Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"I'm not sure if you've noticed this, Conrad, you should be able to guess that your blood is not suitable for direct extraction of gene seeds now - the higher the success rate of Eldar's transformation, the more successful the transformation of humans. Rates cannot always be affected.

"Yes, I know a little bit about your gene seed technology. The Third Legion, the Emperor's Children, is such an affectionate name...their degenerative gene seed defects are good observation samples. Did I help them? ? It can be regarded as... helping a little. I'm not sure whether Fulgrim knows, but that's not the point."

"In short, if you want to prevent your aspiring soldiers from dying like an assembly line, remember to study your genetic status carefully, Blood Marquis."

Conrad Coates clenched his hands into fists, rested his elbows on his raised legs, and put the cold back of his hands against his forehead.

The craftsmen's voices echoed in his ears. When he closed his eyes, these echoes, together with the high-pitched screams floating in the corridor, the creaking of iron chains, and the broken gasps from the dying people's lungs, were reflected in the darkness. It spreads and fills the space, like a thick puff of smoke, lingering until it is cut open by a beam of pale light reflected in the room and pushed to both sides.

The rusted iron door opened with a harsh hiss, and the hum of Space Marine power armor became distinct. Footsteps lingered in the dark corridor one after another.

Konrad Coates made no move, just waited.

Someone took off his helmet, then a second, then a third. Coates remembers where the first sound came from.

"My lord," said the same man. Uneasy, hesitant, yearning. The chemicals secreted from his body speak for him and express these hidden feelings for him.

Conrad Coates still has not responded.

The servo system of the power armor hissed, the armor collided, and the air formed a weak current in the warrior's movements.

"Stand," Curze said softly. "In what capacity do you want to kneel to me? A guard? A servant? A jester? A prisoner begging for mercy?"

"Your child, father," the Space Marine replied, standing up straight again and taking a stand by the iron gate.

"Then stand, my child. I do not need my children to kneel before me."

Konrad Curze lowered his hands, exposed his face, and looked down at the first warrior who dared to enter this dark prison.

In this lightless space, the Primarch could still clearly see the silhouette, features and features of the warrior, just like observing a black and white silhouette.

He saw an Eighth Legion soldier with pale skin and an almost deathly demeanor, staring at him quietly, his eyes not daring to blink for a moment.

"Saul Sahar." Conrad Curze thought of his name.

In the broken dream, he had seen him, a member of the Nightbat Council, the First Claw Master, who believed in him and rebelled with him. After he met his destined death, this loyal heir's pursuit of the assassin of Kalidus was regarded as a cowardly betrayal by the other Night Lords...

Saul Sahar, his beloved "Betrayer", was still just a young warrior.

He was so nervous, so immature, surprised and disturbed that his father knew his name, but he also had numerous military exploits, enough for him to become the first Asta to stand in front of him among the Terran Eighth Legion. One of the special features.

"Yes, father." The soldier saluted him. "I am Saul Sahar. Any instructions?"

"Are you familiar with this place?" Cozz asked, his voice calm.

"Yes," Sahar replied matter-of-factly.

"Why would you feel familiar with the prisons of Terra, Sahar." Curze continued to ask.

His voice was still low and steady, but the content of his words made many soldiers grit their teeth unconsciously, and cold sweat dripped down their spines.

"Because... I grew up here, Father."

"How many people are like you?"

"...most of us, my lord. We were born in the prisons of Terra, or came here early, until the Recruiter and your blood gave us a second life."

Conrad Coates was noncommittal.

"Some legions," he said, "are carefully selected from the nobles of Europe and born with glory. Some legions are exchanged from the ancient kingdom of the Achaemenids as proof of alliance. And my legions , My children, you are born with sin... Remember, your second life cannot wash away your sins."

"Father!" Saul Sahar couldn't help shouting, his face tightened with anxiety, and a sense of shame sprouted from his chest, "We..."

"I'm satisfied with you." Curze interrupted him. In the disbelief of the other party, he laughed softly, winked, and waved to the warrior.

Thor Sahar walked towards him, remembering the Primarch's previous request and resisting his desire to kneel.

"We also fight for humanity, Father," he emphasized.

"I know, I know..." Coates said, "Who denies this? I just want... you see, this is like this-"

He licked his lips, "No matter where people are born, too many of them are born with sins, or few people truly admit this. Except for my legion, they are honest, frank, and dare to face the truth."

His words caused a small ripple among the warriors, their armor shaking and their breathing heavier. This was no small reaction for a Space Marine.

Konrad Curze stood up, walked around Saul Sahar, and put his fingers on his shoulders.

In the darkness, he said to his legion: "The reason why I am meeting you in prison today is not because I want to tear open your scars and strip away your honor. No, I can tell you... If I were not a Primarch, I would have done enough to live in this cell long into the future before I returned to Terra."

"For example," he licked his lips again, and a sweet smell of blood spread from the unhealed wound, "You can smell it, right? I changed the composition of my blood, and it is now toxic to humans. , especially the blight of the Third Legion."

"For another example, I brought some... creatures that should not appear in Terra at all, as my followers."

Behind Konrad Coze, some surges of light and shadow occurred in the dark shadows, which allowed the warriors to barely make out the tall, dark outlines of those slender figures.

"We are the same, my children." Coze said, lowering his eyes, "We are all guilty people, but it was just the right time for the expedition that we were lucky enough to have an opportunity to atone for our sins. And my eighth The Legion, the Night Ghost King's Court, will also be a temporary residence for the guilty to cleanse themselves of their blood sins... The last thing we need here is the innocent and righteous, we are all the same, child."

"They call me the Bloody Marquis, the King of Sins, the Lord of the Midnight of Death... What about you, little sinners, what do you want to call me?"

Saul Sahar's shoulders trembled under his palms, and Curze took a curious step back.

"Look up," he said.

The soldier raised his head, revealing a tearful face.

Conrad Coates clicked his tongue.

"I don't understand," he said, pulling a spare handkerchief from his carry-on bag and tossing it to Saul Sahar before retreating to his seat. "do not Cry."

"...Lord of the Night." Sahar grabbed the handkerchief, squeezed it tightly, and pressed it against his eyes.

"say it again?"

"Long live, Lord of the Night." Saul Sahar clutched his handkerchief, lowered his head, and knelt down on one knee, his knee armor hitting the wet prison floor. "I beg you in the name of a follower, and I beg you in the name of the Atoner. I wish to kneel to you.”

Curze looked at him, waiting, thinking.

He realized that this heir was making his own choice in front of him, without instructions or urging, based on his own will.

Then Coates spoke, making sure every syllable was clear: "I accept."

For the Eighth Legion, this was the best signal they could get, and behind Saul Sahar, more warriors were ready to make the same decision.

Curze raised a hand. "No," he said. "The space in the prison is small. I understand what you are thinking."

He squatted down silently and looked at his warriors.

Then, he moved his left leg back, and the spiked combat boots made a dent on the ground until his knee touched the ground.

"May our sins be washed away at the end of the expedition, or may we die on the journey to cleanse our sins." Konrad Coze stretched out a finger and pressed Sol Saha Er's shoulders pushed back, allowing the warrior to return to his feet. "We will fight forever until evil is brought to an end."

"For innocence, for justice."

The Blood Marquis swore softly.

"For innocence, for justice."

The whispers of his warriors formed a midnight wind, cold and long, passing through the dark prison.

"Okay, I'm very satisfied. I hope you feel the same way."

"We want nothing more," his court replied.

Coates stood up again, returned to his seat, and waved back.

A woman with bloody hands wearing a dark hood handed him a blank notebook and a pen.

"Company commanders of each company, report to me on the status of the legion. We will complete the handover as soon as possible, and then the Lord of the Fourth Legion will invite us to his home planet Olympia. I believe you have heard about the discipline and strength of the Iron Warriors..."

Coze said, something suddenly occurred to him, and he tapped the pen tip on the notebook, "I think we failed to summon a warrior named Sigismund?"

"You mean the Templar Marshal of the Seventh Legion, father?" Thor Sahar asked, his voice calmer but still filled with emotion.

Coze shrugged, "Well, it seems that the genetic surgery still pushed him to Rogal Dorn. I don't understand why the prophecy has to come true in these things, but I actually don't think he will be more successful here. good."

He paused and hissed: "This is the prison of sin, children. And I want to show you... another batch of atoning souls who also follow me."

A lamp is lit, and darkness escapes from the light. Slender, masked figures are illuminated by the light.

"When you see them on the battlefield later," Coze said, "remember not to fire on this group... unless they are prone to betrayal. As for the name, just call them the Sons of the Muses."

——

"Sorry, I'm a little noisy here. I want to confirm again. Are you saying that father is also going to watch your sports meeting?"

Horus spoke loudly, over the roar of gunfire in the background.

The pearl-white battle armor of the Lord of the Shadow Moon Wolf and the thick imitation wolf skin on his shoulders seemed to be eclipsed by the light and shadow.

"Yes, Horus." Perturabo replied, "Mors and I will return to Olympia first to make preparations and agree on which period of history to use as the prototype for the drama. Within a month, other Primarchs will follow suit. Arrival. Finally, when we are ready, the Emperor will come to Olympia."

"And I," something on the table chirped, "I'll go with Perturabo."

"Magnus is here too?" Horus asked, his voice slightly changed. He cleared his throat and deliberately adjusted the signal communication array. After that, his voice returned to normal. "Which of our brothers are going to go?"

"Of course I am," Magnus said dissatisfied, "otherwise who will maintain the long-distance psychic communication beacon for you?"

"I didn't know you were in such a small form, Magnus."

"This was my first work," Magnus said, allowing Perturabo to lift him up so that he could be seen waving to Horus with both arms. "It was all I could create and use. Temporary shape of size. I didn’t destroy my first work rashly, considering that it still has certain archival and research value, so you can still see it, uh, me.”

"Okay, I understand..." Horus said, closing the window to make the sound of artillery fire from the outside smaller. "I...can't get away, brothers."

"You have a heavy responsibility, brother. This is a symbol of the Emperor's trust and respect for you. Among the others, only Fulgrim, Ferrus Manus, Vulkan, Angron, Conrad Coates and Roger Dohrn had that free time.”

"Are they all free?" Horus asked blankly.

"Several people have just returned from the battle, and some people decided to entrust the task to trusted heirs, so that we can just make up this hard-won time." Perturabo said, adding a word of comfort: "If the event goes well, , I will definitely discuss with you my free time at the next Games and invite you to visit Olympia. My planet will surprise you."

"Sejanus...forget it." Horus just stretched out his hand to the data tablet, shook his head and put it down.

"The war is at a critical moment right now. I cannot selfishly leave the battlefield for my own personal reasons and betray my father's expectations and trust. Magnus, can you do one thing for me?"

"Okay," Magnus said, "What is it?"

"Broadcast some scenes for me." Horus sighed. "If I can spare time after the battle, I can also participate in this event a little bit."

He thought for a moment and then said: "If you can... maybe you can also transfer a section for Robert, Lorgar, Riemann and Duncan? I think they will be a little curious about the event you hold anyway."

"It would be fine if Robert was in Macragge recently. His Pharos Lighthouse is bright enough, within a certain radius, even comparable to the Star Torch, and that guy... forget it, I am familiar with Macragge's Coordinates." Magnus closed his eyes and felt the light and undercurrent in the supreme sky. "For the remaining brothers, I really can't confirm their coordinates."

"That guy?" Horus repeated, smiling. "You are rarely so excited, great scholar."

"I'm about to carve instructions on how to use psionic energy into his brain!" Magnus stamped his foot vigorously in Perturabo's gauntlet. "I have decided that unless he can learn to actively send me psionic energy... Beacon, I will never broadcast it to him... Oh."

"What's wrong?" Horus asked.

Perturabo turned the camera to reflect the scene outside the porthole into the transmission signal of the communication array.

"Olympia has arrived." The Lord of Iron said, exhaling softly, relaxing his body in the steel armor, looking at his Olympia without looking away.