Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Don’t you think nine Haemonculi are too many? Yes, I mean, does your royal court... need nine senators? Do we need a king and eight prime ministers?

No, I think eight would be a better number, one more consistent with your Primarch's serial number.

This isn't some goddamn numerology, you have no problem with number fourteen, no, let's keep it simple. Let's think about it, "Nine".

When you return to the empire, kneel down on one knee under the golden throne of the false emperor, beg him to forgive you for your sin of associating with aliens, and beg the emperor of mankind pitifully not to remove you from your brothers - just like you Two Primarchs who have never met before, and by that time, your brothers hear, "Eight Founders", ah, they understand, you are Number Eight.

Yes, nine is a terrible number, one that brings to mind the noble angel we all love. When you succumb to the phantom of pain, struggle and sink in the muddy flesh, and drown alone and despised in the deep swamp of suffering, he happily lets the holy blood flow and is eternally admired in the coming thousands of years. .

Haha, do you dare to use his numbers, you humble little alien bat?

This is the most... trivial of the reasons why I decided to choose a Haemonculus to kill.

"What new invention is this, Conrad?"

Asdúbal Victor did not rashly open the seal of the iron can. No sane person in Gemo would open a sealed gift from a Haemonculus at will, especially when there is even something hidden inside the container. A built-in tiny analog stand is used to isolate the vast majority of detector situations.

"This is not new, Asdubal." Conrad answered Victor's question as he leaned over his desk and adjusted the console connected to a large number of wires. The scaly alien being fixed on the examination frame twitched violently from time to time. "It's an... improvement on an old invention."

He opened another tin can on the table and held the bottom of the can before Victor's eyes. Victor shook his head, took out a well-sealed injection tube from the jar, injected it into the vein, then threw the syringe stained with his blood into the air, and smashed it with a tear gun.

Conrad took back the can, opened a drawer, and wiped his pale fingers and long nails with a clean handkerchief hanging beside the console. He picked up a bullet from the drawer and crushed it in his hand.

The alien on the examination shelf suddenly erupted into a piercing scream, and its scaly skin began to peel off on its own, like the torn skin of a ripe and rotten fruit.

Within seconds, the alien skin fell off almost intact, except for a few inevitable large tears. After this, its muscle fibers slowly broke and fell to the ground.

"Airborne?" Victor asked, sounding unsurprised. "This requires absolute caution on the part of the operator."

"Yes," Conrad smiled, left the console, picked up the skin that the alien had shed, and examined the fine and reflective black scales on its surface, just like a stubborn child observing a newly picked up shell from the beach. "Therefore, I give it to you."

"A virus that is not absolutely fatal, but is enough to destroy the mobility of any living thing." Victor commented, his brain has already begun to process the allocation of the iron can of bullets to which appropriate team, and where the attack will take place. What happens. "We won't let some creatures escape through death."

"Who will be your target?" Conrad gently put the alien's skin back on the body of the alien that had stopped breathing. His movements could be described as gentle.

"Among the eight members of your association, he is the first Haemonculus to make a clear act of betrayal." Victor said sharply, "Maybe we can confirm the target tomorrow. After your deliberate hint, there will be someone soon. Find your...brother."

"Hang the traitor's skin on the spire near the Black Sun, Victor. I know you have recruited a new group of Scourge Messengers."

After Conrad finished speaking, he wiped his bloody fingers again, sat hunched over on his high stool, tapped his chin, and looked into the distance with dark eyes.

"I set up a pillar above the city gate, and I skinned all the rebels and hung them on the pillar. Some of the skins I threw at the base of the pillar, some I pierced with barbs, and some I stabbed with barbs. Burning chains were tied around the pillars... I cut off the limbs of the officers, the rebellious noble officers... I burned the captives with fire. I took fingers and toes from some, and cut noses and tongues from the faces of others. , and the eyes of many, that all may know who did it.”[1]

"It's a fascinating scene." Victor praised, "One day, I will do it all with my own hands."

"You may even say these words yourself..." Konrad Curze murmured, shaking his head, the shadow of black hair blocking his ghostly face. "And I, I will share the blood."

A cold smile broke out on Victor's face: "And you, you have to deal with an assassination first, my friend. The Church of the Sun deeply regrets the failure of the banquet. In the banquet hall that night, someone could be tracked, and it seemed The only one with limited risk is you."

——

Conrad Curze looked at all the dozen or so witch spirits who broke through the simple defenses on the outside of the tower and came to him with a critical eye.

He purposely moved to his other tower above the surface, away from the defenses he had set up in his true lair, waiting for a battle that would be enough for him to enjoy.

In fact, he was extremely curious about how the Church of the Sun would exact revenge from a Haemonculus who could theoretically draw the power of pain from the crystal coffin and resurrect him - as a large church, it must rely on public revenge. To show off one's own reputation and give a reasonable explanation to the families and sects who sacrificed their lives.

And if they can't use more artistic or creative means to seal a Haemonculus in the gap between life and death, then a better way would be to repeat the hunt for eternity.

These female warriors wear half armor. The black layered armor contrasts with the pale and smooth expanse of skin, and the barbs and hooks on the armor turn all the beauty into a fatal omen. They seemed born to be able to dance on the tip of a knife, or cut off the enemy's head between the blades of a razor.

"Hecate's blade," Conrad Curze murmured, "you will die for blood."

The witch spirits began to act without saying a word. Their bright green blades and blood-red braids cut vague flashes of light in the air, and the blade tips weaved bright nets.

The five wizard spirits took the lead and used violent attacks to satisfy the hunger on their blades. The primarch smelled the potion boiling in the blood of the female warriors, who loved the spilling of blood so much that they did not hesitate to use the potion of battle to enhance any beauty of the bloody dance.

Curze caught a hooked blade with his bare hands, pressed the blade lightly back between the wizard's ribs, and cut the enemy's flesh with surgical accuracy. The Witch Spirit's attack scratched the side of his face, leaving a pale indentation on the tough skin. In response, the wizard's skin was cut horizontally from his ribs to his left arm, leaving a bloody wound.

The sharp blade was snatched away by Curze, flashing like green lightning in the air at high speed, and a handful of blood spurted out from the witch spirit's cut carotid artery like a garden fountain, pouring down like a heavy rain.

The Primarch leaped forward, his leather cloak rising to an exaggerated degree, revealing his skin covered with old wounds. He threw the blade, and the blade severed the slender upper arm of a wizard spirit. The wizard burst into ecstatic laughter and spun around suddenly, the edges of the barbs on his shoulder armor flashing with gorgeous light, and the silver-gray Hecati short knife in his other hand struck sharply at Conrad's flank under his arm. Come.

The original body turned around, ruthlessly piercing the Witch Spirit's snow-white abdomen that was not covered by black armor with its long blade-like nails, and after one pull, pulled out part of the Witch Spirit's internal organs. The Witch Spirit continued to swing the knife unyieldingly, and the original body released her hollowed body, crushed her neck bones, and let the last hot breath spit out directly from the Witch Spirit's broken throat.

The witch spirits change the rhythm of their dance, and there is a rhythm in their every move. The rapid movement turns them into a violent whirlwind or a blur of clouds, even when their arms and collarbones are broken by Conrad Curze. , their raised necks still show strange elegance. The scarlet raindrops fall lightly, and the flashing light at the tip of the blade combines to create a mime-like surprise.

Konrad Coates created a series of exquisite battles, tearing the faces off the wizards, or tearing their lithe bodies into more than one piece, causing them to fall on the stage like ballet toys with broken clockwork. superior.

The incredible killing skills honed by these witch spirits were defeated by the precise and fast moves of the original body. The cloak swirled, more flash, more blood. Wave after wave of attacks were like waves caressing the sandy shore, bringing painful and bloody climaxes.

The blood-red mist slowly spread across the venue, making Coz feel as if he was drowning in a peaceful deep sea. He closed his eyes, listened to the breathing of the wizard spirit, and gave himself over to his fighting instincts.

When he opened his eyes again, the blood of the Witch Spirit was dripping down along the cracks in the ground and soaking into the lower level of the tower. Curze lowered his head, staring at the severed limbs on the ground and the black armor that could no longer fit on the broken body of the deceased, assessing the value of the skin of these creatures being peeled off.

The weather in Gomo has been pretty good recently, so he can produce more works. But Coates has a lot of leather stockpiles piled up in his cabinet.

Maybe it would be a better choice to organize and sew the old accumulated inventory into a few sets of new clothes first - or use the scraps to make a few sets of short clothes and give them to the Haemonculi who were not killed by Victor, and then give them away One set for Victor, can also effectively consume too much leather?

As for his brother...even if Perturabo was a far cry from the brooding tyrant in the vision, Curze didn't think he would like the leather goods.

He suddenly realized that he had nothing to give to his primarch brothers.

Konrad Curze pushed open the window of the tower and watched the spikes on the surface of the Gomo building become sharper and colder under the dim light stolen from the surroundings by the ancient elves. Soon, patches of clouds appeared in the dark sky, filling the gaps separated by the towering spiers.

The clouds quickly expanded and took on concrete shape. When he confirmed that it was a fleet of airships full of Raiders and Destroyers approaching his tower, Curze was not surprised, but for a brief moment, he couldn't help but think about what the Emperor would do if he died today. How to react.

Yes, other Haemonculi can of course use ancient technology to rise from the shadow of death, but he cannot. He is not an Eldar.

Conrad Coates lay quietly by the window, thinking about his life so far and his plans for the future. He sometimes felt angry with himself because he was plotting one plot after another.

After the skin of the Haemonculi was hung up on the spire by Victor - he bet that it would be Gabbiad, the idiot who claimed to be smart. He would use today's attack as an excuse to start a series of high-profile And the long attack and killing.

The checks and balances that Gemo still maintains calm on the surface will use this as a breakthrough and gradually fall into division and fragmentation. This will not only quickly achieve Asdubar Victor's fame, but also deeply tie the existence and achievements of the future Lord of the Dark Eldar to himself, and even the entire human race...

Curze blinked and took a deep breath. It made him feel like he was drifting away from the only respectable side of the Midnight King in the vision, and that he was slipping irrevocably and slowly towards some kind of ghost that fed on conspiracy in blood and chaos.

Although he still has a thought, a thought, an invisible promise, a bowl of poisonous wine or medicine lurking in his blood, waiting to be finally shared with this sinful world.

The Sun Church's fleet lowered from the sky, its hull blocking the dim sight. Countless pairs of eyes are confirming the signs engraved on the bow and the ether sail, trying to figure out what the coming changes will mean.

A loud sound penetrated the dark lower level of Gemo, which also proved that the previous witch spirits were indeed an appetizer; Conrad Coates even suspected that the group of witch spirits did not receive strict orders at all. They volunteered to take part in the attack simply through their love of Blade Dance.

"Conrad Curze, what you have done is a betrayal of the Haemonculi! Your colleague Gabbiad has revealed your crime!" The visitor declared loudly, and his borrowed name proved that Gabbiad De's betrayal is unquestionable, and he is not dead yet.

Otherwise, the word "death" will inevitably be added to the words of calling for punishment.

Curze twirled his fingers boredly, thinking about when Victor would kill Gabbiad. When the blazing beam awoke from the turret, a commotion began to sound around.

The energy beam sliced ​​through the thin tip of the spire, burned several other houses that no one cared about, and deflected before reaching Curze's tower. Metal fell along with fragments of stone and the charred dead.

The Blood Marquis calmly calculated the maximum amount of firepower that the tower could withstand, preparing to broadcast his furious words of retaliation at the last moment when the tower collapsed, and evacuate in time. He even grimaced, feeling ridiculous at the angry tone he was about to assume.

The lightning in the beam grew brighter and brighter, illuminating the sky white. Curze heard a tile falling from the top of the tower and knew that the countdown to the last minute of the tower's collapse had begun.

He suddenly wondered whether it would be more dramatic if he crawled out of the ruins bleeding after the tower completely collapsed.

Or, wait for some lucky or unlucky Eldar to dig out his half-dead body from the bricks, which was hit by gunfire from the front, and while trying to pluck some valuable property from his body, he discovers his chest. There is still a weak gasp...

In the midst of these entangled thoughts, the noise coming from another direction attracted Conrad Coates' attention.

When he smashed open another sealed window with his bare hands, a cannonball happened to pass by his eyes and hit the fleet high in the sky. Then came the second, and then the third.

The three-masted ship fell from the sky, and exploded with massive artillery fireworks along with a large number of ineffective decomposition pulses and the hull exploded into pieces.

In his burning retinas, he saw a completely unexpected person standing in a modified suspension vehicle, relying on some kind of connection to simultaneously control a large number of anti-aircraft weapons placed on different vehicles. missile. The metallic luster shimmered on his steel body.

The brother whose reputation he borrowed, the brother who should have no knowledge of his plans, Perturabo, he found him like this.

Conrad Curze's eyes widened and he felt his stomach begin to contract uncomfortably.

[1]Adapted from "Path of the Renegade"

Also note: I was in a daze at the end of the term. Please forgive me if I don’t reach 4,000 a day in the future. Please kneel here in advance ()