Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Horus's words were true, Sanguinius realized as he walked among his timid-looking sons.

The Council of Four Kings and Horus Luperkar, who had changed into ceremonial attire, stood behind him. Of course, Torgadon looked after the cart of wine. Sanguinius stepped forward, feeling the supportive gaze behind him pushing his steps forward, and the Ninth Legion drawing him back to their midst.

Even the Night Lord's gorgeous and rich words were not enough to describe all that the Immortal Nine presented to Sanguinius.

This was a legion that broke his heart. Unlike the Luna Wolf's pearl armor that smelled of polished pearl powder, the ninth legion was hastily covered with gray monochrome armor, covered with fire and swords. hurt. In the war mission, they were deprived of everything, from honor to life. Ever since they were transformed into soldiers of the Ninth Legion, fate seemed to have put its hands on their necks, leaving no trace of mercy or tenderness.

The Immortal Nine were routed, defeated, and fell to their knees time and time again, and all this was brought to them by the blood of Sanguinius, and the harm done to them by the blood-thirsty sub-line in his life. Thinking of this, the angel suddenly wondered how he still had the power to lead and save - the suffering of his offspring came from him.

"Warriors, I am Sanguinius, the Primarch of your bloodline," Sanguinius said, and the speeches he once wrote were blown away with the wind of Baal. The Immortal Nine does not require a glossy promise, or a promise of future glory and lofty ideals. What they needed was not the philosophy of the Imperial Crusade, for they had never strayed from it.

"Take off your helmet, Baal's radiation is not enough to harm any of us."

The Ninth Legion did so.

And Sanguinius got a pair of fearful and timid eyes, embedded in one beautiful but pale face. These faces are the only masks they have. Putting them on any legion is enough to gain glory, but in Here, in Baal, before the eyes of Archangel Sanguinius, the faces of these angels could only barely conceal their fear.

This was not a fear of his own existence, but a heartfelt fear of what his arrival represented. This was evident from their silent retreat when Sanguinius walked into their midst.

They were afraid that their genetic father would get too close, close enough to understand the true body beneath their armor, close enough to detect any part that could touch their essence.

Sanguinius continued to move, wings carefully folded so as not to inadvertently touch any resisting warrior.

"What is your name, warrior?" Sanguinius asked carefully, choosing a warrior who would look him in the eye.

The warrior's eyes flickered slightly. "Idamas," he said quickly, as if expecting Sanguinius to leave him.

"Where did you get this scar, Idamus?" Sanguinius asked, making a diagonal gesture with his finger over his lips.

"I don't remember," the soldier said.

"A long time ago?"

"...Yes." Idamas said hoarsely.

"It makes you lose track of time. I'm afraid it's a war that ended long before I started." Sanguinius said. "You have fought more battles than I have ever fought. ”

He pursed his lips and smiled, "You were already great warriors when I was still an infant."

Idamas's cheek muscles trembled.

Sanguinius left him, searching for a second within the Ninth Legion who would respond to him.

At some point, it seems that more and more warriors are willing to do this.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Nasir Amit." He got a response, crisper than the previous one, with an armor-clad aggression.

The angel looked at him: "Do you remember how many battles you fought?"

Amit looked up at him, eyebrows arched. "Many," he said, "all the battles we had to fight. All our achievements were bloody."

"But they comply with the order, right?"

"Not quite," Amit said, his voice tight.

The angel's hand patted Amit's shoulder armor, "Please don't be humble in front of me."

Sanguinius asked the names of some more warriors, one by one, listening to the full story being woven from the restrained, short words, and his own as well.

As one warrior downplayed a battle that had destroyed half his face, describing the acid spray weapons and splinter munitions used by the resisters, Sanguinius introduced him to the part of the Baal mutants that spewed radioactive ichor.

"I just learned that there are more powerful venoms, and that you have stepped into a universe wider than all my dreams," Sanguinius said, trying to touch the warrior's roughly chopped head, "Fight Good job, soldier."

Some soldiers will introduce some of the habits of the legion. He will tell how the legion fights on the ground and what techniques they usually use to tear the flesh and blood of the enemy. The ghouls he described were brutal and violent, almost deliberately destroying the basis for a good impression on the normal Primarch, which earned some angry looks from his companions.

"Reminds me of those pamphlets written by my tribe," the angel said bitterly, "recording that I fought a road paved with blood for them in the front. Sometimes I think I scared them, but the elders Or do you think I protected the pure-blood tribe?"

"You deserve the praise, my lord."

"You do," Sanguinius blurted out, looking at the hesitation and struggle on the faces of these warriors. "You deserve it too."

Sanguinius could feel the eyes of the Luna Wolves focused on him, surprised by his words. Well, he thought, Horus said that the words would flow out of his heart by themselves, and these words were indeed what he wanted to say as if he had suddenly realized something.

"The Bone Feast on the Gray Lady?" Sanguinius asked. "May I ask why such a feast is held?"

"We eat our dead brothers," the warrior said stiffly, and then became almost self-destructive. "Eat their raw flesh, eat their memories, preserve the history of the Legion, and let those souls that are most worthy of continuation be reborn in us."

Near them, the Legion Commander Ishdul Osuran took the initiative to speak: "That's it, my lord. I was resurrected from Zarin."

Sanguinius nodded slightly: "Not long ago, the Baal people did not record history on parchment. Some special tribes even extracted water resources from the dead. I don't know, maybe it sounds cruel, but we - you and I are familiar with a set of unusual customs for prolonging life. I always thought that this was not taught to us by others, but life itself sang for us."

He shook his head and invited the Legion warriors to come to him, regardless of order or any offense that would not exist.

If you want to tell him a name, just say your name, Sanguinius will remember it. If you want to tell a story or a few words, then open your mouth, and the Legion will remember it, with brain and mind, with soul and bones, with blood and flesh.

Even with the most extraordinary memory, an individual may forget some details, but the history of the entire Legion will not. Their hearts flow in each other's blood, coming from the same source, scattered in thousands, and finally returning to the same source. There will be no more forgetfulness, and the glory that was once deprived of in disgust will return to the Legion's blood bit by bit.

This took a lot of time, and it seemed to end quickly. The expressions of the ghouls have changed, and the fear full of worries has faded away, turning into strong desires and almost tough inquiries. They want to know Sanguinius's decision, what Sanguinius thinks of them, why he wants to understand them in this way, and where he wants to take them.

They know each other, which is like a permission, indulging these ghouls, allowing them to boldly regain their desires and ask for everything they deserve.

Sanguinius looked at his Legion, and his feelings came from his heart.

He said, "I am very happy to meet you, Immortal Nine. Everything today has made me re-examine the world today."

"Before this, I always thought that I saved a planet, and there were thousands of planets waiting for me outside. But when I was supposed to lead a force that had saved thousands of worlds, I remembered this matter--

"The Ninth Legion belongs to you, not me. It was not created by me, and it has never been protected by me. You have come to where you are today, but I have never provided any assistance. How can I have the power to impose my orders on you?

"My achievements today are actually not as good as any of you. Since I was born, the things I have accomplished are far less than Immortal Nine. In front of you, although I am tall, I am actually an apprentice and a child.

"Now, I have become the master of the legion. This is not what I got by fighting with my own strength. That is the way some of you become captains and company commanders; this is given by my natural destiny. But destiny does not favor you. "

Sanguinius said among his descendants, his sighs mingling with the wind blowing through the sand.

The Immortal Nine, they are equal to the mortals struggling to survive in Baal, they are both warriors of the Emperor and citizens of the Empire, but they seem to be not allowed to integrate into either side.

"Why should I be your leader? What qualifications do I have to lead a great team that has experienced hundreds of battles on a different path? How can I fulfill the responsibilities I have been given, so that we can become a true whole, rely on each other, and not be slandered, entangled, or abandoned by others?

"In the face of fate, we seem to have our own responsibilities. The pre-set trajectory allows you to play the role of a blood-drinking and flesh-eating thug, and also allows me to ascend to the altar that I don't like and be worshipped.

"However, my recent experience has repeatedly told me that fate may be true or false, but it is never trustworthy or worthy of attention. What we take will always be the path we choose.

"I admire you for your achievements, respect you for your strength, and lament your suffering. The path I have chosen is that I hope to be allowed to learn from you, accompany you in battle, understand your will, spread my wings in front of you, and pursue reason and faith in the dark galaxy.

"I hope to use everything I have provided for you in exchange for your trust and recognition. Although you are my descendants, I am your original body. "

In the wind and sand, Sanguinius spread his wings and knelt on one knee, with only determination on his beautiful face.

The ghoul army was surprised by the rustling sound of sand, and their armor clanged against each other. The orders and oaths they feared never arrived, the grand words and inspiring scenes they expected were nowhere to be found, and the punishments and blame they expected were nowhere to be found. Their hearts beat so fast and powerfully as never before.

"If you refuse, I will leave, and I will renegotiate my agreement with the Emperor and never interfere in any of your actions again.

"If you accept me, accept me as one of you, and allow me to learn like a new recruit until I am qualified to be recognized by you, then I will stay and grow enough to stand by your side, and even The posture in front of you.

"We will jointly re-explore what the new legion will look like, to find a better look, as a bloodline connected by blood, to find the path we all really want to go, without being restricted by others, regardless of fate's reproach.

"Finally, I know that you are exiles, brave warriors born from the homeless, people who were not promised by Terra." Sanguinius slowly looked away from each person's face. Moving over, under the blazing sunlight, his outline was still gentle, "If you agree, Baal will become your home."

The gravel scrapes against the ceramic steel, and the sound is like falling rain.

"What do you think?" Sanguinius raised his voice, stood up, and shouted in the wind and sand, "Dear warriors? Can you allow me to swear to you and use it for you?"

Thousands of roars of approval echoed across the plains of Baal, whipping up strong winds that shook the earth, like the surging pulse of the desert, rolling straight into the heavens and the earth.

Sanguinius smiled proudly: "In that case, allow me to bring you a sip of wine as a gift for meeting you! This is what I asked for from your uncle in the Eighth Legion. As for the magical effects of wine, I believe you Will be satisfied!”

He turned around and waved to Tarik Torgadun, who was waiting with a dull look through some of the soldiers: "Please also ask friends from the 16th Legion to distribute blood wine to us!"

The Four Kings Council who were watching from the side came to their senses and drove the car close to the team in a hurry. Sanguinius motioned for them to throw a bottle, and soon Horus threw a bottle of wine into Sanguinius's hands.

Angel easily uncorked the bottle and took a sip himself. He was filled with turbulent and vague high emotions, and splendid and difficult-to-recognize stimulating memories. As the blood and wine impacted his brain, he could hardly imagine any drink more suitable than this kind of drink. A harmless treat for the Ninth Legion.

He nodded to the legion: "One bottle per person, no matter how much you have, it will be gone! Just think of it as a belated celebration banquet at the end of your decades of fighting. It's a pity that there is no food seasoning, we can't put the sixteenth legion's Friends brought it to accompany the wine.”

Sanguinius's words caused a burst of laughter, and the ghouls moved to get their rewards from behind the overwhelmed Luna Wolves. Tarik Torgadun's timely expression of fear of being eaten alive earned him a lot of fangs bared at him.

But the legion commander who has not yet resigned remains at the rear of the legion.

"We need a name," Ishdur Osuran stepped forward, his restrained tone hiding emotions as bitter as bitter brew, "A name given by you yourself, to prove that we belong to you."

Sanguinius nodded slightly and closed his wings: "Blood Angel, this is the title given to me by Baal. From now on, it will also belong to you."