The hunter emerged from his lair, his hungry eyes scanning his chaotic 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 feels like home to him.
But hometown——
However, his memory was not a good place, 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 the base of a giant, rusted tree.
Like roots, coiled in the dark cave, countless industrial grinders continue to expand behind, the cracks billow with smoke like the devil's breath, and a toothless mouth stretches towards the devastated ground.
Above it, the lowest towers and levels grow out of the polished rock like moulds, and many thick gates come into view, countless roads through the wilderness, and finally into enclosed spaces, sealed against 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 trembling shadows, and transformed into a ghost flashing in the shadows.
This was the enemy's rear, and he should be more careful, but he knew there would be no real enemies here.
He climbed over the vertical supports, scratching with his claws and stepping on his hooked feet, leaping between the silent ladders and 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 pulled out his sharp claws, stared at the sharp blade and trembled, waiting, every muscle tensed 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 pretend father urged him to stay there, but he chose to flee, rushing through halls and corridors filled with screaming servants and roaring guards, and into 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 false father on his tenth name day, taking away his forged genetic key - the false mother.
The gift given to him represents an identity that should not be his - initiating the closing process 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 out his sharp claws, like inserting them between his ribs, and slid into the crevices of the rock, letting the darkness swallow him up.
There is no logic in this place. Various simple houses are stacked one on top of another, with messy stairwells between each other, and pious statues and missionary pulpits on both sides, but they are still chaotic.
The ancient staircase leads to nowhere, the tunnel passes through knotted beams and plastic garbage, twisted and twisted cables spurt out from the messy partitions, coiling upwards, the collapsed tunnel is re-drilled or bypassed, and bulges
The water gate opened, making a gurgling sound, and the floor was covered with scaled slime.
This is the largest refugee camp in the Red Sand Mountains, and it is said that nearly one million people are gathered there.
These people are hopeless, useless, and have nothing. They are divided into large and small criminal gangs, looking for fungi and carrion in the dark——
In his opinion, these are not humans, but animals, mice.
The Hunter felt sick. If this was a reward for his 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 claws of the gauntlet were 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, emerged from the niche, and faced 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, steal their hope, like the shadow steals the light, show them yourself...the weapons are much the same, but the effect remains the same, fear, fear is the weapon."
In the corridor, standing in a pool of blood of his fallen friend, the second man looked at the nightmarish face, trembled, choked and began to scream.
"look at me."
The hunter said, extending his hand to the other party.
Of course, this man couldn't see anything, he was simply blind.
They are all.
By the end of the second day, there were twelve prey, seven men and five women.
The variety of their reactions astonished the hunter, most screaming from the start, when he met them, when he flexed his claws and growled, when he painted their terror with a brush like an artist, in
When the suffocating horror gouache was carefully added to the fear oil, his heart surged because of the justice of what he had done.
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 paw them off and slide them 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, murmuring something 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 teeming with refugees, considering this palette of horrors like a painter contemplating mixing new colors.
But always, this joy is consumed by hatred, rage and anxiety about failure.
He asked himself, what did he learn from his killings? What did he discover from his many works, his many depictions?
there is 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 in the darkness, lost in thought, venting his anger on the broken masonry of the ancient building.
But none of this helps.
So, once again, after a hunt, emptiness hit him, and he left here, crossed a long distance, and returned to the place where he started.
The servants said, is that Sar Bodong, or some other Gar Mo Zejie, seems to have something to do with him?
But he didn't care and didn't want to pay attention to it.