Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

It took Rogal Dorn some time to take the short transport boat ride back to the Phalanx.

For safety reasons, the small, unfamiliar model of ship has not yet been approved to enter the huge hull of the Imperial Fist Mothership; although at this moment, the war in the Satrada Abyss seems to have come to an end, but no one Dare to take the risk of sending an unknown enemy ship into the Empire's military base.

Dorn entered the communication workstation. After the busy signal debugging and other work of the mortal crew, the two sides could already hear each other's voices, and the shape of the weird boat floated on the side of the console in the form of a holographic projection, quietly Spin quietly.

Dawn didn't rush to speak. He observed the small ship, dissecting parts that seemed to have been cobbled together from all the civilizations in the universe.

Its outer shell alone is made of three different metals. Just from the appearance of the short-range defense missiles and naval guns, you can tell that they come from two unrelated societies and were forcibly combined by a certain master craftsman. Stuck inside the same boat. Such a work of incredible craftsmanship can actually remain intact in a complex cosmic environment. This is a strange thing that can make many Mechanicus frown with their natural eyebrows.

What's more, the broken rams and the blackened burn marks on the surface of the armor plates were even revealing to Roger Dorn that this strange ship had even penetrated into the battlefield more than once and participated in the battle without being damaged or sunk.

But if you ignore the dissonances...

Dawn pressed a button, causing the mottled color to fade from the surface of the boat model. Next comes the simplification of shapes and modules, and the abstract and standardized presentation of each hull component. When all this was completed, what was left in front of him was a small assault boat that could almost be said to be built according to the standards of the Human Empire.

To be more precise, if he made his guess even bolder - a small warship in the shape of an Iron Warrior.

Rogal Dorn stopped delaying. Although it was difficult for him to come up with a final hypothesis, his attitude towards this small ship added a deep tolerance.

"I am Rogal Dorn, one of the commanders of the Imperial Expeditionary Force of the Human Empire, and the Primarch of the Emperor. If you maintain a friendly and peaceful attitude towards the Empire, please report your origins and names."

He heard a brief silence, and then a voice spoke from the other side. The voice was rough and harsh, mixed with the hissing sound of the armor's operation. Although the speaker was trying his best to maintain the stability and strength of his words, his attempt could only show the wretchedness of his futility.

"Dear Primarch, I am Barabas Dantioch, Commander of the Eleventh Battalion of the Iron Warriors. Please allow me to apply to join my Primarch with the Legion. This may sound incredible, but There is no deception in it.”

Rogal Dorn silently assessed the veracity of the words of the man who called himself Dantioch. The place where he and his team members were recorded to have died was far away from the west side of the Satradar Abyss where the Imperial Fist fleet was located, and until the planet was destroyed by the storm of Time, under the strict monitoring of the Iron Warriors, there was no trace of anyone there. Any survivor escapes from destruction.

"Where did the crew of this ship come from?" the Primarch continued.

"Now...there is another psyker named Madoc here who met by chance in the conquered world of 12-5. He is now in a coma due to the exhaustion of long-distance navigation. Other than that, I am the only one."

Rogal Dorn's jawline tightened, "I give you permission to board the deck of the Phalanx."

After the communication was terminated, the original body looked across the meditators and the numerous data arrays in the workstation to the galaxy outside the narrow porthole. He paused for a few seconds before turning around and leaving.

When he arrived at the port of Quadrant Four, the man who called himself Dantioch was slowly walking down the sloping platform alone, his steps unsteady.

If the man in iron armor could straighten his back further, he would match Rogal Dorn's impression of the height of the battalion commander whom he had met several times - unfortunately, he was overdrawn The body seems unable to do this.

Although the armor was broken and mostly repaired, the remnants of the Iron Warriors Legion's emblem and colors still remained on his shoulder armor, like a background that had not been washed away by time and remained stubbornly there.

The warrior bowed slightly to him, then slowly raised his body.

"Lord Rogal Dorn," the warrior said, "it is an honor to meet you. I have brought some navigation star maps of the galaxy, resource distribution statistics and humanistic information integration, as well as ore samples, alien weapon trophies, regional I hope that the historical narrative and other resources can be submitted to the Iron Warriors."

Rogal Dorn nodded: "Why come to me and not Perturabo?"

"Because the temporary navigator is trying to do just that, my lord. He is not a professional."

Rogal Dorn looked at him, his marble-like face with almost no extra expression. To those unfamiliar with him, he often appeared to be close to cold, just like Perturabo.

But Dantioch was familiar with his genetic father, and even though more than two thousand years had passed, he could still remember Perturabo's words and deeds in his heart.

Therefore, his sight could slightly penetrate the stern face of the original Imperial Fist and explore Rogal Dorn's hidden emotions.

"My lord," he smiled, "I thank you for your trust."

Dorn waved his hand, causing the two Imperial Fist warriors beside him to step forward and surround Dantioch on both sides.

"Lord Primarch?" The Iron Warrior was a little surprised.

"Take him to the medical bay," Dorn ordered. "Go now."

——

"...the Imperial Fists examined Barabas Dantioch's condition and verified his genetic identity..."

He closed his eyes and lay face up, with his back pressed against the bed. His nerves were soothed under the influence of the medicine, which relieved him of some of the pain he had accumulated over the years. Some liquid was slowly injected into his body through some thin tubes. The nutrients and therapeutic drugs carefully prepared by the pharmacist flowed in his weak blood vessels, stabilizing his vital signs and better maintaining his life.

"...But his aging has become a fact. It is not caused by abnormal toxins or spiritual curses, but a physiological phenomenon brought about by the normal passage of time..."

A voice came from above him, floating and distant. Roger Dorn, his brain gave the answer.

So, who will be talking to the Primarch of the Imperial Fists?

The pull of his blood told him a name.

"...I didn't ask about his experience, and he hasn't clarified it yet. He just said that he brings you a certain amount of strategic resources. When the pharmacist asked to examine him, he was interested in taking off his armor and showing his body. situation, showing obvious resistance, therefore, we have to take moderate and moderate measures..."

The other person said nothing and just listened. Dantioch felt that his eyes were resting on his face, and he was not sure whether this was an illusion caused by his longing for it.

It was only then that he realized that he did not dare to open his eyes. His heart of steel is not as indestructible as he thought.

Then, he heard a sigh.

"You're awake," said Perturabo. "Thank you, my warrior."

The long river of time seemed to stop flowing for an instant, and then the spring of life began to flow again.