Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

He hurriedly ran through the dark streets with the goods that his master needed. A long fur coat wrapped around his partially shed skin and helped him protect the goods in his hands. He was not curious about the contents of the goods obtained from the church, but just kept muttering that he must not lose it.

No, the master would let those who displeased him die without value. He had seen many times that those pathetic creatures died weakly without value and would not be paid to be revived from the bloody secret societies scattered deep in the depths of Gomor.

He could not be foolish enough to let himself experience that fate, and he still had a message to deliver - a fresh, wet message, not welcome enough, but enough to prove that he was the master's best and most trusted servant. He must return to the mansion before any other servants and deliver this big news to the palm of his master's hand.

The thought of the meaning behind this message made his internal organs feel uneasy. This was a daring challenge, the beginning and declaration of an absurd game of change, but the fragile peace of the city did threaten to collapse because of it.

He even thought about running away, because maybe it was too late, and then he felt deeply proud of his correct choice to rush back. If the master was willing to believe that he was a good servant who dared to face the consequences, he might even get a reward that would support him to continue to live happily in this empty and boring life.

He jumped down the ramp lightly, passed through the floral decorations composed of stone, metal and glass, and ran on the beautifully carved black and green stone steps, hoping that the two interested nightmares on the side of the road did not really notice him.

The wastewater on the side of the road was filled with pure and fragrant hallucinogenic gases composed of medicines and waste chemicals. If he did not have to protect the goods in his hands, he would be willing to temporarily immerse himself in it and find a moment of madness on the edge of numbness that was enough to forget all words.

He was approaching the flesh and blood corridor and the luxurious hall where his master was. This was the territory of the Wyatt family. His master had lived here for generations, experienced many duels between noble families, survived the carnival and murder, and survived informal and non-contractual love affairs again and again, and he was so proud of it.

As he approached the hall's green stone door and the morbid border of flowing light, he suddenly heard a scream, loud enough to penetrate the protective shield that blurred the mansion. He licked his lips, wanting to know what new tricks the master was playing that could break the threshold of stimulation.

He waited at the door for the warrior to allow him to return to the mansion. After ten minutes of ineffective waiting and seeing the sharp blade of a Talos engine reflected on the street corner, he finally pushed the door and entered on his own. This made him feel very uncomfortable, as if he was hung on the roof with a nail by the master and ignored: he weighed the situation himself, this was a wrong arrogant behavior.

He walked through the dark antechamber as quietly as possible, moving quietly among the corpses with broken necks, wondering why the master played so cleanly this time. He smelled too little pain in the dead, these rare elements of life were tragically wasted, and somehow he felt a deep uneasiness.

Bang. The door was slapped against the wall by the wind. The valve leaked due to no one watching over it, and he angrily rebuked other colleagues who neglected their duties in his heart, cursing them to lose the favor of their master.

In the shadow without light, he followed the pace of memory until his steps were blocked by a strange distortion. This made him almost drop the goods in his arms to the ground.

He hurriedly hugged the items that were more important than his soul, groping to confirm the current shape of the distorted corridor - it was like a ruin pushed away by some impact wave, or a drop of surgical solvent that was enough to make the remains completely changed and bid farewell to the past decadent and dissolute life fell into the diluted emulsion, and the whole reality was tampered with and deformed by unknown forces.

He climbed over the collapsed porch, and the fantasy of his master disappeared like mist. He was careful, guarding against traps, hoping that the debris blocking the stairs would not trip him. He bypassed the tilted pillars and crawled under the sagging roof until he approached the silver ring with carved rosettes and crescent hooks hanging on the cellar door.

At this moment, he hesitated whether to enter. But a strange voice came, with an unbearable accent and extremely ugly strange tone.

However, unfortunately, the rudeness and brutality in the voice captured him, and he was instantly overwhelmed by the pain brought to him by this moment.

"Come in, Eldar," the voice said, more worthy of collection than the finest anesthetic flower.

He carefully pressed a rose knot beside the silver ring, knowing that anyone who touched the silver ring itself would be pierced seven times by a long arrow in an instant. The master loved the silver ring, and his agreement guaranteed that he could be resurrected from the palace of flesh and blood at any time, but a servant did not have such enviable conditions.

Metal, crystal, and polished bones formed incredibly exquisite structures in the cellar; simple pagoda-shaped cages composed of gilded bars were contrasted with huge wire spheres, leaded glass cubes and interwoven bone cones; barbed blades and lit candlesticks pressed against each other to form a dazzling jagged and galloping bridge as dazzling as the sky of Gomor.

In the midst of these complex structures, he saw a giant beyond imagination, sitting on the ground against the flattest wall in the room.

The giant may have just stood up from the operating stone and left. The epidermis in many places still hangs out of its normal position. However, under the cut and torn skin, there are neither tendons nor exposed pale bones. , not even an ounce of sweet blood leaked out.

He could smell a familiar scent, the scent of his Master, that fragrant and rotten scent that was present in every precious approach, a rare reward, and a punishment to be remembered. Now, this smell is coming from a pool of flesh and blood that has been crushed by some unknown reality-distorting power.

The giant's broken face was illuminated by candlelight. There was no pain on it, and it even seemed to have no real consciousness. Under the missing cheek is a shadow of pure nothingness, and a golden steel structure hidden within the shadow. This brings out a unique charm beyond flesh-and-blood art.

The syringes or tubes used to inject the anesthetic and neurotoxin solution had just been removed one by one. Each priceless injection was broken and discarded without mercy, but for some reason, more than ten frosted black needles were left on the scalp. pipeline.

A pile of various indulgence books, murder manuals, dark torture and a small number of cultural reading books that the owner had collected were scattered at the giant's feet, having just been thumbed through at high speed. Somehow, he guessed that the giant had temporarily learned their noble and ancient language from these books.

After he reached the giant's feet, the giant finally gave up and put a severed finger back into his palm. He temporarily placed his fingers on his knees, and the dark gold metal that replaced his broken finger bones flickered in the candlelight.

The giant stared at him, tearing off a piece of skin that could not be removed from his cheek, and then tore off a piece of neck flesh hanging down from his shoulders. More steel and metal are exposed.

"Where is this, Eldar?" he asked. "And the current year and month?"