Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"I believed you at the time. Iskandar Khayon glared at Telemanon Lyras dissatisfied. "I can feel your emotions and know that you are angry because your flawless honor has been stained by those night ghosts. , so I argue for you. The only thing I didn't expect was that you actually took that potion. "

"I'm sorry. I don't know anything, really." Telemanon said.

His muscles still refused to obey him, and even to speak, he had to use all the tenacity of an Astartes to make his face obey his commands. This also caused his current expression to be uncontrollable. If he weren't an Emperor's Son, he wouldn't be handsome at all.

Khayon shook his head: "Who dares to attack you in the Iron Lord's territory? You'd better remember all this quickly, then admit your mistake to the two Primarchs, and beg for leniency."

"Fabius Bile." Telemanon said a name that was very unfamiliar to Khayon. "I doubt him," he added.

"Look at you, now starting to put the blame on other people's heads."

"No," Telemanon continued, "He...has a reputation..."

"Let's rest for a while. Can I read minds directly?" Kayon waited for Telemanon to make a face for a long time, but did not continue to say the next word, and finally said impatiently.

Telemanon didn't answer.

"I take it as your acquiescence."

Kayon murmured, counting the number of uses of his psychic powers that he had accumulated recently, and found that according to Magnus's request, his remaining usage was quite sufficient, so he closed his eyes, relaxed in the chair, and gradually became colorful. In the beautiful world, he touched the golden and purple etheric aura of the Emperor's Son beside him.

In an instant, a large number of thought fragments above the language level were exchanged at extremely high speed.

"Disease is not just an unfortunate add-on to the course of life, but a hateful enemy that must be completely conquered and eradicated. Blight is an example of this."

"You mentioned it. The blight. It destroyed many lives and brought decaying death."

"I've known him since I was on Terra. They. Fabius's mind is hard yet fragile, even if he feels like a god on the operating table. He fears the blight, and that fear is deep in his soul. middle."

"The struggle with death is even more complicated. For Fabius, death is not just the end of life, but the ultimate challenge to his scientific pursuit."

“With their wisdom and technology, pharmacists break the boundaries between life and death, but every moment that comes close to success is accompanied by the fear of failure—the kind of complete and irreversible failure.”

"I think your thoughts are more pleasing to the ear than what you are willing to say. No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't think about this, but I can't hide my thoughts in this kind of communication."

"He is not the only member of the Third Legion who behaves like this. In their experiments, every flicker of life is a provocation to death, and every failure of provocation makes them more afraid of the darkness that will eventually come. "

"I don't think the Ninth Legion is as sentimental as you."

"We are not ghouls! In short, this realization brings a sense of despair among the Legion."

"Until the unknown gift of the Emperor?"

"But the despair doesn't end."

"You glamorous guys..."

"We have not found the end of the disease..."

"Just stopped halfway?"

Kayon suddenly opened his eyes and broke away from the touch of his emotional body. The knowledge he gained gave him a headache.

"You still can't prove that he did it," the scholar said, hesitantly.

"related to him."

After a few seconds, Kayon proposed the solution he had just thought of.

"I have an idea," he said, "Why don't we ask the Night Ghost mortal legions who smell your...potion? They should know something."

Telemanon managed to conjure a mocking contempt into his immobile expression. "Nefertari?"

"It's not like I have to go see her to prove my innocence!" Kayon immediately countered, "How about I take you to find Fabius now?"

"Good luck to you," the Emperor's Son said, "She's not bad."

"For the emperor!" Khayon cursed, "Just lie here! Goodbye!"

——

Morse was lying on a wicker chair with his eyes closed, stretching his body and looking relaxed. Of course, every drama he arranged was performed meticulously by the Primarchs. And this is the only task he needs to complete in this sports meeting.

With one last play left for the closing ceremony, he was done.

"You don't seem to be in a good mood, Perturabo." Mors said, his fingers gently sliding on the armrests of his wicker chair, seeming to be touching some unknown rhythm.

"You haven't even opened your eyes." The Iron Lord replied.

"Okay, how about you just think that I have opened an eye with a surreal vision?" Morse said, shrugging his shoulders, which made his black robe crinkled against the wicker chair.

Perfecting the entire body of reality will of course lead to interference from some physical laws - this phenomenon would not have occurred if he had not made the inner part of the robe.

"good."

Morse still opened his eyes and looked at Perturabo, who was in a depressed mood.

"What are you worried about?" he said firmly.

"I don't know," answered Perturabo.

"You started to stop talking." Morse patted the armrest and his tone changed to a sigh, "Okay, you are fifty years old, aren't you. I can't control you for everything."

"Is this sarcasm?"

"This is a fact. When it comes to age..." He thought for a moment, "According to Terra's chronology, Kalifon has only passed sixty seasons. To be honest, she looks a bit old."

Perturabo looked up from his office papers.

Like any of his brothers, he could not completely abandon the expedition even during this rare month-long period of leisure.

"You're too blunt," he said.

"She would not refuse life-extending surgery if someone mentioned her age," Morse said nonchalantly. "You give her too many tasks. She is a mortal."

Perturabo set aside a part of his spirit to think quietly for a while while he was away from work.

"She looked happy when you mentioned her as the goddess of youth," Perturabo said. "I won't admit it."

"Then why do you think she refused the life-extending surgery? It can't be because she is tired of dealing with your too-large star cluster...it shouldn't be, right?"

Morse suddenly became suspicious.

If it were him, and he had to deal with the same job for hundreds of years in a row that kept him so busy that he had no time to sunbathe on the recliner every day, even if his immediate boss was Neos, he would have to run away.

"In the legend of Olympia, extending life requires equal exchange, and heroes who claim to be immortal often still end up in the underworld for various reasons." Perturabo said.

"Or maybe she's just tired," Morse said. "Or maybe she doesn't want to grow old like a piece of dead wood, or maybe she has some persistence that's unique to mortals, or maybe the Mechanicum's implants are too ugly. You know, continuation Lifespan and youthfulness are two different things... Well, I don't understand, I'm just an immortal thing."

"There are many possibilities," Perturabo said.

A possibility about Callifon floated before his eyes. Thirty years, or maybe twenty years later, the last color of youth left on her body will eventually fade away. There will be left an old man tortured by years of burdens, emaciated, tired, unable to see clearly, and unable to remember time.

Maybe it's just a turn around, an expedition, a month or even a day's departure, and the mortal who is still living in this world and has the deepest connection with him will suddenly pass away.

If the incident had not happened so suddenly, he might have been able to get some urgent reports about the illness, but if the war really got serious, he would not have had the opportunity to return to Olympia.

If he really had the chance to come back, he could see Callifon one last time. Callifon would hold his hand firmly, comfort him with abundant energy, and focus her distracted eyes on his face.

Abo, she would say, it was inevitable.

After the old man became comatose, he would temporarily leave the ward to discuss the queen's condition with her maids and courtiers, and ask the doctor whether he could be treated.

The doctor will give several treatment options, and the Primarch will use his fastest speed to choose one of them, or he will connect his brain to the data pad, write the treatment method in an instant, and hand the data pad to the medical doctor The worker, tells the physician that he must do his best.

Then, he might look out the window at Olympia, take a look at Callifon's achievements in this life, and seem to feel something.

As he walked back to his ward, a herald would trot up to him, salute, and tell him that the Queen had stopped breathing.

"She will know how to face it," Perturabo said, not feeling very convincing in her words, "to face aging and death."

"You have no say in this matter, Primarch. Mortals are like flowers. If you are not careful, they will wither. You are cacti. You will not die even if you care for them."

"What is a cactus... No, no need to explain." Perturabo pressed his eyebrows, "Forget it, have you started arranging the script for the last scene?"

"There's no rush, there's still a week. Give me ten minutes and my quill will finish it on its own," Morse said. "And it's up to the Emperor."

"Emperor?"

"He's almost there. I thought I should write a script about him, since all the Primarchs have already appeared."

Morse made his wicker chair disappear into the air.

"Okay, you continue working. I'll go back and think about it first. In addition, who mentioned last time that what you originally wanted was a historical drama? I took the time to sort out the current historical documents, and I just happened to read the contemporary imperial scholar Hu How wonderfully has the ability to make things come to pass.”

He smiled and disappeared, following his chair.