Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Above the mountain forest, aircraft of various sizes interweave a complex network of swarm trajectories among the clouds, marking the current busy space transportation status of Planet Olympia.

After the Games were declared over, delegations from various planets in the Olympia Star Cluster embarked on their return journey to bring the good news back to their homes.

Even if not a single medal was won, the generally distributed regional subsidies actually entered the cargo holds of these planet visiting fleets, and the agreement also appeared on the desktops of the envoys.

Morse only glanced up and then looked back. He has more important things to deal with now - no, objectively speaking, this is actually not a big deal. He can pretend that he is not aware of it at all, but...

"I don't understand how you found yourself here, Emperor. I didn't send you an invitation on parchment with varnish on it."

After a quick shuttle, Morse emerged from the air and stood at the edge of the woodland fence, his hands stuffed into the pockets on both sides of his black robe.

It was a design he had just added to his robe to naturally place his hands that didn't know where to appear or what gesture to make.

At this time, no one was watching, and the emperor's clothes changed back to a gray and black robe, with a rag-like cloak on his shoulders. His hair hung down from both sides of his shoulders, and he could not be considered young or old. On his finger were three rings, a ram's skull, a sun, and a gray stone.

He seemed to be in good spirits, with a rare lack of fatigue, which further obscured his age. But no matter what, he doesn't look like a galactic emperor.

Hearing Morse's question, the Emperor put the stone chisel he was observing in his hand back on the low table. Since he was sitting on a handmade wooden bench at this time, he raised his head and looked at Morse.

This makes his eyes appear very dark, like the deep black holes that appear on bronze statues buried in deeper soil than the Terra underground palace.

"I was passing by here," the Emperor said, with a deliberate cunning behind his casual approach. "Stumbled across traces of where you once resided, Morse."

He actually doesn't often call Morse by his current name.

"I don't have many requirements for living conditions, Emperor. I only need a messy stone hut to live for thousands of years, not a whole glorious palace across the Himalayas..."

Not long ago, when Mors and Perturabo returned to this old house together, he had experienced a strange comfort and ease, but the Emperor suddenly stepped on this unspoiled land with his noble feet. After getting on, Morse felt a buzzing inside his skull.

Morse glanced at his simple house behind the emperor, which was entangled with vines and covered with grass seeds. He confirmed that the emperor had basically not touched his things, and gradually breathed a sigh of relief.

"...and a hard-working assistant, I mean Malcador." He continued.

"The natural environment here is very good," the emperor said, his eyes still fixed on Morse. "It is impossible to find mountain valleys surrounded by streams in Terra."

Morse declined to comment. He pulled out a wicker chair from behind and sat down opposite the emperor. The smell of unprocessed vegetation in the forest gathered in the mountain breeze.

"It was around here that I first saw one of your creations," Morse pointed in a nearby direction. The photo he took back then is still stored in a space that only he knows. "Later I found out that you have nineteen or twenty such children."

A fruit plate suddenly appeared on the low table. Judging from the craftsmanship of firing and inlay, it should belong to the Royal Palace of Lokos.

Some overly huge fruits, perhaps gene-edited grapes, are lying in the center of the golden and blue fruit bowl, and the remaining water droplets after cleaning slide from the smooth surface of the peel. Morse and the Emperor each took one. This is the last plate of the season's Primarch special fruit that has disappeared.

"They are returning," said the Emperor. "There are not many left wandering."

"What happens next?"

"After what?"

Morse tore off the skin of the fruit. His hands wrapped in black cloth were not suitable for such precise operations. He gave up decisively and directly used one of mankind's oldest weapons.

He took a bite with his teeth and started chewing.

"After they all return, Emperor." Mors quickly finished the pulp in his mouth.

This was a question suitable to be asked casually during tea time, without any additional hints or questions, but the silence used by the Emperor to ponder the answer to this question was longer than Mors expected.

"What's wrong?" Morse asked, continuing to hold the bitten fruit in his hand.

The Emperor did not immediately give his answer. Just when Morse began to wonder if the Lord of Mankind was wandering in other worlds as a ghost, the Emperor finally began to eat his special grape in a humane manner and wiped the juice from his chin with the back of his hand.

"After the first round of construction of the Webway is completed, this matter can be announced to them." The Emperor said. It seems that making an important decision related to open secrets is more important to him than conquering a hundred worlds. Be difficult.

"Of course, of course, we can't let poor Horus continue to know nothing about it." Morse smiled. The low-altitude aircraft passing by in the sky often made a rumbling noise, which neutralized his laughter. .

At this time, Olympia looked a bit like the throne world Terra, which was surrounded by transport ships and aircraft.

"This road... will need to be guarded and maintained." The emperor spoke slowly, as if every word had been selected by him, "We have verified that when the runes are activated, this road has a certain impact on the vast ocean. ability to withstand.”

"It's just that if no one looks at the cracks in the wall, any of its weak points may be crushed by the invasion of the vast ocean under extreme circumstances." Morse turned the grapes in his hand, "Look Look at the fate of the Ancient Spirit Empire."

He stopped fiddling with the food in his hand, "Not every Primarch is as capable of dealing with local rifts as Magnus. All of them are warriors, but the number of psionic masters is not sufficient."

"In addition, even you cannot keep an eye on the webway within the entire galaxy at all times. If you have such ability, why are we still here conscientiously going on expeditions from planet to planet?"

"Besides, after the construction is completed, there is still a lot of work to be done. Even the network channel itself is only one of the many lifelines of the empire. In the final analysis, it can only alleviate the dilemma of communication and transportation..."

Morse cut off his words and shook his head: "I don't like plans that are too far-fetched, because they often have no use at all."

"Plans are humanity's shield and armor against unpredictable fate," the Emperor replied.

"Do you have to use individual combat power armor to resist the fate of the ship-based light spear array?" Morse stared at the emperor, trying to detect something different from that familiar face, "I don't I know you are still a fan of armor-and-gun combat.”

"I..." The emperor couldn't handle it for a moment. He hesitated again and again, and finally said: "Maybe."

Mors took a bite of the fruit angrily: "Okay, my dear Emperor! But I do have one more question..."

"Yes," the Emperor interrupted. "That was one of my visions."

He stood up from the bench, and before he knew it, Morse's forest cabin had been shrouded in a layer of golden cold power, and at the same time it was isolated from reality and subspace.

The place where they are located has been abstracted into an extraction and simplification of the real universe. Natural light and shadow return to large areas of flat color blocks, and complex details are left only as simple vector outlines.

The Emperor's shadow fell on the dirt wall behind him, taller and deeper than his body itself.

"As you said, once, the Webway was just a road. What it can solve will not exceed what the road can solve." The Emperor said, turning his back so that no one could see his expression. "But it has unique properties that give it so much more potential."

The Lord of Mankind exhaled: "A shield is also a weapon."

"You could have told me about this earlier, my emperor..." Morse put his finger on the side of his forehead, endured it for a while, then suppressed his aggravated tone, "What is there worth hiding?"

"If my idea cannot be verified as feasible, there is no need to say it." There was a rare honesty in the emperor's tone.

Obviously, if the Evil God's domain is not cut off by the Webway, the great Lord of Mankind intends to pretend that he never thought so.

Morse walked up to the emperor and looked at that glorious and majestic side face, feeling a wave of turmoil in his heart again.

He must have sworn to the recliner, and he was also curious about why he was always manipulated by the Emperor and the Emperor's children to create anger that was not conducive to mental health out of thin air.

"So you want to conduct an experiment with the Lord of Corruption's garden without saying a word? To see if the Webway is that strong? Can't you explain it to your Royal Engineers in advance?"

"You weren't here before, but I need you." The emperor turned his face and looked at Morse. "The spell is not from the same source as psychic energy. I need it to maintain the verification environment."

Morse shook his head, unable to maintain his dissatisfaction any longer. He said stiffly: "Oh...The results now satisfy you, right? Your guess is correct, and the phoenix is ​​flying."

"Yes," said the Emperor.

Morse threw the remaining kernels into the soil, although they probably wouldn't sprout.

"First of all, let me state that as a consistent radical, I support your idea. Instead of hiding under the watchful eye of the Supreme Heaven, it is better to make some creative subversive attempts..."

"So, do you have any other fantastic ideas?" he asked.

The surrounding golden light became more majestic, further strengthening the isolation between the inside and outside.

"I can speak frankly, but you cannot judge." The emperor spoke cautiously, with a particularly solemn expression.

"Tell me about it?" Morse became interested.

The Emperor moved his lips and reluctantly let the words come out of his mouth: "I am Alpha, I am Omega, the Almighty who was, who is, and who is to come. I was dead, and now I am alive, Live forever and ever and hold the keys of death and Hades.”

"Oh." Morse shrugged, his curiosity disappearing like smoke in an instant. "New Testament Revelation."

After the first sentence, the Emperor's words became smoother.

"I once thought that becoming a god was the only way to fight against the dark gods." The Emperor said, "But I soon understood that even if this plan was successful, before the enemy could be destroyed, humanity itself would suffer catastrophe. ”

After all, the example of the ancient powerful empire collapsing in the claws of the new god is not that far away from them.

After finishing speaking, he asked: "Aren't you surprised?"

Morse reached out kindly and patted the Emperor on the shoulder: "I will pretend that you are not playing the role of the human race god, the Galactic Emperor."

"I don't."

"Yes, you didn't." Morse blinked.

The Emperor knitted his noble eyebrows, knowing he had no explanation.

Denying humanity only makes humans crave it more. So had the last priest on Terra said to him before dying in flames.

If you take faith away from human beings, what will you use to fill the void?

"I know what I have done," the Emperor replied. "I was right."

"That's what separates you from everyone else," Morse laughed. "How arrogant."

The golden light curtain oscillated in front of him like water waves, or the rolling of hot air driven by burning straw.

Morse took a step forward, transcending the limits of the Emperor's psychic powers, and the world regained its true colors.

He turned around and saw in the golden light the model of all generals and rulers among all mankind for tens of thousands of years.

It suddenly occurred to Mors that while the Primarchs were chatting happily with each other, he was always communicating alone with the Emperor for different reasons. This was a damn regular pattern, presumably because there was always some new information to be gleaned from the Emperor's mouth.

After that, the light used for blocking dissipated, and the image of a middle-aged man in gray robe and black cloak appeared simultaneously with Morse's hut.

Perhaps he should have asked the Emperor to stay here and not leave, and then quickly fetched Perturabo here so that a new picture could be taken of the two of them.

Uninteresting thoughts passed through Morse's mind.

"Are you leaving next?" Morse asked. "Continuing to join the expedition? At least that's what Perturabo decided. Maybe I'll go with him."

"No. There is one more thing," the Emperor denied. "Among the creations of the Iron Warriors Primarch, there is one thing in particular that is famous across the galaxy."

"Oh? May I ask what else I missed?"

"You did not miss it. Perturabo extended an invitation, saying that the doors of the Iron Warriors Memorial Hall have been opened to the Lord of Mankind."

Morse clapped his hands: "When will you go, please take me with you. I will be grateful, Emperor."

The emperor nodded in agreement. The mountain wind surges through and the forest leaves rustle.

"This is a good house." The Lord of Mankind said as he looked at Morse's residence. The golden threads were woven into the gray robe, just like weaving armor, recreating a glorious emperor respected by hundreds of millions of people.

Morse gave him a deep look.

"If you want," he said, "when you are no longer the emperor, you can also find a planet to build a hut. When the wheat you grow is flooded by heavy rain, or you die of thirst in the dry season, I will definitely I will travel thousands of miles to laugh at you, Neos.”