Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"If you are satisfied with this, human craftsmen," said the troupe leader, without using the unnecessary scorn, "take this fragment of the blade, one more gift we can give you; the best forged Material, taken from the cooled embers of stars. The human empire is not that good at playing with the stars, is it?"

"I'm assuming you're not as crazy as you seem, Avatar. I'm assuming you don't really think there's anything worth exploiting within this warp-corroded material."

"You can't belittle Anaris of Dawn like this. Val spent a lot of energy to cast it. The depraved aura of the divine sword comes from Val himself who fell into the abyss, not how the material was affected..."

"What will happen if you take it away?" Perturabo interrupted the two people's nonsense. The fragments of the divine sword floated in front of his eyes, projecting a bright white light into his eyes. "How will your Vaal-Vastor react when you fall into Chaos?"

"The Eldar are still afraid of the direct mention of this term," the troupe leader played with his golden buttons, "but you are not even willing to be surprised by our secret. Oh my... Primarch, I really saw it. Destiny draws circles in that colorful whirlpool, taking us one by one into the depths of the spiraling story - no, don't grab my neck, this makes me a little breathless, haha, Vastoll No reaction, my friends! He is so weak!"

The troupe leader who was lifted up dexterously turned over as he fell back to the ground, and finally landed on all fours.

He grabbed his throat and chuckled and got up: "Even Keshamenra was torn into a thousand drops of blood by the fight between the Lord of Blood and the Prince of Darkness. How can poor Val survive? It is so vulnerable. It’s so powerful, guarding that funny little forge is hard enough, how can I have the time to pay attention to every dangerous person who touches the relics of his life?”

"No, unless you can think of something particularly unique and good, Vastor will not move his limited gaze above your heads!"

"Where's the Tuchucha engine?" Morse asked suddenly.

"That's enough...the Horn of Honor, that's very enough. When Broken Sword smells the smell of that engine, the demon of the forge has to move his cloudy eyes to Cordoris," Harlequin He replied gently, and the dazzling luminous stones on his body jingled as he waved his hand, "But how did you think of it? Which of my sentences revealed this truth? Ah, I really don't know... "

Perturabo's next bombardment unexpectedly hit a layer of remaining camouflage illusion.

The followers of the Laughing God flashed to the other end of the forge in the blink of an eye, shouting across the dull roar of the furnace: "O Primarch! Where did I anger your noble iron body?"

"When did you start planning all this!" Perturabo suppressed the surging thoughts in his chest, tried his best to restrain the sudden boiling anger, and expressed it through continuous bombardment, "Nukeria? Macragge? Omegon’s early return? When did this scam begin?”

Seemingly unrelated events are connected in series, and the coincidences of fate are like gears fitting into each other, driving the destiny of the world forward.

Every time he thought about the twenty years that were taken away by Tuchucha's engine, and all the possible negative impacts that might follow, it might not be an accident, the anger in Perturabo's heart ushered in a new round of expansion.

To a mechanical being like him, his disappearance was of no consequence.

But the loss of the Star God fragments stored in his body, the shelving of the Iron Ring team, the suspension of the Olympia Space Fortress based on high-power energy design, and even Morse's departure from the empire, and even Konrad Curze's fall into Gemo, and then It can be traced back to the unrest caused by the ghost Omegon in Macragge, and even the initial Eldar attack on Nuceria... All of this, it seems now, may be related to this group of crazy doomsday pied Eldar.

As the fleeting images of these events flashed through his memory module, Perturabo became more and more excited.

Over so many years and such a long time, he has learned to control his mind in order to have a clearer observation and stronger control of the world.

But if the many misfortunes he and his brothers had experienced were closely related to these damn prophets... He restrained the pain that echoed in his heart, and could hardly think of what to do to suppress this ignited desire. Cold and bright rage.

In the corner of his eye, a layer of iconic golden rune shields had added a layer of protection to Dawn's fragments of Anaris.

Morse's acquiescence completely eliminated Perturabo's last remaining concerns.

As the decision was established, the energy within the body of steel began to surge like a tide. The green energy was precisely regulated and converted in the translation nodes inside his body, and the star-like power that had gone through countless generations was released here. All the hidden gunfire channels on his body were opened, weaving these disordered energy into a powerful symphony of guns and guns. The sound of gunfire echoed in the hall, shaking many corners.

The Pied Eldar shuttled between the smoke of gunpowder and the beams of lasers, avoiding the fire that burned their clothes, desperately looking for a chance of survival. In this life-and-death moment, his body showed ultimate dexterity and agility. The excuses uttered by the face covered by the mask were like vague whispers sunk in the endless abyss, swallowed up by the long distance, chaotic environment and the shooter's anger, and could not reach Perturabo's ears. middle.

The Troupe Master wanted to escape from the melee, but the enclosed hall built around the forge was a huge cage that could not be escaped. The bone-white mask on his face showed a clear image of crying in the brief pause. He suddenly disappeared again and again, moving quickly, as if he had been blessed by the God of Laughter, bursting with incredible potential.

And when the entire grotto began to tremble in Perturabo's anger, witnessing the full expression of the Primarch's anger, and the huge mechanical man still had no intention of stopping the fire, the Primarch's implicit bargaining terms in his anger became cold and clear.

Either he was hit here, or Perturabo would completely destroy the ruins of the Temple of Vaal, or even turn his fire to the Harlequin airship in the sky, making all their achievements so far go to waste.

He immediately stopped his next dodge, and in the blink of an eye, the laser accurately pierced his abdomen and burned his spine from front to back.

The troupe leader fell heavily, supported himself on one hand, and knelt in his hot blood, in exchange for the steel giant's artillery fire to subside.

Behind him, the metal wall just maintained the damage level before the total collapse, and it was not far from collapse.

"Now we can talk." Perturabo said, and there was no irrational residue in his tone.

"Believe it or not..." The troupe leader coughed, turning the pain into a harmless smile, "We are just following the footsteps of fate until someone puts us on the chessboard... Don't overestimate our power, demigod created by the human emperor, don't transfer the bitterness in your heart to the surface of the facts, demigod, we dare not design the road, nor do we want to force you to do anything..."

His free hand tapped his mask: "The changing thread of fate in the galaxy brought you and Tuchucha here, and we, the pawns in the universe, only provide a little help needed by the human emperor when necessary. If..."

The Eldar wiped the blood that overflowed from under the mask.

"If you don't bring this fragment to the surface, Vastor will not be aware of Tuchucha's existence in the barrier of the temple ruins; if you want to see the corrupted God of Craftsman, then after its will is touched, there are about three days to allow you to set a trap." "You sound more confident than us in capturing a demigod, Avatar." Morse said, squatting in front of the troupe leader, next to the crumbling believer of the God of Laughter, to achieve a level view. "Is this the gospel of the laughing god that the troupe has obtained? About how to lure the fallen god of the Eldar to the humans who are hostile to him?"

"A long time ago, I played another joke." The troupe leader laughed and fell to the ground with his injured body. "I said to an old friend, look, old lunatic, I'm here to challenge you, maybe you can eat your companions and plunder their power! He smiled and said, don't lie to me, do you think I'm a fool? I might as well eat you to fill my appetite!"

"Then, he took a bite on the left and a bite on the right, and took his own "I thought my fellow creatures looked like me and swallowed them all. The fragments tossed around in his skin, causing him to feel dizzy with pain. Finally, the old madman discovered the truth, tortured himself mad, and ran away!" His laughter stopped abruptly: "This is a malicious plot, humans. My sincerity is enough for the Emperor of Mankind! What about you, respected friends, how will you deal with my gift and my heart?" Perturabo looked at the fragments of the sword, evaluating its value and the return that a weak craftsman god could bring to the human empire. After many years, he still had a deep impression of the memory of facing one of the dark gods in Olympia; and the comparison between Vastor's current power and that undoubtedly exposed a clear and absurd gap. Perhaps it was because he was injured by Chaos during the fall of the Eldar, or perhaps the damage caused by the Bloody Hand Kane had never healed, the fallen Vaal was not worthy of the title of God; as for whether there would be a turnaround in the future, it was all unknown. In a sense, what the Laughing God's followers handed to them was indeed a gift that they could not ask for.

"I will not fight a Chaos Demigod." Perturabo said, walking around the ancient Elven forge that was still muffled, and walked to Mors' side. "Do me a favor, Mors."

"Okay." Mors said, "What is it?"

"Return to Gomor alone and tell Conrad Curze about the existence of Vastol. He is my brother. He will see that this is an opportunity, and you can travel independently in the Webway."

The iron giant raised his head, as if he was looking through the thick soil and seeing the dark city at the other end of the Webway in the distance.

"I will wait here. Three days later, I will return to the surface with the fragments of Anaris of the Dawn. By then, I hope that the Harlequin airship can send Tuchucha and me back to Gomor, hanging above the black sun, waiting..."

"The fallen remnants of false gods dare to offend the real demigods?" Mors said.

"The Chaos Demigod dared to offend the descendants of the Lord of Mankind." Perturabo corrected his words, then looked down at the lying troupe leader, "This is my request."

In addition, he was not prepared to add any additional discussions on how to deal with Vastor, or even how to deal with the entire Gomor, with anyone other than his own brother and Morse.

"Of course, of course," Avatar said, "Can you take me with you when you return to the surface, dear friend? You see, I have some mobility difficulties now..."

"That's enough," Mors interrupted. "Stop your pretense, Avatar."

——

"Morse said: This is the whereabouts of the God of Craftsmanship."

Konrad Coates closed his eyes, leaned quietly on his cold seat covered with several layers of leather cushions, and muttered broken words to himself in Nostramo's unique accent.

"The craftsmen can't help but wonder why people still haven't seen the Eldar fallen into Chaos... Or maybe this is just a matter of luck and probability."

"A carnival on the gambling table, a golden cup made of flesh and blood, was delivered to my blood-stained hands by my brother, the giant of machinery and the master of craftsmanship. My bleeding fingertips were burned and injured by tolerance. The painful heart trembles in front of unknown opportunities, affecting my exhausted bones and blood. "

"Drink, I seem to hear Xu Xu's whisper, drink your pride, and be shocked by his understanding of you. In this way, your shockingly dirty soul receives blessing-like forgiveness and a peaceful sleep in the gift of blood relatives. The best piece of news before. Your inner pretense can be easily seen through, even if he is thousands of miles away from you..."

An eruption of cheers from the crowd awoke him. He opened his eyes tiredly, his dark eyes fixed on the joyful and noisy Eldar clan, watching as another novel piece of goods was wiped off by the slaves, and the wooden box was carried into the vast land that once belonged to the Church of the Sun. Within the hall.

And his remains servant, Lillia Ender, silently used her scarlet-gloved hands to instruct the visitor to deliver the gifts to the shadows hidden by the leather curtains, where they were piled hastily with a large number of other gifts.

These spirit clans, who respect strength from the depths of their souls and long for power, seem to have regarded his royal court as one of the important forces with great potential in Gemo. Hints of surrender flowed in, gifts and agreements piled up.

Conrad Coates accepted the offer without hesitation. He is willing to increase the lively atmosphere within Youdu and let the Eldar themselves speculate on his true thoughts and ultimate goals.

Whether the Eldar regard him as a foolish upstart who once gained power, or as a hidden overlord who is overthinking, all of this will be finalized when the Emperor comes here, and his sins will be completely cleansed; but before that , he first wanted to hold Gemo in his palm.

He didn't have enough time. The experience of more than ten years is almost not worth mentioning in the Eldar society that often counts thousands of years. But... Perturabo gave him a gift for nothing, which was exactly in line with the plan.

Conrad Coates put his hand on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart.

For a moment, he looked towards the entrance of the hall, waiting for a familiar figure to approach him.