Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 461 A Moment

"What are they doing!" Danteok was rarely so angry. The images on the phased array display were in chaos. "Keep in touch, turn on the fire control system for demonstration, no, directly deploy anti-ship missiles - what are they doing?"

"Some ships are out of control," Bronn said, raising his arm. A tube connected the back of his temple to the data pad. "The image confirms that part of the Word Bearers fleet is approaching us. Do you want us to let them go?"

"No, I think not. Their ship gave an automatic reply, but no further response. I believe—"

A mechanically synthesized voice sounded from the back of the conference room. Belossos, half of his body covered with a steel shell, was concentrating on analyzing the status of the Word Bearers fleet. Dark blue liquid flowed in the tubes that maintained his activities.

"The captain and the helmsman were not at their posts," Tolamino concluded. "They were really out of control."

"Record the abnormal data in detail, and use it as evidence for opening fire as a last resort," Dantioch said. "Continue to send broadcasts, prepare for the invasion of electronic channels, and do a good job of evasion. We can't let their ships hit us directly. Can't contact the flagship of the Word Bearers? Is the communications room of the Law of Faith also slacking off?"

"There is an answer. Just now. But the situation is not optimistic." Tolamino said cautiously, looking up at his fellow warsmiths around him, as if they were already on the eve of the next siege.

"Tell me."

“They say their Primarch is in critical condition,” Tolamino said. “In their septa, Lorgar Aurelion is dying.”

All the warsmiths immediately realized the problem.

Although it is unknown what Lorgar did, the Word Bearers are still nominally under the supervision of the Iron Warriors, and the Primarch's unprovoked serious injury is definitely a serious vicious incident.

The Iron Lord could certainly ignore it, or give an explanation - but the countless loyal believers of the Word Bearers scattered throughout the Empire had already proven their stubbornness with their madness; what's more, the mystery of Horus's assassination was almost a past record of the Iron Warriors in the eyes of the Word Bearers.

"Contact Balban first and inform my father of this matter, no matter how long it takes," Bron said, "actively communicate with the Word Bearers."

"Don't back down," Hakko strode in from outside, his face emitting suppressed anger. "Tell them we know what they have done - no matter what madness Aurelion is going on! No one except the Primarch can lay a finger on another Primarch, and Master Perturabo is not here at all. This is a matter within the Word Bearers themselves!"

Several people were surprised at Hakko's disrespect for a Primarch, but this surprise was fleeting and turned into silent recognition in their hearts.

"You're right." Belossos murmured, "Of course, we will keep the news secret for the time being."

"Contact Terra and ask whether Terra's pharmacy department is interested in taking over Lorgar Aurelion's situation, and... whether the Imperial Fists are free to participate in the escort." Dantioch said, hoping that he had made the right decision.

He suddenly remembered that the Netdao Branch, which had been separated from them for a long time, had also recently contacted the Cheorwon to discuss matters related to their formal return to the team.

On the eve of the closure of the last node, the Iron Warriors will become complete again. All warsmiths have been looking forward to this for a long time, and the time span is nearly two hundred years.

"No - wait," Tolamino said, confusion spreading across his face. "It was Aurelion. Aurelion took the call himself..."

A Primarch who had just been seriously injured stood up and talked to them in an instant, which sounded like a good thing, but it only deepened the turmoil in the hearts of the warsmiths. In any case, the communications sent to Terra and the Imperial Fists would still be sent on time.

Tolamino directed the signal from the sound array into the player open to the public in the conference hall. Aurelion's quiet and hoarse voice played slowly and coldly, like a roughly spliced ​​tape.

"We already have more than enough facts in our holy cause for the Word Bearers to identify the Iron Warriors as the greatest enemy. We need no more deception."

Lorgar Aurelion spoke calmly, his pain infused into his words, transformed into a quiet, terrifying power.

"I offer my sacrifice to the God I love, and my devotion shall be untainted by speculation and conspiracy. I will not allow the galaxy to think that I am being coerced by you, for my faith is meant to be unfettered. We shall be rivals on opposite sides of the scale, Iron Warriors, and there shall be no personal vendettas in the dark."

Dantioch took a deep breath and spoke the following words in a deep voice, resolutely trying to offset the unspeakable chill that Lorgar Aurelion had brought to him. "The fire control system will remain on until all Word Bearers ships have eliminated the threat to the Iron Warriors, Primarch Aurelion."

“Don’t worry. We will return to Terra, Iron Warriors. Not even the Warmaster can stop us. This is my choice, my absolute choice,” Aurelion said quietly. “We will meet our Sage, who sits atop Holy Terra. He—”

His mind became distant in an instant, and when he came back to his senses, his calm tone was filled with regret, "His power has filled my chest and filled my endless emptiness. I am no longer just Lorgar Aurelion... But He is still waiting for the final awakening. Who is stopping Him?"

-

At the moment the crystal box cracked, it seemed as if nothing had happened except for a loud, crisp sound.

Morse immediately looked up into the sky, where the seemingly silent clouds were still drifting slowly in the quiet and stagnant breeze.

The golden light of runes flashed in his eyes, and the strange waves in the sea of ​​soul immediately appeared before his eyes.

First, a multi-layered rainbow light, like a crystal crystal attached to an ocean current, swam into the outer side of this mechanical planet. Then, multi-colored scales gradually emerged, with deep red and light purple interweaving, gradually transitioning to the blue-green of artificial tourmaline or emerald, vaguely revealing the magnificence of the whole picture.

However, all of this is based on tattered black, empty flesh and blood, so that the edge of each snake scale seems to be overflowing with poisonous blood.

"You go ahead," Morse said. "Return to your ship and be prepared for anything, Magnus. Your psionic energy cannot be consumed by what may come next."

After a brief, almost imperceptible moment of stunned silence, Magnus quickly withdrew from the void sound array channel, even though he was still full of doubts, and the pain brought by the extremely ominous sign just now still vaguely remained in his panicked chest.

Perturabo could vaguely sense the presence of that power, the surge of a transcendental existence invading the air around him, distorting the world slightly in ripples. He suppressed the terrible fear in his instincts, and with a heart of steel, he drove away all unnecessary emotions that were not needed by his reason, and looked directly at the signs he perceived.

"Number 11?" he asked loudly. "Is that you?"

The serpent's form dissipated as it swirled around the world, then reconstructed itself into a flickering figure standing at the far end of their street, almost blending into the gray and white color of the sky. It had obviously not recovered from the last injury, but the lost snake still swam in front of his blood relative, about a hundred meters away, and faced Perturabo.

He seemed to be waiting for Perturabo to break the silence first and move forward, or perhaps he was simply hesitating in his weariness, indifferent to anything that could further determine his future.

"You feel it, too," Perturabo said. "Tyrant. Dark Lord. Nightmare Sun."

Eleven said nothing. Not a word in this crucial, time-consuming moment. He just looked at Perturabo, as if observing the heartbeat, breathing, and rise and fall of the Iron Lord, observing everything that a true and complete Primarch should have.

"You said you would prevent it from happening, Eleven."

Number Eleven still remained silent. He did not feel that this implicit question was worth answering.

"And now you are here," Perturabo said. "You have finally come to me."

Number Eleven spoke up.

-

On the flagship, Magnus was immersed in his study in the library. Hundreds of newly written draft papers were swirling around him in an orderly manner, forming a storm of paper, wrapping the Crimson King in a thick cocoon filled with anxiety and confusion. He took off his monocle and rubbed his sore eye sockets.

The crisis they were about to face was clear from the moment Morse asked him to leave.

Within the entire territory of the Imperium of Man, not counting those who accompany the Emperor, Magnus the Crimson King is undoubtedly the person who knows the Emperor's plans best.

Then, the last piece of the puzzle to complete or verify the Emperor's true plan can only be provided by him.

He remembered what Morse had said when he had interrupted him. "Your guess is correct," he said, "but it is not complete."

Both pieces of information made Magnus feel very uneasy, and it had been a long time since he had experienced this kind of self-torture of refusing to face reality since the battle with Prospero's soul-eating bees.

Was Morse really sure what he had guessed? He knew the answer, but he wished he didn't.

Magnus threaded his fingers through his thick red hair, staring at the twenty runes of similar color swirling and interweaving before his eyes, chasing each other, relying on the clever gravitational layout to form a precarious celestial sphere. The prototype of the Thutmons rune was connected and formed by the shining golden light, stabilizing in the change.

One of the runes was independent and roaming around, not bound or restricted by any single rune; Magnus had not yet found a suitable position for two of the runes, and the word "backup option" jumped into Magnus' mind.

He moved the three runes out of the way, letting them float as he focused on the remaining seventeen.

Among the seventeen runes, he arranged thirteen of them one by one on the trajectory required by the rune. After intentionally increasing the energy contained in the central rune, setting it as the only core of the formation, and weakening the self-control stability of the central rune, the entire rune formation began to tremble violently, on the verge of collapse, and broken threads scattered like mist on the simulated celestial sphere.

Magnus stared at the endangered runes, holding his breath, and gently brushed his fingers over the remaining twelve branch nodes, lighting them one by one, balancing the connections between them, and adjusting them until the runes formed an unmistakable binding emblem with the large rune in the center.

Binding. That's right, if the central core Great Rune cannot stably bind itself in the core of the celestial sphere, the effect of these twelve runes will be reversed into shackles on the core land, or in other words, a kind of reins, a kind of yoke. The power infused in each rune is enough to destroy all the extra functions of the corresponding rune except for carrying great power.

He blinked his eyes, and when all twelve runes lit up, the entire formation shone brightly in an instant. The light radiating outward was like the spikes of a nightmare, piercing through multiple layers of paper sharply amid the groan of metal friction.

The rotation of the celestial sphere continued to accelerate, and more fragments collapsed from all directions, forming a swirling circulation, swirling around the runes, and the air became turbid in the chaotic light.

"But not yet completely." Morse's voice sounded in his ears again.

Magnus took a breath and lit up the next rune.

But the energy vortex generated by this rune flowed in the opposite direction of the previous vortex. The vortex swirled rapidly and violently, and Magnus' fingers trembled and twitched in the conflict of energy, as if the pain at this moment was almost equivalent to the equal energy torrent he aroused in his own internal organs.

He bit his lower lip hard and quickly completed the remaining three reverse runes: their energy came from the outside world rather than from the inside of the array. To be more precise, this was a set of channels, a set of pipelines that dredged energy from the vast ocean of ether outside, just like the huge heat sink pipelines built by the human empire deep in the hive city that absorbed geothermal heat and supplied energy upwards...

Magnus wiped the bloody wounds that the runes had cut on his hands, and the scarlet blood dripped onto the ground. He panted, suppressed the loud breaths between his lips and teeth, suppressed them in a soft hiss that dared not disturb anything, and stared at the current simulated celestial sphere of Thutmons.

After this round of rune additions was completed, the entire celestial sphere seemed to have received some kind of promotion, and it became completely stable, and it was freely swallowing and releasing every strand of energy used for self-regulation, so exquisitely that it seemed as if a higher being was concentrating on manually controlling it.

But Magnus knew no.

He was familiar with Perturabo and naturally knew that if everything he created today was converted into mechanical logic, the Lord of Iron would also be able to design and create the same strange machine, allowing it to operate automatically in a legendary and ingenious form that was far beyond the imagination of ordinary people.

But when it comes to psychic powers, even the greatest architect of the physical universe is at a loss.

Perturabo's talents, and even Magnus' own, were undoubtedly inherited from the same genius. He was both a supreme master of the psychic realm and the first and unrivaled craftsman of human creation.

The ideas and structure simulated by this celestial sphere could only have come from him.

Emperor.

Magnus closed his eyes as the sharp pain faded into a deeper smoldering fire that burned coldly inside him, fueled by all the oil in the Crimson King's chest.

(End of this chapter)