Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 502 Direction

"What witchcraft is still interfering with us? Test it again, are you sure?"

Fafnir Lane asked again about the Astropath's work on behalf of his primarch, until Rogal Dorn raised his hand and stopped the commander of the First Strike Force from questioning.

"Medusa was watched by that eye, so it was disturbed." Roger Dorn said briefly, "There is no need to reconfirm the transmission problem of ground astrology. Let Sigismund and Jonard lead the team to the ground, you Follow and go directly to the Iron Hand Fortress positioning point."

Lann turned around and leaned slightly towards the tall original body. A pair of heavy axes were stacked on his back, which were his usual weapons.

"So, how do we maintain contact with the Phalanx, relying on electricity-"

"Do not rely on any mechanical communication unless you have heard the airborne words firsthand. Medusa's machinery is not safe, and you should know this. Assist the Iron Hands in their fight and keep an eye on their situation. Be vigilant; maintain a state in which you can escape the battle and return home; I want to hear with my own ears the information you have received."

Lan swallowed down more questions. The interruption of the chain of command caused by the loss of communication would not hinder the speed of swinging his weapon. He easily put all the unnecessary doubts behind him.

"Yes, my lord." He accepted the order and prepared to head to the surface of the Iron Hands' home planet with the troops left in the fleet by the Emperor's Children.

There was no more time for him to hesitate. The ground on Medusa was in turmoil. According to the Emperor's Children, an endless wave of witchcraft was invading the surface of the planet. Lann had no idea about these complex and volatile things. He sneered. Excessive understanding was not necessary to kill them. What he needed to confirm more was his own combat deployment and personnel arrangements under the premise of doubtful contact reliability.

And under what circumstances they can win.

When they kill enough of their enemies, creatures born of sorcery? When the filth in the Iron Hands Fortress is purged? Or some other premise?

When he actually fights the opponent soon after, he no longer thinks about the way to victory.

A slightly different situation than what the Emperor's Children described, except that after a while, more members of the Iron Hands themselves began to fight against them. These warriors are being infiltrated by witchcraft faster and faster, and their aimless resistance seems to be melting at a faster pace, as if the source of their souls has been tainted by some kind of cruelty, causing their own will to be easily deflected, and This phenomenon occurs in droves.

In any case, Lann was almost certain that they were transforming into another kind of monsters and beasts. Lann endured the terrible noise made by the friction of these armors with disgust. There was an absurd and twisted rhythm in it. In addition, they The armor gained real life-like flexibility, with extra limbs extending outward from the deformed steel, and the expanded skin itself further filling the strangely shaped armor. Their steel and flesh grew together.

Even if the Imperial Fists and the Iron Hands were not as close as one another, Lann was not willing to see his cousin turn into such an evil appearance - it would only remind him of some of the things he had encountered during the Great Crusade. Witchcraft and technological heresy, when these two phenomena come together, are the Iron Hands he sees at this time.

"Defend on the right wing!" Lann shouted, his voice oscillating on the battlefield through the amplification of the grid. The sound of heavy bombs immediately exploded on one side of the battlefield, forcibly shattering the Space Marines rushing towards them in the faint darkness. . The fire flickered everywhere, and a high-altitude catwalk collapsed due to the decay of the supports below, causing half of the obsidian room to collapse. A deafening light and a series of explosions suddenly appeared from behind, and the air wave lifted Lan away.

He fixed his position and pulled out his ax from the body of another passing daemon. A cabin storing arms and ammunition exploded. He moved with the firelight on his back and found the force field silver brought by the Emperor's Son wielding the power sword. The light approaches in the corresponding direction in the chaotic battle.

More than one did this as he did, cutting and stabbing through the darkness like knives, swarms trying to defeat the mutated shards of metal. Unorganized ceramic steel and adamantine were flying in the darkness around them. Melta and explosive bombs each responded to different materials. Every time they waved their weapons, they could find a defeated target. After a certain metal scream, they The data in the helmet became chaotic, and a large number of meaningless codes were twisted like a dance. Lann began to use his naked eyesight to catch the clues from the air to meet the enemy...

Under the loose soil under his feet, something seemed to be breaking, disintegrating into indescribable unreal products... and the air was heating up rapidly, and the steel in the entire indoor area seemed to be moving toward some kind of melting state. Transforms and gradually blooms into a purple-red luster.

Lan squinted his eyes through the damaged gap in the building, and was surprised to find that the world outside the window had become brighter. The shape of the clouds was gradually recognizable, but their color was quite strange... Light-colored steam was rising, shimmering with pearlescent light. Colors, floating and chasing in the soft wind. And laughter, the rising laughter lingered in his ears, and the sound itself seemed to be dripping with the sweet smell of clear engine oil and scented candles...

The world itself is collapsing further, and there must be some root cause here.

Suddenly, he was forced to raise his hand to block a stabbing power sword. The long sword was wrapped with some strange halo and easily cut through his arm armor. Lan turned sideways and used his shoulder armor to resist the sword light. , in this moment, he did not have any fear that the Emperor's Son actually attacked him. He slashed the opponent's arm with his battle ax smoothly. When a cluster of proliferated flesh and blood spurted out against the axe, he heard the opponent's throat. A deep whisper, a joyful laughter, accompanied by some kind of unbridled enthusiasm.

The cold weapons collided suddenly, and a series of brutal and ferocious slashes and counterattacks criss-crossed. With the paint of the armor peeling off and blood dripping from the cracks, Lann pulled out his battle axe, and the Emperor's Son detached himself from the battle axe. After the support, he fell backwards, and the strange vitality disappeared like smoke in a short period of time, leaving only a lingering fragrance.

He had no time to breathe, nor to wonder how this corruption had spread to the Emperor's Children. His ax was simply aimed at more foes, until a command of the Imperial Fists shattered his immersion in the battle.

A new order came from the rear: "Return to the Phalanx!" Of course, there was also a call from within the Emperor's Children themselves, calling for warriors who could still understand human speech to return to the Emperor's Pride.

Lane knew exactly how to participate in an orderly retreat, which was to fight all the way back.

——

"That was a rift in the subspace. The radiation there was too strong, and the scars left there in the real universe are unparalleled."

The Librarian of the Imperial Fists reported to his Primarch, his voice shaking with the effects of weakness and overexposure. His own mind had just been withdrawn from the focus of the warp, and for a man who had just looked directly at the scars of the warp, the state of his resolute soul was very stable.

"We cannot simply disperse what is behind the veil," he concluded.

Rogal Dorn was watching him, looking directly into his eyes, examining the clarity of his thinking. At the same time that the two companies were conducting reconnaissance operations on the surface of Medusa, Rogal Dorn came to their meditation chamber, and they followed the primarch's orders to explore non-material means to solve the difficulties at hand.

The answer they got was not optimistic.

These monsters of the immaterial realm are as closely tied to the rift in the Warp as the souls of the entire Iron Hands Legion have never been more closely intertwined with Ferrus Manus himself. Through the spirit of resonance, they confirmed that the state of the Iron Ten Legion was a direct reflection of the condition of the Primarch, and the Emperor's Children were gradually getting closer to this situation.

As for Ferrus Manus himself, unlike his absence in the real universe, his projection in the subspace can be found, but the location prohibits them. Medusa was already close to the great rift in the warp, and the traces left by the Primarch of the Iron Hands went even deeper into its interior. Even though the Imperial Fists' Librarians attempted to pursue them, their Primarch stopped them.

The original body raised his head and looked towards the looming great rift in the subspace. His will was flowing in his blood, more brilliant than any subspace ether.

"As expected," said the Primarch, "the key to the problem lies with Ferrus Manus. Although you are my best think tank, and you are my chief, your power is still far from enough to fight against Trouble born of the Primarch, not even Azak Ahriman can guarantee this."

The think tank responded frankly: "Yes, Father. In addition, the subspace curtain here is now very fragile. Medusa has a tendency to fall to the other side, but some anchor points fix it in the real universe. Preliminary speculation is that this It’s the effect of some ancient technology on the planet itself.”

"How long can it last?"

"Not sure."

"Okay." Rogal Dorn nodded, "You continue to monitor the status of the rift. Give it a formal name, considering that it cannot be closed, this will be a long-standing problem. Can you contact the Iron Warriors, White Scars or Any Legion of Space Wolves?"

"Not yet. It's not the obstruction of the subspace storm, it's the problem of positioning disorder..."

Before he finished speaking, the other two think tanks who were trying to communicate with the Astropath remotely raised their heads and squinted their eyes in the same direction.

"Report." Dorn noticed immediately.

"A golden thread appears, my lord," replied one of the nearby Astropathic Choirs working with the Think Tank, "a... thread from the Star Torch, guiding our direction... we see It's very blurry and full of interference, but there is a stable direction there..."

"Pointing to where?" Rogal Dorn spoke faster, and a sharp light seemed to shine in his eyes.

"We are tracing back, sir...another signal. There is another person on this line. Their direction is opposite to ours, but they are guided by the same kind. I can confirm, sir..."

Rogal Dorn stared silently at the Astropath's unique face. He seemed to be waiting for something, or suppressing the emotions in his heart. No, just wait.

"An astrological message has been sent," Think Tank said, analyzing the complex signals woven with ether energy...isn't that really ether? He felt that it seemed to be something more specious, more tenacious and indestructible than the subspace energy that ordinary people's minds could send, and its properties were also different. These thoughts pass by only briefly.

"The content is-" He paused, "I have something to tell you, Rogal Dorn. Wait at your location..."

Dawn waited for a second, "What else?"

"No more, there are only so many..." Think Tank blinked, frowned, and raised his hand to wipe away the blood that overflowed from the corners of his eyes. Staring directly at the golden light took more energy from him than expected. The light seemed gentle, but it was actually enough to cause his retinas to burn.

Dorn nodded: "Then, continue to do what you should do. Monitor the rift and Medusa, and prepare to analyze the information your brothers bring back."

——

John Grammaticus's soliloquy in the webway seemed to go on forever. No, he didn't actually say any syllables aloud, but he did have a little blood coming from his mouth from time to time, which was annoying enough.

When John finally shed tears of pain on his chest, Orpersson and Constantin Waldo looked at each other, and the more intimidating commander of the Imperial Guard came forward to speak.

"Stop trying the spell." Waldo said coldly, tapping the side edge of the Sun Spear on John's shoulder at an angle, which was already very gentle for him.

"Oh, I didn't mean to," John replied vaguely, sounding distressed, "After all, I saw that mysterious document...it always ran back to my mind, and then a few words popped out of my mouth. Syllables. Hell, I have no idea what it means, but I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

Orpeson glanced subconsciously at the scroll tied to his waist. He knew about the existence of curses and understood their dangers and possibilities, but he did not have a deep understanding of their specific use. "It is a dangerous language. The harm if you continue to think about it will only expand, not shrink..."

"You cannot recognize it correctly, so you can only bring harm to yourself. The content written in this scroll is incomplete and lacks the morphemes corresponding to the meaning." Waldo said bluntly.

"What?" Orr asked.

The commander of the Imperial Army struck John once on the neck, knocking the foggy young Eternal agent unconscious and holding it easily in his hand.

"To prevent him from misuse." Constantine Waldo explained.

"Then...how do we navigate here? He knows the map of this section of the road..." Orr felt that he was a little clumsy.

"I can sense the direction of my lord." Waldo said calmly, striding forward.