Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 462 Silver Bullet

"You still let it be born." No. 11 said, "Even you didn't stop it. It's already a matter of time before it tears the world apart. By then, your galaxy will be turned into powder, and everything you care about will be reduced to dust." It’s all destined to end.”

"Or maybe it will be restrained, and the time it will tear the world apart will be after the world destroys itself." Perturabo stepped forward. "Since you're here, you can't come here without reason."

"Now do you want me to be your helper? As an enemy? As a brother? Or as an iron chain that jointly limits the Tyrant Planet?" Number 11 turned his head and glanced at the planet he was on, "I didn't expect you to call here. Me, but this is a good place, and it will be even better when Erda leaves. One of the twelve great rune endings in the Silent Realm..."

"Tell me what role you can play in preventing its mistaken birth. Now is not the time for puzzles. Yes, it will come, but the end is not yet sealed. Before it completely leaves the throne, I think you should talk to us. Let’s seal this place together to ensure the correct closure of the formation.”

"The formation cannot be closed."

"The time has come. It sounds like you know something about this formation. No matter what else Erda wants to do to the Emperor, the Tyrant Star will sleep in Thutmons' cage from now on. Either you give Help, either leave or be forced to leave.”

"The formation cannot be closed, No. 4. Because it is too late, it has already stood up, in our real universe, outside the sentries and walls that you are vigilant about. Yes, otherwise why do we all feel something in our hearts? Our souls Why is the blood gurgling from the gap? Either you go to your Terra and take a look, your father must have left the bondage, maybe he is still fighting against the darkness, maybe he is powerless."

"you--"

+He is right. + said Morse, returning from his trance, still silent, as if his faculty of speech had been overtaken by the rising silence of the night.

+ What he said is right, the Emperor... There is a missing corner of the node. The Emperor never gives up, but a crack appears in the Golden Throne - no, the balance still exists, but it is on the verge of destruction. +

Morse's psychic voice oscillated in the silent city. Perturabo looked back at him. He saw that Morse's face was blurred under the cover of golden runes, or maybe the craftsman was Take the initiative to hide his expression.

+...Yes, if the rift in the throne continues to spread, even if the rift in the throne cannot be repaired, all nodes must be overthrown for the Emperor's second plan. +

+I'll tell you the part of his original plan that I know about, and let me figure out how to say it...+

"What are you talking about? I'm right, aren't I?"

No. 11 asked softly, noticing inquiringly the tacit understanding between Perturabo and Morse, and an expression that seemed to be a smile slipped across his unclear face.

"Perhaps," said Perturabo.

"So, what do you need me to do for you?" No. 11 asked curiously, "I heard that in this case, you can offer a bouquet of flowers? Sing a lament? Or recite a litany?"

"What's the meaning?"

"A gift for you."

"Need not."

"No, it's necessary. You know I no longer have the ability to sacrifice for his plans, Four."

Eleven said, walking towards him, spreading his hands to show he was unarmed, even though that meant nothing to a psychic master other than to show attitude.

"No. 4, you said that the Emperor has told you everything, then you also know that as a node, our essence is as important as our body. Here, you are the only one who can serve as a complete node..."

Number 11 said, along with his words, his right hand pulled out a bouquet of transparent crystal flowers from the air, glowing with the dark purple-blue light of the evening under the gray sky, and attached a few floating red flowers. Candle.

"So, are you going to die for him?" Eleven asked curiously, his voice softer than the thick clouds surrounding the nameless planet, "Right here? Who will help you, the people around you? "

"It's not that time yet, Eleven, if you are willing to go and mend the rift."

Mors walked up to Perturabo and stood with his arms folded. The rune light surrounding him was restrained, sinking behind the pale waxy skin.

"The emperor's will restrained the collapse of the throne at the last moment. Now he needs someone to counteract the dark forces he cannot control, and then Malcador can help him return to the Golden Throne."

"Well...have you begun to resist your mission? This is not consistent with the righteous words you once said."

"The plans we know are not the same strategy, No. 11. Plans are mankind's armor against fate. After putting on the first set of armor, why can't the master of mankind find a second set of heavy armor? This is his current plan. , as long as he can still control himself, his descendants will still be his descendants, not tools and containers of mission."

Number 11 lowered his eyes.

"Am I his heir? He doesn't feel that way, does he? No, it's not necessary. You don't have to pretend I am so I can help you. I don't have to ask questions. That's what I'm here for. Born and bred, there is nowhere for me to go but this place, Perturabo, but until then—"

"Wait a minute, what riddles are you talking about?" Perturabo said, glaring at Eleven, and then Morse, "What was the Emperor's original plan? I don't want you to talk about all this out of thin air. I But I know nothing about your riddles. Of all the people here, I am the one—"

"Is it the Warmaster?"

"Is he his son?"

The two psykers said in turn, and then looked at each other.

Perturabo followed, "What is dying for the Emperor? What is the first plan the Emperor abandoned?"

Eleven looked at him. He looked a little shaky. His smile widened into a sarcastic gasp. "So you don't know. I thought you, all of you brothers, knew the Emperor's I also thought that everyone would rather embrace their mission and die for your father - truly obey the orders and commit suicide. It turns out that I was just wrong..."

Morse's voice gradually drowned out Eleven's murmurs.

"It was written in that letter, Perturabo. It was that letter that I shared with you and Magnus at your hospital bed. You know, I didn't read it in its entirety. I was I don’t think it’s necessary to use that section... Emperor, your throne is high!”

He paused for a moment, recalling the horror and anger he felt when he read the secret letter, and suppressed them all.

"The answer is simple, Perturabo, you were not created as heirs, nor did he carve you as a father longing for twenty children.

"It is not difficult for us to imagine that as the lord of mankind, his first consideration is how to properly utilize power to seek long-term benefits for mankind - instead of having some self-righteous martyr plot and unnecessary self-sacrifice. in the first place.”

"Messiah once is enough..." Eleven said softly.

"What's more, the Lord of Mankind now clearly regards saints as the enemy of the empire's stability, scorns the mission of depriving mankind of the right to choose through the preset only path, and believes that submerging individual responsibility and freedom under the light of the sublime cross is ancient Terra. Should the legacy of the church be swept away together with the last church?

"Yes, when a normal human being makes a plan, how can the best option be to die first in order to respect him? How high his moral pursuits would he hope to use a huge sacrifice to preserve his permanent reputation? What's more, he is An emperor?"

Morse said that switching to psychic communication that lasted thousands of words allowed the thoughts and emotions of the three inhuman beings to directly collide at high speed.

+The Emperor's original plan was very simple: Thirteen vessels serve as blockade points, enough to lock the power of the Dark King within a certain range, four vessels serve as conduits, capable of channeling the power of the Dark Gods into them, and finally there is only one heir left to help him succession. In addition, he decided to keep two spares in case of emergency.

+In order to adapt to the power of subspace, the cores of these containers also need to be obtained from subspace, and the outer shell must be made of materials from the real universe to prevent the container itself from being eroded by subspace. In order to lead the Space Marines, the Vessel needs to possess intelligence, as well as superhuman appearance and trustworthiness. +

"Primarch..." said Perturabo, "the meaning of our birth——"

"Tools. Weapons. Containers." Number Eleven answered skillfully, just as he had been taught thousands of times.

+Yes. His creations, His tools, His artificial beings.

+ No one knows how he accomplished his task of binding the energy of the Warp, nor where he obtained the means to create the Primarch. All in all, after the Great Crusade, seventeen of you should have returned to your original responsibilities, becoming the spokes that maintain the Sea and Heavenly Wheel of Souls, or the cornerstone of the human empire. +

"...One person at each node?"

"And our essences will be connected to each other, Four. Until then, our consciousnesses will die in order to keep the vessel pure and stable."

+I guess Erda can't accept this, right? +

"She's scared." Number Eleven whispered. "She said his ambition blinded his morals, and false prophecies deceived his reason... But, you said, there was another plan... It should have succeeded. The second plan? He still hung himself on the cross, ah, just like Erda said..."

+He did overturn his own decision. cross? If you must describe it this way, you don't mind using it to prove the limited knowledge in your mind. +

+At some point, he realized that each of his sons had a name,+Morse's mood swings paused for a moment and he revised his words.

+At least most of the Primarchs have names. So, at a certain moment, he realized that he could not kill the seventeen heirs who trusted him and looked forward to him. At a certain moment, he realized that he had given the tool emotions, expectations and wishes, which had an influence beyond power and control; at a certain moment, he realized that he had become the core of identity and belonging, and was included in a larger In the community system, it is impossible to escape. In addition, at a certain point, he discovered that the second construction of the Webway could greatly alleviate the pressure of controlling the Dark Lord alone.

+At one point - the Emperor regretted it. +

Morse looked at Perturabo with a complicated expression, recalling the countless invisible turning moments.

Was it the moment when the Emperor witnessed the greenskins' repairing effect on the Webway?

Was it the moment at the Pharos Lighthouse when Perturabo had an encounter with the Emperor from decades ago?

Was it the moment when the Emperor played Fass and mentioned Moloch to him?

Was it the moment when he stepped onto the stage of Olympia as Saint George and said frankly that all the things in the past were in the past?

Or was it the moment when he brought the Second Primarch into the City of God, which should not have been born at that time?

Or was it the moment when he discussed the unknown gamble of becoming a god with Morse in the snowstorm at the Terra Palace in 963?

He said: Plans will always go wrong. So we must fill the possible gaps caused by the failure of the plan. So on and on, until we reach the end of human power.

He said: At the beginning of the plan, they were not sons. Weapons. Tools. Weapons. Only not offspring, until the plan changed.

He said: The thoughts I have for you are thoughts of peace, to give you a future and hope.

He said: All of us are tools, weapons, containers, fruits. And humans are never satisfied.

"So the plan that Erda hated has changed," said Eleven, half-smiled, "He weakened the twelve branches of the Silent Realm, right? All control has been handed over to the Terra Throne, and the restrictions on extracting the power of the Warp in the hope of positive and negative annihilation have also been lifted... Then, when darkness descends on the mortal world, there will be no more nets to restrict it.

"Yes, what else can we do now? Think about it, if your father is really as cruel as Erda said, how good would humans live-"

"No," Perturabo said, "-no."

"Am I wrong, Four? Am I wrong?"

"Your logic is correct, but the destruction of the plan cannot be blamed on the Emperor's decision, and the plan still has room for recovery. "

Perturabo said, his mind working endlessly, constantly taking more factors into consideration.

It no longer mattered whether the Emperor had ever seen them as mere tools and vessels, they had already built enough emotional connections, and the anger and sadness he felt when he truly learned of the Emperor's original plan - if the flame that disturbed his calm mood and burned painfully in his throat was sadness, this emotion had been forgotten and refused to be acknowledged by him.

This alternative plan was just an echo of the distant past, at most a proof of the Emperor's inner change. Those who were imprisoned in the past were pitiful, but the consequences they caused made them more hateful than them - the enemy blade, the slumber of Horus Lupercal, the wrong coronation of the Warmaster - the last of which was the starting point of Lorgar Aurelion's wrong step. The shadow of the snake loomed behind it.

Perturabo's chest trembled, and his tone changed to a low roar: "The Emperor's plan can still be saved, as long as the excessive power is suppressed at this time and the throne is repaired! "

Eleven stared at Perturabo, his face fluctuating like mercury, the shadow of the crystal snake flickered in his imaginary body. The bouquet fell from his hand, replaced by a classic revolver.

He fired faster than mortals and even the fastest gunners among the Astartes, and also faster than the Primarch Perturabo, who was not at the forefront in close combat, but still couldn't catch up with the endless golden protection.

Under the flashing light, Perturabo suddenly grabbed Eleven's hand, The gun fell from his hand, and the figure of No. 11 disappeared instantly, and then reappeared at a slightly farther distance, with a faint smile on his face.

The gun was picked up by Perturabo in an instant, and a bullet with spiritual fire was fired, hitting No. 11's left shoulder - the snake body that was hovering in the sky and faintly visible suddenly trembled, and a cluster of small flames burst and died, taking away several dazzling scales.

"You want to stop me, Perturabo," No. 11 hissed, "I said you want to stop me."

"What to stop you? Kill you?" Perturabo shouted loudly, his voice penetrating the gray and black streets. He looked directly at the phantom of the giant snake, raised his hand holding the gun, and the gun shaft was transformed into a heavy hand cannon woven with runes. While he was asking questions, the sound of the cannon had already rumbled. He would rather shoot down the giant snake before talking to it, and Morse will help him complete this psychic battle.

"A good suggestion, Perturabo. "

The giant snake hovered in the sky in pain, its movements slowed down, and in the eyes of the intact Primarch, it was almost motionless, but the stability of its voice was not affected by the pain brought by the scales burning with golden flames, and it was still as calm as before.

"If you kill my will, then I may only be used by you, Perturabo. I don't like the reason why I was created."

The golden flame cut an inescapable giant web of flames on its huge snake body, and a fragmented burning smell blew from the wind in the sky, as if it was volcanic ash falling from the sky, blowing down from above with force.

Perturabo's hand cannon chased the body of the giant snake, his arms raised high, constantly firing cannons, as if this had become some kind of fixed ritual since ancient times, and it must be continuously circulated in a circle surrounded by snake bones.

"Come down!" He roared, the reason of the material universe told him that this would make the voice far away, or maybe his turbulent thoughts were looking for a way out on their own, so he couldn't help but shout loudly, "Come down! "

The giant snake seemed to descend a little, its skin cracking constantly, and the unhealed silver blood split the universe like silk, shredding the endless dark space.

"Really? Really? Then hurry up, Perturabo," wherever the silver blood passed, the grass, trees, soil and rocks made of nanoparticles all scattered and decomposed, and the mechanical dummies on the ground of the planet melted and collapsed one by one, "Then burn my skin and chop off my head," it said, "Then let me die for your tyrant, ha, this is always the same thing as dying for Erda," its hissing chuckle was even a little naughty, "Kill my heart, use my essence to smear on your bombs, and then hit your Terra," it said, "Quick."

"Get down here!"

"I might as well leave, Perturabo, I might as well leave like this..."

"Wait!"

"But will I leave? Will I? My fate is not in my hands, I have no hands, how can a snake have hands--"

The Iron Lord's hand cannon blasted out multiple anchor points entangled with the golden wire net in the void, like a giant harpoon hunting sea fish, pulling the giant snake to the ground. The giant snake struggled uselessly, futilely, and even casually in its web, and more silver blood splashed on the ground, further destroying the sandbox city.

As the snake fell, the huge echo trembled and echoed in the infinite soul sea. Perturabo's etheric vision was dark for a moment, and the accumulated residual light of the afterimage flashed a large number of light spots, spreading like fireflies in front of his eyes.

The last loud crash exploded in his ears, shattering all the dull barriers and obstacles. Under the shocking air waves of the supreme ocean, the Lord of Iron fell backwards - no, the whole world tilted upwards, and gravity fluctuated and changed wildly in a short period of time. He grabbed the edge of the building that was tilting downwards, gasping to resist the turbulence and chaos in the soul realm.

Then, a face suddenly appeared in his vicinity, with a slightly darker complexion, looking at him quietly, faded due to blood loss. He glanced at him twice, his eyes moved to the pile of hand cannons made of gold characters, and then raised his head again, breathing short and weak.

His eyes were open, unblinking, with neither joy nor sadness in them, but only an expression that could be called a smile, perhaps a smile. He only had this expression, Perturabo suddenly realized.

"Do you want me to fulfill my mission?" he said. What was the emotion in his eyes? Not fear, nor surprise, or expectation. No.

Hatred, Perturabo read this rare emotion, hatred, without a trace of doubt, it was a fiery and gloomy hatred.

Perturabo turned his head and looked at him. The building he was holding was continuing to collapse, some debris peeling off into the dark void below, and some beams that might be wood or iron railings fell down silently.

"I want it," Perturabo answered decisively, "I want you to prevent the real arrival of Tyrant Star."

Eleven took a breath, continued to open his eyes, and twitched slightly like a disabled clockwork doll. Then he began to breathe softly, filling his heart and lungs with flying embers and the dregs of broken crystals.

He seemed to want to say something, but his words seemed to have been burned dry by the golden flames, or he was in a completely vacuum and silent room, and he could only stay in that unknown place waiting for his death from suffocation after the air ran out. At that time, he would fall backwards, his fragile bones hit the ground and broke, and his blood would flow out of his wide open mouth and broken spine, filling the entire empty black space.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes."

"In whose name?"

"Perturabo."

"For whose mission did you give me?"

"Myself."

"Because the Emperor didn't order you?"

"More than that. I am responsible for my decision."

"Then you want me to fulfill the mission?"

"Yes, Eleven."

Eleven continued to look at him, he didn't smile anymore, his lips twisted into a dead and cold expression, finally unified with the gloomy hatred in his eyes before. But his eyes abnormally showed a real smile, as if the world in front of him finally ushered in a dawn and that dawn was actually the last moment of dusk before sunset.

He stared at Perturabo and stopped asking questions.

Then, his face faded, replaced by a fountain of silver blood, which warmly covered Perturabo's body, especially the pair of hand cannons he carried.

The body of the giant snake also silently transformed, evolving into a huge cavity, directly connected to a certain end point inside the planet. Silver blood was still oozing out, spreading through the countless never-healing cracks on the snake's body, maintaining this temporary passage, blocking out those subspace creatures that were roaring and shouting excitedly, and the crackling scratching and harsh tearing and gnawing sounds were endless, and it was like being blocked by heavy water and could not penetrate.

At the other end of the passage, endless darkness surged cruelly and violently, tearing the golden shell into pieces, like a torn net.

This is undoubtedly not a real substance, but a sublime reflection of some non-material realm. With the fury of corroding the world, it whirls and collides crazily in the cage on the verge of breaking, and may explode further at any time - yes, it has taken the first step. The blockade that vaguely wraps around it is just a thin rope as fragile as a hair, unable to resist the rumbling and violent black beast that pulls the reins straight.

Perturabo stared at the darkness at the other end of the passage without blinking.

He raised his hand cannon and fired a shot. The silver blood attached to the cannonball emitted an incredible pure flash, like the new snow falling on the dust, or the mercury covering the earth. It was quick and clean, seemingly slow and stagnant, and yet as fast as The shuttle, unbound by any force, penetrated space and time until it reached its destiny's end.

Did Perturabo hear something? Some imperceptible, phantom-like pause and void? A silent question or answer? Some formless gasp and final hate or smile?

Silver light and darkness cancel each other out in violent collisions, erasing each other, constantly invading and canceling each other out, eroding each other like tides and sand in the pull and flow, and gradually transforming into violent ravages.

The clear energy within the giant snake's torso surged up, limiting all the overflowing wind and waves within this timeless attack, until some deep-seated things began to collapse and disappear, the darkness was bitten by the roaring silver light, and the scattered pounds The energy gradually became transparent during the struggle, dancing, flapping and roaring, but still weakening layer by layer.

And the original golden light suddenly brightened, and was reconstructed again with a strong will, pulling the darkness backwards, and blocking it within the golden wall that began to repair itself.

The two-color gold and silver glow seemed to meet in an instant, like a distant, perhaps wishful meeting.

But after that, the brilliance of mercury began to disintegrate itself, and in a few moments, it flew away completely, silently, and without leaving a trace. It's like it never existed.

Perturabo put down his raised hand, breaking away from the battle in the soul and universe, and the invisible battlefield moved away from him.

He lay there, staring at the sky, where ashes were still falling.

"His birth is once again on hold," Mors said, sitting beside Perturabo. "The throne needs to be repaired. The Emperor's Veil cannot be breached a second time, or there will be nothing we can do."

Perturabo's silence was longer than usual.

Then he spoke: "What if it is destroyed a second time? Do I need to kill seventeen more brothers?"

"That is no longer effective. Thutmons's nodes have all been blocked, and it is impossible to add a new node container. The Emperor-" Morse paused, "has given up the option of killing you."

"And what if the throne is overwhelmed a second time?" Perturabo repeated stubbornly. "What if? The Emperor has given you the answer, Morse, in his secret message. The Master of Mankind will not give a completely outdated plan!"

He raised his upper body, pressed his upper and lower lips tightly, and his face was tense. He had a thousand questions ready to come out, which were all transformed into an uncontrollable commanding emotion in his tone.

Mors looked at him deeply. "Magnus already knows the answer, Perturabo. He deduced everything he needed on his own. Everything we need."

"What about Moro?" asked Perturabo.

"What happened to Moro?"

"Eleven said it," said Perturabo. "No, the word just echoed in his consciousness, among many other words. Mother, father, empire, throne, flower, snake, pain, hatred , chip... There are ten thousand words flowing in his blood, among which thirty words have the highest frequency, and only one word among them puzzles me."

He looked at Morse: "What is Moro?"

——

"The Word Bearers cannot return to Terra," Magnus grabbed the sound array button from the stack of books and shouted to Rogal Dorn. The left side of his face was covered with blood, "Rogal, no matter what you use, What reason is there to stop Aurelion! The Pilgrim can't meet with the Emperor, and the Lost Son's ability to stop it is limited!"

"...What?" Roger Dorn said.

"It's Tarot - don't worry about it, trust me Rogge, you know what's going on with the Word Bearers now. They're going to make the situation worse on the Emperor's side, although I'm not sure yet... intercept them, please. "

"...Okay." Rogal Dorn replied, "I understand. But I need further explanation, and I look forward to your answer, Magnus."

The Crimson King threw away the sound array button and covered his face with his hands. His mind was screaming loudly, and this had been going on for a while. His pain deepened every time he figured out the position of a new rune on Tutmons' ring.

Does it have to be this way? No, or he should say, even if this is the case, is there still a chance?

In addition, there are still some loopholes in his tarot divination, some layers of fog - he hates this set of mysterious tricks, but now he has to take them out and apply them. He was good at them, as good as Mortarion, that was undeniable.

He had deduced a small fragment of it, namely that the Emperor had received prophetic enlightenment in Moroch, but who had brought it was still unknown.

He also saw that there was still something eyeing around the throne: it was a snake, but the Lost Son had clearly encountered the lightning tower representing Perturabo - yes, Perturabo's card transformed into lightning Tower, and Magnus couldn't yet figure out what it meant.

What else could he do?