Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"Long time no see, Morse. Angron stood on the side of the gangway where the Pied Eldar's poker airship landed, opening his arms to greet Morse who was coming down the ladder." Perturabo suddenly told me, if he saw a painted ship of colorful Eldar airships, that's you. Alas, his heart tells me that he misses you, especially the first few years and the last two or three days. His surge of emotions is unforgettable..."

"I'm here too, Angron." The mechanical Perturabo coughed, interrupting Angron.

His slightly electronic voice came from the shadows inside the hatch.

Then, his semi-mechanical body walked out of the cabin and looked into Angron's amber-like warm eyes on the gangway.

"I didn't notice you!" Angron shook his head in surprise, "You...this part of your heart was covered up by another cry of sleep. I didn't mean to..."

"A fragment." Morse explained, standing in the oil mist with a milky white base and a layer of gleaming green light, his feet firmly planted on the ground.

He did not hide his smile, "Zahurash's noise made me fortunate to hear your true voice, Perturabo."

"No, Angron's words are quite boastful..."

"That's not what you think?" Morse joked, turning around and looking up at Perturabo who was frozen on the gangway, "Stop standing here, you've got Conrad stuck behind."

Perturabo gave up his defense and silently agreed to this sentence.

"You'd better not be proud of this, Morse." He said solemnly, but still walked down the steps and looked back into the shadow of the hatch: "Conrad?"

"...here." Conrad Coates loomed in the shadows, half of his face exposed to the light. With his pale face, vertical black hair, and his gloomy expression, it was quite a bit strange. A lack of kindness.

He took a step forward, a re-dyed loose black robe covering the leather boots he still wore.

"Who are you?" he asked, staring at Angron with a strange expression.

"I am Angron," Angron answered, "Primarch of the World Eaters of the Twelfth Legion, from Nuceria. I assume you are the Konrad Curze that Perturabo spoke of?" Nice to meet you, brother."

"Are you Angron?" Curze muttered, as if some expired fruit had been stuffed into his mouth that made his teeth sore, and even the words turned into a low hiss. "Okay, you're Angron. Where's your army? Become..."

He looked at the walls of the Empire's self-made network tunnel guided by the Emperor, which glowed with a strange light, and the rough surface twists and turns, and his sour expression gradually deepened.

"...turned into green-skinned orcs? That's why they're called World Eaters, because they eat wherever they go?"

"No, my legion is still composed of Astartes warriors." Angron explained good-naturedly. He could not feel any malice in Konrad Curze's heart, but the level of shock was a bit excessive.

Perhaps the misunderstanding that all the troops under the banner of a Primarch are aliens is too unbelievable for this newly returned brother?

"I didn't see them." Cozz's dark eyes swept over Angron's head. The results he obtained made him a little frustrated, but his steps became brisk. He stepped on the flexible leather boots that fit his feet and walked down the gangway. It floated down like a black cloud. "They don't ask where their generals are?"

Angron laughed twice with a cheerful expression, "This goes back to one of the most correct decisions I have made in my life. I handed over the responsibility of the army commander to Kahn! I am not good at managing military affairs. Why not delegate it to talented and credible people?”

"You're right." The expression on Conrad Coates' face relaxed, perhaps because of the bright background reflected, or perhaps because he suddenly gained some inspiration from it, and the pupils of his eyes shone slightly, " You're right, Angron. That's good advice."

Although Angron didn't understand why, the happiness in Curze's heart was real.

He nodded, pointed to the other end of the webway, and took a step forward. His familiarity with this stretch of road spoke volumes.

"This is the way back to Terra. We can just walk this distance. Perturabo, Morse, I think Perturabo is waiting in the Mysterious City - the Webway Node City. At least I When he came, he was there to supervise the project."

"Wait a moment," Morse floated up, "Okay, just go ahead and walk."

"But what are these statues?" Conrad Coates glanced at them and then looked away.

Having lived for a long time in the palace spire that inherited the gorgeous legacy of the Ancient Eldar, he couldn't praise the design of these rough statues. If he were here, he would rather build a creaking bone path with green-skinned bones. In order to add some pleasant interest to the boring and unchangeable journey of the webway during the walking process.

"I can't stop them," Angron briefly spread his hands, and then continued to let his hands swing naturally and generously by his sides.

The bright red triumphal rope around his waist is still bright, but at this moment it no longer seems to represent a painful scar, but a decoration, embellishment and record of the past. Knots are indeed one of the oldest ways of writing and remembering since the birth of human intelligence.

"They must build these statues for me. Every time they finish work, they come here to pay homage, first praising the golden guy, and then praising the ax guy... What can I do? What's more, "You," he looked at Perturabo, his eyebrows sank, his face looked helpless, and he grinned, "you said that this can be considered a gift, so I have no choice but to accept it."

"When did you make your gifts so weird?" Morse patted Perturabo on the shoulder.

"Considering that you spoke my heart," Perturabo replied, looking at the Lord of Red Sand, "I seem to have gained the right to explain how you shared happiness with this group of creatures in the alien pile, Angor. Long."

"A warrior, a brave man who wields a giant axe, a general who can withstand all enemies, and a master on the red sand. He often comes here in his spare time to guide the greenskins to speed up their work. From time to time, he will engage in violent battles with the greenskins, and at the same time, he will take time to indulge in the In the euphoric spiritual atmosphere and emotional waves, I can hardly find a more heretical Primarch than you——"

"And when some people first learned that they were going to lead the greenskins in construction, they still pushed back and blocked the webway and were worried in every possible way. Even Rogal Dorn agreed. Who made such a contrast?"

Angron's grin never closed, "Okay, brother, you must say that I am the most heretical person. How can I stop you?"

"I am the most heretical Primarch." Konrad Curze said suddenly.

"Why do you say that?" Angron turned his head, "Although I am not familiar with you, you don't have to belittle yourself, Konrad Curze. This is just a joke between Perturabo and me."

"No, I am merely objectively stating an unknown fact, my brother," Conrad elongated his voice, echoing like a thin thread in the empty environment of the Webway.

In this empty and surreal space, his words sounded like a slender spider thread. The small noise was offset by the vast blank erasure, leaving only the purest emotional experience, which was almost pleasant. thing.

"I really don't understand what you are comparing, young people," Morse said. "The Emperor's aura, I have clearly left for twenty years, instead of stepping into the time and space that goes back twenty years." among.”

They continued to move forward, letting the leader of the troupe of Laughing God believers, whose real name is still unknown, drag the tuchucha engine behind and follow slowly until a loud noise gradually came from the empty environment, as if there were thousands of lives in the same place. Yelling, squeaking, and moving the messy building materials around in a clattering manner.

Conrad Coates' face tensed, his steps slowed slightly, and he mustered up his energy to keep up again.

He had already smelled an unpleasant smell - perhaps a reflection of his oversensitivity to dirty surroundings.

Soon, the first hint of green appeared at the edge of the vision. This was a symbolic omen. In the unique spatial transformation of the Webway, within a few steps, the green-skinned orcs were already close at hand.

This group of noisy creatures of different sizes have some red, yellow, or black and yellow tattered vests hanging on their bulky bodies. On their heads are crooked heads. Because of their different body shapes, they are produced on the assembly line. It was impossible to meet custom requests, resulting in hard-top hats that were either big enough to block the eyes, or small enough to resemble a small bottle cap, busy on the road.

The big green-skinned foreman showed off his power and commanded the construction boys to run all over the ground. Along the way, all kinds of debris and chaotic dyes that seemed not to exist in this world were smeared everywhere.

"Hurry up, you boy, hurry up and stuff this square stone into the crack for us. I know this is a good design. It can block it and make you lazy. Wait for the ax brother waaaagh Back..." It spoke an earth-shattering low Gothic language that could fully prove the failure of Magnus' education, and it was able to command a bouncing boy.

"I'm coming," Angron said.

"For Rehmannia glutinosa!" The big green-skinned man turned around suddenly, suddenly thought of something, turned back, quietly spat out the elastic skogo he had chewed in his mouth, and then turned back, "Boss Angron!"

"Who gave you permission to chew Scooter here? I don't know if..."

"Yes, yes, boss, we are going to kill this kid at eleven, and we won't do it next time. I understand!"

"Come back!" Angron called to him, "Why are you trying to be clever with me? Forget it this time, tell me where is the Hongsui boss who is on duty here?"

"I don't know. I just saw him walking back. It could be that, what...what?" The greenskin thought about the human word for a long time, but he couldn't hold it in.

"Shift change?" Angron asked, "Then, we are waiting here. According to the current regulations, entering the area within the boundaries from the outside requires the permission of the forbidden army. You...what are you doing?"

"Who are these three people?" The green-skinned foreman approached Conrad Coates secretly, "Boss Axe, why does this big guy smell like that? Why do you mean, that pointy one?" ,Ear……"

"Get out of the way," Curze frowned, held his breath and stretched out his claws, stepping back step by step. His already oversized deep black eyes widened further, staring at the greenskin angrily.

This expression on Gemo is enough to make any spirit clan who is familiar with the name of the Blood Marquis feel like they are falling to the bottom of the netherworld. If it were in Nostramo, the old nobles and gangsters might have started to kneel down and ask, what is going to happen today? Turn over a few cents of the bones as tax.

But the green leather foreman just stretched out his dirty big hand, put it on the top of his head that had never been washed in his life, and scratched it hard, "Why are you running away? I won't touch you. The ax boss won't be happy with it, no, Who are you? And this little black shrimp, I smell it and it seems a little familiar..."

"Go back to the queue, Wakala Big Head." A calm voice came through the golden helmet.

With an eagle helmet buzzing and a red robe draped around him, a forbidden soldier arrived in stride, with red spikes on his head flowing like blood. As soon as he appeared, the greenskins changed from the energy they had when Angron appeared. They wilted, were downcast, and concentrated on their work listlessly.

Morse could feel that behind the golden helmet, the Imperial Guard was examining the unfamiliar Konrad Curze, and even without looking at the patterns on the armor, he felt familiar enough.

"Constantin Waldo," Morse said, with a ceremonial smirk on his lips, "it's so nice to see you again."

He thought that a few days ago, in the universe outside the Fireforge, the Emperor had told him that Constantine Valdor was also the key to the plan.

Why can a Forbidden Army, even if it is the commander of the Forbidden Army and the head of ten thousand men, bear this name?

"Morse," Waldo said, turning his helmet and looking directly at the man in black. "You were absent."

"Once. Remember to change the tense, Commander." Morse shrugged nonchalantly, "Are you here to check that machine?"

Waldo nodded slightly, so small that the red tassel on his head barely moved at all.

"The engine will be placed at the bottom of the Hollow Mountains. My Lord has set a binding place for it," he looked at the Eldar airship following a few people, "This thing is not allowed to come close to the Royal Palace of Terra."

Runes surged in Morse's palm, he snapped his fingers, and Tuchucha immediately broke away from the tail end of the airship. A seemingly absent string was wrapped around his wrist, pulling behind him like a long string of a kite.

"Where is Perturabo?" Morse asked, "I heard that he is in the mysterious city, why don't you go find him?"

"No need." Waldo replied, "Come back to the palace with me. The fourth son is already waiting in the hall. Angron, take care of the construction regulations here and don't forget the rules."

"So serious," Konrad Coze hummed, "Constantin Waldo. Yelling at my brother again, huh?"

Waldo didn't respond, as if he hadn't heard anything.

"Let's go," he said.