Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"Of course I know what's going on with Mortarion," Mors teased, not hiding his pride. I was there when the Emperor conquered Mortarion. "

The story of Mortarion is not usually one worthy of discussion. Of course, this evaluation is not due to Mors's love or respect for the Primarch, but simply because he does not feel that a Primarch can unite an army and conquer the home planet. , what is the unique and interesting story of returning to the Sky Eagle banner?

To be honest, almost every primarch does this. They are natural generals.

But Konrad Curze and Sanguinius are different.

This pair of blood relatives who touch the trajectory of the future can easily taste the absurd contrast between reality and prediction based on their preconceived impressions, just like tasting which bottles of Malcador's rare and exquisite stasis field wine cellar are genuine. The precious nectar brewed thousands of years ago is as easy as the temporary forgery of ordinary wine wholesaled by transport ships at the end of the old night.

Of course, Mortarion can unite the army and conquer the planet, but what details in this process led to Mortarion being willing to accept the existence of the Emperor in the end is a strange experience that the prophets will be in awe of.

"So, if you are curious, I know very well what outstanding positive or negative contributions the Emperor made in the process of convincing Mortarion, and how Magnus felt about giving him In the new journal of the Tianxiao School, an article on numerology methods based on natural philosophy was added based on the supreme authority of the original body..."

"No," Coates interrupted Morse decisively. This was the first time he took the opportunity to cut off Morse. "I'm not curious."

"I believe his lack of curiosity stems from his inner frustration." Sanguinius smiled at Conrad, "He has seen so much more than I have. This is why a completely opposite future can bring He's far more shocked than I am. But he's looking forward to the change, isn't he? Things are getting better."

"I can't help but be deeply puzzled that a great angel can help me explain my inner moments with sincere feelings." Conrad patted his own robe and swept away the fine sand stuck between a few sutures. , "Go meet your people, Sanguinius. They have waited long."

Sanguinius turned to Morse: "Follow me."

——

They were tired, thin, fragile, eroded by years of radiation-laden dust haze until their skin was covered with burning scars, and the thin skin on their backs could barely wrap around their shriveled, curved spines.

Even if they are tribal leaders united by Sanguinius, with high status and respect, when they take off their hoods in front of Sanguinius to show their sincerity, revealing their true appearance that has been weathered, they prove to be equally difficult. The general appearance of the people who escaped from Baal.

This may be called a conspicuous sign, but if you throw away the pity contained in the description, yes, this is their ugly fate.

Perhaps what is gratifying is that the pure-blood tribe is more in line with the general aesthetics of ordinary humans than the mutants of Barr. Those alien skeletons that succumbed to the wrath of Sanguinius were truly sore-stained, blind-eyed, and twisted in flesh and blood.

Sanguinius was still a little distraught as he stepped onto his dais to receive his loyal followers.

The pure-blood secret meeting chosen by the angel was held in a natural grotto. A golden beam of light shines into the darkness from the naturally formed gap at the top of the hall, and is illuminated by candlesticks around it. Amidst the shadows caused by the cracks in the dark rocks, a mysterious and tranquil atmosphere arises spontaneously.

He sat down and announced the names of all the elders gathered in the hall one by one, asking them all to sit back on the mats instead of standing or kneeling to listen to his holy sermons.

Mors stood beside Sanguinius, observing everyone's expressions and movements. The devotion in their eyes illuminated Sanguinius's face, and he was forced to respond. His wings stretched uncomfortably a few inches behind his back, then froze, each feather following the direction of the wings.

Baal's pureblood tribe reminded Morse of the Barbarus - not in the sense that they were similar, but in the sense that they were different.

Faith gives happiness to the former, even if this happiness can easily be lost when they encounter sandstorms, lack of water, plagues of radiation bugs, streams bleeding from the red mist of radiation, grazing livestock dying, radiation sand sticking to the skin causing blisters, and the death of the great son of Baal. These moments disappear as quickly as the angel decides to leave. These are difficulties that faith cannot solve for them.

"The messenger from the Emperor of Mankind has arrived in Baal," Sanguinius said with a pleasant expression, looking at each of his elders in turn, soothing their emotions with his gaze, "and I will also go to the stars to fulfill the duties of my birth. ”

He gave his people some time to think, a period of restless restlessness full of whispers, some surges of reluctance, and some admiration for the men in black robes beside the angel.

They loved Sanguinius with all their hearts and every word he spoke - they viewed it almost from the bottom of their hearts as a window into the divine. They do not merely pay homage to the image of an angel, but pay heartfelt homage to the divine essence that Sanguinius represents.

An elder spoke. He was perhaps the oldest among the people present. The skin was loose and drooping around his eyes, making him look extremely tired: "Please return to heaven with peace of mind, Lord Blood Angel, the Baal Heaven Sphere will be here." When you leave, you live up to your teachings and instructions.”

"I thank you for this, Zomali Sawyer," Sanguinius said.

"When will you return?" another person asked.

Sanguinius's face froze slightly, "I can't promise you," the angel lowered his eyes in sorrow, his appearance was not pitiful at all, it was a more noble and pure sadness, which made people mourn together, "but there must be that day, and it will not be long, Imlet Ilsax."

"Then, Blood Angel, who is the Emperor of Mankind?"

"There are countless stars in the sky above our heads. Each star is a world, inhabited by countless people like us. The Emperor of Mankind is the master of the stars, the guide of all mankind, and will be the one I follow."

His words amazed the elders of the Pureblood Conclave. Although the description of humans among the stars was recorded in the ancient records passed down by word of mouth, it was too far away and unimaginable for the Baal people who lived deep in the yellow sand for several generations, lived a simple life in the form of tribes, and dealt with the mutant frenzy.

But only the starry sky can match the great angel in their hearts.

The angel gently patted Morse on the shoulder: "This is the messenger of the Emperor of Mankind and also the friend of the Emperor. Do you have anything to say, Morse?"

Morse had to stop watching the prelude to this farewell.

"As Sanguinius said, he will participate in the Great Crusade organized by the Emperor of Mankind," he said objectively, "This is the most noble and grand cause in human history, which will reunite the weak individuals scattered all over the world after the collapse of the Tower of Babel, who do not speak the same language, have difficulty communicating, and are weak. After the angel leaves, the angel's blood relatives and the empire will ensure the survival of Baal."

The elders stared at Morse sincerely, and the latter couldn't help but marvel at the fact that the angel could bear such a heavy look for decades.

"How should we call you, the messenger of the Emperor?" said an elder, this time it was a young woman. "What kind of angel are you?"

The root of Sanguinius's wings trembled, and the sadness in his eyes was briefly swept away by this question.

"They call me a blood angel and an archangel," Sanguinius smiled, "and they call Conrad a midnight angel. What about you, Morse?"

"Then I'm a witchcraft angel," Morse really thought about it, and then he answered, "I have been called a wizard for a whole year, and I decided to keep this name."

"Respected witchcraft angel..." People said respectfully, regardless of whether they thought this name was strange in their hearts.

"This makes me want to do another important thing, Baal people," Morse said to the audience, "Your archangels have a total of 19 blood brothers, and now you have met Conrad Curze, the midnight angel. Since he has never brewed wine with Baal's blood, it means that Conrad's respect for you is not unshakable. "

"So, if the blood relatives of the angels come to Baal again in the future, how will you use the local language to fairly praise other angels and find their respective honorific names?"