Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 4: Time is Enough for You to Love

He walked a long way.

He saw the fire burning, coming from the cycle of the tide, carrying the dust going far away, passing the side of his golden helmet, sweeping the rustling emerald feathers and the golden sculptured king's name circle, and softly knocking out whispers that blend into the long wind. Ashes rose from the fire, fell from the sky, gently fell on the crystal road, and pale lotus flowers bloomed in the water-covered path.

His walking splashed crisp sounds in the water, and each cluster of water splashes jumped from the flow of time, and the clear water droplets raised the possibility of thousands of destinations. The traveler blinked gently, and everything in the past changed into ten thousand unreasonable possibilities in the water droplets, or maybe it was just a shadow left by the universe that met here at the end of time.

He saw how the world began and ended, how everything turned on the wheel of time, how life turned into wind and shadow, like fireflies lighting up in the water, like stars and moons falling into the lotus heart in the water, born and died, without any guide, ups and downs, without beginning and end...

Who is he? He asked himself blankly, his palm raised in front of him, and the burnt dust flowed from his fingertips like sand.

He was a handful of dust and ashes in a golden helmet, scattered with the wind and waves, and collected by people painstakingly - the person who put him in the golden helmet has long been gone, and the last echo of the prodigal son is the steam and fire that sent him to this path, and the loneliness that wrapped him.

But this place is not silent.

The tide of time rises and falls, rustling across his outer armor. Quiet long song, like white gravel, shells washed a hundred times in the water.

The light of the world fell, the ashes floating in the sky turned into the moon, the road lit up the light of the sun, and then it was wound into a reed rope, quietly spinning a boat of light under his feet, a reed boat.

A small white sail was hoisted, and the light half-filled the sail, and also blew his copper-red hair across the side of his cheek. The embers at the end of the hair floated upward, fluttering, and dissolved in the river of light.

He stood in the boat, and this light boat lifted his armor and drifted along the path of light to the end of the water. Wherever he passed, lotus flowers closed and bloomed to welcome his arrival.

The boat passed through the canyon, and there was a faint sound of tears in the sound of the water. In the tears of this deep canyon, there was also a gentle melody of prayer, asking for a review and compassion from the beginning of time and the beginning of light. He looked at the water quietly, and there were invisible flowers swaying under the water.

The light became brighter and brighter. After passing through the valley of tears, he stepped down from the reed boat and walked into a desert where the flames of war had burned out. Broken axles and half-remaining flags were stuck in the yellow sand in groups, and the royal emblem of the past could be vaguely seen on the flags. The endless yellow sand buried the blood left after the war in the depths of time. The abandoned armor was scattered everywhere, buried by the wind and sand, with only a few rusty metal edges exposed.

The light is still there. Light is constant like time. The light penetrates the dust in the sky and sprinkles on the ancient yellow sand, reflecting a vague dimness.

He walked slowly in the ruins, and the fine sand rang lightly. Occasionally, he would step on a broken spear under his feet, making a crisp cracking sound.

Gradually, he seemed to see those former warriors, and their souls seemed to still wander on this battlefield. A ghost in black armor stood not far away, with firelight in the gaps between the armor, his eyes covered by the iron helmet covering his face, staring at the distant point of time. Perhaps it was a pursuit. Maybe it was waiting.

His pace slowed down, there was no hostility here. Through the hazy light, he sensed a long-lasting sadness.

The dust rose again, trembling in the wind of light, like a plucked string, leaving a slight afterimage, and then flew away until the end of the stream of light.

The warrior saw him, his armored body turned to him, the grenade launcher in his hand paused, and then put it down.

He lowered his head and looked into the warrior's goggles, from which he saw the fire of light. Golden fire, incandescent fire, the last cluster of fire when the shadow of the afterglow left the ground, in the crystal box-like eyepiece. There was the fire of the end, the pure fire that did not exist at the end of time.

None of them spoke, and the warrior was silent until the dust began to fall. The black-armored warrior turned around and slowly moved forward into the depths of the sand plain.

He followed the warrior silently. There was some kind of unspeakable quiet connection here, quietly pulling them together through some metaphysical brilliance.

They walked through the remnants of the battlefield, over the broken power halberds, broken hammers and claws. The ancient flag of the standard bearer stood among the forest of swords.

He stretched out his dusty hand and gently stroked the lines on the flag. The steel skull stared at him, watching him go away in time, or perhaps it had become his connection with the past, like a silent monument, bringing him to the beginning of time.

At the end of the sand plain were towering mountains that reached up to the clouds, with black jade and ebony as the backbone of the mountain, shaping a silent coldness. The warrior stopped, raised his head, looked at the top of the mountain, and then silently turned his eyes to look at him, with a complex emotion in his eyes.

He understood that he would walk alone across this mountain. His boots stepped on the edge of the mountain, and he slid down for a moment, then found that the mountain under his feet had changed, becoming a tangible glass wire tube, interlocking with each other, forming a pit to stand on. Some points of light fell on the black mountain, flickering in series, like a coiled and shining electric candle light.

He followed the guidance of the light upwards, climbed over the edges like the folds of a robe, slowly climbed up along the etched texture along the carvings of the divine axioms, and rested temporarily on the armrest of the dark throne formed by the mountain ridge. Beside him, a withered hand rested quietly on the edge of the throne, connected to several cruel pipes.

The fingertips of the colossus were still rubbing it slightly, writing invisible runes and invisible braille in eternity... He climbed onto the palm of the colossus and looked up at the infinitely high skeletal arm. To whom did this arm belong, and why did it let his tears fill his eyes made of ashes?

His face was sunken and melted under the moist vapor. He fell into the inside of the armor that supported his existence, and looked at the witch bone talisman engraved inside, landing on the bottom of the carrier and skin. He was already a handful of ashes, drifting in the cracks of time.

He has burned.

Only at this time, time has not yet begun to flow, light has not moved forward, and the first fire in human history has not yet lit up like a star in the middle of the night. His dust can still follow the cycle of life and trace back to the future. The moment of annihilation, the only moment.

He fell into the armor, which fell into the palm of the colossus and shattered into pieces. His ashes flew outward, scattered into the light spots all over the sky, and became one with the dust and sand...

His armor was lifted up, and the black jade mountains awakened from the eternal stagnation, or the shadow of light they possessed awakened.

The skinny palm holding his armor was raised upwards, and he was getting closer to the origin of light, so his armor was put back together, going against the flow of time or light, to restore a complete set of dazzling golden armor, using soft gold Red robe and eagle feathers embellished with lapis lazuli.

His dust also gradually reset, and a thousand dust particles formed a cluster of light. The thousand clusters of light reflected the sun at the source.

His face regained its luster of pearly red, and his golden eyes, composed of a thousand dots of dust, looked straight into the sun he saw.

He stood in the center of his palm, facing a skeletal face with a skeleton similar to his own. Deep in the dark void where the eyes once were, the sun's radiance surged like time, like water making waves.

The light fell along the lower edges of the eye sockets, slid across the boney cheeks, and dried quietly, leaving only a drop of golden water rippling slightly on the edge of the eye sockets.

He opened his mouth and found his voice.

"Father..." he said softly, "I am..."

The withered bones did not answer. He lifted him up and lifted him to the end of the sky, to the only source of light, which hung high in the sun at the top of the world. The light was getting brighter and brighter, but no matter how bright it was and couldn't be looked directly at, he could still look into the depths of the light.

The light is waiting for him, accepting him into the light. He ascended the pillar of cloud in the day and walked on the path of life.

Gradually, he heard more sounds, the sounds of joy and laughter, like water quietly slipping out of the rock. The cheers rose from a layer of clouds until they resounded throughout the sky where he was.

Some familiar sounds seem to form rhythmic syllables, and the syllables form words. The words float together in the chords at the end of the light, and they become sentences. Sentences bring language, and language generates meaning, taking shape in a slip that cannot be completely captured, quietly shifting and changing, but all transformations are still reassuring and satisfying, without gaps and gaps, enough to locate an existing self. .

"...You can't do this..."

A familiar voice was recognized by him. It was not clear who it belonged to, but this voice also came from the bright light and was accompanied by the friction of the slightly swaying crops.

"...the rules don't prohibit it, you know..."

This was once again the only voice that tangibly took his hand and led him up the stairs and over the door. The music became louder, smoothly transitioning from one note upwards, and then falling softly, repeating the outpourings in the singing again and again.

He stepped into the door of light and stepped into a golden field. Some unknown crop swayed in the surging wind of light, and the golden leaves and the awns of the leaf tips swept across his leg armor, like a golden ocean, peacefully and eternally full.

In the wilderness, there are huge wooden boats traveling in the sea of ​​fields, without bending a single ear of crops wherever they pass. There are also towering pillars, or pilot signs, towering in the blue sky and sunlight, and each statue is dozens of times taller than him. There are also living creatures, slowly spreading their four legs and passing slowly in the wilderness. Their bodies cut out backlit shadows in the light, but the shadows themselves are still formed by light.

Right in the middle of the field, he saw twenty pillars in a ring. On each pillar stood a giant statue made of white marble, engraved in their respective pure forms at the beginning of time. The final source of light is located in the center of the ring column, reflecting a bright line outward.

"Ah..." There was a whisper in his throat, identifying the cloak, sword, white robe and wings in the pillar. He recognized every statue among them, but he hadn't remembered their identities yet. He thought about it and continued to move forward, not feeling very anxious at all. Here, the source of light begins, and time loses its meaning.

He once raced against every second to snatch the last moment owned by a certain race. He once ran non-stop, and once fell into the depths of darkness and silence, not knowing his way out. He had lost time, and now his time was restored a thousandfold. He has all these moments and moments, a thousand unhurried blinks and ten thousand soothing heartbeats.

He has time.

He walked forward, he was already in the light, and the space surrounded by twenty pillars also appeared in his eyes. He saw many people, not twenty, but still a lot. He saw them around a wide table, each of them leaning on each other's shoulders or backs, pushing and shoving, their bodies full of light approaching each other, as if they had never been separated.

He walked forward in a melancholy and tranquil manner. He seemed to have lost all of this. He was once alone, struggling in another dark eternity without anyone to accompany him. He was once sure that he had lost one or more of them, even though he couldn't remember it now. He was once silent and had nothing to say, they had fought against each other, confronted each other and turned against each other. But this is the end and beginning of time, the place where light first and finally fell.

He has light.

"If you must do this..." One of them said, he reached forward and moved something on the table. For this, the people next to him laughed and patted him on the back, which attracted a relative stare. They have played this table trick many times, and an inadvertent glance is enough to reveal a hundred thoughts and secrets. But they still enjoy it.

Because there is enough time for them to do so. There is enough time for them to do everything they want.

They are still discussing something, and sometimes this discussion seems to connect this round table with their own existence, as if they themselves are also on the white stone table, not just on the edge of the round table. There is a bright light in their eyes.

Behind them stood some other people, who did not seem to belong to the twenty pillars, but also belonged to this whole.

They clinked glasses with each other, and some kind of ancient and sweet dark drink in the transparent cup slightly rippled with bubbling water.

Then, they laughed and drank the drink - one person laughed generously, one person's seriousness was vaguely written on his face, and one person always stared at the people around the round table, his eyes did not move away.

"I don't think he violated my rules. There is no rule that we can't take the shortest one from each group of models of different heights and form three teams of 18 people who can hide in the building terrain," said a spectator. "There is nothing wrong with this, right?"

The person who received the praise nodded solemnly, and his serious face remained as solid as a rock.

"But he is - besides, it's rare for me to come here, you... forget it."

The person who played against him swallowed the second half of the sentence helplessly, turned around, smiled on his smooth face, and opened his hands to him.

"You are finally here, Magnus." He said, and then they said.