Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"Seven hundred and eighty-one." The golden head's jaw opened and closed, vibrating in Dorn's palm. His chain sword cut across the hordes of hyenas leaping from the air. A surge of fiery magic wind made the demon army's charge become extremely fast. The flesh and blood and hungry entities in the subspace were wrapped and protected by the etheric torrent, almost The power that can tear apart the curtain of reality here cannot invade the range of the blade of Dorn's one-handed sword. The smelly blood flowing from the body of the scarlet devil was ignored by Dorn. The golden skull continued: "Seven hundred and ninety."

"You can't count like that," said Donne. "They have three heads, but you shouldn't count them three times."

"You counted three times." The skull said in two voices, "Seven hundred and eighty...five."

Dorn turned around, and the chainsword buzzed as Dorn's will extended on it. The corpses of the fallen were further torn and shattered after being penetrated.

He threw the body away and observed a string of burning skeletons coming from the sky, like disasterous meteors cutting through the bloody sky. A row of grotesque brass war machines roared and lined the battlefield's edge, igniting a furnace of horror with corpses.

Dorn accurately chopped off a string of charred skeletons shot from the skull cannon. The violent explosion caused by this move suddenly took away the listening part of his senses, and a strong rumbling vibration was triggered in his head. Before recovering from it, a blood-red demon driving some kind of iron-armored mechanical beast rushed towards him, launching an inhuman charge with the momentum of attacking the strong wall outside the city. Dorn avoided its sharp edge and swung his long sword horizontally, tearing the small red demon from the back of the spiked beast with one blow, stirring the blade and tearing it apart.

His hearing was still blocked by the explosion just now, and his senses were tightly compressed in his head. The sound of intensive sword collisions and the shock of flesh being cut went away from him, as if the sand and dust were covering his vision and blocking it at the same time. The presence of hearing. minus his golden skull.

"Eight hundred and twenty-two." The golden skull said, "Is the skull cannon you just dismantled alive?"

"I don't know." Dawn replied, not hearing the sound coming from his own mouth.

The sound of the armor trembling, the metal colliding, and the fanatical roar filling the sky filled up his remaining hearing. His hearing was deceiving him, telling him that Rogal Dorn's ego and these unconscious war-killing demons were of the same kind and could be mixed together. The same kind of name exists. Instead, his inner words came out from the outer golden skull, and the uncorroded runic power maintained a consistent and unshakable character with Dorn's will. Even if all his calmness and reason do not exist in this golden armored body that is endlessly swinging the long sword that has begun to collapse, it still resides in the words of the golden skull.

He keeps thinking while fighting.

He counted, sometimes adjusting the numbers because he misjudged the enemy's situation. He noted down the shape of every strange creature caught in the buzzing saws of the Storm Fang, the toughness of their horns, the maximum pressure their bodies could withstand, and the possible meanings in their roars. Although he doesn't know where this place is, when he leaves this place, he will give these data to people who can use it.

He consciously kept his rationality intact because—seriously, some of the World Eaters showed him the consequences of leaving combat to instinct. He took a warning.

Among the pure devils and shape-shifting vile creatures, another enemy begins to appear in droves. They wore armor that was familiar to Dorn, but compared to the Mark II armor commonly used in the army today, it seemed to be improved.

The original color on the ceramic armor was covered with blood, and the logo was cut off by the blade, replaced by an extremely blasphemous dark logo formed by a combination of horizontal bars and vertical lines.

A large number of spikes and inhuman blasphemous features protruded from all the gaps in their limbs, weapons and limbs merged with each other, and the minds that would have bought them powerful computing power were replaced by a rage without impurities and giving up thinking. The mind is replaced by an even crazier fighting instinct.

"Astartes?" said the golden skull.

"Yes." Dawn confirmed this.

This confused Dorn. He had never heard of any legion that had a large number of mutated or uniformly eliminated warriors - there were exceptions, Perturabo's secret mission executors, no, that couldn't be counted.

Regardless, he kills them like demons. Now that these former warriors are his enemies, the only identity they have left is that of enemies.

Within every second, Dorn used several effective attacks. Not carrying a shield was an unexpected mistake. He used more solid combat skills to overcome all this and defeat the encircling multiple attacks coming from all directions of his body. These Astartes-like warriors led more carefully planned raids, but they were unable to harm a single Primarch.

He fights his way through the swamps of blood, turning the corpses of his enemies into organic matter with no meaning other than stepping stones. They fell under his blade and became part of the scorched earth in the yellow sand. In this swamp mixed with blood and mud and the sandy plain shrouded in trauma and strong winds, he only owned this small piece of empty land.

The enemy's blood spilled into Dorn's golden armor from the gaps and seeped into his inner clothes, making him feel a kind of stiffness that was bound. They penetrated every inch of his skin, every drop of blood, every bone, and every ounce of consciousness. Even so, his heart is still calm, there is no madness, killing is just equivalent to survival.

In the core of this chaos and violence, in the eternal blood and sand storm roaring with axes, swords, maces, and chain saws, the golden armor of the Primarch became the only constant center of the hurricane, stably driving the entire Unborn and Corruption The warrior's attack trajectory moved forward, like a still eye in a crimson storm.

"Are you going deeper into this territory, or are you backing out?" the skull asked. “Are you looking for your path?”

"I'm moving forward," Donne said to himself.

His hearing is recovering, and the whole world of blood is approaching him even more. In addition to the small demons and Astartes, there were also some different giant war machines approaching him. Those huge red demons held giant swords and claws that seemed to be able to blast away and crush all enemies in front of them. The erupting torrent of blood and breath bombardment baked the sand on the ground into a blackened carbonized structure.

The attacks of the larger demon finally left scorch marks on his armor, and a handful of knives penetrated his golden armor. Dorn ignored the slight pain without expression and fought back.

He blocked the flail's attack with the outside of his arm. The attack was harder than he expected, and his bones made a slight grinding sound.

He protected the golden skull, stabbed out the long sword, and a handful of blood turned into fire and flew out from the armored red devil's unprotected abdomen. Dorn turned his head to avoid it, and the steps under his feet turned, and the blood-red mad devil immediately flew back, The broken black wing membrane flapped with the sound of hot wind, and hellish flames suddenly spurted out from the breath, burning Dorn's right shoulder. Dorn quickly changed his position, and slashed his sword from the breastplate to the leg, and he wanted to fly. The demon who adjusted his position fell to the ground.

"Watch...the back," the skull said, his voice becoming incoherent.

Dorn turned around and struck out with his sword, striking the two warriors hard, lifting it up and throwing it out quickly.

The fallen mutant Astartes warriors climbed up from the ground. They seemed to be unable to be killed, and the suppression of them by the golden skulls was also weakening. The void area under their feet was also shrinking, and they could hardly stand anymore. Dorn took a moment to take a look, and there were cracks in the orange-yellow gem on the skull. He stubbornly grasped the chipped chainsword and counted himself.

Two thousand nine hundred and ninety-six, he thought. No, it would be more appropriate to count the resurrected enemy only once, so it is two thousand three hundred and seventy-eight.

"You...should throw me away." The skull said, the runes cracked and the speed of circulation was slowing down. It may not be long before it loses its effectiveness. Dawn knew he would get hurt later trying to protect the integrity of the skull, and he didn't care.

After the voice in the skull was weakened, Dorn vaguely heard another voice sounding directly in his heart. It was a savage persuasion, a furious advice, a brief burst of ridicule and a supreme and far-reaching call.

Blood sacrifice. Answer to me. Fight for me.

Dorn didn't answer, he held the golden skull in his arms and protected it with his gauntlets. This led to a long burst of laughter, harsh and hateful.

The laughter receded from him, growing into a distant echo. At the same time, the entire bloody sand plain began to change.

White bones emerged at his feet, ordinary human bones, demon-shaped bones, and the special sternum of Space Marines. These things raised the ground where he was, lifting him up into the scarlet sand like a pool of blood. His pupils shrank, and he immediately jumped down from the pile of bones and propped himself up with his long sword.

It was this force that caused the Storm Fang to break directly from the middle, the chain fell, the metal cracked, and the length was reduced by half. The original body staggered and stood still, and the flying fragments cut through the side of his face, leaving a piercing path. The bleeding wound on the brow bone. Blood red color stained his eyes.

Donn closed one eye, feeling pain in his eyeball from the blood and sweat. He hugged the golden skull tightly, adapting to the broken sword's new center of gravity, while re-examining the changing battlefield.

The ground composed of some kind of ancient stone slabs is covering the surface of yellow sand. Craters and twisted flagpoles are everywhere, and the fragments are cracking in the vibration. Among the skeletons, more grotesque Astartes crawled out, their armor shaking - and it was then that he noticed an eerie, sinister silence descending upon them. Because none of the crazy enemies roared.

Right in front of him, at the end of the bloody sky and the ruins of the wall, a large enough shadow appeared. The huge monster was almost twice as tall as Rogal Dorn. It was wrapped in a blood-red cloak. Some kind of heavy and huge weapon was also wrapped in thick cloth, making it difficult to identify.

A terrible blood rushed towards Dorne, accompanied by silent lightning and destructive ripples of power. The crimson erosion shattered the stone slabs, causing the chariots and spears to collapse. The military flags, emblems and all symbols of the glorious battle ’s symbol was crushed to dust by unparalleled violence. Those ordinary demons were directly penetrated by an extremely sharp force, and their mixed black and bright red bodies were cut and broken indiscriminately, and they were swept silently in all directions.

All the violence and mania were suppressed by the dead silence into another astonishing atmosphere of terror. In this silence, the gem inlaid on the forehead of the golden skull held by Rogal Dorn suddenly broke into a fragment, following this ominous omen. , the entire gem containing power burst into several cracks in an instant, and the golden skull no longer glowed.

Dorn's heart twitched, and he hung his skull back on his waist silently, holding the broken sword in both hands to welcome the giant approaching him. It was so tall that Dorn had to look up to see the top of the strange monster's head shrouded in blood mist and thick gun smoke, as well as the black and red wing membranes spread out in the blood mist. He couldn't see the face clearly, but a suspicion was coming to him along his calm mind, causing his will to start to oscillate in surprising and rare ways.

He had never seen this enemy before, but he gradually realized a terrifying similarity with him, as if they were born in the same way, and they were... connected by blood.

"Your skull is right." A voice said, heavy, rough and unfamiliar, retaining reason and even hiding emotions, like an imitation formed by gathering the burned residue of something.

The terrifying power hidden in the opponent's body made Dorn blink hard and squeeze out the sweat and blood that fell into his eyes. The sight of the original body was already a blur of bright red. Dorn stood on his feet, unwavering.

The monster in the blood mist continued to make sounds, and the emotion became clear, and heavy anger spread out from the monster.

"Throw it away. It can no longer protect you... Rogal Dorn."

"Who are you?" Dorn asked, his voice clear and calm, as if the countless previous killings had never existed, the sword's edge was still sharp, and its golden bones were still there. "A brother who has not returned? A future traitor?"

"You are the fallen traitor!" The monster roared suddenly, the red light in its eyes illuminated the blood mist, and the ground around it burned and shattered. In the middle of the sentence, it roared and raged with its claws and swung its weapon. The brass tip pierced the wrapping cloth. Its unrivaled hatred turned into a force without mercy, and it smashed down on Dorne's head.

Dorn dodged on the spot, but the weapon still penetrated his calf, peeling off half of his leg armor and tearing out a piece of bloody muscle.

Too soon, he thought. The opponent was moving so fast that his vision could barely catch it. This has undoubtedly exceeded the limits of the original body, and some kind of promotion or transformation must have come to the opponent's body that was doubled in height. This is not an enemy he can face.

Dorn tried his best to analyze what he saw, ignoring the burning pain in his legs and trying to see more details of the battle. Before he could do this, another huge force hit his breastplate. The golden eagle on his chest was dented after this heavy blow, pressing into his chest, squeezing his rapidly beating heart and labored breathing. Lungs. The snap of broken bones burst into his ringing ears, and he felt his own blood spurting from between his lips.