Warhammer 40: Doom

Chapter 125 The Silent King's Gift

"I'm thinking in the cracks of dimensions. Whether your gaze was unintentional or deliberate, there's no need to dwell on it now."

The newcomer had a steel body; its lead-colored metallic form was very tall, towering over Astartes.

It abandons the traditional robot shape, resembling more of a skull covered in heavy metal.

A golden pictographic seal is imprinted on the coffin-shaped chest, and mechanical organs made of tubing are coiled inside the chest cavity. A faint green light seeps from the empty eye sockets and mouth.

The raised metal hood at the back of his head, the extremely wide shoulder armor, and the dark green cloak on his back, like a frozen, dark lake, hung motionless.

It's like a mummy from ancient Terra, wrapped in a high-tech shroud, inscribed with mysterious hieroglyphs.

The robot was elegant, holding a scepter in one hand and a green sphere in the other.

Elegance transcends race; it is a quality of appearance.

Without a doubt, the machine's posture was like that of an elegant gentleman, its cold green eyes carrying a hint of scrutinizing arrogance: "It seems you discovered me a long time ago."

"Your undisguised gaze betrays you." Doom narrowed his eyes, sizing up the visitor. He used his knife to lift a piece of steak and invited the uninvited guest, "Would you like some?"

"..." The cold, lead-colored machine froze for a moment, its iron face expressionless, its eye sockets trembling with doubt.

It re-examined the human before it, assessing whether it was a joke or some other probing: "In my current state, I have lost my sense of taste, but I am willing to accept your invitation."

The machine's voice was cold, a coldness devoid of soulful warmth, yet it possessed a contradictory composure and elegance.

It released its grip, and the scepter and green ball floated in mid-air, while its body remained firmly seated beside the barbecue grill.

The warm stove illuminated the cold body, allowing the soulless, cold machine to reflect a soft light.

It retrieved the plate with the precision of a demonstration from a classical etiquette textbook.

"The Endless One, Tarasin".

Tarachin introduced himself to the person in front of him, using a knife and fork to cut up the roasted meat and put it into his mouth, which he could not chew.

As the green light flashed, the roasted meat that should have slipped out of its hollow mouth disappeared without a trace.

"It's delicious, I really like it." It nodded slightly, seemingly enjoying the treat.

"Doom Norwick," Doom added with a polite self-introduction.

He examined the machine before him, naturally recognizing its identity, and couldn't help but ask curiously, "Is it the taste you perceive, or does the data tell you what it should taste like?"

"Hmm~ You've hit the nail on the head." Taracin put down his plate, took a cloth from somewhere, and elegantly wiped his mouth.
"My equipment analyzes the seasonings, calculates every single variable, and tells me what it tastes like."

“That’s pitiful.” Doom bit off a piece of meat, the grease dripping from it.

"...Is it pitiful?" Taracin's voice suddenly dropped, like an old phonograph pausing. "According to the emotional simulation protocol, I should indeed admit that."

It lamented that its powerful body, made of metal, could no longer touch reality.

All external sensations are simulated by bodily devices, cold perceptions transmitted digitally.

“The Fearful Ones.” Doom revealed the machine’s identity: an ancient and powerful race, the initiators of the War of Heaven.

A race that is completely "dead," cold machines without souls, a "living" dead race.

Now they are—space necromancers.

The dead races live on in mechanical bodies. There were no victors in the war of heaven 60 million years ago; two powerful races perished completely.

"You've been observing me for a long time, is there something you want to see me about?"

Doom stared at Tarasin silently. Ever since he set foot on the planet, he had felt a gaze watching him.

Unaware of the threat, Doom did not seek to uncover its existence, busy with various tasks.

Now that I have some free time, I naturally need to deal with this. Having a peeping tom around isn't a good thing.

"The One Who Fears Death?" Tarachin's synthesized voice sounded surprised, its cold eye sockets glowing green, and the electronic voice mimicking a sense of nostalgia: "I haven't heard this name in a long time, it must have been 60 million years now."

"Cough~ cough~ cough~ cough~"

It shrugged its shoulders and chuckled foolishly, its voice a blend of reminiscence: "It seems you've encountered something extraordinary."

“A giant toad.” Doom shrugged nonchalantly, readily admitting he had seen the Ancient One: “Hiding in the ethereal void.”

“How pitiful.” Taraxin sighed at the fate of the ancient saint, without asking any further questions, unwilling to recall the foolishness of sixty million years ago.

It raised its mechanical arm, inserted it into the void, retrieved a bottle of wine, and held it up slightly as a gesture: "Would you like to try some fine wine from the Age of the Dead?" Doom nodded slightly, indicating that he was willing to try it.

In an eerie atmosphere, the two sides savored each other's delicacies and drank ancient, treasured wines.

“I came for you.” Tarachin swirled his wine glass. After a brief exchange, he got down to business, then shook his head with a troubled expression and said, “I didn’t want to come, but I had no choice. There aren’t many people who are awake and capable of getting things done.”

Doom listened quietly without offering any opinion, savoring the wine of the dead, and listening to the visitor explain his purpose.

He had heard from Prima the Life Forger that the undead had entered a great hibernation, and only a few people were walking the universe.

The Endless One, Tarashin, was likely one of them, coming with some particular purpose.

"That self-exiled one, the last of the Three Saints, the last King of Silence, entrusted me to visit you."

"Visiting me?" Doom asked, his thick brows furrowed in confusion. He didn't recall having any connection with the Silent King.

“Yes.” Tarasin nodded his mechanical head, leaned back in his chair, and comfortably crossed his legs. “The Silent King sent a message from deep space, asking me to come and visit you.”

"A mighty warrior, an indomitable swordsman who raised his sword against the gods, the Silent King heard your fearless vows when he observed in the warp."

"He asked me to bring a gift."

As he spoke, Tarasin casually waved his hand, and a rectangular coffin appeared from the void dimension, its front engraved with necromantic runes.

It lay horizontally in front of the two of them, suspended in the air.

"It has nothing to do with politics, nothing to do with anything else. This is a gift given with reverence, which may help you achieve the feat of slaying a god."

“Look.” Tarachin rose, gracefully set down his wine glass, and slowly pushed open the coffin.

Doom slowly rose to his feet, marveling at the ancient race's advanced technology and wondering what the gift was.
“Fate is truly wondrous,” Tarasin’s cold voice sighed. “I heard that when this weapon was being forged, its form was not fixed.”

"After your mark was engraved, it became what it is now."

Doom subconsciously touched the mark on his chest, an innate rune that he had never understood.

The emperor knew, but he was unwilling to reveal it.

"Even the technology of the Fear of Death that reshapes the universe cannot explain fate; it is simply too mysterious."

As it marveled, it pushed open the mysterious stone coffin, revealing an unexpected weapon.

A shield and an arm guard lay there silently, drawing Doom's gaze.

The large, round, dark green shield was marked with bright red runes in the center and had sharp serrated edges; indeed, as Tarasin had said, it was a weapon.

Paired with it was a powerful arm guard, lying quietly beside the shield, a flame burning in its palm.

"Star God - Burner Niadrasar. This weapon set was made from its fragments and possesses infinite power. After being imprinted with your mark, it took this form."

"The shield can reflect all physical attacks and absorb or reflect energy attacks. It can be thrown and retrieved via the arm armor's connecting device, making it extremely flexible."

Tarasin stood solemnly to the side, also marveling at the power of the weapons: "They were made for you, and they are absolutely worthy of you."

Doom gently stroked the shield, clearly enjoying it.

As a warrior, he naturally admired powerful weapons and was captivated by their sharpness.

He withdrew his arm from the weapon, looked at the Endless One Tarasin, and asked distrustfully, "A simple gift?"

Doom couldn't believe that a race from 60 million years ago would send a messenger across the cosmic scale just to deliver a gift to him.

He felt that his own face wasn't enough to make the Silent King look at him differently and send him weapons and equipment.

“It is indeed a gift, I swear by the glory of the dead in the past.”

Tarasin suddenly stood up, his hand covering the ancient mark on his chest, and solemnly swore: "The Silent King only wants to know if you can defeat the Chaos God."

"If this powerful weapon can accompany you to slay gods, it will be a symbol of the glory of those who fear death."

"Really?"

“Really!” Tarachin knew what Doom was thinking and assured him confidently, “Nothing was done to it, it’s completely at your disposal.”

Doom, still somewhat skeptical, removed the data terminal arm armor from his left hand and put on the burning arm armor.

"The palm is the eternal flame of the burner, its power never extinguished, capable of emitting scorching rays that burn away all matter in the physical universe."

(Three chapters. I'll adjust them a bit, and then it will be four chapters later.)
(End of this chapter)