Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 456 Kneel down

"We arrived at Terra with the knowledge of weather magic. When we set out on an expedition, we returned to the Supreme Capital that the sky and the river looked up to, but we didn't know that we got a big lie. 'There is no such thing as gods, demons, or magic in the world, only material truth can be found and checked.' How sad it is that we are rejected by the truth. My Khan told us that he would rather be a barbarian wandering on the edge than be with the so-called civilized people who burn the world and destroy temples and only believe in one righteousness."

"The old seal holder said that lies will end, and it is true. This is the righteousness we believe in when we fight with the Empire until now. Sure enough, in today's Nikea, the White Scars have waited for the answer we have been waiting for a hundred years."

You look at Yesugei standing in the middle of the long carpet, nodding slightly to the Imperial Sky Eagle behind the host, his cloak falls openly behind him, although it is not straight, but it is not loose, as if the wind of Goris still blows past him, and the smoke floating on the sky is brightly rolled into the fine fluff of the cloak.

The people of the White Scars have always had such an out-of-this-world spirit. Their thoughts are very consistent and very inconsistent with what you believe. If you ask them whether the Emperor is a tyrant star, their admission will be a long ironic laugh.

You understand, these people have seen the truth represented by the Emperor, but they have to make a bloody mockery of the truth. They are not ignorant, but they have betrayed the fate they should submit to. And you know that this will separate your fate into two sides, as for what the consequences will be, you still can't explain it.

Look at you, you keep saying that you serve the Emperor, but you don't even want to annoy a rebellious brother.

"Our suggestion is as follows: Imperial truth should recognize the objectivity of psychic energy and the dangers of the warp storm, and then it is the scope of the Nikaea Code." Yesugei smiled freely and retreated briskly into the shadows. If he had a horse beside him, he would ride it and gallop away.

You stared at him, knowing that your hopes would be dashed. As for whether this answer was rational or the resentment accumulated over the years, you could no longer tell. You only knew that Chagatai Khan, who claimed to be the most honest and innocent, did not propose to recognize the identity of the Emperor as the true God. You only knew that the most hopeful people also half-hid the truth in this hall.

Of course, you hope that everyone in the world will recognize that the Emperor is the only true God, and every brother knows that the Emperor's love and heaven are selflessly given; but you have been walking on this path of faith alone for nearly two hundred years, and at the end of the day, your buried resentment quietly emerged, fearing that the situation where you are the only one walking on the right path has changed, and someone else is chanting a prayer that is not what he means and surpasses you.

Then you turned around and blamed your narrow-mindedness, and reluctantly discovered that your complaints were triggered by the look Perturabo gave you.

The custom of the Emperor's Children not having a think tank has continued, and the one who arrived here today to speak for Fulgrim is Julius Caesorron.

Listen to what he said. He said that the Emperor's Children believed that the Emperor's Creed was perfect two hundred years ago, but time flies, and the sword of perfection must also change with the situation. Today, the great cause of the Empire will be accomplished, and there is no need to abide by the regulations that applied two centuries ago.

He spoke tactfully and beautifully, as bright and flawless as his clean face with the blood of the Emperor flowing in it, but behind every word of his words was a long-prepared plan. It was a long-term strategy that had been determined in the past exchanges between the Iron Warriors and the Emperor's Children: How many brothers did Perturabo hold in his hands?

Even you, and his glory blinded you, making you acquiesce and acknowledge his actions.

You watched the Primarchs move towards the side that nominated him imperceptibly, and you yourself were the first brother who supported him to become the Warmaster.

He didn't even move a finger, but just relied on some means beyond time to capture a city and capture you.

Do you remember his expression?

Didn't his calm and solemn expression hide a bit of ecstasy of finally succeeding? Didn't his solemn light blue eyes roll over you coldly like glass marbles and crush you magnificently?

But you didn't see it until today.

You were a witness to their reckless remarks about the Emperor, and you were the one who pushed them to walk step by step to Nikaea. Gathered under the command of Perturabo, who replaced the Emperor, they privately discussed the dethronement of the law set by Him behind the Emperor's back, and you didn't know until now.

You listened to them enthusiastically expressing their dissatisfaction with the Imperial Truth one by one, how quickly they obeyed any order given to you by the Father, but only now, they may not have noticed, or perhaps they knew it in their hearts but remained silent, and they all impassionedly accused the Father's holy words.

As you can see, this could happen under the bright blue sky. Fifteen sons took turns to take the stage, directly or indirectly, and took out their well-prepared words to rebuke their father, pretending to be loyal to the Empire and worried about their father.

No one even asked whether the Emperor or the Emperor's right-hand men really agreed to let them talk here - no one even knew where the Sigillite Malcador went, where the commander of the Custodes Valdor went, and how the sleeping Horus was doing - no one even asked, how is the Emperor? Can the father show up?

You feel surrounded, in the fog of the commotion in front of you, you look at faces that are familiar or unfamiliar.

You feel like you should say something. You are Lorgar Aurelion, the bearer of truth. You should uphold the words that the Emperor left in the galaxy.

But your timidity locks you in your limited auditorium, unable to catch up with all the noise and clamor happening right now.

You identify each of your brothers behind the dark shadow curtains, which block all external detection, but your heart gives you the answer you need.

On the left sideline, Rogal Dorn and the Imperial Fists are there. Akamus once walked to the stage and said a few words. Every move showed his support for Perturabo.

Rogal Dorn, the Terran Guard, the builder of the palace, how many people believe in his loyalty, even the high-ranking guards recognize Rogal Dorn's stone-like determination, but isn't he here, "Based on the facts, we must recognize the limitations of the Imperial Truth"?

Why is it necessary? Is he trying to induce humans to walk out of the shelter that the Emperor painstakingly created?

When you think of this, you know how deeply you have been deceived, just like you blindly let the Word Bearers be poisoned by Erebus for so many years.

Your eyes moved over, not to mention Magnus, you faintly saw his red-gold brilliance from behind the black curtain, which was in line with the firm optimism and arrogance when he first came to power, and it kept pulsating.

You realized the essence of his behavior, a person who always said he hated psychic sorcery, but in the end he wrote a book full of sorcery wisdom.

You continue to look to the side, and you see another brilliant curtain hanging in the sky, the deflected light blocking all the brilliant lights, but you know that Sanguinius is there, wearing a beautiful robe with flowered patterns, with light decorations hanging on his wings, leaning against the elegant fence, watching Perturabo preside over the Council of Nicaea with boredom, with a bit of his innate mystery-like indifference-the archangel flies transcendentally in the sky, using his shadow as his entity for others to worship.

You think of the day in Ullanor, the hidden hints between Sanguinius' words, you think of everyone gathered in Ullanor for Horus Lupercal, but they couldn't even see the wolf god.

You hear Sanguinius' words brushing against your ears like fluff. "Of the brothers here, Perturabo is the most suitable," Sanguinius said to you, and suddenly he turned his head and looked directly at you, staring at you closely, his long golden hair tangled around your neck, and the gray tears painted under his eyes were flowing, and he said to you, "But Horus is not here."

You took a deep breath, and with a sharp and desperate terrible attitude, you felt the wounds on your body bleeding.

At this time, as a Word Bearer, you should take action against all the heretics in the audience, whether they know it or not, but you are still hesitating, you are ashamed of the Emperor. "He is wrong," you heard them say silently, this is the limit of what can be said under the condition of being bewitched or voluntarily, they are fascinated and seriously confused.

And on the high platform, the giant in brocade clothes sat under the two heads of the Sky Eagle, happily welcoming the perfect situation he led.

He allowed other companions to get close to him, to the heroic image he created, and to reflect the flaws of others through his purity and perfection. In other words, this collective pride was given value by the damage to the self, and in this trusting relationship, mutual blind plunder was indispensable and relied on.

However, is it really so? You trembled and closed your eyes. After your anger dissipated a little, you wavered again, not daring to believe that there was a fundamental fallacy in the truth you had believed in for more than a hundred years.

You didn't dare to believe the possibility of Perturabo's disloyalty, and you didn't dare to believe that Perturabo had deceived you...

Just above Perturabo's head, the eagle seemed to see your thoughts and inferences, and realized that only you were paying attention to the eagle itself, not the warmaster Perturabo.

The eagle reminded you on time: "What if my enemy joins my army on the eve of the coming of the kingdom of heaven, borrows my name, and disrupts my orders?"

Your heart, which had just been wandering, fell down, sinking infinitely and infinitely into the incredible depths.

And your eyes were illuminated by the black light, surrounding you. You were filled with the brand new black light, leaving no space to think about other things. Too many things came at you one after another, like metal fragments falling from the sky, hitting you and cutting out fire.

You saw the place where everything started, the Iron Holy City built in the name of Perturabo. You thought that city was built in the name of the Emperor, but it was not.

You saw the traces he used to lure people, saw the Olympian immigrants on Prospero, saw the Olympian star cluster independent of the Empire, saw the elusive Faithless Night Ghost approaching something inhuman, saw Rogal Dorn take the construction rights of the Terra Palace, saw Fulgrim's arm broken on Olympia, saw Mortarion and Magnus getting closer and closer, saw Jaghatai Khan being brought back to Terra by his craftsmen, saw the last day of the Battle of Randan, when he received the Emperor's Holy Light - only Perturabo was not there, only the Iron Lord did not dare to be anointed...

And what happened recently. The denial of you recently. The ambiguity of you. The malicious pity for the Colchis rebels.

You must notice that all these things happened to the same person.

And he is your Warmaster, and you personally promoted this.

"Perturabo," you heard yourself suddenly speak in the compartment, your hoarse voice carried far away, "Perturabo."

Standing on the platform below, the Astartes endured his interruption in bewilderment, which made you realize that they could still be saved.

They are all your brothers, but they were taken out of their respective bookcases by Perturabo. In the process, the paper on which they were written was destroyed, brutally damaged and smeared, so that they did not resemble their true appearance. The result is an indecipherable and ever-changing deflection.

You read them again, identifying each one anew, hoping that your own caution has allowed you to get a word or pattern right, to nail down the right highlights, brushstrokes, and carvings. You feel a little more at ease, knowing that many people still have a way back, stretching to their feet, lighting torches along the way to welcome them, and if they want, they can be guided back to the Emperor's black sun. Down.

"What's your opinion, Aurelion?" Perturabo answered you. His voice broke through the curtain that you had raised. In fact, the voice broke through something more illusory and hit directly. It grabs you and makes you hold on to the railing at hand.

"You can come down from there and come to the podium." Perturabo reminded you. He sounded sincere, but the torrent of his words almost washed you away.

You stared at him stiffly, and then the Aquila behind him, the Aquila stared at you with burning eyes.

You were encouraged again and your back straightened. You walked into the passage, thinking about what you were going to say all the way until you stepped into the light again, facing the person who had trusted you for more than a hundred years.

You were willing to do anything for your trust, but your trust was all based on the assumption that Perturabo was a loyal heir to the Emperor.

At the moment when Perturabo was about to overturn the truth of the Empire, maybe earlier, maybe when he stopped you from destroying Interrex and scolded you for destroying Colchis, maybe when the old enemy blade was stolen and Horus was assassinated. At that moment, the foundation of trust was gone.

"Perturabo," you said loudly, "I object to everything that happens here. I object to your slander of the Emperor's shallow wisdom. This is an open insult to the Imperium of Man."

Perturabo looked at you calmly, as if he were evaluating a piece of impurity-laden steel, calculating how to reforge you, a piece of scrap metal that he didn't like, so that you could be made into a workable material again.

Under the bright attire, under the eyes of the Sky Eagle, the Lord of Steel becomes cold and deadly in an instant, staring at you with unpredictable eyes, which is incompatible with the Imperial Sky Eagle full of honor.

You find that you are not proud of yourself for standing up. You just feel that your heart is being squeezed and held by the palms of your hands under heavy pressure, making you unable to breathe.

Even if you defeat Perturabo, you will not feel happy about it. On the contrary, you will burst into tears, and your heart will say don't do this. Whether true or false, you don't want to break with your brother, no matter what. You both refused to believe that you had to object to that face that showed contemplation.

But the eagle speaks to you, it speaks to you wordlessly, so that you understand, you are reprimanded and warned, and you regain your rationality.

Tianying said: You should be loyal to your faith.

So you speak, suppressing the cry in your heart, O man of truth, you must declare loudly in front of everyone, like a street prophet who no one listens to.

"I support Imperial Truth," you say.

The commotion around you gradually expanded, and countless worried faces looked at you, but no one stopped you. Either they were afraid of revealing their disloyalty to the Empire, or they were adhering to the superficial etiquette of the cult and allowing a true believer to voice his disapproval of their blasphemy. You're a little surprised by this, not all morality is lost here.

"I also support the Imperial Truth," Perturabo answered him, "but we need to revise it so that it can survive in the new era."

"No," you said, "Imperial truth is inspired by the Emperor and is useful for teaching, reproof, correction, and training in righteousness. You may not modify its text without authorization."

When you spoke, you felt eerily calm, as if you were an empty vessel, a mere transmitter of the God-Emperor's scriptures. You are content with that, after all there is no glory in brotherly debate.

Perturabo narrowed his eyes slightly. The surprise and disappointment he concealed were undoubtedly a scam he performed for you, luring you into his camp at the smallest cost, and using your wavering and pity to unintentionally lead you into a downward spiral. the way. This is essentially his incomplete pride, for only false pride can turn timidity into cruelty and guilt into viciousness in order to exert hegemony over his companions.

"First of all, you should know that no prophecy in the Bible can be interpreted in your own way, because prophecy is the narration of His words by men." You continue to say that Imperial Truth is His revelation, not the creation of humans or angels. You don't understand why everyone here thinks it can be modified.

“I testify to everyone who hears this book: If anyone adds anything to this book, the disaster that is written in it will be upon him; and if anyone takes anything away from this book, the Emperor will take away from it what is written in it. He has written the tree of life and the holy city, and you say, "You call upon your brothers to tamper with its meaning, and you are destroying it."

You paused, then continued to explain to your other brothers: "You can re-examine and interpret it to respond to current issues. You can use existing doctrines to discuss and resolve the justice you think is lacking and the truth that you cannot understand. But you cannot modify the Imperial Truth, Perturabo."

"Do you think I did this without authorization?" Perturabo asked, sitting alone in the seat where the Emperor should be.

"Why did you do this?" you questioned, staring at Perturabo's face, "Why did you destroy the Imperial Truth, add to it, delete it, and add your own mark?"

"Everything that happened here was approved by the Emperor, Aurelion."

"With the Emperor's approval? Then where is the Emperor?"

"On Terra--"

"How could the Emperor give you the power to determine His doctrine alone, Warmaster Perturabo?" You shook your head, glaring at the still calm face, "I can't see your evidence, I can't see the evidence of what you did, and I can't stand your misunderstanding and belittlement of Him. I will return to Terra, Perturabo Perturabo, I will personally inform the Emperor of this matter. "

"Inform the Custodians of your request, Aurelion," Perturabo said, "If you can prove to the Emperor that I am telling a lie or that I am unjustifiably belittling your beliefs, then of course I will obey the Emperor's highest instructions."

"Too late," you shook your head, and both palms began to ache, "Brothers! We have discussed too many anti-Emperor remarks, too many refutations and blasphemies of the Imperial Truth without knowing the Emperor's attitude!

"How many of you dare to say that you have made your own interpretation suggestions completely selflessly and open your heart without reservation?

"I hear your arguments are all different, but all of them prioritize their own positions! I hear your selfishness beating in your chests. Every modification you are prepared to make to the Imperial Truth is based on your need to gain personal or legion benefits from it!

"I hear you borrowing the name of the Emperor, waiting for this long-awaited opportunity, in the future gap after the end of the Great Crusade, when the Empire is about to enter the next future, calculating your own plunder rather than sacrifice, personal gain rather than justice.

"I see you standing above the people of the Empire, thinking that you are destined to achieve the highest position, and using excessive power in advance, but aren't we the servants of the people of the Empire? Aren't we the servants and assistants of the people under the domination of the Emperor?"

"The Imperial Truth protects humanity, and you are destroying it, my brothers, you are privately carving your tombstones."

You calm down and let yourself look around at all the mysterious black curtains around you. Your will allows you to see countless hidden emotions. Are they really unshakable? No, it's not the case. Some of them know you are right, or at least partially right. Their remaining consciences are questioning their selfishness.

Just as not everyone is used to obeying a Warmaster. The meeting consumes the prestige that Perturabo has accumulated, and this is the price he must pay.

Perturabo taps the table lightly.

"Aurelian," he reminds you again, and neither of you raises your voice, and you and he can hear each other clearly.

He says, "The Emperor knows everything that happens here. He is watching you, watching us. He just didn't come, but he didn't close his eyes and ears."

"Do you want me to accuse you of lies that you can't prove, Perturabo?"

Perturabo stands up and raises the Skyhawk Scepter. In full view of the crowd, the eagle of the scepter emits light. The blazing light comes with a burst of burning pain that penetrates your soul. You are blinded for a moment and almost fall to the ground. You barely stand.

You see a brilliant golden shadow, without a specific form, just a pure and unrivaled light, shining in front of you. You stare at the strong light until your eyes are filled with tears.

"Lorgar Aurelion," the golden light sounded like a bell-like holy rebuke, "Why are you so stubborn?"

"But--" You uttered a syllable, like a bird at a loss at night, or a moth that didn't want to live, teetering on the edge of the light source.

"Must I order you to kneel?" The Emperor's voice turned cold.

"Father--"

"Kneel." The golden light ordered.

There was no tolerance in it, and it was difficult to identify thoughts, but there was definitely no thought in it. His great thoughts were higher than the existence of any person, higher than all the vulgar morality and narrow evil in the universe, and he used this voice to command you from thousands of miles away, without any mercy.

In an instant, you chose to obey, kneeling before the glory of the Emperor, without even understanding what you were doing. Your head hits the ground like a bell.

All the brothers are looking at you, sixteen brothers, from Lion El'Jonson to Alpharius, their cruel eyes staring at your crawling back, like the bite of a poisonous snake.

You kneel helplessly in the middle of the blood-red carpet, welcoming everyone's gaze, and let out a desperate whimper from instinct.

Right here, on the cold ground, colder than the dead sand of Colchis in the long night. Right here, you crawl here, imprisoned and bound by a simple command.

Right here, you kneel.

Your soul shrank cruelly in the cold, and all the dignity and memories of your life with the Emperor were squeezed out bit by bit. You touched the glory left by the Emperor in your memory, and then you were pushed away and thrown into a cold, narrow cage shaped by a straight-backed kneeling posture.

You kneeled.

Only silence. Sixteen brothers, seventeen legions, tens of thousands of narrators, all watched you kneel in silent silence.

The silence continued.

Ten years. A hundred years. A century. A whole rolling generation. Continued and extended.

Continued until the golden light gradually faded.

Until your will returned to you from the ruins in your soul that burned up along with Colchis.

Until you raise your head, and pursue the Emperor's fleeting brilliance from the annihilated air and fading traces around you, looking for His divine brilliance, His form, His voice, everything He has, and the few marks that He has given you from all of this.

Then, you see it.

You see a tiny black light flashing in the eyes of the Sky Eagle, mixed in the depths of the golden light, swirling like a nightmare, dancing like a ghost.

"Stand up." Perturabo said, turning his head and no longer looking at him. "Enough."

"Yes, enough." Lorgar Aurelion said slowly, his eyes lingering on the sky.

His eyes once again reappeared with quiet gentleness and tolerance, and all the brilliance that could be called obedience, as if his eyes were just a pair of amethyst niches holding the statue of the god, so pure.

He turned around, no more words, no more defense, and walked out of the eyes of tens of thousands of people step by step along the scarlet carpet. He stepped out of his old shell, leaving behind all the brooding and gloom and anger he had acquired within it, leaving behind the echoes and shadows his words had left, and walked slowly away from an entire glorious era of the Great Crusade.