of attacking, but for some reason, Ramizane felt that his ears seemed to be able to catch some faint energy flows, which happened silently and frequently between them.

He did not dare to act at will for a moment.

What do they want to do?

The long black and messy tangled hair that dragged to the ground improved the naked feeling of the soul floating on the water, but it also severely obscured his vision. He subconsciously raised his hand and tucked a long black hair behind his ear.

Suddenly, a Midnight Lord took action. The warrior wearing an ancient helmet rushed to Ramizane's feet, which scared him, but he stood still because he didn't know how to respond.

"You are back! Father!" The cry of the Astartes veteran was so sincere, dirty and emotional that even though he knew that this was almost certainly a complete villain, the mortal couldn't help but be moved.

"Ave dominus nox! (Long live, Lord of the Night!)"

The other Midnight Lords murmured a soft and hissing poetic language that was now only used by members of the Eighth Legion. Even those who had obviously suffered from flesh and blood corruption knelt down with their brothers.

Ramizane found that he could understand this strange language.

This time it was Ramizane's turn to be stunned.

Wh, what? Could it be? No way?

[You——! ]

A voice echoed in his mind, extremely angry, full of hatred, hoarse and sharp.

[What on earth are you...! Damn it! Get out of my body! No! What qualifications do you have to despise my body? ! You don't understand anything! You don't know anything! You will mess everything up! ]

... Wait, who is talking? What is he saying? The voice is too soft to hear clearly... Is it hallucination...?

Hey, forget about him... What is going on... Could it be... I am now... Curze...?

When Talos walked in front of him and was so terrified by what he saw that he couldn't move, all the children of the night heard the tall and pale figure muttering from under his long black hair.

"Anyway, put on some pants first."