Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 607 Interlude She and he first met in...
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In the evening at Wandering Port, pilgrims lit their candles and began to pray, and the Piazza San Pietro looked like it was covered with gentle stars.

In a small building behind the restaurant in Piazza San Pedro, the gentle filtered airflow keeps the humidity in the room within the most suitable range, slightly cold, but suitable for breathing.

The large mirror on the sideboard was polished to a spotless finish and reflected the last rays of warm orange light from the artificial sun.

In front of the mirror, a bunch of fragrant white wild lilies are placed in a crystal vase. Their retro plant shapes and freshness indicate that they are likely to come from the newly built Central Park hill depression.

An artificial breeze blew through the gauze curtains, and behind them, on the bed, a young girl was dreaming.

Her dreams were not gentle, but they were colorful.

Purple, indigo or another color?
The subspace tide, which is changing brilliantly at a moment faster than thought, is screaming, but why is the tide screaming at such a high frequency?

No, no, she suddenly realized, every jeweled scale, every gleaming fiber of colorful feather was a soul's face with its mouth open, screaming silently at the ravenous darkness.

The vague guttural sound was full of wild, primitive and disorderly passion.

The colorful dark tide was swallowing them up. It was as if she looked down and found herself sitting on a drifting cliff. The cliff was very high and she was safe for the time being. But when she looked down, she saw that the cliff was inevitably moving her and the tide under her feet slowly but unchangeably towards the distance.

The end of this long movement, she vaguely realized, the end of all souls was the charming colorful vortex just now.

But when she rubbed her eyes and tried to see what it was, she saw an indescribably huge wet and glittering enamel with the sweet juice splashed out after the soul was chewed, so the white enamel dyed pink and the huge pink underneath were -

The dry and clean ivory linen sheets were unconsciously grasped, crumpled, and torn by her slender fingers. The cold sweat that kept oozing out soaked the towel carefully placed behind her head and under her back. Her skin was so tough, but she frowned because the fabric was too rough for the bedding she was used to.

The Eldar captive felt a headache. She had not yet walked out of the nightmare maze. Every pore on her body was leaking the remnants of past memories into the air:
The dancers in the Silver Palace giggled and stretched out their veils to try to wrap around her wrists and ankles, so that she could dance with them in the never-ending dance. The laughter of the Prince of Pleasure and his beloved prince or his favorite concubine was gentle but like thousands of crystal needles filled with anesthetics. After you accept them flowing into your blood vessels and even your heart, everything is irreversible;
Xi Gaoqi's dazzling and exaggerated clown smile flashed in the shattered crystal prism. At the end of the mirror channel, thousands of fragments turned towards her, reflecting the sinister face of the Supreme Overlord - Victor's sharp blade was pulled out from the throat of a consul of the conspiracy who died with his eyes open, and the ruler of Comoros raised his eyes from under his twisted black crown, staring at her coldly and sharply.

When a huge hive overlord fell, the splashing blood and dust made her squint her eyes. Then, when the dance of the dead, in which the succubus and the priestess fought to the death, passed by her, her nose felt cold, and the scythe of the god of death, who had not yet awakened, brushed across her eyelashes. In the next blink of an eye, she saw her broken head being stepped into the dirty blood pool on the ground by her former colleagues. The collective intoxicated climax whisper was fermenting horribly in the suddenly heated emotions around her...

Another wave of pain from deep within her brain tore through the Dark Eldar girl's ongoing broken and feverish dreams, forcing her to emerge from the surface of her subconscious from the rich essence of delicious pain she was accustomed to, and to detach her perception from a completely different and unfamiliar environment:
Too stable, too clean, too simple, too... not as refined as she was used to.

She took a deep breath of the air mixed with the smell of fresh plants and sunshine that would never be found in Comoros, and then before she fully woke up, she assumed a perfect attack preparation posture.

Her hands touched nothing when she tried to grasp the familiar handle of the dagger, and then she realized that the weight on her head was wrong: her long hair had been undone while she was unconscious, and now several strands of it were stuck to the pillowcase of a large pillow. She still couldn't remember her name, but her remaining instincts allowed her to immediately make a basic assessment of her current physical condition and environment.

She felt that the wounds on her body that penetrated her chest and abdomen had been sewn up by a clumsy butcher with a rough but accurate technique. Although there were still many inaccurate reverse circulations, at least she could start to recover. The wound on her head was sealed with some primitive medical gel, covered with artificial skin and pressure net, and disinfected. At least her brain was no longer in danger of leaking out.

In addition to the fragile and slightly toxic plant pheromones, the air at a temperature of 24 degrees also carried the smell of motor oil and genetically modified primitive people, which made her frown in displeasure.

Only then did she realize that she was lying on a bed that most likely belonged to a crude genetically modified male monkey of an inferior race. A corner of the blanket, which had a distinct scent of perfume from an inferior race and a faint smell of the monkey's secretory glands, was still hanging on her hips. A moment ago, she should have been lying straight on this bed and pillow, covered with this blanket.

She lowered her head, and her whole delicate face wrinkled - she was now wearing a loose, ill-fitting blue and white striped fabric over her underwear, which was divided into a top and pants, and the buttons were fastened from below the waist to above the collarbone. Although it felt a little restrictive, it did not affect her movements for the time being - this was enough.

As she kicked away the thin velvet blanket embroidered with a skull-shaped emblem, goose bumps of disgust appeared on her milky white skin at the fabric that had just given her warmth.

And when her bare feet touched the ground, the unique primitive feeling of the wooden floor made her pause.

Then she pricked up her pointy ears.

There were sounds of footsteps coming from the second room from the right.

Although she didn't know why she was familiar with this sound, some instinct or residual knowledge told her that it was the unique movement sound of ceramic steel boots, mixed with the extremely slight hum of the servo motor.

They were genetically modified soldiers invented by a corpse worshipped by monkeys, or in their language, Astartes. The quality of these big soldiers varied, some were strong, some were weak, and some were blessed, which made them slightly harder to kill. A burst of fragmented information flashed through her mind.

The footsteps moving in that room were undisguised, and the noise was loud enough to wake up the dumbest synthetic beast. It was obvious that the owner of the footsteps was very comfortable here.

But what made her muscles tense was that she could hear other sounds, like the sound of branding on flayed flesh or the sizzle of flamethrowers landing on fresh limbs, masked by the footsteps.

Her irises contracted and expanded, and some instincts from the unknown past began to thaw: in the second second she had removed one leg of the steel lamp stand to use it as a long curved dagger, and in the eleventh second she had collected the medical alcohol on the bedside table and placed it by the window to serve as some kind of attention-grabbing device. Finally, she moved her eyes to find the most suitable route of attack, and like a strong-brained cat, she approached the door that was only slightly closed silently and gracefully.

The smell of torture by fire was getting stronger, as was the smell of incense from some witchcraft rituals and the rich, pungent smell of burnt fat from the fat of the sacrifices being roasted and melted.

When she took the last step, she suddenly felt a spasm in her ribs, and small strings of bright red blood burst out from the wound where it was stitched incorrectly. But for her, pain could be used to make her more deadly. She extracted fighting hormones from it and distributed them to every muscle and nerve, as accurately as when she had learned and trained before.

...Where did she receive her training before?
She hastily cleared this unnecessary question from her mind, pressed her back against the wall, stretched out one hand, and quietly pushed open the door. There was indeed an Astartes inside.

And now he was standing with his back to her, stirring a very suspicious-looking soup pot, his shoulder armor engraved with odes dedicated to a great primarch reflected an unnatural rainbow light. The main reason why the peeper squinted her eyes again and tried to find a new direction to attack was that although he seemed to have flaws all over his body, he was in a state of completely harmonious balance.

Her instinct told her that if this harmonious balance was disrupted, there might be some unpredictable danger of a backlash.

At this moment, Astarte, whose back was turned to her, spoke.

"Oh... naughty patient, my lady ward, this is not the place for you."

As he spoke, the Astartes, who was busy performing some mysterious ritual before the fire, turned around.

The Eldar captive frowned and was even more displeased to discover that although the face belonged to a monkey (mon-keigh) that she considered inferior and obviously had crude and inferior genetic flesh and blood engineering modifications, the eyes looked at her with an innocent charm that she could not deny.

“You, pointy-eared lady, have stepped on my…recipe.”

One of them solemnly raised the spatula dripping with vegetable soup, and the other raised the iron lamp leg, and simultaneously made an attacking gesture——

"During the custody period, fighting is strictly prohibited! Wasting food is strictly prohibited during dinner time!"

A servoskull lowered from the ceiling and stared at them, playing warnings and new hymns composed by the palace steward, Master Rilano, for Port Wander's morning and evening prayer times.

When the smell of overcooked grass roots, leaves and badly burnt meat flooded her respiratory organs, she suddenly realized that there was no real killing in the smell of this handsome primitive man, and he was actually cooking. She was too unaccustomed to it to be so sure at first - in the Comoros, even the cooking flames would be drenched in the sweet smell of pain and horror.

"So can we wait for me to finish cooking and then sit down to eat?" The abominable handsome monkey opposite gave her a shining smile with just four teeth. "The primarchs all said that man is iron and food is steel. Every meal must be eaten on time if conditions permit."

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"Well... since it's so late, I'd better not call poor Tarvitz here. He has been suffering from smoke and fire recently, and his facial skin looks at least a hundred years older! I will understand him. - Besides, I can handle all this because I am Lucius, the best swordsman in history!"

Ominous white mist rose from the kitchen stove, which was quickly made of engineered ceramic steel, and Lucius' beautiful anti-gravity metal silk cloak was blown by the roar of the high-performance air suction pump.

Twelve servo skulls were purchased privately by Lucius (they were purchased with tips. Don't ask who gave the tips and where they were placed. The tips will automatically refresh on Lucius's power armor sword belt and thigh belt in various materials and forms. He swore to everyone that he didn't know how this happened, but it was true). They were divided into four groups and suspended at various angles in the kitchen, using their mechanical eyes with image recording function to record the cooking ceremony prepared by Lucius himself from all angles.

"I've got Lord Ramizane's latest publication, the Ninth Edition of the Dietary Health Guide for Residents of Wandering Port and Surrounding Areas!"

The power sword of the former Emperor's Child slashed across the chopping block made of composite armor plates, and the blade with a perfect trajectory instantly split the composite reproductive organ of a Brassica oleracea species larger than a human head into sixty-four completely equal parts.

"My cutting of this batch of vitamins and dietary fiber carriers was also so perfect today! It didn't even damage any extra cell walls. According to Lord Ramizane, it should have a very good effect on your recovery."

The Dark Eldar female captive's pointed ears trembled above her new monitoring collar. She frowned and picked up three fresh red berries of the Solanaceae family with the tips of her filed nails and let them spin in the air on her fingertips. Scarlet juice splashed out from the berries she split like poisonous scorpion tail needles, but was caught by an armored glass salad bowl before splashing onto the kitchen floor and the Astartes' power armor.

This made her frown her long eyebrows in extreme displeasure.

"I don't like your so-called healthy diet salad, monkey. I need more fresh blood, pain and other purer things to recover!"

"You woke up yesterday having drunk two liters of wine laced with blood."

"That wine was of the finest Port Wandering, fresh from the last year," the former Emperor's Child replied. "I paid for it with my personal allotment. And I have been feeding you sick porridge, prepared at Lord Ramezane's orders, and you have indeed recovered. If you wish to deny it, lie back down and chisel your head back open." He uttered one word in his most elegant and polite voice: "Bitch."

"You pathetic, lowly primitive people need to act according to the doctrines of your imaginary gods all the time."

She was not displeased by this, but muttered and changed the subject in a way that was absolutely gentle for a dark elf. Her light and flexible body stretched out like a civet cat, and her toes tapped lightly. Her whole body slid towards the huge refrigerator like a ghost. "A true artist will use pain to spice things up - such as peeling off your iron skin, and then cutting your skin into beautiful patterns... Listening to your moans while eating will increase my appetite and help me heal faster."

"And - you monkeys call this cooking?" The Eldar captive suddenly spun around and kicked over the spice rack, and dozens of spices turned into smoke in the air to confuse the defenders. "In the great Commorras, we feed slaves more creative feed than this!"

A cluster of blue-purple sparks suddenly burst out from the ceramic steel stove, and the shadows of the two people intertwined in the reflection of the mirror to form a mural of the war between the Astartes and the Dark Eldar.

The kitchen is a great place to start.

(End of this chapter)