"I am Victor, Victor of the Eighth Legion, Victor of the Murder of Relatives, the son who is not recognized by his father. I carry my sins unto death. ”

Victor silently repeated. He got up from the gargoyle and straightened up to look down. The damp rainy night under the street lamp became more ...... Something tangible and qualitative, like a black veil covering the street, flows softly to the end of the sight.

Space marines possess extraordinary senses, and their eyes are as sharp as eagles, enough to pierce through most of the darkness. And for Nostramo, who lived with the long night, light was never a necessity. There seemed to be some profound philosophy in it, but Victor didn't bother to think about it—every time he thought about it, he seemed to smell the dizzying smell of spice in Chiko.

But the darkness seen before you is different. It gathered like tar into a sizable patch, blocking the Midnight Lord's view. And according to the survival wisdom of a Nostramo man, he naturally decided that there was something more to fear than darkness in the impenetrable places.

If you rule out the reason why Fogham is in a bad mood or is in a bad mood, then subspace is corroded. Victor cursed. He's not the best at dealing with Chaos on the Twilight.

"Why do you keep coming at me over and over again?" He tensed his muscles, hunched over, and complained in his mouth.

The rain fell silently, but the Midnight Lord's keen senses noticed something unusual: at some point, the incessant sound of the rain turned into a monotonous repetition, as if the tape was stuck, and the exact same passages continued to play. And where the rain hits, the light has a subtle twist and turn, which is only fleeting.

The key is rain. He wanted to, but just like the Empire knew about Horus's rebellion, this information left him at a loss of what to do. As far as he knew, Fogham was fond of this form of presentation, but water was not his usual medium.

"Forgrim, is that you?" Victor simply sent a message frequently. The reply arrived quickly, seemingly completely unaffected by the fluctuations in the subspace. Phoenix's reply was short and forceful: "No, I'm busy." ”

In contrast, Shelley's reply was much more intimate: "Will it die?" ”

"I can't say." Victor looked at the space in the street that was surging with the waves, and replied cautiously.

"Wait a minute...... Your signal is in an area like-" A murmur interrupted the communication just right. At the same time, a carriage appeared under the lights at the end of the street, and two tired old horses snorted and struggled to pull the burden behind them.

The car drove slowly into the darkness without realizing it, and without making any sound, the darkness fluctuated for a moment, puffing up like a bag around something, and quickly returned to normal.

Victor snorted, picked up a piece of tile, and threw it towards the place. In the same way, he watched as it was swallowed up in mid-air. There was no sound of anything hard falling on the ground.

He sighed and fumbled for the medicine in his lower back—the solvent in the syringe was unremarkable, but it contained a little demon bone powder. The main consumers of this powder were the former Third Legion, and then the most contemptuous of order in the Empire.

The Midnight Lord put it on his body just for the occasion. Even for him, smoking this kind of stuff is a bit off-putting. But now, he desperately needed something that would stimulate his senses - there was nothing more harmful to his health than being swallowed up by subspace, anyway.

"Nine ......," said an angry voice. Victor jerked his head up, and the needle fell from his hand and rolled down the beams into the street. A feathery touch gently rubbed against his cheeks and body.

"The eighth?" The voice continued to mumble, "Eight, eight, eight chosen by nine, eight who escaped?" ”

Victor struggled to open his mouth, a feather-like mass choking up his throat and surging deep into his esophagus. He tried to fight back, but he fell unsteadily in a soft patch, a hairy unknown substance rubbing against his cheek.

His dark eyes reflected the dim night sky, and there was no one around, but there were many voices whispering in his ears. On closer inspection, there were many slightly different voices, but they all seemed to belong to a young man: "Eight, eight? Why did you come? 8. Why bother? ”

The Midnight Lord ignored the madness. He struggled to kick and thrash in an unidentified cloud of down, but the soft presence easily drained his strength. With great difficulty, he barely sat up, pinching his neck and coughing hard, trying to spit out the fluff in his throat.

"Eight!" The voice suddenly sharpened, and a huge force slammed into Victor's face, slamming him back onto the gargoyle, splintering his facial bones spurting flesh and dripping with warm liquid. The sharp claws squeezed into his chest, grabbed him and shook him several times. The Midnight Lord was already struggling to resist, and a toss forced the plush down.

"Eight bad, eight dead!" The unknown voice screamed in a shriek, "Leave fifteen!" Eight saw it, eight knew it! ”

"What the hell are you crazy about...... Victor was dazed. He's dealt with more than one demon, but this guy in front of him is crazy even by the standards of the living. At least the guys he'd seen before were mostly happy to explain his death, rather than cursing and beating him indiscriminately.

"Fifteen hates rain!" It roared almost heartbreakingly, sending Victor into the air and tossing it up and down, grabbing his ankle and shaking it from time to time. "Fifteen is sleeping, fifteen is incomplete, fifteen is tired. The rain hurts, the rain is wrong, don't like it. ”

The unknown presence came to a halt, and even Victor, who was hanging upside down with his claws, staggered to a halt, his head just a fraction of a centimeter from the hard gargoyle. "Who is it? Who's coming? It muttered to itself, "Seventeen, seventeen, and nine?" And there's more......"

"And your twice-damned rotten meat." Victor roared with all his strength. He hunched up in mid-air and threw himself up, his hands slamming into the air. As soon as he touched the plush, he activated the lightning claw.

Four bright blades shot out of the gloves and stabbed deep into the invisible flesh. Victor was almost intoxicated by the texture of the metal entering the flesh. The contented hum of Lightning Claw reached his fingertips, as if the weapon was appreciating his actions to express gratitude for the blood drink.

A cloud of crimson liquid shot out, entwining with indigo lightning. The silhouette of the attacker who did not know his true face was sketched out of the air, and Victor only saw a pile of blue and gold feathers, and was thrown out of the way, smashing the glass of the unknown house and smashing it on the carpet.

"Nine is the extreme, nine is the beginning of change! Find the silver moon and you've found everything! The roar of a strange voice mingled with the sound of the rain, but it was eerily clear.