Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 474 Even if it’s all dust

"I told you not to come back. You're not welcome here."

As he spoke, he straightened up in the flax field. The light blue flowers swayed into a clean sea in the slight breeze, and there were still a lot of dried soil particles on his hands.

If he continued to be disturbed, he felt that sooner or later he would bring the largest sickle at home and smash it on the head of the person opposite.

The visitor's face was blurred in the dark shadow of the backlight, but he knew that the other person must be looking at him, or staring at him rudely with that kind of cold confidence, just like he always did recently.

Sometimes it even made him want to grab the cross hanging on his chest, even though he knew that the witch's method of exorcism would never work here.

"The world is changing," said the visitor, approaching him, pushing aside some linen, and sitting down beside him. Now they are almost tall. "There are not many things that have changed, and there are not many orders that can be grasped. You are still one of them, Soldier Orr."

"Don't call me that," Orr said, sighing, "I don't understand what you want from me. I didn't invite you, Joe, and I'm not qualified to be invited by Terra."

"That's true. This is the last order he gave. Orr, the Lord of Mankind invites you to come to Terra for a reunion."

Qiao said that the sunlight seemed to be deflected in the wind, illuminating his deep facial lines and sea-ice eyes. His face was extremely handsome, but Orr felt that he was tired of seeing this hypocritical face.

"Listen to me, Joe," Orr simply sat down. "Listen to me, this is my home, and this is the place I don't plan to leave in my life. I have heard of Terra, but I am not familiar with the thousands of miles away. I'm not interested in going to see the emperor. Please go back and tell the emperor that I don't want to get involved in anything beyond my capabilities. I'm just an ordinary person. I'm not even a soldier..."

Joe suddenly turned his head and whispered something in a more elegant language into the headset hidden behind his ear. Orr knew he shouldn't understand it, but he did understand what he was saying.

"...Reject Rogal Dorn's inquiry, don't ignore it rashly," Joe said, using an ancient language on Earth, "The darkness makes everyone's position a mystery."

Then he smiled ruthlessly at Orr: "Sorry, there's something trivial."

"Then who are you?" Orr stared at him.

"The Emperor's men, that's what."

"No, I heard you call the other Primarch by his name, Joe," Orr said, his heart beating fast. He looked at the tall giant in front of him again. Before that, he only thought that maybe it belonged to some legion. Space Marine.

"Then you heard me right," said Joe, the smile fading from his face, "you'd better know that the last command I had from the eve of Nicaea to this day was to you, and I'm not giving up on that one Mission. Maybe a huge change in the universe is about to happen, or I feel it has already happened..."

His cheek twitched, and a slight dull pain slid across half of his face. It lasted only a short moment and disappeared before Orr noticed it.

"It's time for you to set off, Eulanius." Joe said, staring at Orr. "The storm has subsided, the channel has reopened, and it's time for us to leave. The darkness may return at any time - the distance between the front and the back of the world is so fragile ”

"I don't think..."

"What?" Joe interrupted, his eyes still staring at Orr, and the only purpose of his words was to disrupt Orr's speaking rhythm.

Orr was silent for a moment, "I don't know. But - if, I think, as you said, the darkness makes our position a mystery. How can I be sure that you serve him?"

"If you must need an answer, your field will answer that question when it starts burning."

"But this is Ultramar—"

"Calth wouldn't mind dying for the Emperor's orders," Joe said. "What do you think?"

——

"Lord Amon and Sejanus have been chatting for a long time," Camille said, half-heartedly immersed in playing with the camera in her hand, where the audio and video of Amon and Sejanus testing each other during the day were stored. The video record content, as for the text, there is a thick notebook lying in her canvas bag.

The night wind blew past the outer wall of the Temple of Knowledge, and the sand entangled and swirled in the wind, brushing against the stone pillars of the temple. In Frix's line of sight, he saw Izala, the Memoir, chatting happily with other Iron Warriors. The Memoirs of the Thousand Dust Sun were all very courageous, more comfortable than the mortals in Frix's memory facing the Astartes.

"Any results?"

The movements of Camille's hands stopped.

"No, no." She laughed dryly, without much energy. "Even if I am not a professional writer of history books, I know that there will be no results. Lord Amon insists that the original body Magnus did nothing wrong. Sejanus said that no one except the Emperor knew what Magnus had done, but the Emperor even issued a verdict, which was proof that our Primarch had made a terrible mistake."

"Is Sejanus serious?"

Camille tilted her head and looked up at Frix's chin: "Your Majesty, the Emperor, they are negotiating, Lord Iron Warrior. As a war blacksmith, you have not participated in negotiations, right?"

"...We are talking about Amun and Sejanus."

Camille curled her lips and said, "Okay. They chatted for a long time. Maybe they tried their best to stay friendly, but many times I was afraid that they were going to take out their bolt guns or psychic canes. Izala and I were worried about everything. It was over suddenly, just like what happened in Calista’s dream really happened.”

"I heard it was Calista Ores who was going to take the minutes."

"But she's sick," Camille bit her lip, getting nervous at the mention of Callista, "having a high fever, seeing visions, talking nonsense about blood and fire, saying she saw Tiz Ka was illuminated not by sunlight but by fire. Lemuel asked the 15th Legion to come and see her. A warrior came and left, saying that her psychic powers were stimulated. Then the Black Crow men took care of her. , firmly told her that the prophecy was not credible."

These details gave Fricks some extra thoughts. He knew that the original Crow Master of the Thousand Dust Sun was Amon, the host of the negotiations, Ahriman had told him long ago. If an untrained mortal can see the prophecy, what about the Crows?

Perhaps this is why Amon insists - even pleads - with the Iron Warriors to stay in Prospero.

"I'm sorry," he said awkwardly.

"Calista is not dead yet, there is no need to regret." Camille said, her lips trembled uneasily, and the bracelet on her hand, which was strung with imitation antique rings, rattled.

"Hmm," Fricks replied.

Camille absentmindedly took off her bracelet, but the metals still trembled slightly in her palms, rubbing against each other and making a dry sound.

"Let me continue. In the end, Lord Amon and Sejanus only reached an agreement, which is to wait for the Emperor's second judgment. The stability of the subspace environment is improving, and the Luna Wolves agreed to ask Terra again On the other hand, what exactly did Prospero commit that warranted destruction?”

"What if Terra insists that Lord Magnus is wrong?" Frix asked. "What if he didn't do anything wrong?"

"How can you say that?" Camille said dissatisfied, "Primarch Magnus saved your lives!"

"I know I'm making assumptions about Terra's reaction."

"The throne will see everything clearly."

"But what if-"

"No ifs, Lord War Blacksmith!"

"You're excited."

"Oh..." Camille was stunned, and then she put the heels of her palms against her eyes to suppress her sudden release of emotions. Frix noticed an old scar near her temple.

The Warsmith continued: "None of us can be sure that the Throne will again rule in Prospero's favor, nor can we be sure that the prophecy of your companion Callista cannot come true. It's not that you don't know all this, maybe You're just afraid to think about the possibilities and consequences."

"The Crimson King saved us, my lord," Camille said. "I am an archaeologist. I met Izala in the wild ruins, and we were both full of reckless curiosity about the origins of Prospero's civilization - there We thought we were doomed until Lord Magnus performed the surgery himself. Izala lost half of her brain, but we are still alive. You guys are talking, this is all because of Lord Magnus..."

She put down her palms, revealing hazy tearful eyes.

"Lord Magnus is a good man, perhaps the best one we have ever met... But this does not prove that Lord Magnus did nothing wrong, nor does it guarantee Prospero's fate. You are Yes, Lord Iron Warrior, your rationality is correct.

"Ever since that black wave broke out... I didn't feel it, but it's said that people with strong psychic gifts did, and right after that, many of us saw Prospero come to an end. A thousand The prophecy burned Prospero a thousand times, from the Square of the Secret Eye to the Harbor View, without exception.”

"But you remain in Prospero, Camille," said Frix.

"Where else can we go?" Camille said, with a broken and silent look on her face. "Yes, our bodies can escape from fate, but where can our hearts go? Our The will makes us stay, Lord Frix, every time we close our eyes and think of all the tolerance Prospero has given us, our souls cannot leave, even if-even if Prospero belongs here. We will face destruction, even if Lord Magnus really brings us the end, even if we are sentenced to death in ignorance..."

"You won't leave either."

After a moment, Camille spoke again, "I don't know, sir. I don't know. The airport has been opened, and I haven't heard of anyone leaving."

She breathed deeply, and the outline of those eyes was engraved in Fricks's heart: "Even if they are all dust."

——

In that deep ocean that transcends the boundaries of time, that place that is not a place, the depth of a realm that is not an ancient realm, the tip of a needle that does not exist and cannot be understood, if it can be discussed it will be with lies and lies. The changing seam of the nameless name becomes the marked realm...

"Another resisted moment is re-realized before our eyes..."

"Like any resisted destiny, there is nothing special about it." Another voice retorted, "The destiny brought about by change returns to destiny itself."

“But the process of change changes the constant part.”

"Wolves and wolves are both leads to the fire, and the fire burns in our hands."

"The fire burns at the end of life that refuses plans and truth."

Birds and snakes entwine in the pink and blue sparks that make up the crystal bookshelf. The geometric pink rectangle breaks into a blue ellipsoid and then a golden triangle. At the end of this nameless world, every scream or whisper contains nine thousand secret words that can be combined into hints. Before the crystal falls, it turns into active spots of light and rises upward, and the virtual image of the flame soars endlessly...

"We tamper with fate and truth, weave fate with the fire of hell."

"But fate will never be destined."

"What will never be destined should never exist forever..."

The voices quarrel with each other, defy each other, and indulge in the analysis of paradox and truth. The endless waves and the flickering firelight shadows reflected on the cave roll and stir together, until these endless shapes and shadows become an identical existence itself, and every split sound is emitted from it at every moment, and it also expresses an incomplete part of it...

Even if all the ninety thousand times ninety thousand plus countless exponential sounds are added together, it is not enough to express all it has, because In the infinitely approaching crack, there is still a limit of vacancies that can never be filled, and every existence itself can be transformed into a non-existent virtual object at any time...

It thinks, refutes itself, and distorts its own thoughts. It decomposes into countless demon mouths again, and recombines and changes again, until a new word is spoken from countless mouths:

"Trust emerges in the spring of fate, invisible thoughts form visible waves, and dust gathers and solidifies in the visible tide until the tide burns dry in the rearranged chess game... The dust that claims to be faceless believes in fate and resists fate..."

Syllables are transmitted in different mouths, and in the process of transmission, a large number of changes, ambiguities, distortions and misdirections are born. But when everything is transmitted to the mouth of the last great chess piece, the broken syllables are complete again, and the disordered word order turns back to the original instruction like an invisible axle.

"Is this what I will do? What I will do for you? The order I will destroy for you? The joy you allow me to perform for you? The coincidence born from the chaos and destruction I will have?"

The real faceless thing showed what seemed like pleasant emotions, if it really had emotions or any senses. So it fell from the infinite subject, passing through time and sifting time, carefully observing every changing and turbulent detail and fleeting opportunity, looking for those fragile and tiny weaknesses and insignificant moments.

It looked at the flashes of pain and the ripples of fear, falling at the beginning of the dark age, following the cracks created and swallowed by the twists and turns of fate, sticking to the weak gap brought by the prelude to the end and death - a gap they had been waiting for for a long time, which was also one of the countless planned goals that the supreme it hoped to see. It fell into a fragile brain, a tortured and blurred brain, leaving a teasing mark there.

The changeling was ready to sneak in.