Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

You were born in a waterfall, the water rumbling. Outside you is gray, the rocks trap you, you see through the water the pale sky, the darkness beyond the sky, they fall and grab you, the rope is outside you, you are in Osiris, you are All us within us, all minds within minds, individuals within a collection…

——No, I am Robert Guilliman, son of Konor Guilliman, son of Archon of Macragge, Lord of the Ultramarines! Alien beast, idiot, arrogant gambler, get out of my heart, die and turn into ashes! You have no right to control me!

Robert barely recovered the form in his consciousness from his mind that had been penetrated by psychic energy. In the spiritual storm of psychic invasion, the huge weight was pervasive, eternal together with the weird sharp laughter and endless gray shadows. The ground stirred with echoes of resentment.

He knelt on one knee and used a dagger to support his body. He saw the shadow of the real world on the back of the reflection under his knees. The combat boots connected with each other. The real him roared loudly in the reflection of the world, and blood-red liquid flowed from his helmet and neck. It seemed as if water was flowing backwards through the gaps in the armor.

His warriors let out purely physiological screams in overwhelming pain. This was an attack from a new realm, a force beyond the Astartes' ability to cope. The warriors' control over their bodies was reduced to a minimum, and they were The orange-red power that erupted from the gray-white steam that emerged from the alien lord penetrated and defeated him.

Robert Guilliman roared angrily, feeling the majestic anger flowing through every nerve node and the depth of his bones and blood in his body.

He dug the dagger into the one-way mirror at his feet, but this abnormal violence only caused a wave of ripples like white mist, and every cry of every warrior penetrated deep into his soul. A torture more devastating than the pressure he was experiencing.

He realized that he had to leave this realm of psychic mind control, before he himself began to be truly controlled and influenced, no, before his warriors were destroyed by the Osiris psychic race, he had to break through the psychic realm. barrier.

He heard some plaintive cries coming from the alien, and then he decided that he would chop off the head of the alien lord, tear off its hundreds of limbs one by one, and stuff them into its guts.

He tried it a hundred times, maybe more. Time in the mental space and the passage of time and space in reality are two unrelated things.

Each of his attacks was like a heavy sword cutting through the water, leaving nothing but disgusting ripples. He staggered under the weight of the alien lord, moving forward but always staying in place.

The pain of blasphemy spread outward from his insides, and he seemed to be falling apart from every cell. His consciousness and soul were fighting left and right in the face of a new power that he didn't know how to resist, blindly searching for any possible breakthrough.

Data and experience are invalid in the world of psychic energy, and theory and reality are completely overturned. His gifts and abilities had no place in the immaterial world, which doubled his wrath.

He lowered his head and peered into the real world through the infinite one-way lens. Most of the warriors had been knocked down and fell into suspended animation or real eternal sleep, but one warrior among them seemed to be mastering some top-secret method, based on talent. A brighter and sharper blue light emitted in his eyes, helping him struggle to break free from the alien's control, but it was limited to unpolished beginner characteristics and was unable to develop further.

Roboute Guilliman recognized him quickly, Ptolemy, he remembered the warrior's name, and he derived from that warrior something sufficient to support him in continuing to struggle in the spiritual world with all the physical attacks he could think of. , even if he has no intention of giving up or retreating in the slightest.

He knew that he had to get out of the situation in front of him, but every blow he made could not land somewhere realistic enough to harm the psychic race. The mental space he was in was infinitely narrow and vast, and his body was in reality. He struggled to hold on, tightly connected to him like a strange reflection.

He needs a breakthrough, a supernatural power that is enough to awaken him from the real or spiritual aspect, a synergy that is enough to smash and destroy this soul cage.

He regretted his lack of psychic training. There was no doubt that this training would have to be at the forefront of his daily work schedule someday in the future. He might not need to control this irrational ability that went against the truth of the Empire. But he must have resistance, but all this must be completed after today's disaster is over...

Another sound came from reality, more rapid and intensive firepower, and a more regular and powerful array, approaching the room where the Alien King was.

Robert Guilliman's heartbeat quickened, and his head, which was so painful that it seemed as if it would crack in the next moment, gave him an answer. That was undoubtedly the Iron Warrior who followed the Ultramarines into the Hourglass Space Station and cleared away the pursuers from behind for the Ultramarines. He shouted for these Fourth Legion warriors to attack with little psychic powers, but in reality he only let out a whimper.

Then, in the reflection of the universe, he saw a pair of huge steel boots approaching, followed by cold armor with black spots burned by the steam, and a hot war hammer filled with power light. , and further down is a broad chest, and an iron helmet covering the face. Soldiers wearing yellow and black striped ceramic armor surrounded the giant, and the giant raised a hand to signal them not to move rashly.

Then the giant came towards him.

Robert Guilliman didn't know why Perturabo was here, but his presence immediately eased the alien king's hold on him - no alien had the ability to control the most unique being between two universes at the same time. The heavy pressure on his body was immediately relieved, glass-like cracks appeared in the cage of white mist and water waves, and he no longer trembled in reality. He punched the ground, and simple cracks spread from under his fist.

Not even close. Still lacking some strength. There is still a combined force coming from the outside to the inside to tear this cage apart from the reality.

The Lord of Iron approached him, his steps slowed by the psychic energy given to him by the Alien King, but fortunately he remained firm and unshakable. Robert's body shuddered and failed within his armor, he had held on to the psychic storm for so long that he was falling toward Perturabo.

Perturabo dragged the heavy hammer to his side, swung several approaching psychic species away, held Robert Guilliman's stiff body with one hand, and seemed to be sizing up his situation. Robert Guilliman wondered if Perturabo knew some psionics, even though he had never heard of Perturabo learning the use of psionics.

He was only one step away from breaking this mental blockade, but he could never break through this last step.

Perturabo watched him, and Robert knew that his brother understood that he had no control over his own body. The Lord of the Fourth Legion's analytical ability was even better than his, and his experience far surpassed him. Some of the precise data handed over by the Iron Warriors also had answers at this time. Perturabo has been silently completing all the work he can in the shadow of the Battle of Osiris.

Robert didn't know what he was asking for, or if he was asking for nothing more. His brother supported him and helped him in places that didn't need to be known. His pain from the psychic control was soothed by a warm touch. But he would talk to Perturabo next time. Maybe knowing that Perturabo was here, they could have completed a better battle...

boom.

The powerful attack from the outside finally defeated the mental cage, and the gray space of white mist and flowing water shattered, accompanied by a sharp pain from Robert Guilliman's abdomen. His consciousness immediately returned to reality and found a stable home in the physical brain.

One of Perturabo's hands was firmly holding his shoulder, while the other hand was clenched into a fist, stopping near his abdomen. It was obvious that he had just punched him hard in the abdomen. Robert retched, pulling on Perturabo's arm to stand still, looking for a chaotic center of gravity and a sense of grounding.

"Awake?" Perturabo asked, picking up his war hammer and nodding to the alien king who was twitching because his psychic control was broken. "That's your prey, Robert."

——

The Hourglass Space Station exploded behind them, just like every alien warship that exploded in the Osiris Star Cluster during these times, turning into part of countless slender dust in the universe after an instant burst of dazzling light.

Roboute Guilliman sat in his seat, blinking slowly as he watched the source of the rebellion in the Osiris Cluster burn to oblivion.

The control of psychic energy did not cause too much physical damage to him, and the only minor wounds healed slowly due to the extraordinary self-healing ability of the Primarch. But the mental tug-of-war made him fall into a deep fatigue that was almost impossible to move. At any next second, he might suddenly fall into a deep sleep, allowing his spirit to get enough rest from several days of sleep.

Perturabo was by his side, watching the end of the psionic species with him.

"You did a good job." The Lord of Iron said, "The battle loss ratio is properly controlled, the strategy is clear and effective, and the inability to resist psychic attacks is not your problem. If it were me who accepted the attack from the Alien King, I would be the same You will fall into a state of being unable to control yourself.”

"Did you do well in the end?" Robert asked softly, his voice hoarse.

"If you mean slicing the Alien King into a ball of semi-solid steamy goop and grabbing thirteen of our bolters and wasting thirteen sets of Iron Warriors bullets on that goop, I would Ask the Ultramarines to reimburse our military expenses for this matter," Perturabo said seriously.

This made Robert laugh briefly: "I will, brother."

The Iron Lord patted Robert Guilliman on the shoulder and brought up the interface from Rogal Dorn's perspective on the data pad.

With Robert Guilliman now unable to move, the warriors of the Imperial Fists and the small group of Iron Warriors sent to assist were taking care of the situation in the hive, finishing the operation to suppress the rebellion. Guilliman watched in silence what the aliens were doing to the hive through Dorne's eyes.

To his surprise, the aliens didn't destroy the hive or make it worse - and it's hard for a hive to get worse.

Instead, the aliens transformed the surface of Sepetus Twelve, tearing down dingy, deformed buildings and demolishing crumbling buildings, replacing them with their own ornate and characteristic corridors, labyrinths, and buildings.

A clock tower with a strange design is erected in the hive city. Transparent crystals and clean golden decorations embellish the connections between all building blocks. The huge transparent hourglass contains the milky white mist that does not exist, and serves as the support and decoration of the covered bridge and track. The black fog accumulated in the sky over thousands of years of heavy industry was dispelled, and the gray-white and bluish clear light became the background color of the world.

It's like a well-designed museum that contains the last traces of a new civilization.

Rogal Dorn led his army through the complex corridors, looking for the hive governor.

Since the Alien King is dead, he has not encountered any enemies, not even automatic defense robots and shields. The Osiris retreated on both sides of the street. After losing the control of the aliens, they had no power to resist the Imperial expeditionary force, and their rebellion suddenly had enough reason.

Dorn's warriors advanced quietly, and Robert recognized Captain Dantioch, leading a small group of Iron Warriors, advancing alongside an exceptionally tall Imperial Fists warrior.

A stream of air blew behind him, and craftsman Morse walked out of the void and came to him.

"What are you going to do with this hive, Robert?" the craftsman asked. "The Emperor doesn't take things too personally. You have the right to do anything to this planet."

Before Robert could answer, his Ultramarine commanders stepped into the hall, without helmets, and neatly saluted their Legion Master.

Robert spun his chair around to face his warrior.

After the first battle, Robert clearly found that there was a deeper layer of trust on the faces of these warriors, and this trust was not due to genes or blood. This is the power of war, the power of victory. Even he himself gained a different kind of inspiration from this battle.

His muscles automatically found a solemn smile that was just right for the moment. "You did well, warriors."

"This is what we must do, my lord," the warriors replied. Robert identified each one of them, recalling every decision they made and everything they accomplished throughout the campaign. He was gratified to find that these outstanding officers displayed many advantages, some of which even he himself needed to learn.

Perhaps after their return he could have a private chat with each of these officers in turn to discuss some practical theories. Not now, he's too tired.

He tried not to sound too tight: "Glenn, your strategy worked."

The deputy commander of the legion lowered his head: "I almost led the Thirteenth Legion into a huge trap."

"That was before I joined the Legion. Don't feel guilty about it anymore, Glen Vosotho." Guilliman said, "Marius Gage, you were outstanding in every pursuit."

The muscles on Gage's face moved and he suppressed the raised corners of his mouth: "Thank you, sir."

Guilliman continued to identify his warriors among the crowd. He saw Valentus Doro: "Valentus Doro, you have achieved excellent coordination in every cooperation with the Brotherhood. Your Storm Bird killed the last one before joining the gang for us." A group of obstructions.”

He did not receive the joy he imagined.

"That was not me, my lord," Valentus said calmly. "That was my lieutenant, Varus Caspian. He died in the final attack, right next to you."

Guilliman's voice caught in his throat, and he used willpower to wipe away his surprise and frustration. "His bravery will be remembered and he will be buried in Macragge's Gardens of Remembrance."

"Thank you," Valentus paused, and there was a clear tremor in his tone, "Thank you, father."

——

He completed the rest of the interview. He called out each fighter's name accurately, and he communicated with each fighter. He never again mistook any of his war exploits.

He bid them farewell: "Goodbye, my children."

His mind floated in a light hollow, his breathing coming in fits and starts, until Perturabo tapped him on the shoulder.

"Sorry, I punched you before." The Iron Lord said calmly, "Does it still hurt, Guilliman?"

"No, it's okay. You woke me up," Guilliman said, taking a deep breath and turning back in his chair to face the dataslate from Rogal Dorn's perspective again. Craftsman Morse reappeared in his vision, his sharp facial lines highlighting a certain subtle indifference and thinking. This made him uncomfortable, but it also made him more awake.

"Dorne has found the rebel planetary rulers," Morse said. "He just found out that the ruler assassinated the previous ruler and introduced the aliens. What are you going to do?"

"Execute him," Guilliman said, feeling a cold shiver of foreboding roll down his arm.

"Where is this transformed hive city?"

Guilliman took a moment to think: "Demolish. Leave no trace of the alien civilization."

Morse nodded: "Dorn should have heard it. But I am actually a little surprised, because you really like to emphasize the preservation and continuation of civilization."

"That's an alien, not a human," Guilliman said.

"Imperial Truth, very good." Morse replied, "Actually, from an aesthetic point of view, I quite like their taste, not to mention that their race itself has been cut off by you."

Guilliman's silence lengthened.

"Human beings can do better." He then said, "I believe that human beings can always do better. We don't need to identify with the aliens to learn from an alien civilization that has ended. We have our own future and hope."

Morse covered his face with his hands and let out a brief laugh.

"Is this a test?" Guilliman asked. "A test of my compliance with the will of the Imperium?"

"What? No, Primarch. Of course not," Morse said. "The discussion about civilization is just a little hobby of mine."

"Connaught Archon also likes this topic." Guilliman relaxed a little. "It's a pity that we can't achieve real-time communication, but after we go back, you can start a discussion. I told him that I will go back within a month, and now We have a week left, so we have plenty of time to wrap up the rebellion in the Osiris Cluster, re-appoint the governor, and so on."

Perturabo stood up suddenly, a look of obvious alarm and some belated regret on his face. "You stated your return time?"

"Yes," Guilliman said a little puzzled, "Of course my departure needs to be explained in advance."

"You brought all the Ultramarines out?"

"This battle of the Osiris Star Cluster requires sufficient manpower. In fact, you have also discovered that 33,000 people are not enough manpower..." Guilliman suddenly opened his eyes midway through his words and hurriedly held on to the armrests to get up. This almost made him fall. "Return! I understand what you mean, return now!"