Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 458 Golden Throne

The huge, crazy towering throne stood before Magnus.

Like a banyan tree made of countless steel vines, or some kind of giant dragon with cables as blood vessels and golden steel as muscles pulsing in the energy vortex, the Golden Throne is firmly entrenched in the center of Terra's throne room—— So huge, it seemed to fill the entire throne room, yet so small, compared to the entire Terra, and compared to the entire vast galaxy it would serve in the future, it was no more than a speck of dust.

The smell of ozone hung in the air, intertwined with the bitterness of myrrh, creating a pungent smell that made Magnus' heart curl in his chest.

And sitting on the throne is the Lord of Humanity who took him to the stargazing tower a month ago.

Only today did Magnus know that what Rogal Dorn, Perturabo, and he had spent more than a hundred years personally helping to build, and what he recognized with infinite pride and joy as the greatest masterpiece of his life, Alongside his beloved homeworld of Prospero, the core of the Webway is the golden cage reserved exclusively for the Emperor.

Yes, he played an important role in the erection of this torture device.

And he was actually happy about it.

In Magnus's etheric vision, he saw things beyond the limits of the physical universe.

He saw half-dark light immersed in the back of the entire human empire, like a set of black blood vessels, with unexpected tenacity, starting from the solar system and piercing through to the edge millions of light-years away.

In response, the galaxy uses equal pain as the most efficient nourishment to feed back to the dark shadow in the throne.

Shadow, exactly like this, what Magnus saw was a dark shadow, nailed in place by a pentagram exuding pollution and distortion, destruction and despair. His life had entered the border of spiritual death. .

As for the golden light, if the edge that outlines the shadow form can be regarded as actively emitted light, then a ray of golden light does still exist.

"This is what you want to see,"

Malcador said that since his cane was lent to Perturabo as a token of Nicaea, the Imperial Chancellor began to walk on only his legs again. This shouldn't be a problem for him, but his tiredness matched his appearance.

"Magnus, the Emperor is here... There is no other choice. The Tyrant Star may come at any time. And when the end comes, it must be born directly in the cage... This is our only chance."

"But -" Magnus said, slowly calming down the panic that was fluttering in his heart like a fluttering bird, "I -"

Malcador stared at Magnus, and his voice sounded hoarse in Magnus's ears.

"Speak, he can hear you."

"——Okay. We are checking the twelve major nodes of Tutmons, excluding the Terra node, which are evenly scattered in various star fields. Therefore, Rogal Dorn, Angron, Perturabo and I each received a quarter of the mission to confirm that there are no human inhabitants around each node planet, and there are no traces of alien or other species intrusion."

Magnus said that he felt that his voice sounded too dry, with broken sparks rising along with the residue of myrrh. This is a reaction that his fake body in Terra should not have. No, this is the negative effect brought to him by the dark radiation of the Golden Throne. Time accelerates here and flows towards the end of destruction.

Untimely, Magnus remembered the stasis crossroad Vigberach he had discovered in the Webway before. The situation there was completely opposite to that of the Golden Throne - the river of time rolled to Vigberach, and at the crossroads Absolute light is close to eternity, even countercurrent.

"This work is nearly completed," the Crimson King continued. "There is still one node located in the Holy Grail expansion area, waiting for Perturabo to go to inspect. It is almost completed... However, during the inspection process, there is one Questions come back to me sometimes and I want answers...and to see what I can do for you, Father."

The dark waves rose and fell steadily like a sleeping breath, and Magnus had to convince himself that the Emperor was indeed listening, or that the Emperor was capable of listening.

He took a deep breath, and then continued: "I want to know, setting the Golden Throne in Terra can certainly stabilize the core node of the formation, but how can it ensure the indestructibility of the other twelve endpoints by relying solely on radiation from a single point? ? We can send heavy troops to guard the real universe, and father, I can also directly guard any of the nodes, but they are still relatively fragile..."

Did the Emperor really hear his statement? Magnus expected an answer from the Golden Throne, even an audible sigh or even sarcasm. But he got nothing...

+accept me. +A hollow sound rang like a bell in the room.

Magnus exhaled the air from his chest, closed his eyes, and sat cross-legged on the floor, letting go of his mental shields.

The cold wind pricked his skin and passed through his chest, like Magnus was a hollow stone monument.

Suddenly, all his thoughts disappeared, and as the black wind accelerated towards the end of time, he was cut and disintegrated in the powerful impact, until the curtain of light stopped his drifting and reassembled him into a complete individual.

He came back to his senses and saw a golden light curtain that went up to the infinite high point and went down to the extreme bottom, blocking another kind of terrifying darkness.

Just by scanning the darkness behind the thin light curtain, the fear and pain that penetrated the bone marrow swept through Magnus's spirit body. He screamed, shouted, and howled silently, as if he had passed through the golden body. Brilliant, and his voice penetrated endless time in the darkness...

+Don't look, Magnus. +The voice sounded softly, pulling him back to the other side of the light curtain in an instant.

He returns to the boundary between reality and unreality. There is no image of the Emperor here, only the distant voice of his soul, emanating directly from this fragile veil of light.

Magnus trembled and lowered his head, no longer looking directly at the terrifying danger behind the golden curtain.

"Father."

+I'm glad you accept me as I am. +

"Yes. I must accept it." Magnus whimpered.

Did he really not expect that at all? No, during the long period of time when the Emperor had not appeared, this possibility did exist among the ten thousand speculations he had made.

So he accepts.

"You heard my question..." Magnus said, "I wonder if I'm thinking too much, Father."

+Did those architectural drawings alert you? +

"I can't deny it, Lord of Humanity. During the conversation at the Star Observation Tower that night, you made me aware of the theory of being alone, which made me think about the stability of the remaining nodes again. I don't want accidents to happen in the future...Father. "

+You do think too much because you underestimate the power of end and death, Magnus. +

The Emperor's answer was more direct than ever.

+As long as there is pain and suffering in the galaxy, the Lord of Darkness will be nourished. Pain is salvation, hell is heaven. My vision will follow the brilliance of the star torch to reach all corners of the Milky Way, and I will remain eternally vigilant about the range within the reach of human footprints. And my power knows no bounds. +

+Listen, Magnus, since you have this suspicion, you can also join the ranks of the Overseers and monitor the entire galaxy with all your attention to ensure that death comes evenly and appropriately. +

"Average... versus moderate?"

+Correct death is a must for the Lord of Darkness to maintain stability. Once the balance is broken, humankind's failure will be irreversible. +

Magnus shuddered again. He did not expect that this communication with the Emperor would bring him such a task: it made him clueless, and even gave him a little fear. Both for the mission itself and for the Master of Mankind.

"I understand," he said bitterly, "I'll join in."

+In addition, you reminded me of something: I want your body to return to Terra to confirm that I have not left the throne during the transformation process. During the birth process, once the King of Darkness is derailed... +

The Emperor was lost in thought, thoughts warring within him, leaving Magnus's heart sinking against gravity.

+I had another plan. +The Emperor spoke again, just as the tape started playing again. +I had another plan. +

"What is that?" Magnus asked cautiously.

The emperor was silent again, and then he said:

+Remus and Constantine know the answer. After all node checks are completed, I will close the Webway Formation. When I am on the back side of the blocked world, I will no longer be in contact with the real universe. If something unexpected happens, Remus and Constantine know the answer. +

"...What's the accident, father?"

+anything. +

The light curtain had already pushed him away, throwing him back into the bitter-scented environment of the throne room. He opened his eyes suddenly and found that his legs were numb, and the world was still spinning, flashing with dark patches.

An old and strong hand grasped his shoulder.

"Stop screaming, Magnus," Malcador reminded in a low voice, "This is the real universe."

Magnus looked around in horror. The instinctive panic caused by the dark light had left him. He gasped for breath and finally realized how intense the pain he had just felt was like being penetrated by a heated spike.

"I know, Sealbearer," Magnus said, stumbling to his feet from the ground.

——

"It looks like we're going to have an evacuation," Barban Falk said, scanning down from orbit at the nighttime lights of the Last Node planet.

The population statistics of this unnumbered planet are not included in the census of the Imperial Ministry of the Interior. Considering the irreparable shortcomings of the Imperial political system, such omissions are inevitable.

But when it happens on one of Thutmons' thirteen node planets, the shortcoming becomes an absolute nuisance. "It's best to keep it clear and clear to avoid potential accidents," was Perturabo's direct order.

And this is why their Primarch Perturabo brought a large camp with him when he traveled - to deal with unexpected emergencies.

"Warsmith," his lieutenant came up to him, calling him by his rank and reminding him with a frown, "There are no life signals here."

"Huh?" This surprised Fokker. He turned around and looked directly at the warrior beside him when he spoke, just to comply with the etiquette attached to the status of a war blacksmith. "What are your instructions, Lord Perturabo?"

"Wait," the adjutant raised his right forearm and looked at the information scrolling on the data pad. "Lord Perturabo will personally explore this planet, Warsmith."

"Well, I will comply," said Falk, taking his seat.

——

"Is this a dollhouse?" Morse raised an eyebrow, "A dollhouse for an entire planet?"

Perturabo made no answer, his face serious, not amused by Morse's witticism.

After taking over the responsibilities of Warmaster, he became even more taciturn than before unless necessary.

"The machines here are not intelligent," he put down the head of a humanoid machine that he had forcibly disassembled to remove the motherboard. "They operate exactly according to the predetermined program and will be automatically destroyed when derailed. I think this is a practical display of the urban conception template. From an urban planning perspective, this is a qualified exhibition hall."

In front of the Lord of Iron, the bionic skin, action skeleton and nerve cables are arranged in a regular pattern on the ground, and the flowing engine oil exudes a unique aroma. There is some kind of strange cruelty in all this.

"It seems that I can't blame the imperial officials for neglecting their duties and omitting from the statistics a city that is explicitly prohibited from immigration but is home to five million machines." Morse pondered.

Just today, they landed on the ground, chose a very ancient city, and set foot in it.

The streets of the city are extremely neat, and the arrangement of the buildings reflects the characteristics of the restored ancient Terra in their loose spacing.

People walked lightly on the streets, and the intervals between each step were different. However, the Primarch could easily see that their movement rhythm conformed to a certain fixed program function. However, the randomness of this set of functions was relatively excellent. Try your best. Mimics the human walking pattern.

They passed through parks and green spaces. Plants composed of nanocomponents dropped leaves from the air on their own. After penetrating into the non-nutritious soil layer, they reorganized along the trunks of the trees. Some morning jogging machines were dressed in various retro costumes, and their identities as doctors, teachers, and other basic members of society could be seen, and they were running slowly around the edge of the green space in the park.

In the coffee shop on the street, Perturabo noticed from the mouth shape that the two machines intermittently repeated the same conversation five times, with no change each time. They ordered coffee, read newspapers, and talked, all like a carefully choreographed stage play.

"Who is so boring?" Morse murmured, scanning the surrounding environment. The machine passed him by. After a collision, it deviated from the established program of operation. After falling, it did not get up, but lay down. On the ground, the futile walking action is repeated. "Not even a bug fix?"

"Averted any intelligent crisis." Perturabo commented, grabbing a machine, fumbled for two seconds, and accurately destroyed its power supply with his bare hands. He stared at the machine in his hand for two seconds, "I want to check it."

"Sound decision," Morse said.

"Someone built this place for an unknown purpose." Perturabo replied, carrying his machine. "He designed this city very accurately. If this is not the entertainment habit of Ancient Terra, then the utility of this place is equivalent to A planet-sized sandbox.”

They found an empty seat in a nearby coffee shop, endured the rhythmic sounds of toasting glasses and scrubbing tabletops around them, and quickly completed a disassembly.

Everything here is easy to make people uncomfortable, but what is more confusing is undoubtedly the builder of this planet - now is a critical moment that determines the fate of the empire, and no one wants an accident to happen through negligence.

"There are no witchcraft marks, no model number or origin labels," Perturabo said simply. "The origin of the manufacturing process is unknown."

"But it's a little too new, don't you think? These parts - I don't think they have self-healing function, but these things are still working well, at least they are not afraid of water getting in." Morse glanced at the robot cleaning the cup behind him. "How to deal with it?"

Perturabo put down the robotic skull in his hand.

"If destroying this place does not bring irreparable costs, I will cleanse the surface to prevent future troubles." The Iron Lord said coldly, and the shadow swept across his mountain-like face.

"You were once an architect," Morse sighed. "It may sound unethical to say this, but I have begun to look forward to the day when Horus wakes up..."

His emotion was suddenly interrupted. Within the range of his perception, two thousand meters away, three machines were walking side by side.

What is questionable is not whether they are beyond the scope of mechanical creations, but their image itself.

"Silversmith, No. 11," Morse narrowed his eyes, "and Erda. I suspect I know whose dollhouse this is. Has there been any change in your crystal box?"

Perturabo contacted his iron ring on the ship.

"No, no response." He frowned and pressed his lips downward into an unpleasant arc.