Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 243 Conrad’s Gizmo

Perturabo believed that Gabbiad was the first orthodox Bloodling he met in Commorragh - Konrad Curze was certainly not included among them. He was the son of the Emperor and one of his bloodline. relative.

The body of the Haemonculus is covered by a complex interference position. Compared with the misleading grid and fake refraction fitted by optical physics, this position simultaneously radiates a steady stream of neurotoxins to the surroundings that are enough to sting the soul and mind, silently. Tampering with other Eldar's knowledge of him.

Unfortunately, all his efforts to hide his face and body fell apart under Perturabo's mechanical body powered by C'tan shards.

The Lord of Iron could clearly see the haggard and deathly pale face, the wrinkled body and the nightmare-like ugly smile. He looked hungry and nervous, between the cheekbones and browbones wrapped by the skin that had lost its elasticity, his strange eyes like black stones lingering in smoke reflected a sharp light.

+I'm here. + Morse said to Perturabo, carefully controlling the energy of the subspace, preparing to do something beyond the specifications, while not touching any possible warning equipment.

Well, thought Perturabo, be prepared to play tricks on you. He allowed a bright yellow light to shine in his empty mechanical eye sockets, taking the more eye-catching color from the two-color stripes used by the Iron Warriors Legion.

His metal structure began to operate, and on the half body that had lost its outer skin, the living illusion of flesh and blood appeared for a period of time, and then disappeared after the observer blinked, and so on.

The fragments of the C'tan that have become more closely integrated with his mechanical body in recent days inject flowing luminous arcs into the movement of his joints and the breathing of his ribs, causing the electric light to disappear and appear in his every move.

Gabbiad and his remnant servants waited anxiously in the church hall.

He never believed the rumors about Val's incarnation.

Regardless of the fact that the legend of the Pantheon has long since disappeared, the craftsman god Val, who is famous for pursuing aesthetics rather than morality, and spirituality rather than the world, suddenly threw an incarnation into the eternal city of Como decades after the Great Fall. Luo, this is obviously an unreasonable move that makes no sense at all.

Considering the tradition of the church taking the initiative to create gods to stabilize its status, he would rather believe that this is another shameful and absurd stupid trick of a small church.

His faith fell apart at the first sight of Perturabo.

The dark minds of the Haemon were suddenly held in the empty palms of some vast and cold intellectual consciousness, controlled and evaluated.

This cold existence does not only originate from where the machine is, it resides in the entire dark space. The frost brought by his breath rolls into a torrent of numbers and symbols, penetrating directly from his chest and back of his neck. It brings strong distortion and dislocation, and continuously extends the vibration in the cavity.

In an instant, he compared these ominous and terrifying premonitions with the hungry and thirsty enemy's gaze when he went outside Comoros, and was horrified to find that there was a commonality between the two, that is, they were both. A resonance of the Warp beyond the reach of Eldar human power.

"Stop," said the Iron Giant. The bright yellow light in his eyes dissipated, and the pressure in the room faded away like smoke and breeze. Gabbiad tried to move the two appendages extending from his tailbone - they were frozen to the ground by the frost.

boom. The Haemonculus didn't look, but he knew that it was the collision sound caused by the fall of one of the remains of his servants. Unable to resist the mental pressure, the servant just broke his own throat.

"I heard," the robot said slowly, with a flat tone and deliberate grammar, as if still adapting to the current Eldar language, "that you are going to offer me a gift."

Gabbiad tried his best to move his eyes away from the illusion of golden runes floating near the robot, and stopped thinking about the profound mysteries that those Eldar characters arranged in an irregular way at first glance meant. secret.

"Yes, Lord Avatar," the Haemonculus humbly bent his already curved body and twisted his expression into a respectful one, knowing full well that the robot doll would be able to see his true appearance through the interference position. "I hope to show you my latest scientific and technological research results..."

"Stop." Half of the robot's superficial face showed little interest, "In whose name did you come to me?"

Gabbiad concentrated hard, estimating what kind of punishment the robot would give him if he gave an inappropriate reply.

He could not see any compassion for Isa's children in this machine, even though Val was the god who forged Isa's tears into soul stones in mythology and gave them to the children of the goddess of life.

"Your attendant, Konrad Curze, has praised you to us," Gabbiad said carefully. "Master Avatar."

"Lie, Konrad Coze is not a servant. His pure heart is within his body." The robot calmed down, "And I have my name. Spread it, my name, Perturabo.”

Gabbiad's fake smile disappeared for a moment, and he was not expecting the high praise given to the Blood Marquis. He didn't understand why the alien among the Haemonculi could so easily win the favor of the Avatar of Vaal - or any other being that was equivalent to the incarnation of a god.

Conrad Curze and Perturabo, how long have they known each other? What kind of conversations did they have with each other?

"Yes, Lord Perturabo." Gabbiad changed his title obediently, letting the fear in his heart from facing the unknown sink in his quick thinking, "I will remember your order."

Perturabo looked at him quietly, the yellow light in his eyes flickering weakly but steadily.

"When did you," he said, "hear about me from Conrad?"

Gabbiad's behind-the-ear signal-capturing device told him that no surveillance equipment was installed. He hoped there really wasn't.

"In our assembly, Conrad said, we want to respect you." Gabbiad said the word assembly carefully.

"A gathering of you..." Perturabo repeated, emphasizing the gathering. "Confederate rally."

"Yes."

"Very well." Perturabo did not pursue the question and moved the topic away from Konrad Curze. "Now, show me your gift."

Gabbiad keenly caught a hint of doubt in the robot doll's statement, and his withered heart began to beat in his failing chest for a long time. Combining the questions before and after, he suddenly came to a guess that alarmed him.

"I venture to ask, my lord," Gabbiad raised his head, "what noble position do you hold in Conrad's assembly?"

"It has nothing to do with you, Haemonculus." Perturabo said indifferently, and the shadow of the forging flame ignited under his palm with missing fingers, burning away Gabbiad's ability to speak, and making the Haemonculus feel his own lips. Being stitched up with a soldering iron, "Now, show me the gift."

-

Perturabo was unaware of the Conclave of Haemonculi that Konrad Curze was establishing.

Gabbiad thought excitedly, subconsciously moving his mouth that had returned to normal: the important helper in Conrad's mouth, but he knew nothing about his Night Ghost King's Court. Konrad Coates is using fictitious covenants to deceive them and using language traps to exaggerate the description of the crisis. His connection to Vaal's incarnation is not at all as close as he suggests.

At best, the unquestionably superhumanly powerful Perturabo's praise of Conrad Curze is a throwaway courtesy, and their connection isn't even deep enough to be shared. the point of an important covenant.

Then, the authenticity of Val's incarnation has been proven, and the time has come for the Bloody Marquis's bluff to be exposed in front of the right person - his extraordinary power is undoubted, and the fake person can be exposed.

Conrad was right about one thing. The Haemonculi people also made their own preparations for the changes in the situation in Comoros.

The portrait of Comoros is painted by the black blood flowing from the subversion and cycle of intrigues, regimes and families, and the story of betrayal repeats itself year after year. Living in the blood nest at the bottom of the city, amidst the tremors of the upper levels, the dust suddenly rising in the air is certainly noticeable enough.

In addition to Konrad Coates, Gabbiad made another bet early on, which happened to be the Church of the Sun.

A few days ago, a bloody massacre broke out at a dinner organized by the church, which seriously damaged the reputation of the church; Gabbiad therefore weighed the two sides of the church and Coze.

He complained in his heart more than once. If the Night Ghost Court was just a loosely structured mutual aid association instead of an ambitious rebel, he could even choose both sides.

But now, the hard power of the church has not been damaged, and among the powers claimed by Coze, the incarnation of the God of Artisan has been suspected of using his name, and the remaining Laughing God Troupe also has the possibility of such fraud. Comparing the two, Gabbiad already had a preference in his mind.

He boarded the gravity ship and set its course for the Church of the Sun. On the deck, he looked down at the dark city sliding beneath his feet.

Spires, antennas, and long bridges spanning dark canals divide the lower urban area. Above, the minaret approaches the captured black sun, while below, in the eternal night, rugged areas grow layer by layer in the gaps, piling up and elongating like stalactites.

In the distant harbor, ships shuttled between the docking claws, and the dark mirror-like webway portal opened from time to time, capturing food for this grand city to feed on.

A scream suddenly erupted from the side of the spacecraft, and Gabbiad avoided an attack with agility that didn't match his appearance. The hooked blade sliced ​​across his chest where he had been, a gang of skateboard thugs attacking him without reason.

He cursed in his mind and hid in the cabin. This group of looters is so audacious!

The thug's craft pulled out light as it swooped, and together with Scourge's wings enveloped the dim sky around him, rushing towards him like a swarm of bats. Bladed skateboards carved cracks across the outside of his airship, dim light and poisonous debris flew in all directions, and flashes of light erupted all around the airship.

His minions shot down a few with fire, and one Scourge's wings were accidentally cut by the reflective razor of his skateboard, causing him to plummet painfully from the sky. The Scourge were free with their carbines and blasters, tearing at the hull's armor, while more thugs managed to jump aboard his ship, brandishing Hell's Knives, the double-linked ammo from their poison crystal pods seeming to take over. The explosions of grenades and grenades were endless.

The wild faces cheered in atrocities, and the patchwork armor obtained from scavenging and looting proved their status as low-level scum.

Gabbiad walked quickly inside the cabin, commanding his servants to resist the annoying surprise attack, and urging the helmsman to escape the siege as soon as possible. He has no interest in getting entangled with these things, but now he is very likely to be besieged. The Haemonculi didn't understand how he could be favored by them.

During the fight, another larger anti-gravity airship approached, and a series of decomposition cannons exploded in the air, causing the attacker's flesh and blood to fall downwards.

The hunting chains and long hooks grabbed his airship and pulled the two close to each other. A group of warriors jumped from the airship to his deck, looking for him.

Gabbiad did not go out hastily. Even though the airship looked like a group of rescuers, the timely arrival of the airship had proved that the previous attacks by natural disasters and skateboard thugs were not accidental. This was a murder against him.

The Haemonculi hopes to find a chance to escape from this predicament.

In addition, he noticed that the firearms held in the arms of these new warriors seemed to have been modified in some way. Different from conventional blasters or poison crystal guns, their weapons were filled with some kind of alternative ammunition. This alerted Gabbiad.

Separated from him by a wall, the footsteps of the soldiers first approached, then moved away, gradually disappearing within his wide range of perception.

Gabbiad considered self-destruction in advance as an escape method. In the lair, one of his ears is lying in an empty crystal coffin. This means that he can enter the process of absorbing pain to resurrect his flesh and blood body at any time. Even if it takes longer, he will enjoy the bone-gnawing pain because it is equivalent to safety.

"There are thirteen principles of revenge." A seemingly familiar voice suddenly sounded outside the wall, and Gabbiad mobilized his observation equipment.

He saw a warrior in ordinary clothes, wearing segmented armor with a large number of sharp blades, animal skins and iron hooks hanging from his waist, and a wisp of hair tied above the full-covering helmet. There was no color in the observation image, but there was a trace. Red tassels that are probably as scarlet as blood.

"One of the maxims is that if you want something to go your way, you have to deal with it yourself," the voice said, its accent proud and cold. The samurai fired a shot at the wall and turned to retreat.

Gabbiad was nervous for a moment and dodged away from the wall. There was no sudden explosion, no phase fragmentation. Knowing that the conspiracy had not ended yet, his tense heart did not relax. The Haemonculus tried to keep moving, but his legs suddenly became weak.

No, he had not lost his strength. His consciousness was still clear, and the commands to his muscles and implants were still clear, but something heavy and external was peeling away from his body, and the warm protection was leaving him. Go, the cold touch penetrated his exposed muscles.

His skin was cracking, peeling away intact and uninvolved from his cheeks, arms, torso, and shriveled legs and feet, turning into a pale, overlapping pile of soft material piled beneath his two metal appendages. .

Gabbiad screamed, slowly and painfully dragging his body with only muscles, internal organs and bones, crawling out of the piles of skin he had shed, moving the dark brown blood and bloated flesh and blood to a more Near the door.

After the skin, the erosion he suffered penetrated deep into the muscles, and the fibers were broken one by one, like twisted worms, falling into a pool of dripping blood. The breakdown of muscles is not as neat and rapid as that of skin, but more sluggish and chaotic, without retaining sufficient integrity.

It's more like an inconsequential side effect, or additional damage unintentionally created by the creators of this skin-flaying flesh virus.

"Victor..." Gabbiad's wailing ended after his vocal cords broke. He had recalled the warrior's voice, Asdubal Victor. He found him personally and used a virus that could penetrate any protection. The inventor of the virus could only be——

"Conrad Coates, this guy..." A shadow fell behind him, his words were light but hard, with a unique ironic effect.

Behind him there was the sound of shadows picking up his shed skin, and then the skin was thrown away.

Gabbiad fell to the ground, his remaining internal organs and bones unable to support him from making further movements. The shadow crossed over his head and walked outward, and the door opened from the outside at this moment. The samurai's boots stepped inside.

"Well, this is our first official meeting, Asdubal Victor." The shadow said briskly.

"Indeed," the Cabal Archon said bluntly, "I don't even know your name yet. Besides, your performance is impressive."

(End of this chapter)