Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 458 Golden Throne
The huge, insanely towering throne stood before Magnus.

Like a banyan tree entwined with countless steel vines, or a giant dragon with cables as veins and golden steel pulsating in energy vortexes as muscles, the Golden Throne is firmly entrenched in the center of Terra's throne room - so huge that it seems to fill the entire throne room, and so small that compared to the entire Terra, compared to the entire galaxy it will serve in the future, it is smaller than a speck of dust.

The air was filled with the scent of ozone, mingling with the bitterness of myrrh, creating a pungent smell that made Magnus' heart curl up in his chest.

And the one sitting on the throne was the Lord of Humanity who had brought him to the observatory tower a month ago.

Only today did Magnus know: the core of the Webway that Rogal Dorn, Perturabo and he had spent more than a hundred years helping to build, which he regarded with infinite pride and joy as his greatest masterpiece of his life, and which was as important as his beloved home planet Prospero - was also the golden cage built exclusively for the Emperor.

Yes, he played an indispensable role in the construction of this torture device.

And he was delighted by it.

In Magnus's etheric vision, he sees things beyond the limitations of the real universe.

He saw a half-bright and half-dark light immersing the back of the entire human empire, like a set of black blood vessels, starting from the solar system with unexpected tenacity, piercing through the edge millions of light years away.

In response, the Milky Way uses equal pain as the most efficient nourishment, giving back to the dark shadow in the throne.

Shadow, that's right. What Magnus saw was a shadow covered in darkness, nailed in place by a pentagram emitting pollution and distortion, destruction and despair. His life had entered the border of spiritual death.

As for the golden light, if the edge that outlines the shape of the black shadow can be regarded as actively emitted light, then a line of golden light is indeed still there.

"This is what you're going to see,"

Malcador said that since lending his staff to Perturabo as a token of Nicaea, the Imperial Vizier had begun walking solely on his legs again. This should not be difficult for him, but his weariness matched his appearance.

"Magnus, the Emperor is here... There is no other choice. Tyrant may fall at any moment. And when the end comes, it must be born directly in the Cage... This is our only chance."

"But..." Magnus said, slowly calming the panic in his heart that was like a fluttering bird, "I-"

Malcador stared at Magnus, his voice rasping right next to Magnus's ear.

"Go ahead, he can hear you."

"——Okay. We are checking the twelve major nodes of the Webway Thutmons except the Terra node. They are evenly distributed in various star regions, so Rogal Dorn, Angron, Perturabo and I each received a quarter of the task to confirm that there are no humans living around each node planet, and there are no signs of invasion by aliens or other species."

Magnus said, he felt his voice sounded too dry, and broken sparks emerged along with the residue of myrrh. This was a reaction that his fake body on Terra should not have, no, this was the negative effect brought to him by the dark radiation of the Golden Throne, where time accelerated and flowed towards the end of destruction.

Inopportunely, Magnus thought of the stagnant crossroads of Vigberach that he had discovered in the Webway before. The situation there was completely opposite to that of the Golden Throne - the river of time flowed to Vigberach, and in the absolute light of the crossroads, it was almost eternal, even flowing in reverse.

"The work is nearly complete," the Crimson King continued. "There is only one node left in the Holy Grail Expanse, waiting for Perturabo to inspect it. It is almost done... but during the inspection, a question sometimes comes back to me that I hope to be answered... and see what I can do for you, father."

The dark waves rose and fell steadily like the breathing of a man in sleep, and Magnus had to convince himself that the Emperor was indeed listening, or that the Emperor was still able to listen.

He took a deep breath and continued, "I want to know, setting up the Golden Throne on Terra can certainly stabilize the most core node in the formation, but how can we ensure the indestructibility of the other twelve endpoints by relying solely on the radiation of a single point? We can send heavy troops to guard the real universe. Father, I can also directly guard any of the nodes, but they are still relatively fragile..."

Did the Emperor really hear his statement? Magnus expected a response from the Golden Throne, even an audible sigh, or even a sarcastic remark. But he got nothing...

+Take me in. +A hollow sound rang in the room like a bell.

Magnus exhaled the air from his chest, closed his eyes, sat cross-legged on the ground, and let go of his mental defenses.

The cold wind stung his skin and passed through his chest, as if Magnus were a hollow stone tablet.

Suddenly, all his thoughts disappeared as the black wind accelerated towards the end of time, and were cut and disintegrated in the powerful impact, until the curtain of light stopped him from drifting and reassembled him into a complete individual.

He came to his senses and saw a golden light curtain extending from an infinitely high point to an extremely low bottom, blocking out another kind of terrifying darkness.

Just by glancing at the darkness behind the thin curtain of light, Magnus's spirit was swept by fear and pain that penetrated his bones. He screamed, cried, and howled silently, as if he had passed through the golden light, and his voice penetrated the infinite time in the darkness...

+Don't look, Magnus. +The voice sounded softly, instantly pulling him back to the other side of the light curtain.

He was back on the border between reality and unreality. There was no image of the Emperor here, only the distant voice of his mind, coming directly from this fragile veil of light.

Magnus shuddered and lowered his head, no longer looking directly at the horrific danger behind the golden curtain.

"Father."

+I'm glad you accept me as I am.+
"Yes. I must accept it." Magnus whimpered.

Did he really not expect this at all? No, among the ten thousand speculations he had made during the long period when the Emperor had not appeared, this possibility did exist.

So he accepted it.

"You heard my doubts..." Magnus said, "I wonder if I am overthinking this, father."

+Were those architectural drawings a wake-up call for you? +
"I cannot deny it, Lord of Humanity. During our conversation in the Observatory Tower that night, you made me realize the theory that a single tree cannot support the whole thing, which made me think again about the stability of the remaining nodes. I don't want any accidents to happen in the future... Father."

+You do overthink, for you underestimate the power of the end and death, Magnus. +
The Emperor's answer was more direct than ever.

+As long as there is pain and suffering in the galaxy, the Dark Lord will be nourished. Pain is salvation, hell is heaven. My vision will follow the light of the Astronomican to all corners of the galaxy, keeping an eternal vigil over the reach of human footprints. And my power is far-reaching. +
+Listen, Magnus, if you have such doubts, then you can also join the ranks of the Overseers and focus on supervising the entire galaxy to ensure that death comes evenly and moderately. +
"Average... vs. moderate?"

+The correct death is a necessary requirement for the Dark Lord to maintain stability. Once the balance is broken, the failure of mankind will be irreversible. +
Magnus shuddered again. He had not expected that this communication with the Emperor would bring him such a mission: this left him clueless and even a little afraid. Both for the mission itself and for the Lord of Mankind.

"I see," he said bitterly, "I'll be in."

+Besides that, you reminded me of one thing: I hope your body will return to Terra to confirm that I have never left the throne during the transformation. In the process of birth, once the Dark Lord derails...+
The Emperor was lost in thought, his thoughts warring within him, leaving Magnus' heart to fall with the pull of gravity.

+I had another plan. +The Emperor spoke again, and it was as if the tape had begun to play again. +I had another plan. +
"What is that?" Magnus asked cautiously. The Emperor was silent again, and then he said:
+Remus and Constantine know the answer. After all the nodes are checked, I will close the network array. When I am on the back of the blocked world, I will not continue to contact the real universe. If something unexpected happens, Remus and Constantine know the answer. +
"…What accident, father?"

+Anything.+
But the light curtain had already pushed him outward, throwing him back into the bitter-scented environment of the throne room. He suddenly opened his eyes and found that his legs were numb, and the world was still spinning, flashing dark patches.

An old, strong hand grasped his shoulder.

“Stop screaming, Magnus,” Malcador warned quietly. “This is the real universe.”

Magnus looked around in horror. The instinctive panic brought by the dark light had left him. He gasped and finally realized how intense the pain was, as if he was pierced by a hot spike.

"I understand, Sigillite," Magnus said, stumbling to his feet.

-

"Looks like we're going to have to do an evacuation," Barban Falk said, looking down from orbit, scanning the lights of the last node planet as they lit up at night.

The population statistics of this unnumbered planet were not included in the census of the Imperial Ministry of the Interior. Considering the irreparable flaws in the Imperial political system, such an omission was inevitable.

But when it happened on one of the thirteen node planets of Tuthmons, the flaw became an absolute nuisance. "It is best to keep it empty and unmanned to prevent potential accidents," was Perturabo's direct order.

This is also the reason why their Primarch Perturabo brought a large camp with him when he traveled - to deal with unexpected emergencies.

"Warsmith," his adjutant walked towards him, addressed him by his rank, and reminded him with a frown, "There are no life signs here."

"Hmm?" This surprised Fokker. He turned around and looked directly at the warrior beside him while speaking, just to comply with the etiquette that came with being a war blacksmith. "What are your instructions, Lord Perturabo?"

"Wait," the adjutant raised his right forearm and checked the information scrolling on the data pad, "Lord Perturabo will personally explore this planet, Warsmith."

"Well, I will obey your orders," said Fokker, taking his seat.

-

"Is this a toy house?" Morse raised an eyebrow. "A toy house for an entire planet?"

Perturabo made no reply, his face serious, and was not amused by Morse's witticisms.

Since taking on the duties of Warmaster, he has become more taciturn than before unless necessary.

"The machines here are not intelligent," he said, putting down the head of a humanoid machine that he had forcibly dismantled and removed the motherboard. "They operate completely according to the predetermined program and will automatically destroy themselves when they go off track. I think this is a practical display of the city concept template. From the perspective of urban planning, this is a qualified exhibition hall."

In front of the Iron Lord, bionic skin, motion skeleton and neural cables were arranged in a regular pattern on the ground, and the flowing motor oil exuded a unique aroma. There was a kind of strange cruelty in all this.

"It seems that I can't blame the imperial officials for neglecting their duties and missing a city in the statistics that is expressly prohibited from immigration, but is home to five million machines." Morse murmured.

Just today, they landed on the ground and chose a very ancient city to set foot in.

The city's streets are extremely clean, and the loose arrangement of buildings reflects the characteristics of the restoration of ancient Terra.

People walked on the streets with light steps, and the intervals between each step were different, but the Progenitors could easily see that the rhythm of their movements conformed to a certain fixed program function, except that the randomness of this function was relatively good and it tried its best to imitate the human walking pattern.

They passed through parks and green spaces, where plants made of nano-components dropped leaves from the air, penetrated the nutrient-free soil, and reorganized along the trunks of trees. Some morning joggers were wearing various retro clothes, and their identities as doctors, teachers, and other social foundations could be seen, running slowly around the edge of the park's green space.

In the coffee shop on the street, Perturabo noticed from the lip movements that two machines intermittently repeated the same conversation five times, each time without any change. They ordered coffee, read newspapers, and talked, and everything was like a carefully choreographed stage play.

"Who's so bored?" Morse muttered, scanning the surroundings. The machine passed by him. After a collision, it deviated from the established program. After falling, it did not get up, but lay on the ground, repeating the futile walking action. "Not even a fault correction?"

"Avoid any intelligent crisis." Perturabo commented, grabbing a machine, fumbling for two seconds, and accurately destroying its power supply with his bare hands. He stared at the machine in his hand for two seconds, "I need to check it."

"It's a reasonable decision," Morse said.

"Someone built this place for unknown purposes," Perturabo replied, holding up his machine. "He designed this city with great precision. If this is not ancient Terra's entertainment habit, then this place is as useful as a planet-sized sandbox."

They found an empty seat in a nearby coffee shop, and while enduring the rhythmic sounds of toasts and scrubbing tables around them, they quickly completed the dismantling.

Everything here can easily make people uncomfortable, but what is even more confusing is undoubtedly the builders of this planet - now is the critical moment to determine the fate of the empire, and no one wants accidents to occur due to negligence.

"No witchcraft marks, no model or origin labels," Perturabo said simply. "Manufactured by unknown origin."

"But it's a little too new, don't you think? These parts - I don't see that they have self-repair functions, but these things still work well, at least they are not afraid of water getting in." Morse glanced at the robot washing cups in the back. "How to deal with it?"

Perturabo put down the robot skull in his hand.

"If destroying this place does not bring irreparable costs, I will cleanse the surface to prevent future troubles." The Iron Lord said coldly, a shadow sweeping across his mountainous face.

"You used to be an architect," Morse sighed, "It may not sound moral to say this, but I'm already looking forward to the day when Horus wakes up..."

His sigh was suddenly interrupted. Within his perception, two thousand meters away, three machines were walking side by side.

What is questionable is not whether they go beyond the scope of mechanical creation, but their image itself.

"Silversmith, Eleven," Morse narrowed his eyes, "and Ilda. I suspect I know whose dollhouse this is. Has your crystal box changed at all?"

Perturabo contacted his Iron Ring on the ship.

"No, no response." He frowned and his lips curved downward in displeasure.

(End of this chapter)