10. Sin-Blood (II)

Tujea must admit, he still harbors doubts. ♨😂 😺ൠ

He scrambled up a step, using both his hands and feet, when, by sheer coincidence, a gust of night wind carrying the thick smell of blood swept over him, instantly extinguishing his attempt to breathe normal air.

Tujea coughed uncontrollably; his lungs were rebelling, denouncing his actions that night.

If they could speak, they would probably curse Tujea and ask him, utterly bewildered, why he was chasing after screams in the darkness like a madman.

In fact, his whole body was doing this.

At the same time, a large amount of blood spread down the steps, soaking his hands and bringing a cold, sticky feeling. The blood had lost all warmth, just like the body temperature of its owner.

Exhausted, Tujea climbed the last step, his knees touching the ground in a undignified manner, and slowly stood up, leaning against a collapsed white wall. He coughed and looked around, a tickling sensation spreading through his throat from the cold. Then, he saw a pile of corpses.

Ah, excellent, another massacre. What more could I expect?

Tujea slowly lowered his arm, and the muzzle of his gun naturally dropped to the ground.

Not far from him, a man who had lost his helmet and an arm lay in a pool of blood, his face contorted in terror, a horrifying vortex in which all his emotions were consumed by despair.

However, Tujea saw no signs of torture on him. His heavy armor and uniform were still in good condition, if one disregarded the missing arm.

Wait, how did he die? Tujea suddenly realized this question.

He walked toward the man and began to observe him closely. A corpse slid slowly down the flagpole behind him, landing softly on the ground.

Tujea lowered his head, staring intently at the distorted face. After a few seconds, he came to a conclusion.

The man's cause of death was not his severed right hand; he died of fright.

But how is that possible?

A voice suddenly rang out from behind him. "You're late, investigator."

Tujea's face twitched suddenly. He forcefully controlled his body, preventing himself from turning around, and slowly straightened up, appearing calm.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Zel asked.

"Do you like to suddenly appear behind people?" Tujea asked slowly, turning around only then.

The giant, whose armor remained impeccably clean, was looking down at him, his arms crossed over his chest, his claws, which should have been stained with blood, were spotless. His posture should have conveyed a sense of aloofness and cold superiority, but Tujea strangely sensed an expectation and patience in him.

He frowned, intending to say something, but Zel interrupted him just in time, speaking in a very gentle tone before he could.

"I was simply testing your alertness."

"I don't see the need for this kind of test."

Why? Shouldn't an investigator always be vigilant?

Tujea sighed, his expression becoming increasingly obvious.

"You are an Astartes, Zel Zell. I am just an ordinary investigator. Isn't it a bit inappropriate for you to apply your standards to me?"

Zel seemed to laugh, the sound turning into a deep echo from his helmet, slowly dissipating in the night breeze.

"That won't be the case for long, Lord Tujea."

Tujea was stunned. For a moment, he didn't even know whether to object to an Astartes addressing him as "Sir" or to press for the specific meaning of the phrase "not so soon."

However, Zel did not give him that chance. He turned around and walked in a certain direction. At the end of the road he chose, a huge mansion was silently waiting in the darkness.

Tujea hurried to catch up, his expression still one of confusion. Too much had happened tonight, and he couldn't understand it all. No matter how hard he tried to force himself to ignore the suspicious points, his rational mind still whispered to him.

The most infuriating thing was that every time he tried to think about it, something new would appear to stop him from doing it. For example, the appearance of Zel, his slaughter, and the endless screams.

And now...

Tujea suddenly stopped in his tracks, clutching his chest, his face turning extremely pale.

He smelled an indescribable, terrible stench. He hadn't noticed it at first, until now. This terrible stench had almost completely destroyed his sense of smell; his nasal cavity was completely occupied by it.

Tujea opened his mouth in agony, gulping down air as if drowning. Zel silently turned his head, casting two eerie yellow Radiance at him.

Another voice rang out from the darkness.

"Horst said he was funny. Now it seems that assessment needs to be revised. To describe our investigator simply as funny seems a bit inaccurate. What do you think, Zel?"

Zel removed his helmet and took a deep, contented breath. He shook his head with a half-smile and said, "I think you talk too much, sir."

"I don't think so." As these words fell to the ground, another tall Shadow slowly emerged from the darkness. He, too, was not wearing a helmet, and his eyes were completely black, without a trace of white.

"What about the others?"

"Follow them." "My lord" answered slowly, his eyes already turned to Tujea was still in pain.

"Tracing? Is there something new now?" Zel asked in surprise.

"Oh, we do know some things, but nothing new, my brother. It's just bureaucratic collusion among nobles, with the Great Enemy of Chaos lurking in the shadows. What's so surprising about that? Isn't it always the same?"

"The lord" answered with a smile, seemingly unconcerned. He continued to look at Tujea, but the investigator showed no reaction. He had already knelt on the ground, clutching his neck and struggling to breathe.

He didn't hear their conversation at all; his ears were filled with a faint buzzing sound. His vision was still fairly clear, but he had no interest in observing them.

Tujea just wants to breathe right now.

He struggled to keep going, each breath more forceful than the last. The power that a person unleashes when facing life and death is something they themselves can hardly comprehend; at least Tujea had never thought he had such a strong desire for life.

He tried again and again, and after what seemed like an eternity, the buzzing in his ears finally subsided, and the air he inhaled was no longer filled with a foul odor, but was genuine air. Even though it still carried the smell of blood, Tujea felt an urge to cry.

He collapsed to his knees, but was immediately pulled up.

Zel's crimson prosthetic eye gleamed in the darkness.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked. Tujea looked at him for a few seconds before nodding weakly.

Upon receiving a response, a smile appeared on Zel's pale face. He released his grip, allowing Tujea to try to stand on his own, while slowly raising his left hand.

"I know you have many questions tonight. Look over there, investigator, your questions will be answered."

Tujea managed to lift his head and looked in the direction of Tujea's raised left hand, his pupils suddenly contracting.

He saw a man who had lost his hands and feet and whose face had been peeled off. The long robe he wore was completely soaked with blood and hung on his beautiful body.

Wait a minute, can this kind of imperfection really be called graceful?

Tujea frowned in disbelief, wondering if he was going mad. He began to observe the man, who was not yet dead and was making low growls, and his conclusion was confirmed once again.

Yes, even with his disability, his physique could still be described as beautiful.

A silk robe, soaked in blood, hung lightly on his body, clinging tightly to his skin. His muscles were clearly defined, yet his fat was perfectly proportioned. His slightly undulating abdomen and belly formed a strange hollow, within which blood rippled. With each tremor of his body, a ripple would spread across that small pool of blood.

Tujea suddenly lowered his head and began to vomit.

"Congratulations, you made it through." Zel patted his back gently, as if to comfort him. "Don't worry too much about it. These guys who are obsessed with sensory stimulation are only capable of so much. They can't affect you as long as you still Devotion the Emperor, or..."

He suddenly chuckled twice, took a step, and walked towards the man who was not yet dead.

Tujea painfully raised his head amidst his watery vomit. He began to cough again, his throat burning with pain. But despite his discomfort, Tujea still kept his gaze fixed on Zel and the man.

Just then, his vision suddenly blurred for a moment, something that had never happened before. Before he could adjust to the blur, some strange specks of light appeared in his world.

Tujea blinked uncomfortably, beginning to doubt if there was something wrong with his eyes. Five seconds later, he completely overturned that conclusion.

No, it's not that his eyesight is faulty, but that the world itself is faulty. Otherwise, how can you explain those suddenly appearing, illusory Shadow?

They all looked like children, dressed in white uniforms, their expressions filled with hatred. They all stretched out their left hands, pointing —Zel no, pointing—at the man lying on the ground.

"It was him," the Shadow suddenly spoke in unison. "He ate us, investigator."

What? Tujea stared blankly at them, not understanding what had happened. The Shadow looked at him, and at that moment, hundreds of voices rang out in unison, crashing into his mind like heavy hammers. Along with them came many images, many images he had never experienced before.

"They lied to us. They came to our house in uniform and mentioned the charity home."

A man and a woman stood in front of a wooden door, dressed in clean and tidy black robes, with kind smiles on their faces.

"They said the charity would teach us knowledge, provide us with clothes and food, as long as we were willing to work for the Moran Family after we grew up, but that was just a lie."

A white room filled with beds, many of which were occupied by children who looked as if they were dead, their eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Tujea instinctively took a step forward, wanting to get closer to them, but a sudden burst of white light blinded him.

Intense pain shot through his head, and he let out a silent scream, unable to bear it any longer. The white light transformed into a blinding white lamp and a gleaming, cold blade.

It slowly approached him, past his eyes, and drew near his forehead.

As the pain struck, so did some sounds.

"Increase the anesthetic, how did she wake up?"

Tujea clenched his fists, tears streaming silently down his face in pain, whether from the pain itself or something else, it was unclear.

At that moment, a pair of illusory hands lifted his face, easing his pain. Through his tears, Tujea saw a girl; her face was illusory, but her eyes were not—they were burning fiercely.

She released her grip, took a step back, and raised her left hand again, pointing at Chupani Moran.

"It's him," she said softly, her voice still childish.

Tujea began to gasp for breath.

"He licked our eye sockets, and with his long tongue he tore our eyes away. He chewed our teeth, ripped our throats, and tore our cheeks apart. He devoured us clean, sir, it was him, it was him."

Yes, it's him.

Tujea's hands began to tremble as he fumbled aimlessly on the ground. A few seconds later, accompanied by a chill, he grabbed his gun.

Zel spoke softly from a short distance away, his voice as faint as the murmur of the dead, dissipating in the night breeze.

"Chupani Moran," he called his name. "Do you have any remorse?"

The man didn't answer; his facial muscles were twitching. The extreme pain brought extreme pleasure, destroying the mind and body of this Chaos Cultist and prematurely plunging him into a living hell where he was unwilling to move without stimulation.

As expected, Zel nodded, lifted him off the ground, and turned him around.

A bullet whistled through the air and pierced Chupani Moran's skull.

"Die! Die!" Tujea roared as he stood up, continuing to pull the trigger as he ran towards the lifeless corpse.

He fired all his bullets until Chupani Moran was reduced to a bloody, mangled mess. The firepower of the Catachan MK3 might not pose much of a threat to heavily armored enemies, but it was a true weapon of mass destruction against flesh and blood.

Zel released his grip, letting the corpse fall to the ground. Tujea roared and lunged at him, his right fist raised high, but he hesitated to bring it down.

Zel crouched down and tilted his head to look at him.

"You see," he suddenly smiled. "That's why I said you'll soon be no longer an investigator."

Tujea did not answer, but slowly lowered his fist. After a few seconds, he finally spoke.

"There are still children alive." He clutched his hat, slowly rose, and walked unsteadily toward the mansion, muttering to himself. "I saw them, still alive, underground."

Zel didn't stop him, but simply watched him disappear into the darkness. He crossed his arms and shook his head at the darkness.

"Why are you shaking your head?" the "adult" in the darkness asked.

"Isn't this a bit too much of a shock for him?" Zel asked cautiously.

"What are you referring to? The wronged souls he saw, or the children he is about to see who have found peace?"

"I suppose so," Zel sighed, and then fell silent.