Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

After the enemy's hulk crashed through the protection of the human ship, the video began to shake. It was probably the camera servant being dragged by his user and starting to run.

"...It is now the 167th year of Hamil's calendar." A female voice came from the video, trying her best to maintain composure, and dutifully introduced the time, coordinates, ship registration name, and ship mission. From this person's report, it can be learned that the middle-aged female captain and her crew did not make any mistakes that violated the regulations during the entire voyage, so her death can be called a sacrifice.

Witnessing the casualties of a team of humans was a common occurrence for several people present. No one has time to mourn, for the best way to mourn is to sharpen your sword with hatred.

Perturabo waited for the servitor he was carrying to capture the enemy on camera. Before that, an extremely noisy roar rumbled from the end of the ship's corridor, mixed with a lot of irrational cheers and wild singing, which shook Perturabo's spirit. , as if there was a huge bell buzzing in my mind.

And when the enemy was drooling, the green arms above the knees were holding stick weapons made of iron bars and broken chains, and the banging iron guns that were pieced together were wrapped with the fluorescent light of high-quality ion weapons, and they were dirty and ugly. When the protruding bayonets in front of the chins of the Earth-Baotian Irons cut through the wall like monomolecular weapons and crashed in in droves, Perturabo's buzzing head fell into absolute silence for an instant.

The video in front of me stagnated as if time slowed down, and the pixels reorganized in a swirling motion, gradually evolving into a line of desperate text: What am I fighting?

They put in so much calculation, measurement, and experimentation, relying on precise data and large engineering teams, even the Adeptus Mechanicus, to achieve today's level of armament. And these green things, their existence is a living affront to physics.

"...Perturabo?" someone called him, "my brother?"

It was Rogal Dorn, his indestructible brother, who still maintained his precious composure in the face of such bizarre and heretical technology.

Perturabo found the will to think, and found with satisfaction that his stiff expression had not slipped into the abyss of losing control, and should still look as cold and determined as steel.

He ignored Morse, who was smiling but not smiling. Regardless of whether he secretly used psychic readings to read minds, Morse had obviously seen through everything, and asked rationally: "What's wrong?"

Rogal Dorn paused the video and motioned for Perturabo to look down. "The legion servants have sent the remaining ammunition fragments. Do you want to study them now?"

Perturabo's eyes slid over the pile of scrap metal that seemed to appear suddenly on the table and was stained with unknown dried objects.

He knew that he should cheer up and devote more energy to the study of unknown technologies. However, those unknown creatures with big green faces full of savagery and the weapons in their hands that basically stuffed physics into the sewers of the hive city and flushed away were still in their original state. The body rolled before his eyes again, giving Perturabo a deep sense of frustration.

In a daze, he seemed to return to the terrifying experience of plunging into a strange ocean of knowledge from scratch in his childhood. The difference is that this time the object he needs to study is more elusive and contrary to common sense, and this time there are far more people putting their expectations on his shoulders than in his childhood.

"If you are embarrassed, then refuse." Morse said, looking at him with dark and hollow eyes. "If you do it even though it's difficult, then think about whether you will regret your excessive efforts when you reap the rewards."

"Oh, I'm not a child anymore." Perturabo muttered, "Don't worry about whether there is a possibility of success, let me try it first. If unknown technology can be verified to be harmless and replicable, it will always be beneficial to us. Useful."

Morse smiled, pulled a wicker chair from the air and sat down. "I'll accompany you."

Perturabo nodded seriously and leaned over to look at the pile of scrap metal. There is another condition that is different from that in childhood, that is, he can trust Morse now, and the latter has already found tolerance as important as time in the passing of time.

"I go to the strategy room. A team needs to be dispatched to track this green alien based on the information provided by the sacrificed ship." Roger Dorn said.

"Take a small team of Iron Warriors and take one of the communicators from the Thousand Dust Sun to accompany you. Azak Ahriman, use my name to find him. You lack psychic power in your team ." said Perturabo.

After a firm nod, Rogal Dorn left without any further guidance on the exchange between Morse and Perturabo.

As he said, he once had relatives. Deep in his cold character, human emotions are still the fundamental cornerstone of the fortress of Rogal Dorn.

——

After receiving the order called invitation from Rogal Dorn, Frix and his team members quickly passed through the hundreds of automatic hatches in the Phalanx's hull and the protection of the outer deck, led by their servitors. , passing through the archives room where maintenance was suspended and the recruit training concentration hall, they rushed neatly to the strategy room of the Phalanx. In that extremely huge room, they obeyed the orders of the Father of Genes and temporarily obeyed the command of Roger Dorn. .

"Kaidomo Frix." When Rogal Dorn spoke, Frix saw the red-armored warrior beside the golden giant and knew that it was Ahriman who recommended him and his Primarch to him. squad.

He did not expect Ahriman to recognize him so much, but at this moment when he received a small nod from the scholar, Frix found that he was not surprised.

"Lord Primarch," Frix greeted Rogal Dorn. "Captain Kaidomo Frix of the Fourth Squadron of the First Battalion of the Iron Warriors salutes you."

Dorn spoke: "An alien warship with subspace teleportation capabilities, unknown firepower, and the ability to join gangs robbed the Empire's ships, robbed them of building materials and killed the crew. Find it before it returns to the alien fleet. Determine whether to report your whereabouts, attempt firefights and close gang fights based on the actual situation, and prioritize your own safety. The second team of the 45th Imperial Fist Commando will work with you."

"I'm sorry, my lord," said Frix, "but how do we pursue a warship capable of infiltrating the warp? The Iron Warriors cannot remotely prevent it from activating its warp engines."

"Azhak Ahriman," said Dorn.

The red-armored warrior took a step forward. Ahriman's voice became a little unfamiliar due to the obstruction of his helmet, but Frix could still identify a hint of nervousness and fatigue that was different from the ordinary tone. This was because he used the prophetic power of the Black Crow School. proof.

Under the restrictions of Magnus, the Primarch of the Thousand Dust Sun, the Combat Prophecy has become a weapon similar to a hunting missile. It is practical and efficient, but can only be used a single-digit number of times in a period of time.

"Their warp engines are dead," Ahriman said, without disclosing the source of his intelligence. "The greenskin orcs - the name of the race cannot be kept away."

"We'll set off immediately." Fricks had no doubts. "Give me your orders, Lord Primarch."

"Pursue the lone enemy ship, Captain," Dorn said. "Two light cruisers and Imperial Fists squad are waiting on the forward deck."

"I will never live up to your expectations." Frix accepted the order and left with his team members and Ahriman.