Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 474 Even if it's all dust

"I told you not to come here again. You are not welcome here."

As he spoke, he straightened his back in the flax field. The light blue flowers swayed into a clean sea in the slight breeze. His hands were still stained with quite a few dried dirt particles.

If he continued to be disturbed, he felt that sooner or later he would have to take the largest sickle in his house and smash it on the head of the person opposite him.

The visitor's face was blurred in the dark shadow against the backlight, but he knew that the other party must be looking at him, or staring at him with cold confidence without courtesy, just as he always did recently.

Sometimes it even made him want to grab the cross hanging on his chest, even though he knew that the witch's exorcism method would never work here.

"The world is changing," the visitor said, coming closer, pushing aside some linen, and sitting down beside him. They were about the same height now. "There are few things that remain unchanged, few orders to hold on to. You are still one of them, Private Orr."

"Don't call me that," O'er said, sighing, "I don't understand why you're looking for me. I didn't invite you, Joe, and I'm not worthy of being invited by Terra."

"That is the truth. This is his last order. Or, the Lord of Mankind invites you to meet on Terra."

Joe said that the sunlight seemed to be deflected by the wind, illuminating his deep facial lines and sea ice-like eyes. He was extremely handsome, but Orr just felt that he was tired of seeing this hypocritical face.

"Listen to me, Joe," Or simply sat down, "Listen to me, this is my home, this is the place I don't plan to leave in my life. I have heard of Terra, but I am not interested in traveling thousands of miles to meet the emperor. Please go back and tell the emperor that I don't want to get involved in things beyond my ability. I am just an ordinary person. I am not even a soldier..."

Joe suddenly turned his head and whispered something into the headset hidden behind his ear in a more elegant language. O'er knew he shouldn't understand, but he did understand what he was saying.

"…Reject Rogal Dorn's inquiries and ignore them," Joe said, using an ancient language from Earth. "Darkness makes everyone's position a mystery."

Then he smiled cruelly at Orr, "Sorry, it's just a little thing."

"So who are you?" Or stared at him.

"The Emperor's men, that's what they are."

"No, I heard you call out the other Primarch's name, Joe," Or said, his heart beating as he re-examined the tall giant in front of him. Before this he had only thought that perhaps he was a Space Marine from some legion.

"You heard me right, then," said Joe, his smile fading from his face. "You had better know that you are the last order I have received since the eve of Nicaea, and I will not abandon this mission. Perhaps a great change in the universe is about to happen, or, as I feel it has already happened..."

His cheek twitched and a slight pain slid across half of his face. It lasted only a brief moment and disappeared before Ole noticed.

"It's time for you to leave, Orlanius," Joe said, staring at Orr. "The storm has subsided, the channel has been reopened, and we should go. The darkness may return at any time - the gap between the front and back of the world is so fragile."

"I don't think..."

"What?" Joe interrupted him, his eyes still fixed on Orr, and the only purpose of his speaking was to disrupt Orr's speaking rhythm.

Orr was silent for a moment. "I don't know. But - suppose, I suppose, it is as you say, that the Darkness leaves us in a state of confusion. How can I be sure that you serve him?"

"If you must have an answer, your field will answer that question when it starts to burn."

"But this is Ultramar—"

"Korth wouldn't mind dying in the service of the Emperor's command," Joe said. "Do you think?"

-

"Sir Amon and Cyanos talked for a long time," Camille said, half of her heart immersed in fiddling with the camera in her hand, which stored the audio and video records of Amon and Cyanos testing each other during the day. As for the text, there was a thick notebook lying in her canvas bag.

The night wind blew across the outer wall of the Temple of Knowledge, and the sand swirled in the wind, brushing against the stone pillars of the temple. In Fricks's sight, he saw the Memoirist Izara chatting happily with other Iron Warriors. The Memoirists of the Thousand Dust Sun were very brave, and they were more comfortable than the mortals in Fricks' memory when facing the Astartes.

"Any results?"

Camille stopped moving her hands.

"No, it didn't." She laughed dryly, not very energetic. "Even if I'm not a professional writer of history books, I know there will be no results. Lord Amon insisted that the Primarch Magnus did nothing wrong, and Cyjanus said that no one except the Emperor knew what Magnus had done, but the Emperor even issued a judgment, which is evidence that our Primarch made a big mistake."

"Is Cyjanus serious?"

Camille tilted her head and looked up at Frix's chin. "By the Emperor, they are negotiating, Lord Iron Warrior. As a warsmith, you have participated in the negotiations, have you?"

"…We are talking about Amon and Cyjanus."

Camille pouted. "Okay. They talked for a long time. Maybe they tried to be friendly, but there were many times when I was afraid they were going to pull out their bolters or their psychic staffs. Izara and I were worried that everything would end suddenly, just like what happened in Kalista's dream."

"I heard that Calista Ores was supposed to take the minutes."

“But she became ill,” Camille bit her lip, the mention of Callista making her nervous. “She had a high fever, and was having visions, talking nonsense about blood and fire, saying she saw Tizca lit by fire instead of sunlight. Lemuel sent the Fifteenth Legion to check on her, and one warrior came and left, saying her psychic powers were stimulated. Then the Black Crows took care of her, firmly telling her that the prophecy could not be trusted.”

These details gave Fricks some additional thoughts. He knew that the original Black Crow Master of the Thousand Dust Sun was Amon, the host of the negotiations. Ahriman told him long ago. If an untrained mortal could see the prophecy, then what about the Black Crows?
Perhaps this is why Amon insisted - even begged - the Iron Warriors to remain on Prospero.

"I'm so sorry," he said, somewhat awkwardly.

"Calista is not dead yet, there is no need to regret." Camille said, her lips trembling uneasily, and the string of antique rings on her hand creaked.

"Yeah." Fricks answered. Camille absentmindedly took off her bracelet, but the metal still trembled slightly in her palm, rubbing against each other, making a dry sound.

"Let me continue. In the end, Lord Amon and Cyjanus only reached a consensus, that is, to wait for the Emperor's second judgment. The stability of the warp environment is improving, and the Luna Wolves agreed to ask Terra again what mistakes Prospero made that deserved his destruction."

"What if Terra insists that Master Magnus is wrong?" Fricks asked. "What if he is not innocent?"

"How can you say that?" Camille said dissatisfiedly, "Primarch Magnus saved your lives!"

"I know, I'm making assumptions about Terra's reaction."

"The throne will see everything."

"But what if——"

"No ifs, Master Warsmith!"

"You're excited."

"Oh..." Camille paused, and then she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes to suppress her sudden burst of emotions. Fricks noticed an old scar near her temple.

The Warsmith continued, "We cannot be sure that the throne will rule in Prospero's favor again, or that your companion Callista's prophecy cannot come to pass. It is not that you are unaware of this, but perhaps you are afraid to consider the possibilities and consequences."

"The Scarlet King saved us, my lord," Camille said. "I am an archaeologist. I ran into Izara in the wild ruins. We were both recklessly curious about the origins of Prospero's civilization - there were eggs of the Soul-Eating Wasps there, my lord. We thought we were dead until Master Magnus performed the operation on us himself. My condition was less serious, and Izara lost half of her brain, but we can still talk to you now, all because of Master Magnus..."

She lowered her hands, revealing misty eyes.

"Master Magnus is a good man, perhaps the best we have ever met... but this does not prove that Master Magnus has done nothing wrong, nor does it guarantee Prospero's fate. You are right, Master Iron Warrior. Your reason is right.

"Ever since that black wave erupted... I didn't feel it, but it is said that those with strong psychic talents felt it. After that, many of us saw the end of Prospero. Prospero burned a thousand times in a thousand prophecies, from the Secret Eye Square to the Overlook Harbor, without exception."

"But you remain in Prospero, Camille," said Flex.

"Where else can we go?" Camille said, her face full of broken and speechless grief. "Yes, our bodies can escape from fate, but where can our hearts go? Our will makes us stay, Lord Fickles. Every time we close our eyes and think of all the tolerance Prospero has given us, our souls cannot leave. Our hearts belong here. Even if - even if Prospero is about to face destruction, even if Lord Magnus really brings us to an end, even if we are sentenced to death in ignorance..."

"You won't leave either."

After a moment, Camille spoke again, "I don't know, sir. I don't know. The port is open, and I haven't heard of anyone leaving."

She took a deep breath, and the outline of her eyes was deeply engraved in Fricks' mind: "Even if it is all dust."

-

In the deep ocean beyond the boundaries of time, in the place that is not a place, in the depths of the realm that is not an ancient realm, at the tip of a needle that does not exist and is not understood, between the boundaries marked by the lies of lies and the changing gaps of the nameless name if it can be discussed...

"Another resisted moment, re-realized before our eyes..."

"Like any fate that is resisted, there is nothing special about it." Another voice retorted, "The fate brought about by the change returns to fate itself."

“But the changing process changes the unchanging part.”

"Wolves and wolves are the fuse of the raging fire, and the raging fire burns in our hands."

"The fire starts at the end of a life that refuses plan and truth."

Birds and snakes entangled in the pink and blue sparks that formed the crystal bookshelf. The geometric pink rectangle broke into a blue ellipsoid and then a golden triangle. At the end of this nameless place, every scream or whisper contained nine thousand secret words that could be combined into hints. Before the crystal fell, it turned into an active light spot that rose upwards, and the virtual image of the flame soared endlessly...

"We tamper with fate and truth, weaving destiny with the fire of hell."

"But fate is never predetermined."

"That which is never destined to never exist should never exist..."

The voices quarreled with each other, defied each other, indulged in the analysis of paradox and truth, and the endless waves of chattering and the flickering shadows of the firelight reflected on the cave rolled and stirred together, until these endless shadows became an identical existence itself, and each split sound emanated from it at every moment, and expressed an incomplete part of it...

Even if all the sounds of 90,000 times 90,000 plus countless exponentials were added together, it would still not be enough to express all that it possessed, because in the infinitely approaching cracks there was still a limit of emptiness that could never be filled, and every existence itself could be transformed into a non-existent virtual object at any time...

It thought, refuted itself, and twisted its own thoughts. It once again broke into countless demonic mouths, and then reassembled and changed, until a new word came out from countless mouths:
"Trust emerges in the fountain of fate, invisible thoughts form visible waves, and dust gathers and solidifies in the visible tide until the tide burns dry in the rearranged chessboard... The dust that calls itself the Faceless One firmly believes in fate and resists it..."

Syllables are passed from mouth to mouth, and in the process of transmission a large number of changes, ambiguities, distortions and misdirections are born. But when everything is passed to the mouth of the last great chess piece, the broken syllables are complete again, and the disordered word order turns back to the original instruction like an invisible axle.

"Is this what I will do? What I will do for you? The order I will destroy for you? The joy you will allow me to perform for you? The coincidences born out of chaos and destruction that I will have?"

The real Faceless Thing showed what seemed like pleasant emotions, if it had emotions or any senses at all. So it fell from the infinite subject, passing through time and sifting through time, carefully observing every changing and turbulent detail and fleeting opportunity, looking for those fragile little weaknesses and insignificant moments.

It watched those flashes of pain and ripples of fear falling at the beginning of the dark age, following the cracks created and swallowed by the twists and turns of fate, and sticking to the thin gap brought by the prelude to the end and death - a gap they had been waiting for for a long time, which was also one of the countless planned goals that the Supreme It hoped to see. It fell into a fragile brain, a tortured, blurred brain, leaving a teasing mark there.

The changeling is ready to sneak in.

(End of this chapter)