Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

“When I led you away from the gates of Lokos and marched towards a country that had abandoned propriety and integrity, I did not expect that we would face a trap.

Perturabo crossed one leg over the other, and the microphone was pulled to his mouth. All the speeches were torn to pieces, both out of anger and because they were no longer useful.

What he needs now is not an inspiration and mobilization - this routine work before the war does not need to be repeated after the war has started. His speech almost returned to the original function of language, which is communication.

He just wanted to speak his mind to his troops.

"Maybe you are wondering whether this attack violates the wish for peace. Maybe you are already discussing why our army was unexpectedly attacked, and whether your commander will be like countless generals and generals in the past. , hiding the most important secrets alone, sitting back and enjoying the results, and just instructing you to charge into battle, bleed and get injured. "

He closed his eyes, and the smell of gunpowder smoke rushed into his nose. The angry roars were getting closer and closer to him, and he could hear the blood hitting the eardrums in his ears. From all directions, the drums of war rumbled.

Perturabo stood up from his seat, and the microphone's mechanical stand moved automatically with him.

His heavy breathing passed through the electric current and entered the auditory systems of countless soldiers, touching the hearts of all soldiers and reminding everyone that no matter how similar he was to an artist, he was a natural-born commander.

Even a tyrant.

"I will tell you now why we were attacked by surprise. This is the trap of your first prince, my soldiers! This is the greed and corruption of your first prince!"

"This is a unique shame and a terrible betrayal. Your prince who will wear the iron crown is a traitor who colludes with other countries! What is there to hide? Are you happy? Is it worth celebrating? Do you feel the glory? "

His fist hit the table, causing countless small objects to jump. He opened his eyes and opened the roof of the chariot, letting the bloody smell hidden in the seemingly beautiful and peaceful landscape enter his nostrils like an early warning.

In the silent military camp, countless people's throats rolled up and they gritted their teeth due to nervousness.

"Answer me!" roared Perturabo.

"No!" the soldier replied, and the sound wave pushed away the wind and trees in the valley, "This is a shame!"

Perturabo lowered his voice, his tone becoming deep and powerful.

"But I will not look down on the Lokos, my soldiers. Unlike Harkon's followers, your luck and wisdom led you to choose me. When those foolish traitors were killed and slaughtered in the city, And you! Follow me to conquer!”

"Listen up, my soldiers! After you go home, go to the city wall, find the heads of those cowardly little people hanging on the tips of spears, and then tell those guys the following!"

"Just say: You have defeated Chaldis and Pelecontia, you have passed through Alex, Cadithia, Efriu, and Walter, and you have conquered Selenia, Thordarion, and Delk The fortress of Nia; you have climbed over countless mountains, crossed long rivers one after another, tracked through thousands of miles of grassland, and aimed your guns at unbroken passes.

"Go tell those traitors that when they launched their stupid little fight, you were following Perturabo and dragging the entire Olympia into the flames of war, to fight, to occupy, to unify, and to become the master of the entire Olympia! "

"Tell me, what is this? Do you know what this is?"

"I know!" The soldiers shouted like the roar of the sea, "This is glory!"

"Then attack!" he shouted.

Someone dialed his communication bell, and he went to answer it, but his hand shook and he touched the electronic device to the ground.

He put it down to the anger he had been building up over the past few days.

From the death of the Miltiades team, the accident, Harkon's betrayal and the sudden attack, everything became the food for his anger.

War brings surrender, surrender brings unity, and unity brings peace. His theater was to be used - he told no one, but his theater was built for unity.

He remembered the Olympia Games that Morse had mentioned to him, and although Morse had never formally requested anything, he wanted to see the spectacle.

To do this, he will make the earth burn.

The hot sun has risen from the edge of the sky, and the edges of everything are emitting a deep red light. Scarlet blood covers the road leading to Kaldis, burning everything until it dries up and bleeds like red sand.

Wherever he looked, the color of blood spread to all the light and dark places. In the bright and pale sky, the flowing clouds were as dim as rusty brass, and thick blood flowed from the edges of the clouds, condensing into countless forms from the sky. A flowing blood line connects the sky and the ground.

On the ground, the shadow of the army's march was connected to the city wall that was about to be broken down in the distance. From the shadow, the outline of dry bones emerged. The yellow-brown oxidized bones replaced the stones on the road, and solidified into the road in the dark red shadow.

He lowered his head, and the skull's eye sockets shattered under his gaze, turning into flying sand and blending into the river of blood.

Perturabo tightened his grip on the hammer, even though it was empty. He held the steel handle and used his other hand to touch the sharp blade pierced from the top of the hammer along the handle. With a little force, his own blood flowed all over the surface of the metal.

"Let the blood of your enemies flow under your hands!" He heard a voice, extremely rough and hoarse.

It was the sound a warrior would make on the battlefield, the roar of the earth and the pulse of the volcano. His blood surged in his veins, and more visions floated before his eyes.

He saw himself holding a huge war hammer, crushing all enemies on the hammer. His figure became extremely huge, and his endless strength supported him to wield his weapon in any brutal and fanatical way.

He is the fighter, and he himself tears the scum's bones to pieces.

He is the leader, and the countless soldiers under his command only desire to kill and fight to the death.

He is the conqueror, his captives kneel and tremble in the pool of blood, and countless trophies show his victory and glory in the form of mutilated limbs.

"I want victory..." he growled, "take down Kaldis!"

"Come! Let the bones of your enemies surrender under your throne!" The voice laughed wildly, stirring in his heart.

Perturabo saw more pictures.

He saw artillery bombarding the fortress, high temperature and thick white smoke pouring out from the inside of the breached fortress, tanks' tracks pressing over the broken city, and bombs and machine guns sweeping away all obstacles into flowing blood. Smoke burned high into the sky, layers of city walls were accurately shattered in the explosion, and huge stones and metals broke inward. The most intuitive fear originated from force.

He destroyed everything in front of him, in the most effortless way.

His heart was beating violently, and the war hammer and the blood-stained hand were tightly connected, as if they were one body.

He is already a terrifying war machine, an epic, a hero, and a beast.

He is Perturabo, the eternal warrior born for war.

"Come on, this is your calling, your seat! You belong to us!"

That voice was closely integrated with every beat of his heart, coming from the bottom of his own heart. Perturabo could not deny that hoarse roar, this is what he wanted, the eternal Colosseum, the eternal winner, all courage and strength are extremely glorious.

The iron in his blood reflected the raw materials from which he was forged, and his soul roared loudly. He wants to tear up all obstacles and chop them to pieces. He wants to shed all the blood. His steel is the source of all wars!

Perturabo looked back.

His Iron Throne is there, with sharp swords, sickles, anchors, and hooks melted into a broad chair back. The cushions are made of iron seats that condensed and reunited after the shield was melted back into molten iron. Broken bones and dried corpses are spread into carpets. , blood flowed out from under the throne, submerging the yellow sand into a deep iron black.

He stood up from the seat just now, but now the seat is completely different - or is it just like that? Perturabo no longer remembered.

Only iron and blood.

He heard the wails of souls and the endless fighting. Every time he got closer to the seat, the conquest on the battlefield became closer and closer.

Perturabo reached out to the bloody iron seat.

+Perturabo! You damn bastard, your proud calmness was eaten by a damn dog? +

There was a familiar voice yelling angrily at the edge of his soul. Perturabo felt like a basin of ice water was poured all over his body from the top of the Sky Spirit Cap. His whole body shook violently, and the Blood Throne's The temptation disappeared in an instant.

He immediately stopped and pretended to have done nothing.

"Morse, where are you?" asked Perturabo.

The surrounding scene was still yellow sand, blood and dead bones. He looked around, but he didn't see the black robe that he had seen countless times.

+You don’t care where I am! You won’t wake up if I’m not here? What about your brain? It was mixed with butter and spread on your damn multigrain bread yesterday? Look around you, where do you want to sit? Aren't you afraid that shitty seat will stab you to death? +

Perturabo's face turned red, and he stumbled back, almost falling.

"I didn't sit on it! You're talking nonsense, I didn't sit on it!"

+Do you have the nerve to say you don’t want to? How do I usually teach you, you little bastard? Let you take a seat when you see it? Do you believe it when you hear other things yelling a few words? Is this our great wise man Perturabo? +

"What did you teach me? The guy who tells riddles every day! I don't even know what it is!"

+Don't let me know which word you meant to use, bastard. +

"You..." Perturabo took a breath, not daring to be angry but afraid to speak. "What are you doing here!"

Morse laughed angrily: + Guess what I'm here for? Get out of that damn place... +

The man's voice suddenly became choppy in the second half of his sentence, making it difficult to hear clearly.

Perturabo was nervous for a while: "What's wrong with you?"

+What can I do? He makes trouble for me every day and asks me what's wrong? very good! I'll find an exit for you! +

Morse's anger continued to overflow, and Perturabo had an inexplicable feeling that the anger he had brewed before was not worth mentioning in front of Morse.

He took two steps back from the throne and kept a distance from it.

The roar of the nagging guy from before came from the dusky sky, and Perturabo pretended not to hear anything.

"How about I stop fighting Kaldis?" Perturabo asked.

Now the roar in the sky shook like thunder.

+You fight first...+Morse's voice became incoherent again, +After you fight...then go back to Lokos. +

"What did Harkon do? Do I need backup?"

+Don't come back! Cough...wait until I take care of things! +

Morse shouted hastily.

+Fight your fight! The first time I went out to fight, I turned around and went home. Are you kidding me? When a child plays a game and builds sand sculptures on the beach, does he stop playing if he says he doesn’t want to play? Ahem... You are idle when you are idle, hurry up and unify Olympia for me...+

"These things," Perturabo glanced around, not knowing what to call this abnormal phenomenon, "are they because of me?"

+guess. +

"ah?"

+It’s not because you can do it! Speaking of which, they still owe me something, damn, I don’t even know what I lost...+

"What?"

+Don’t ask me. If you have the guts, you can ask that guy later... I should have known earlier. What a fateful disaster... Come on! +

In the long sky of yellow sand, a crack suddenly appeared, and a dark cloth belt hung down from the crack. It looked extremely thin and fragile, but the golden runes on it made it look... Indestructible and extraordinarily sacred.

Perturabo immediately grasped the strip. Although he had not practiced climbing ropes much, the moment he grasped the strip, he knew what to do next.

+Quick...+

Morse's voice became more distant, and Perturabo moved faster, getting closer and closer to the rift in the sky.

The fresh wind in the forest blew from the real universe through the cracks, sweeping away the bloody smell around Perturabo. But before he could touch the sky, the entire cloth suddenly began to flutter so violently that Perturabo could barely hold on to it.

There was a slight change in the strength between his fingers, and his whole body immediately fell downwards. Looking down, the cloth belt began to dissipate from bottom to top.

"Morse!" he shouted.

He didn't get an immediate response, and then he heard a sigh through gritted teeth: +I really damn owe you both...forget it...+

The three chains that had bound him for many years were all broken, and a surge of power suddenly filled his limbs. Countless knowledge penetrated the fog and returned to his brain, filling in almost all the gaps in the thinking map he had built over the years.

He felt that he was growing rapidly, his body became tall, strong and indestructible, his soul was full and full of unique power, and his thinking speed was accelerated a thousand times again.

Everything he had was returning enthusiastically and absolutely, everything seemed to be wiped away from dust and became extremely bright again.

The cloth belt disappeared completely, and Perturabo fell downwards, until a bright and dazzling golden light penetrated the yellow sand from the crack opened by Morse before, taking over the task of the dark cloth belt.

He looked at the golden strip of light and his face became moist.

Perturabo caught the golden light and completed the final climb.

The next moment, his consciousness returned to the real universe. From the whirling of the leaves to the movement of the wind, the trajectory of everything reminded him that less than a thousandth of a second had passed since he finished his speech.

Perturabo raised his hand and wiped away the blood mixed with tears that fell from his eyes. All expressions disappeared from that stone-like face, leaving only a calm expression.

Seven days, no, five days.

He wanted to finish the war in five days, and he knew his soldiers could do it.

At this moment, five days later, he will make his triumphant return.

He will meet Morse.