Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

When the morning light began to shine on the ground, Morse woke up from his sleep as usual - usually at the root of an unknown dead tree, or on a flat ground deep in the sand. He didn't care where his cursed body lay.

He walked through the yellow sand with high radiation concentration. In the distance, the standing rock wall became bumpy under the erosion of time and any other factors. The poisonous red fog accumulated on the surface like a bloody gauze.

Unlike the dim poisonous fog of Barbarus caused by the vicious curse of the witchcraft overlord and the natural climate of the planet, the red fog of Baal was born from an ancient dispute that had descended on this land.

In the past human civil war, the radioactive weapons of dark technology artificially changed the climate environment of Baal and its two satellites.

And those uninhabited old cities of Baal with excessively high radiation concentrations are the half-dead proof of the bloody history of mankind in the past.

Just above these rock walls, some people were lying down looking down at him, holding telescopes that were difficult to say whether they were advanced or primitive, observing his whereabouts from a distance.

After Morse began to move around in the Baal market, the elders in the city began to pay attention to his movements.

Is there another prophet? They questioned. In their strange stereotypes, the only people who can make accurate predictions seem to be angels whose height can break through the roof, and the angel brothers of angels.

For Morse, this is actually an interesting thing.

The heavy white robe that Morse is wearing now wrapped his legs in the wind and sand. This dress is still the style that was popular in Prospero decades ago, except for the gray and white headscarf that is attached to block the wind.

Under this outfit, the only part of Morse that can be seen is the slit between the face and headscarf, and the black eyes visible in the slit.

He always knew what kind of image fits the prophet and the apocalypse in human thought-the glorious son who descended from the sky and showed his extraordinary face openly, or the holy old man who had no origin, was taciturn, and extremely mysterious.

Morse leisurely entered the city-state, passed through the city gate, passed the animal pens, turned in the winding path, entered the edge of the market, and threw a blanket under the metal plate that blocked the radiation and scorching sun.

He sat down casually as usual, took out a box of cards from his sleeve, threw it on the blanket beside him, let the similar patterns printed on the back of the cards spread out casually, then lowered his head and continued to sit and sleep.

The first to come to the market were the water sellers on Basilisk.

They were wrapped tightly from head to toe, only revealing one or half of their faces, pushing carts, and the pottery pots filled with water in the carts collided with each other during the unstable movement of the wheels. This is a very valuable trade material on Basilisk, and it has always been a scarce and good thing.

The front of the cart is mostly hung with one or two radiation concentration counters that collide with each other, clicking non-stop.

Soon, more stalls were set up on the roadside, selling baked cakes, ready-made clothes, and small clay toys for playing.

In the past, there were not too many stalls or pedestrians, and this was the result of the advent of Sanguinius.

But it was different recently. Very different. They came earlier and in greater numbers, far exceeding the number of people who usually came to the market to participate in trade, and the age range was also more diverse. Adults brought more than one child with them, which obviously exceeded the scope of the helpers needed.

Finally, the first person sat down in the sand in front of Morse, his mind was distracted and his spirit was erratic.

He stared at the motionless "Revelation", and became at a loss after sitting down, as if this had exhausted all his courage.

The visitor swallowed his saliva and said tentatively: "Fortune teller, I should..."

"Take it." The fortune teller wrapped in a thick white cloth said, his voice low and hoarse, as if it was made by the collision of frosted iron and stone, almost inaudible.

Such a voice must have come from an old and wise man, whose face might also be marked with wrinkles and scars like decades of erosion, older and more daunting than the rumored mountains or the rifts deep into the bottom of Baal.

The fortune teller's brief voice made the visitor feel a penetrating fear for a moment. At this moment, what he was looking at seemed no longer a fortune teller from afar, but a more hollow echo, waiting to devour anyone's soul.

He was stunned in place until the fortune teller patiently repeated his words for the second time: "Take it."

The visitor immediately picked up a card from the cards on the ground. In a moment invisible to mortals, the front of the card seemed to be blank. Looking again, the card was clearly painted with thick and colorful patterns.

It was a complex and chaotic puzzle, with a background like a city-state in the yellow sand, but the card surface had been cut by several scattered scratches, and then reassembled in a wrong way, blending into a stagnant scene.

"The Shattered World. Upright." The fortune teller's dark eyes penetrated the back of the tarot card and read out the name on the card accurately.

The fortune teller lowered his head again and whispered vaguely and indifferently with a strong accent. "One person dies. One person lives."

The visitor burst into tears and the tarot card fell from his hand. He obviously understood the meaning of this concise interpretation. He walked away slowly and stumbled along the road in the center of the market.

The first guest did not pay anything, and no matter what result he got, his reaction was enough to illustrate the effectiveness of the divination.

Soon, the second person squatted down in front of the fortune teller and consciously picked up a card. Before he turned the card over, the fortune teller's hand wrapped in white gauze suddenly clamped his wrist.

"Put it down." A bolt of thunder exploded in the second person's ears. His fingers trembled with fear, and the card fell from his fingers.

The diviner looked at him like he was looking at a mountain rock made of sand and stones. He didn't need to say a single word. The second person immediately understood that the other person had already learned that he was a subordinate sent by the Council of Elders of Baal.

A dark coldness followed the fortune teller's hand and climbed up to his wrist, like a cold iron rope, slowly tightening him.

His lips and tongue were blocked, and he could only squeeze out a suffocated breath. The only answer his poor thinking circuit gave him was to immediately take out all the valuables from his pockets - specifically, those were the three items he was carrying. A silver coin was presented to the fortune teller: "I'm sorry, great... master..."

After he did so, the diviner let him go, that cold touch still wrapped around his arm. The second man quickly got up and ran away.

The fortune teller picked up the silver coin in the yellow sand and tossed it casually. It happened to fall into the hands of the more and more onlookers around, who was hesitating whether to step forward.

The man froze in place, then became extremely happy, and the worry on his face was wiped away. He bowed deeply to the fortune teller and then left the market quickly, obviously intending to do something that he had originally planned to do but was unable to achieve due to financial constraints.

After the third person left, the fortune teller picked up the tarot card left by the second person from the sand and turned it over.

A gorgeous door carved from sterling silver stands in the dark background, as if crossing the silver door can symbolize the change of fate.

"The Silver Door." The fortune teller whispered, a set of simple words floating in the red mist that was about to disperse. Under the background of what had just happened, there was an extra unspeakable feeling. Miraculous.

The crowd surged quietly. Even in the past few times, people who came to the market had heard about the strangeness of this fortune teller. They had witnessed the effect of tarot readings with their own eyes and the fortune teller's ability to determine fate. It was still something else. A completely different kind of shock.

destiny. This word often has different meanings in the eyes of people who grew up in different environments and experienced different levels of ups and downs.

Sometimes, it is pursued and pursued by pessimists. More often, it is a language prop used to satirize the course of life, used in sentences of lamentation and ridicule, and is not really believed.

However, when the prophecy actually happens to a person, in a mysterious and mysterious way, as if lifting the curtain of reality, no matter how much the person claims to be rational, he will inevitably have ripples in his heart.

In this way, in human society that has lasted for tens of thousands of years, there seems to have never been a lack of followers around an unexplored visionary.

At least, that was what Sanguinius saw as he glided from the higher round tower the Baals had built for him and landed lightly beside the bustling marketplace.

With just one glance, he could recognize the admiration and yearning that surged in his people's eyes.

After all, when Sanguinius crawled out of his nursery with his wings still weak, the Baal people almost looked at that unique child who looked like a mutant but was born with a halo of radiant charm with the same look. .

Belief. Sanguinius sighed inwardly. Its birth is so simple - people who need an idol to place their spirit will naturally entrust their faith to others at any coincidental opportunity.

As soon as the archangel landed, his tall figure immediately attracted the attention of most people present. His people moved forward to welcome him with joy, but did not dare to get too close, lest they accidentally offend the splendor of the angels who descended here.

"Lord Sanguinius," they called in a pious whisper, and Sanguinius responded with a helpless smile, walking towards the direction of the fortune teller amid the crowd.

Meanwhile, Sanguinius' doubts grew stronger. Who is that? At this point in the Great Crusade, he happened to arrive on his planet with a revelation-like ability?

If he is...

"No." The fortune teller said calmly in the local language, as if he could see through his heart. The archangel was suddenly startled and stopped in front of the fortune teller.

"Visitors from afar," Sanguinius's voice was like a gentle breeze blowing through the still air. As time went by, the red mist in the morning was almost gone. At this time, it completely dissipated with a gentle flap of the angel's wings. "Barr has never seen you. Where did you come from?"

"About fourteen light-walking months from the core of the solar system, there is a planet that focuses on divination and prophecy." The fortune teller's accent became thicker, "All of Ishma's culture is rooted in antiquity. Belief in the Divine, and an in-depth analysis of prophecy.”

The fortune teller is known to be taciturn, and this is the first time the fortune teller has introduced himself on Baal.

The onlookers all gathered their full attention, half of which was devoted to admiring the handsome angel, and generally used to listen to the golden words of the inspired person.

"They use palm prints, palmistry, counting, throwing arrows, and even furs, organs, and bones of relics to predict enlightenment about the future. In many cases, their predictions are so accurate that it is difficult for ordinary people to understand, and their technology Also in the old night, we steadily moved in a unique direction and achieved a rare progress. "

The doubts in Sanguinius's heart grew more and more, like a light floating cloud, with more water vapor constantly gathering into it.

"Is that where you come from, guest?" the angel asked gently. "It sounds so far away from Baal."

"No, angel." The fortune teller gave an unexpected answer.

"Oh, but you are so proficient in divination," the angel sighed, "are you from a planet that is better at predicting the future?"

"I don't know how to divination." The man in white robe said.

His words fell among the crowd, like stones thrown into the rare water of Baal, creating a criss-crossing ripples.

This is impossible. someone said. Maybe a revelation. Some trivial voices were discussing. Or the fragments of the future that pure blood brings him. The inspired one.

Sanguinius narrowed his eyes, his eyelashes casting a shadow.

"Huh...don't you know how?"

A huge black shadow quietly appeared from behind the man in white robes. No one understood how this several-meter-tall giant sneaked into everyone's blind spot, but when they discovered that it was the rumored Midnight Angel, they naturally had doubts. Fleeting.

After all, this is the blood relative of their beloved Blood Angel.

"I really don't know how." The man in white robe changed his slow movements and stood up from the carpet neatly.

His turban slipped off his head, revealing a young face, with half-long black hair that was messily curly, and black eyes set in a sharp-lined cheek. From any angle, he looked the same as what the fortune teller could bring before. People's impressions are quite different.

The playing cards on the ground floated up out of thin air and unfolded between his open hands. The cards were facing out, allowing everyone to see clearly that it was a blank stack of cards.

His behavior elicited a number of startled reactions, including but not limited to whispers, movements of feet, and turning of heads.

"Oh." The angel was at a loss for words, and he didn't know what to say for a moment.

"Psychic tricks." Curze strode through the crowd and walked to Sanguinius. "Tricks to spy on the mind."

"Combined with a bit of vague phrasing, a hint of sincerity without an explicit lie, and excellent observation."

The man in white robe smiled, closed his palms, and the cards were also closed in his hands, and were put back into his cuffs.

"Of course, there's also the diligence of getting up before dawn for a week straight. I don't even need to say who I am, and this is such a practical technique for creating an icon that even your elders almost believe it, right? "

"You are..." Sanguinius took a step back.

"Morse," the man in white robe said. After he said his name, the thick white robe on his body was also re-dyed, as if soaked in thick ink, becoming completely black. "I think you've heard of me. Now that Conrad is with you."

"Conrad did mention you," the angel said, a little annoyed at being teased, but more of an incredible helplessness. "Friend of the Emperor, this is really an interesting first meeting."

Sanguinius nodded slightly to the people in the market, and his people immediately left the area obediently. The water sellers even left their carts behind.

"As long as it's interesting," Morse shrugged. "Among the emperor's descendants with their own characteristics, you are the only one who is the most typical born icon. Therefore, I am very curious about your people's reaction to you. Is reverence the innate talent of the Primarch, or is it derived from their own need for religion? It seems that it is both.”

He tilted his head. "Have I offended you, Sanguinius?"

"I wouldn't say no." Sanguinius sighed.

"That's good." Morse smiled, "I'm glad I can make a deep impression on you."