Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 470 Cherish Life
He could hear the volcanic rush of blood in his veins. When he breathed, the fiery temperature in his blood rolled around his ear bones, triggering the pain in the nerves at the back of his brain, one twitch, then the next.

Following the stinging pain of the bite, he heard his modified body creaking in his sheepskin-like robe: the stinging pain seemed to be pinching his heart and carving the bones under his muscles. Again and again.

It has to do with the child he once was.

This has to do with his genetic father.

This is Magnus's echo.

And it doesn’t stop there.

Amon found himself lying in the meditation chamber of the small pyramid. On the inside of the high ceiling was a map of the stars surrounding Tizca, half decorated and half real, with star-sea beasts - now proven to be dangerous vortexes and ferocious monsters deep in the warp.

The claws moved in the darkness, rubbing like a scarab crawling and clicking softly. The ferocious eyes of the beast stared at him in a trance, and the rumbling roar of the ominous omen penetrated his skull, invisibly inflicting almost tangible mental torture.

Amon waved away the blazing waves of flames left in his mind by the Warp, and the room became bright again. Prospero's blazing sunlight penetrated the isolation layer of the psychic shield in the sky, transforming into a gentle and bright soft light, creating crystal ripples among the dust particles floating in the room.

The psychic flames were extinguished one by one from the candlesticks, and bright light poured further into the small pyramid.

Outside the pyramids was the long street of Tizca, which, in the clear light of late afternoon, reflected from the countless polished glass surfaces and decorative crystal panels of the cast buildings, and refracted through the colorful cloth used to block the sunlight on the upper floors of many bazaars and flat-roofed houses, refracting a thousand brilliant lights.

Amon blinked again, his breathing coming in short gasps.

Burning fire. The moon. The momentary reflection of the edge of the hammer. Brown oil on the water. Blue lightning. The residue and debris of burning papyrus flying all over the sky. The dust under the sky condensed into a terrifying smoke that strangled the throat in the echo of wolf howling, and a giant snake with gorgeous wings was still entwined on the edge of the Great Pyramid, hissing and screaming, just like the evil snake head of the disaster it pushed finally poked out from behind the veil...

The vision of the prophecy came back like an old story, along with the piece of existence that Magnus's death had hollowed out from his chest. Nothing had changed from two hundred years ago.

He was shaking, trying to control himself from the spinning of the world. Blood was flowing from his mouth. He had bitten a part of his mouth.

Magnus. Prospero. Two names that defined his life intertwined before his eyes, both were memorable enough, and both were destined to be engulfed in blood and fire from the moment they were born, just as they had echoed in his nightmares for countless moments since two centuries ago.

He denied them, but Magnus vanished from the soul of every Thousand Dust Sun, a flaming sun that suddenly exploded into a thousand shattered particles that vanished in the air, leaving behind an eternal burning ember deep in their souls, burning through the bitter winds of the Tizca Strait and the rusty dust.

Azak Ahriman was probably the last person to see Magnus, Amon thought, and he was inspired when Magnus left the Pyramid of Fhotep and insisted on taking a few of the Templar lecturers and students aboard the All-Powerful Radiance[1], a single ship that sailed into the depths of the vast galaxy.

Soon after, he knew he had lost his only child.

Even though, given the relationship between the Primarch and the Emperor, he gave up the position and title he had rashly occupied, and everything turned back into silent codes of mutual understanding, they still had a close relationship.

But at the last moment, he couldn't even do anything for Magnus.

There was no goodbye.

As for Prospero...the howling of the wolves was still in his ears, he could taste the approaching echo - what did the wolves represent?
He sighed. For a moment he even thought it could be the Space Wolves... How could it be? Primarch Leman Russ and their Magnus were clearly friends.

Luna Wolf? No, there is no reason... Fifty years ago, when the think tank system was not yet fully established, Tubek, who was still a guest at Luna Wolf, still had fresh memories of Lupekar's friendship...

The curtain of the small pyramid was opened, and not far away was the Great Library of Tizca, like a brilliant eye left in the world, lingering in the city rebuilt by the Primarch. Amon coughed a few times, and a dry bloody smell emerged from his throat, like the hiss of sand rolling over stones. He looked at the light, looking for the power he needed.

No one... he thought, no one can take Prospero away from here again. Even if the prophecy is brought back by the raven along the shadow, it will never happen again. He will not allow himself to face a second loss, not to mention that this will be a loss that his child does not want to see.

He walked out of the meditation room, and when he stroked the scarab on his chest with his fingers, the golden beetle witnessed his fingers trembling.

He had heard the voices of the Iron Warriors outside Tizca. They were not noisy, the cold steel humming on the empty plains of the countryside, just like their mental aura, they had long been forged into a quiet and powerful iron block. But the existence of these warriors made him feel strange beyond his intuition, as if they were out of tune with the times.

At such a juncture, a moment when Magnus left them for unknown reasons - oh, Amon had expected it, and perhaps the heads of the various schools also knew something, but most people would never know how their father's existence would suddenly become an unhealable inner void, forever.

Their hearts will stir in the wildness of pain, held aloft for a time by the majesty and kindness of Magnus, but one day, these leaves that have been torn from their branches will spin and sink beneath the water.

Yes, at such a juncture, was the arrival of the Iron Warriors a coincidence? Or did they know something about this, something that the Fifteenth Legion could not know? Something about the shadow that had been hanging over the galaxy in recent months, since the Victory at Ullanor? They knew almost as much as anyone else... even if the issue was the death of the Legion's Primarch...

They will talk. The leader of this section of the Iron Warriors' army, and the Hidden One stationed on Prospero, Dust Master Amon.

From it Prospero would gain a signpost pointing him toward filling the painful void in his chest, and this would be their first step back into this suddenly strange world.

He swallowed the bitterness in his mouth and the lingering uneasiness.

-

"It is impossible to be sure. We are in danger of darkness, and to describe such danger would be a violation of our agreement with the Primarch and the Emperor, and I do not think we are any better than you in terms of perception of dark psychic powers. The only thing I can tell you is that the Primarch Magnus saved our lives on his way, and we believe that he was the only one who could have done that at that moment."

"The Primarch saved you."

Fricks nodded: "There is no doubt that we are fortunate to come to Prospero because of this. I think we must express our gratitude to him. If Prospero can help us contact our Primarch, I believe our Gene-Father will also give praise and blessings to his dear friend for his selfless help." "Praise?" Amon's expression made Fricks feel something strange, which contained scrutiny and hesitation, as well as an indelible pain. "Praise our Primarch Magnus?"

"That's exactly what I believe," said Fricks firmly.

"It seems you don't know what happened afterwards."

"We really know nothing about it, except for the sudden burst of darkness that followed shortly afterwards."

"The entire galaxy must have known that moment," Amon said, a thought flashing across his tired face, while his voice remained very low, flat and suppressed.

"The experience of our Gene Father is probably related to this. Since - you don't know what happened, then go and stay in the suburbs, Iron Warriors. Wait for the communication to be restored, and wait for your father. The Fifteenth Legion may not be willing to receive you next."

"What happened next?" Fricks had to ask.

"You wish to know?"

"If you are willing to tell the story, Captain of the Ninth Company."

Amon's expression was more reserved, almost silent from an outside perspective, his hand resting on his helmet, which looked a bit ferocious for a scholar of the Fifteenth Legion.

"We don't know... everything hidden behind this," Amon said. "We are stationed in Prospero. When darkness falls, we, like anyone else in the world, cannot touch the essence of the shadow. The horror contained in it is enough to stop anyone who knows something about the vast ocean. At the same time, what really makes us..."

Silence came between the two of them, and Fricks noticed that the other Thousand Dust Suns guarding the small pyramid were also silent, like iron puppets trapped in eternal self-questioning, repeatedly listening and questioning their own hearts. This was not a good sign.

"If you don't want to say it..."

"No," Amon shook his head and looked back at Frix. His voice echoed in the room, as if it had passed through the limitations of bricks and glass, causing vibrations in a wider distance. "No," he continued, "Tell your Primarch Perturabo that the head of the Fifteenth Legion, Magnus the Red, is dead."

He paused, allowing Fricks to sink into speechless shock. The warsmith felt the coldness of the steel inside the armor, as well as the protection it brought him. He continued to stare at Amon, gaining some new, vague insights from his gaze.

"We have paid an undeserved price for our fate, and now there is no way back," Amon continued. "We only have Prospero left, the pearl of the world, and it cannot be lost again. This may be our only chance, and the echo of the Primarch's dream. Here we will protect our home, and stand firm on the edge of the city."

Fricks came back from his daze, his mind moving ahead of his emotions, entering the gear structure that ran as steadily as a machine.

Just because Amon didn't make any demands doesn't mean the Iron Warriors can remain indifferent.

"If the City of Light is threatened," he said, "we will return to Prospero and defend it from the enemy. If possible, the Iron Warriors will send more warriors. This is the promise made by Kedomo Fricks on behalf of the thirty thousand Iron Warriors who now stand on Prospero, for the honorable help of the Primarch Magnus, and for our friendship."

Magnus, this word also became sour and hot in Fricks' mouth, as hard to say as strong acid. They could not yet disclose their familiarity with Magnus for more than a hundred years, and Fricks was still trying to accept Magnus's sudden departure.

Indeed, the situation has been changing a lot in recent days, with all kinds of discussions, and I have heard about it on the Internet, but the death of a Primarch?
As shocking as the fall of the leader of the Shadow Moon Wolf.

"If," Amon repeated, "If. The day when this if comes may not be far away."

"But isn't it true that the subspace routes are in chaos these days, making them difficult to travel through?"

"I have no proof to show for it," Amon said, "but doom never comes without warning. Magnus's death was so sudden. Prospero will remember everything... Warsmith Fricks."

Amon looked at him, as if trying to identify something. "Frix, maybe I heard Ahriman mention you."

"Ahriman?" The long-lost name returned to the warsmith's mind. He could vaguely remember his old friend. No, in the boring old memories of the Webway that had been repeated a hundred times in his mind, all the memories were as fresh as yesterday: Azak Ahriman's blue eyes stared at him through time, and there seemed to be a trace of smile on that olive-skinned face.

"I once knew him," Flox said vaguely, knowing that Ahriman probably didn't think he was still alive. The Black Crow must not have publicized his disappearance, otherwise they would have confirmed sooner or later that all the Iron Warriors were dead on the list - even if he could argue that this was a long secret mission.

"I look forward to seeing him again, and I hope Ahriman won't be too surprised." He quickly added, speaking from a complex heart, and Flex was not good at analyzing all the factors wrapped in this emotion.

"Okay." Amon nodded slightly, his brows slightly relaxed. He stood up, but his movements were not as agile as an Astartes should be. He put on his helmet and hid his face under the invisible mask.

Whether Amon is a full Astartes is a mystery that is not widely circulated. He is not young, has strange psychic powers, but he is indeed wearing a set of Astartes armor. Perhaps no one can answer this question except Magnus, the dead Magnus.

The helmet loudspeaker interfered with his voice, covering up more of his sad words: "The gene father I serve saved you. I hope you cherish your life."

"no doubt."

-

The halo between the dim stars caught the attention of Azak Ahriman. He saw the faintly flowing dark light passing through the sea of ​​stars, like a tangible and intelligent ocean current, which made him question whether this vast starry sky had any malicious intentions. The chaotic waves of the warp tripped their steps. And the surging darkness...

He stared into the silent space and took a deep breath.

(End of this chapter)