Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 467 Extra: Time Enough for You to Love
He has come a long way.

He saw the fire burning, coming from the cycle of the tide, carrying the dust away, passing over the side of his golden helmet, sweeping over the rustling emerald feathers and the golden king's name circle, softly knocking out whispers that blend into the long wind. Ashes rose from the fire, fell from the sky, gently fell on the crystal road, and bloomed pale lotus in the water-covered path.

His steps made crisp splashes in the water, and each cluster of water splashes jumped out from the flow of time, and the clear water droplets raised the possibility of thousands of destinations. The traveler blinked gently, and everything in the past transformed into ten thousand endless possibilities in the water droplets, or perhaps it was just a shadow left by the universe that converged here at the end of time.

He saw how the world began and ended, how everything turned on the wheel of time, how life turned into wind and shadow, like fireflies lighting up in the water, like stars and moons falling into the lotus heart in the water, life and death, without limit or guidance, ups and downs, without beginning or end...

Who is he? He asked himself blankly, raising his palms in front of him, and the burning dust flowed from his fingertips like sand.

He was a handful of dust and ashes in a golden helmet, scattered by wind and waves, and painstakingly gathered by someone - the person who put him in the golden helmet is no longer seen, and the last echo of the prodigal son is the steam and fire that sent him to this path, and the loneliness that enveloped him.

But it is not silent here.

The tide of time rises and falls, rustling across his armor. The long, silent song is like white sand and a shell washed a hundred times in the water.

The light of the world fell, and the ashes floating in the sky turned into the moon. The road was lit up by the light of the sun, and then wound into a reed rope, quietly spinning a small boat of light under his feet, a reed boat.

A small white sail was hoisted, the light filling up half of the sail and blowing his copper-red hair across the sides of his face. The embers at the ends of his hair floated upwards, fluttering and dissolving in the river of light.

He stood in the boat, and the light boat lifted up his armor and drifted along the path of light to the end of the water. Wherever he passed, lotus flowers closed and opened to welcome his arrival.

As the boat passed through the canyon, the sound of water could be heard faintly, and in the weeping of the deep canyon, there was also a gentle melody of prayer, asking for a review and compassion from the beginning of time and the beginning of light. He quietly looked at the water, and there were invisible flowers swaying under the water.

The light became brighter and brighter. After passing through the valley of tears, he stepped off the reed boat and walked into a desert where the flames of war had burned out. Broken axles and half-remaining flags were stuck in the yellow sand in groups, and the royal emblem of the past could be vaguely seen on the flags. The endless yellow sand buried the blood left after the war in the depths of time. Abandoned armor was scattered everywhere, buried by the wind and sand, with only a few rusty metal edges exposed.

The light is still there. Light is as constant as time. Light penetrates the dust in the sky and sprinkles on the ancient yellow sand, reflecting a vague dimness.

He walked slowly through the ruins, the sand rustling softly, and occasionally he would step on a broken spear, making a crisp cracking sound.

Gradually, he seemed to see those former warriors, and their souls seemed to still wander on this battlefield. A ghost in black armor stood not far away, with firelight in the gaps between the armor, and his eyes were covered by the iron helmet, staring at the distant point in time. Maybe he was pursuing. Maybe he was waiting.

His steps slowed down. There was no hostility here. Through the dim light, he sensed a long-lasting sadness.

The dust rose up again, trembling in the wind of light, like a plucked string, leaving a faint afterimage, and then flying away to the end of the stream of light.

The soldier saw him, turned his armored body towards him, paused with the grenade launcher in his hand, and then lowered it.

He lowered his head and looked into the warrior's goggles, where he saw the fire of light. Golden fire, incandescent fire, the last cluster of fire when the shadow of the afterglow left the ground, contained in the crystal box-like goggles. There was the fire of the end, the pure fire that did not exist at the end of time.

None of them spoke, and the warriors remained silent until the dust began to settle. The black-armored warrior turned around and slowly moved forward into the depths of the desert.

He followed the warrior silently. There was some kind of unspeakable quiet connection here, which quietly tied them together through some metaphysical brilliance.

They walked through the remnants of the battlefield, past broken power halberds, shattered hammers and claws. The ancient banner of the Bannerman stood among the forest of blades.

He stretched out his dusty hand and gently stroked the lines on the flag. The steel skull stared at him, watching him go away in time, or perhaps it had become his connection with the past, like a silent monument, bringing him to the beginning of time.

At the end of the desert were towering mountains that reached the clouds, with black jade and ebony as the backbone of the mountains, creating a silent coldness. The warrior stopped, raised his head, looked at the top of the mountain, and then silently turned his eyes to look at him, with a complex emotion in his eyes.

He understood that he would walk across the mountain alone. His boots stepped on the edge of the mountain, and he slipped for a moment, and then he found that the mountain under his feet had changed, becoming a tangible glass wire tube, interlocking with each other, forming a pit for footing. Some points of light fell on the black mountain, flickering and lighting up in series, like the winding and shining lights of electric candles.

He followed the guidance of the light, climbed over the corners like the folds of a robe, and slowly climbed up along the etched textures and the marks of the sacred axiom, and rested temporarily on the armrest of the dark throne formed by the mountain ridge. Beside him, a withered hand quietly rested on the edge of the throne, connected to several cruel pipes.

The fingertips of the giant were still caressing, writing invisible runes and invisible Braille in eternity... He climbed onto the palm of the giant and looked up at the infinitely high bone arm. Who did this arm belong to, and why did it make his tears fill his eyes made of ashes?

His face sank and melted under the wet steam. He fell into the inside of the armor that supported his existence, looking at the witch bone symbols engraved inside, falling on the bottom of the carrier and the skin. He had long been a handful of ashes, drifting in the cracks of time.

He had burned.

Only at this unique moment when time had not yet begun to flow, when light had not yet spread, when the first fire in human history had not yet lit up like a star in the night, could his dust follow the cycle of life and go back to the moment that had not yet been extinguished, the only moment.

He fell into the armor, and the armor fell into the giant's hand and shattered into pieces. His ashes flew outward, scattered into the light spots in the sky, and merged with the dust...

His armor was lifted, and the black jade mountain awakened from eternal stagnation, or the shadow of the light it possessed awakened.

The skinny hand holding his armor raised upwards, and he got closer to the origin of light, so his armor was pieced together again, against the flow of time or light, to restore a complete set of dazzling golden armor, decorated with soft golden-red robes and eagle feathers dotted with lapis lazuli.

His dust gradually returned to its original place, and a thousand grains of dust formed a cluster of light, and a thousand clusters of light reflected each other with the sun at the source.

His face was restored, gleaming with pearly red, and his golden eyes, made of a thousand embers, looked straight into the sun he saw. He stood in the center of his hand, staring into a skeletal face with a skeleton similar to his own. Deep in the dark hollows that had been eyes, the sun's radiance surged like time, like waves on a stream.

The light flowed along the lower edge of the eye sockets, slid across the bony cheeks, and then quietly dried up, leaving only a drop of golden water, rippling slightly on the edge of the eye sockets.

He opened his mouth and found his voice.

"Father..." he said softly, "I am..."

The dry bones did not answer. He lifted him up, lifted him to the end of the sky, lifted him to the only source of light, the sun hanging high at the top of the world. The light became brighter and brighter, but no matter how bright the light was, he could still look into the depths of the light.

The light awaited him and welcomed him into the light. He stepped onto the pillar of cloud in the daytime and walked on the path of life.

Gradually, he heard more voices, the sound of laughter, like water flowing quietly out of a rock. The cheers rose from a layer of cloud until they echoed in the sky where he was.

Some familiar sounds seem to form rhythmic syllables, syllables form words, words float and play in the chords at the end of light, which are sentences. Sentences bring language, language generates meaning, taking shape in a slip that cannot be fully captured, quietly shifting and changing, but all the changes are still reassuring and satisfying, without gaps and gaps, enough to locate an existing self.

“…You can’t do this…”

He recognized a familiar voice, but it was unclear who it belonged to, but the voice also came from the light of the light and was accompanied by the friction sound of the slightly swaying crops.

"… the rules don't forbid it, you see…"

This was the only voice that took his hand, led him up the stairs and through the door. The music became louder, smoothly transitioning from one note to the next and then gently falling, repeating the confession in the song over and over again.

He stepped into the gate of light and into a golden field. Some unknown crop was swaying in the surge of the wind of light, and the golden leaves and the tip of the leaves brushed against his leg armor, like a golden ocean, peacefully and eternally full.

There were huge wooden boats in the fields, sailing in the sea of ​​fields, without bending a single ear of crop. There were also towering pillars or navigation signs, towering in the sunlight of the blue sky, each statue was dozens of times taller than him. There were also living creatures, slowly walking on four legs, slowly passing through the fields, their shapes cut out backlit shadows in the light, but the shadows themselves were still formed by the light.

In the middle of the field, he saw twenty pillars arranged in a circle, each of which stood a giant statue carved from white marble, each inscribed in its own pure form at the beginning of time. The final source of light was located in the center of the ring, projecting a brilliant line outward.

"Ah..." He whispered in his throat, identifying the cloaks, swords, white robes and wings among the pillars. He recognized every statue among them, but he had not yet remembered their identities. He thought and continued to move forward, not in a hurry. Here, the source of light began, and time lost its meaning.

He once raced against time, snatching the last moment of a race, he once ran non-stop, once fell into the depths of darkness and silence, not knowing his way out. He once lost time, and now his time has returned a thousand times. He has all these moments and instants, a thousand blinks without rushing and ten thousand soothing heartbeats.

He has time.

He walked forward, he was already in the light, and the space surrounded by twenty pillars was revealed to his eyes. He saw many people, not twenty, but still a lot. He saw them gathered around a wide table, each holding onto each other's shoulders or backs, pushing and shoving, their bodies filled with light approaching each other, as if they had never been apart.

He walked forward in a melancholy and peaceful manner. He seemed to have lost it all. He was once lonely, struggling in another dark eternity without anyone to accompany him. He was once sure that he had lost one or more of them, even though he could not remember it now. He was once silent and had nothing to say. They had fought against each other and confronted each other. But this was the end and beginning of time, the place where light first and finally fell.

He has the light.

"If you must do it..." one of them began, and he reached forward and moved something on the table. For this, the people next to him laughed and slapped him on the back, which drew stares from each other. They had played this table trick many times, and an inadvertent glance was enough to reveal a hundred thoughts and secrets. But they still enjoyed it.

Because there is enough time for them to do it. There is enough time for them to do everything they want.

They were still discussing something, and sometimes the discussion seemed to connect the table to their own existence, as if they were on the white stone surface, not just on the edge of the table. Their eyes were shining brightly.

Behind them stood some other people who did not seem to belong to the twenty pillars, but also belonged to this whole.

They clinked their glasses, and some ancient, sweet, dark drink in the transparent cups rippled slightly with bubbles.

Then, they drank their drinks with a smile - one person smiled generously, one person's seriousness was vaguely written on his face, and one person was always staring at the people at the round table, his eyes never moving away.

"I don't think he violated my rules. No one stipulated that we couldn't take the shortest model from each group of models of different heights and form three teams of 18 people who could all hide in the building terrain," said a spectator. "There's nothing wrong with that, right?"

The person who received the approval nodded solemnly, his serious face still as solid as a rock.

"But he is - besides, it's a rare opportunity for me to come here, so you guys... forget it."

The person playing chess with him swallowed the second half of his words helplessly, turned around, smiled on his smooth face, and opened his hands towards him.

"You've finally come, Magnus," he said, and then they said.

(End of this chapter)