Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 504 Phoenix in the Mirror (1)

The Cadians are deep here, Fulgrim thought, searching for a way forward in the blurry and shifting environment.

Arcs of colored light moved before Fulgrim's eyes, clinging to ever-changing matter. Their structures were constantly reorganizing, complex and psychedelic. His superhuman senses did not help, but made everything even more confusing. Countless lines and sounds intertwined, like overlapping phantoms, bringing an unbearable sense of oppression.

Is he still walking in the real world? Stepping on some real objects? Or is his every step falling between different realities? It is impossible to know for sure.

He looked at his steel arm, and saw a flash of silver light. His gaze paused for a moment. Was this the arm given to him by Ferrus, or was it the shadow of Ferrus that emerged in his heart? Ferrus... had he fallen? No, he couldn't believe this.

There were many low shadows on the ground around him. He walked past them one by one. These shadows were lying on the ground, as if they were yearning for something deep inside. A dazzling purple light was attached to those bodies, gradually evolving into a piercing scream, coming from their shadows...

These sound waves exist both within and outside the range of human hearing, which seems to prove that Fulgrim is not within the scope of human beings. However, he doesn't care, he doesn't want to think so much. He came here for only one purpose. That is to take away the people he needs to take away.

He walked through the corridor. It was so dark here—the ground was pulsating gently and warmly, like the internal organs of a living thing. Many decorative rune racks surrounded the path. They were standing upright. Sixty and six. Just standing there, sixty and six. The continuous racks drew wavy arcs, sixty-six and six.

Was this part of some ritual? The undeciphered blasphemous runes were carved into the wall, radiating into his brain with an echoing whistle.

Fulgrim whispered to himself: Where is Ferrus? For he had gone too far, and one question was enough to clarify his path. His heart and his will would always lead him in one direction. He had this faith.

He sensed more shiny spots, fractals of thick paint tangled into long strands like hair, or lines in the water. He vaguely saw something ahead. But it was hard to see clearly.

They seemed to be tall shadows, like black paint on the back of mercury in a mirror. Each one was the same height as the Primarch, but had extra limbs or some obvious defects. Some of them were made of flesh and blood, while others were not. This complex combination of styles reminded him of Ferrus frequently.

He feared that Ferrus was one of them—was it true? Could he become such a horrible shadow? Such a twisted, lost thing?
No, he didn't believe it. Even if he was to change, Ferrus would not be so ordinary. He was an extraordinary person from the moment he was born.

In the stories he told him, even if he didn't describe it himself, Fulgrim knew that he was always the first ray of light in Medusa. This sometimes became a kind of confirmation of Fulgrim's own existence... How good Ferrus was, how good he was. It was like this in the past, and now this subtle feeling has gradually changed, but the result is the same.

A mirror - yes, a mirror. Just like he was currently facing a mirror-like shadow, reflecting his own shadow.

...He faintly heard a whisper, the voice seemed to come from those dark shadows, with some kind of mockery and contempt. "Look at how stupid you are, how imperfect you are...Looking at yourself in the mirror, you are so stupid, you can't stand the flaws and residual shadows, your heart is full of flaws, how dare you call yourself perfect and deceive yourself..."

The sound was like a corrosive venom, slowly seeping into Fulgrim's consciousness. He couldn't help but frown and looked around.

"Imperfect?" Fulgrim muttered to himself, and the sound made him feel a moment of cold self-doubt. He quickly realized that this was the intentional influence of the source of power here, and tried to put it aside as much as possible... Was he really as powerful as Ferrus? Were they really a mirror of each other? Or was he just hiding under Ferrus's light, relying on the other's strength to cover up his own flaws...

He raised his hand as if wanting to touch the shadows, but his fingers stopped in mid-air.

No! What a frivolous manipulation! Fulgrim dismissed the noise, drew back his hand, and swung his sword, shattering the mirror-like shadow he had nearly touched.

At this point, couldn't he see which voices were his true thoughts and which things he should really worry about? Then he had lived in vain, and Ferrus had been his friend in vain.

He went forward.

The mist gradually took shape, forming a huge pit in the depths, like the reflection of an eye in the sky, a dangerous abyss and rift full of fear. Various huge inhuman reflections still existed around him, and some traces of clothing could be vaguely recognized. Fulgrim began to realize that these things were transformed from the original inhabitants of Cadia.

The souls and essences of these Eye of Heaven followers have vanished before the Rift between Sky and Earth. All that remains of them are these twisted, praying shadows.

And there was a river. A river that smelled of incense and hallucinogens. It flowed down the steps into the valley like blood flowing out of a cave.

A sacrifice. The word occurred to Fulgrim instantly.

Fulgrim took a deep breath and continued along the path, sixty and six steps. He counted each step up, sixty and six steps, the next step. The numbers had meaning. That meaning was not enough to stop him. Whatever it was, he knew where he was.

He smiled brightly. Yes, he knew it wasn't Ferrus. He could tell. Ferrus was just as bright and striking as he was.

He walked deeper and deeper into the darkness, his goal remaining the same - to find Ferrus and get him out of this chaos.

At the deepest point, there is a deepest shadow. This shadow is even bigger, more vague and illusory. No, it is an entrance, an entrance to the next space. Going deeper, it is not the place where the reflection of Cadia is.

Fulgrim stepped in calmly. The road under his feet became smooth again, even very similar to the smooth obsidian ground he came from. Here, the flaming sword in his hand became a pale candle, almost blown away by the pressure and strong wind.

After sixty-six steps, he began to feel a faint purple light falling from an infinitely high light source in the sky, and gradually spread around until it reflected the countless lacquered glaze paintings and exquisite jewels embedded in the walls around him. All these cold inorganic objects were moving organically and had some kind of activity.

In addition, there are many bright reflections like mirrors. The luster and structure of the metal are constantly changing, and the surrounding walls seem to be sometimes close and sometimes far away, with elusive rhythms and changes, like an endless maze in the mirror.

And gradually from the depths came a different sound of wind, as cold as Medusa's pole, so cold that it brought the illusion of heat - this was like Medusa's volcano again.

The light continued to spread, illuminating a human figure.

Is it a humanoid? Maybe. Or rather, it is such a huge machine, motionless, stagnant, covered with a bright silver mercury metallic luster like a mirror; the surface of its chest has become a hollow tempered glass, and the two silver hearts inside can be seen like crystal, like a carefully designed clock, spliced ​​with countless perfect gears.

Its lower limbs were a turbid mass of flesh and blood, swirling with purple smoke and veil-like mist, dragging heavily on the ground. Looking closely, it was a complex existence made up of more than a hundred corpses, horrifying but ingeniously designed, connected to each other without any gaps, so technically exquisite and beautiful... yet so twisted and far from human.

Fugeri took a deep breath and saw his extremely pale face in the mercury on the mirror.

He saw him... He knew he saw him. So much steel was attached to him that he no longer looked like himself. What was that? No... This was not the real Ferrus, Ferrus was just superimposed on this terrible machine. He barely remembered what the maid had said: Ferrus resisted all this.

He had not truly become something irreparable. Fulgrim was certain of that. Where was he then? Oh, the Emperor, his heart was beating so fast.

At first he stood frozen in place, unable to move, but this silence of thought lasted less than a second. Fulgrim strode forward, letting the cold wind ruffle his white hair.

Then he stretched out his hand, the silver hand, towards the machine that seemed to be unactivated.

"Ferus, are you there?" Fulgrim asked, staring at it unblinkingly and tilting his head slightly.

The thing did not answer him. Its ornate and strange appearance, breathing quietly, turned its head at the same angle as Fulgrim's, like a mirror.

"I am here," Fulgrim said quietly. "Let me take you away, Ferrus. I know you want to leave."

Because I know you that way.

Fulgrim took another step forward. His iron hand reached into the hearth of the iron machine before him unhindered, as if the glass was not there, and instinctively grasped a heart - this should be where the engine should be, mechanically speaking. Meanwhile, Fulgrim continued to stare at the machine.

The machine was trembling slightly, parts vibrating deep within it, and a heat was rising, burning Fulgrim's silver hand.

"Ferus, are you there?" Fulgrim asked in a dry voice, expecting some sound to come from the communicator inside his own armor.

Ferrus should not have failed to respond. He believed Ferrus saw him and heard him. After all, he had called him.

Maybe he just couldn't wake up from all this stuff.

Fulgrim carefully took out his Silver Hand and transferred the flaming sword into it. Then Fulgrim stretched out his other hand, his flesh and blood hand, and reached into the chest of the machine.

His hands were immediately slashed by the mercury. A chill of hypothermia pursued his blood. Fulgrim remained unmoved, as the golden and red light poured into the iron organs of the machine, like a new living energy, gradually filling the heart and calling upon the dormant being within.

Fulgrim heard some sounds faintly. He did not ask Ferrus if he could hear him - at this point, he suddenly began to worry that the other party would not answer.

The veil covering the machine also spread over Fulgrim's body as they approached. It seemed to cause some stinging, but not too noticeable, because his senses had become dulled without him noticing. His pain threshold was quietly increasing. And he saw that the arm he was injecting blood into the machine had become translucent, as if the flesh itself had turned into a layer of veil.

When the heart began to beat, Fulgrim still did not hear Ferrus' voice. He could not wake him so easily... so it had to stop.

This force is traveling throughout the entire body of the machine. If it continues, the lower half of the machine's corpse combination will most likely be awakened.

Fulgrim grasped the mechanical heart with one hand. With the other hand, he gently placed the flaming sword on the chest of the machine in front of him, and the tip of the sword gradually slid up along the chest, exploring that unusual feeling. He knew that if he found the right place, Ferrus would respond to him. He had such trust.

Finally, his sword came to rest near the machine's neck.

Is this the place? Fulgrim muttered to himself, reflecting on his limited knowledge of the occult... the head, the mind?
The head of the machine was a faceless skull, with no pattern except for the flowing mercury of metal. Was Ferrus' mind here? Was his dormant self lodged in this steel skull?

Yes, perhaps, this was indeed one of the few undecorated parts of the entire machine, and Fulgrim decided to trust his heart.

He had to stay calm.

That said, there were rare moments in his life when Fulgrim heard himself pray. By the Emperor, he heard himself say.

Then, he pinched the machine with his glass-like hands, and blood spurted out instantly. Each drop of blood was a spark, lighting up the furnace inside the steel, destroying a large number of internal structures, and trying his best to reduce possible hidden dangers - even though he had great doubts that this was the body transformed by Ferrus. At the same time, he swung the sword in his hand vigorously. Accompanied by a heart-breaking click, the head of the machine was cut off by him and fell into his arms.

Fulgrim's heart was beating wildly: Am I doing the right thing? He asked himself, hugging the faceless head tightly.

The machine in front of him was shaking violently, and part of the twisted lower body fell off and burned under the burning of his flames, turning into a handful of unattractive carbon.

But in the end, there were still more than sixty-six corpses left. From every mouth came a sharp scream, a discordant harmony, a chorus of pain. The headless machine gradually began to move. Every gesture made Fulgrim feel familiar. He became more and more certain that this was the body that Ferrus had projected into this alien space... Had he done it right? Did he destroy something?
Then, a wave of ripples surged on the faceless steel head in his hands. After separating from the polluted body, some familiar outlines formed in front of Fulgrim.

Then his heart settled. This was what he was looking for. The heart was for existence, the head was for mind. He had found the mind of Ferrus. And he was waking up again.

The cavern began to tremble, and the roar of the crimson river grew louder. In front of him, the mindless giant machine suddenly began to move. Its hands transformed into even larger claws, and more metal spikes protruded from every bone in its shoulders and chest. It moved rhythmically as if it had life, slowly moving from where it was, but it was still limited by the uncoordinated stiffness and the damage Fulgrim had done to it, and could not react quickly.

Fulgrim continued to hold the flaming sword with his transparent hand, held Ferrus' head with his iron hand, and turned to find a way to leave.

The way back was completely different from the way he came. The blinding light behind him continued to expand, trying to extinguish the flames behind him with its cold breath. The remaining consciousness of his descendant's soul suddenly opened up, protecting his back and resisting the surging wind. The steps became infinitely long, making it impossible for him to judge how far he had run... The world around him, which was jointly created by gears, machinery, transmission belts and steel plates, was moving madly, making him like a bird trapped in a steel cage, jumping in vain between different railings.

Or was he marking time? Because he always felt that he had seen these hanging metal ornaments before, and the broken mirrors and pieces of colored glass under his feet were also crushed by his combat boots before - unlike the fragile and brittle ones before, these various jewels now became extremely hard and gradually scratched the bottom of his combat boots.

The mechanical world was spinning madly, and the sound of gears biting was deafening. When the first drop of blood from his feet fell on the ground, he heard a sharp and hoarse, complex and varied compound laughter, which was the hissing of snakes and the screaming of foxes, the coughing of old men and the cheering of young people. In this laughter was a triumphant joy, as well as a recognizable whisper with meaning...

...You are all here...The cold iron is as sharp as fire, once you enter the abyss, you will never return...

Was it this? Or was it just another illusion in his mind? A greed trap for both of them?
No matter what, he had to leave with Ferrus Manus.

Behind him, something was chasing after him in the gorgeous rose light that had transformed into a blood-red color. It was not just the light itself, but some tangible object that was scratching, tearing, and sucking the sticky air around it, as if it was growing in the rosy light, hungrily chasing after the real soul and will.

In the blood-stained broken glass at his feet, he saw the flowing metal and the tangled and curled half of the corpse... Yes, the creature whose mind he had robbed began to chase it, so why did it wake up only now?
——Because Ferrus no longer suppresses the countless souls that have merged into one.

For some reason, when he thought of this, he couldn't help but laugh. Even though the head of Ferrus in his arms hadn't paid any attention to him yet, and his feet were gradually emitting a translucent light pink glow as blood oozed out.

The fiery spirits of fire tried to wrap around his ankles, to prolong and protect his existence, and Fulgrim gently soothed them, thinking that he must move on, his flame must continue to burn forever day by day. Even if another part of him turns to ash! His heart is still his own.

"Ferus," he whispered patiently.

With a sharp whistle, the silver knife slid sideways across his shoulder, bringing with it a gust of cold wind. The obsidian ground covered with sharp objects pulsed like blood vessels, becoming swollen and soft. The sharp knives and flesh tentacles were accompanied by a perfect arrangement, piercing out from multiple corners of the ground, like embroidery with a needle.

Every space seemed to be moving dangerously, gears, blades, tentacles and liquids constantly interweaving and separating, intricate and flawless, as if waiting for one wrong move, machinery and flesh ready to trap him in this endless nightmare.

Alas, sighed Fulgrim, this tangled mess of blasphemy was of little concern to him, he only cared about how his brother could be awakened.

He occasionally turned his feet, as if dancing a duet ballet, and struggled with the giant mechanical object that pounced on him. His translucent hand was a little weak, and there were strands of purple-red web wires spreading inside, climbing up along the bones and blood vessels, soaking into his blood.

I'm afraid this hand won't stay.

When he got out, he figured he might have to take away Ferrus's title of Iron Hand—and he would have to pretend to refuse it in front of Ferrus.

He adjusted his steps, carefully observed the directions around him, walked through the interconnected corridors, controlled the fire that covered his body, skillfully saved his energy, and protected Ferrus's head.

Now that Rogal Dorn knew where he was going, he could trust the master of the Imperial Fists to find him a way out... all he had to do was persevere.

And dancing in flames.

(End of this chapter)