Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

There was something strange about this feeling, Petura thought.

He sat behind his desk, with the screens of more than a dozen interconnected meditators flashing quietly on the table. Files and data were quickly exchanged between his brain and the machine through slender cables.

In the torrent of these flashing characters and numbers, the patterns of the world were dismantled and reconstructed. The reality of artificial cognition was theoretically redefined and presented to the Primarch in the form of secondary sorting and summary.

Then, a fragment of memory came to him. The images, sounds and emotions all came from a younger self.

Crazy whirling light spots and howling winds were entangled between the broken reality and the subspace. Morse lost his form and turned into a floating black cloth. Their fall spanned time and space, and the alternating realms brought about an unexpected separation.

This is the very first moment. thought Pertura. An important moment.

And before his eyes - a more realistic, more focused on the present, his first company commander of the engineering company was reporting on his weekly work.

Kaidomo Frix, in the project queue of reorganizing the Webway, this Terran descendant who yearns for Olympia is one of the not too many surviving Iron Warriors among the first team to arrive at the Webway. one.

As this grand project progressed, the number of warriors killed by the exploration and development of the Webway began to exceed Perturabo's expectations; and even more of their deaths and disappearances occurred in an unexpected and unpredictable way. Within a short moment of recovery.

The dimensional storm brought about by a broken webway door is enough to bring about the uncontrolled collapse of an entire space. A complete individual may be decomposed and transported to a thousand lost fragments in the blink of an eye.

This is not pleasant.

Every promising warrior drawn from the glorious galaxy into the never-ending Webway project is equivalent to experiencing one or two deaths - the first time in society's name, and There may be a second time in a physiological sense.

Therefore, when rumors were spread among the expeditionary army, Perturabo never denied that he had personally caused the death of his son.

"...This is the result of this week and the problems that need to be solved next week, father." Frix said, his helmet was held near his waist armor, and in his micro-expression, Perturabo Realizing, the soldier saw how distracted he had been at that moment.

"I remember your longing for Olympia," said Perturabo.

Fricks was stunned for a moment, and his originally calm expression became tense. "Yes." The soldier answered honestly. "Do you miss it, Father?"

"Some." Perturabo closed his eyes and opened them again. "I don't always have time to go back, but fortunately Queen Olympia's message is always alive in my data stream. Maybe I should allow you to visit Olympia, and then bring you into this milky white road network."

Fricks saluted, "Thank you, father. But I am deeply satisfied with my current work and life. If you have any troubles, I am also willing to share your concerns."

"Then watch over Angron for me and tell him not to bring wine into the greenskins. It won't work without alcohol, let alone Fenris mead."

"Yes, sir." Fricks was about to leave.

"Wait a minute, Kaidomo." Perturabo leaned towards his seat and folded his hands on his legs. "Magnus mentioned that the new chief position of the Black Crow School under his command has been decided. What do you think? Who could it be?"

"Azhak." Fricks said immediately, a smile appeared on his unsmiling face, "I will save my blessings for him until the day when the project is completed."

"Well, go ahead," said Perturabo. It is undeniable that he likes others to talk about the future of great achievements with certainty.

…and then the memories came. More moments followed, swarming in.

The black rain, the dim dying stars, the artillery fire that illuminated Gemo from high in the sky, and Konrad Kurtz who was thrown to the ground by his backhand. The arrogant and panicked brother he stared at. And Morse fired the first bullet for future disputes under the control spire of the Ilmea star.

He had these moments, but he had so much more. Those were moments when one didn't know how many years it would be before Morse came back.

These moments are not as difficult to pass as imagined.

He has the Emperor's guidance, his brothers' company, and his heirs to fight alongside him. Without the second body created by Morse, he needs to find a way to take time out on his own, advance the expedition, build the webway, and return to Olympia to do the work that the Lord of the Cluster must complete.

And Morse had already said it.

If something happens, let them separate. He needs to be ready.

The words followed the falling snowflakes, echoed in the wind, and blew in his ears.

He cherished it, and therefore Perturabo found much for himself to do.

He looked to his left and pulled up a document. It was an invitation from Robert Guilliman, asking if he would like to go to Ultramar to visit a few of the newly reclaimed forge worlds and, of course, to see what he had to take away and what he could do for Robert added.

This wasn't the document he needed right now.

If Robert's documents could be delivered a month earlier, he would definitely go and see what mechanical units the Mechanicus had come up with that were too wasteful to pile up in the warehouse. But he doesn't have that free time now.

He folded the files in a familiar format and placed them in a square box with patterns of golden eagles and skulls on the table. Then he stood up and searched for the box he needed in the filing cabinet behind him.

In another moment, the blood rain condensed into thick paint, and the paint rolled across the surface of the filing cabinet, like a torrent and a waterfall, like a bleeding sun, falling into the dark city below. Every stone falling from the top of Comor will have an endless impact on the bottom of Comor countless miles below.

High in the sky, he and Vastor fought in the ashes burned by the scorching sun.

Morse was behind him, watching him, maintaining a volley platform for him to fight on.

His fingertips seemed to be stained with Youdu's blood. And his feet seemed to be swaying in a golden network of runes. This network supported his weight and remained unbroken and unshaken throughout the battle.

Perturabo shook his finger, and the fleeting memories fell like a tide. A very small amount of dust floated in the air, and the iron-gray filing cabinet shone slightly in the golden light of the palace.

Now that the craftsman is back, there's no need to think about it anymore.

He found the correct filing cabinet, verified his identity through genetic testing, and took out the slightly yellowed letter he really needed.

Perturabo carefully uncovered the fire paint that had never been sealed, opened the letter, read Ur-Phoenician, the common language of Olympia, on the paper, added a new date at the end with his pen, and folded it again. , melt the red wax, and truly seal the letter.

This little gadget can finally come in handy, and all the preparations made in the past are not in vain.

"So, yes. Our rhetoric at the time unintentionally foreshadowed the future, or the past compared to the present."

Perturabo said calmly. Behind him, two heavy adamantine doors closed tightly with a slight hiss.

A string of magic patterns of the Imperial Chancellor that are different from Morse's curse, the emperor's unique golden cold spiritual energy, and the curse seal from Magnus's hand, are carefully designed by craftsmen on the surface of the door. The resulting skull patterns and coincident patterns blended into each other, weaving a tight network in the shape of a five-pointed star, completely nailing the space around the Tuchucha engine.

The three rays of light appeared and flashed in turn, appearing fragile in the trembling. However, if you observe it deeply in the etheric field, you will find that this trembling weakness is not actually the fragility of the rune itself, but the reality. When space carries such majestic energy, it gives unbearable feedback to these three levels of runes.

Morse stretched out his hand to touch the seal on the door. Magnus's power gave way to him. The light of the magic pattern softly blocked his approach, while the cold light of the Emperor almost blocked the void energy that made up his fingers. Decomposed back to the original runes.

He retracted his hand, repaired his middle finger, and leaned back against the damp, dripping cave wall of the passage.

"How many people?" Morse asked.

"Thirty thousand warriors," Perturabo replied, "divided into thirty engineering companies, led by three war blacksmiths. This is an invisible war, and I have adopted the title of war blacksmith for them."

Morse waited for him to finish, his expression immersed in the soft shadows cast by the cave, but the changes in light and shadow could not hinder the judgment of a Primarch.

"I'm not asking how many people are still alive," Morse said.

"Twenty thousand and sixty-one people." Perturabo said, feeling his chest rise and fall with his breathing, and this rise and fall was hidden under the thick iron armor. "There shouldn't be so many, but this important building A serious void shield rupture occurred in Node City."

"Have you ever searched in subspace?"

"Magnus paid a visit and I think he did the best he could."

Morse was silent for a while, "nearly a tenth of the total," he said. "That's why you subconsciously told me that the warsmith I accidentally asked about was still alive."

Perturabo raised his head. Above the dark tunnel of the Dripping Cave, the Terra Palace, covering hundreds of thousands of square kilometers of land, was constantly emitting the brilliance of the sun under the gray sky.

The Light of the Astronomican, the Light of Terra, the Light of the Emperor.

"I didn't keep a record book," Perturabo said. "Fortunately, when the Emperor created me, he allowed my brain to record enough bytes of data."

Morse lowered his head. Due to his height, when he did this, even the Primarch would not be able to see Morse's face through the barrier of the actual object.

"I don't want to make things too heavy, Perturabo," Morse said. "And I don't want to do too many sentimental eccentricities. But some topics can't be buried in the dirt and wait for it. It was just like luck, someone accidentally dug it up on a certain day. We said so frankly many years ago. "

"Today, you are no longer a child, or an immature individual, so I will explain some...my thoughts more directly, but only once."

"Okay." Perturabo replied solemnly.

"In my eyes, twenty years can only be counted as one moment. Even if I spent this entire period in the real universe, I would give the same evaluation, not to mention that I didn't even get this moment. "

"But I know that in your vision, in the eyes of an individual who has grown up and matured with human identity and concept of time, twenty years is composed of countless moments, countless minutes and seconds, and even days, months, years, and ten years. Years. Even though I can’t feel it.”

"But there is one thing that is indeed common between you and me, and you have already accidentally passed it on to me."

Morse raised his head. He still didn't have much expression. Maybe he didn't have the intention to imitate additional emotions at this time.

"Emotions." He said, "The vast ocean of subspace is the reflection of sentient spirits. Emotions are one of the foundations of consciousness and memory. Therefore, even if I don't deliberately unlock the code of memory, I can record these specific moments one by one. After reading it carefully, I can also feel the essential emotions that make up this piece of information. It has never been so clear and thick. "

"Really?" Perturabo replied, but then he became speechless. "Yes." He admitted silently.

This made him feel like he had shrunk again, lost years, and turned back into the child he was a long time ago. However, something was different. Morse wasn't forcing him to answer, he was just waiting for his answer.

Morse nodded, "So, although this may sound rather presumptuous - I really don't feel like I've done anything wrong in this aspect of my life, but I feel that as a matter of common sense, I'd better say one word to you. sorry."

"What do you think of this word?" he asked.

"This..." Perturabo exhaled, feeling the warm breeze as the air rolled over his teeth and passed over the tip of his nose. "It's not your fault."

Morse breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief, shrugged his shoulders, and spread his hands folded on his chest.

"Let me just say, it's not my fault. Okay, I've had enough of this moment. I guess the Emperor is done talking to Konrad Curze, unless they suddenly think of relying on the Emperor. Let’s have a candlelit night talk in the golden light. I’ll have to go find him later.”

"And," said Perturabo. "Welcome back."

Morse pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes. "Well, I'm glad to see you too, even though you and I have never been apart. Damn it."

He reached out and gently patted the leg of the mechanical Perturabo next to him.

"Are we going out?" Morse asked.

"Before that, I have one more thing." Perturabo said, taking out a letter from the armor that was produced on paper at least ten years ago, but the fire paint could seal the letter for a few hours at best.

"What's this?"

"You mentioned it." Perturabo leaned down and handed the invitation to Morse, who stretched out his hand. "You said you wanted to watch the Olympia Games. So... I think the stadium I built has always been It has been used as a temporary open-air theater hall for long enough.”