Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 509 Shadow crossing the sky (6)

Roger Dorn briefly stared at Constantin Waldo, making no effort to conceal his negative emotions.

But his emotions were not aimed at Waldo, who followed the instructions and came to the Phalanx like a machine, but towards himself.

"I understand the situation you described. However, at present, this matter will not be notified to anyone except us." Dorn said, arms folded around his chest. Hanging from his waist is a silent golden skull.

He stood, his eyes carrying the Medusa planet map on the drawing board near the house, and the subspace storm gathering point marked nearby, like an eye. It was like two deep shadows connected to each other.

Around them, the Astropathic Chorus had just been ordered to disband, leaving only many geographical signs posted on the wall, connected by short nails and strings, and some atlases recording the Astropathic runes: some were abstract and complicated. Symbols, some representations of birds and animals, like Turkish monograms, were transcribed on heavy parchment.

On some of the translated draft records, there are also written messages that need to be sent to other organizations, including the Imperial Ministry of the Interior, the Ministry of Justice, the Ultramarines Fleet, the World Eaters Fleet, etc. These are all letters that failed to reach the designated place across the stars in the past month.

Only the last few astrological messages were successfully sent. After Waldo glanced at them, he judged that they were narratives about the condition of Medusa, and that the recipients were the Iron Warriors fleet.

Yes, Waldo found that he could understand the meaning of the astrological patterns, and interpreting this symbolic language with infinite subtle changes was something he had never learned before.

"Is this a rejection?" Waldo asked, with an edge in his words, "You are not a liar, nor a person who compromises tactfully. I arrived here at the same time as Star Language, not to confirm with you what the Star Language conveyed. , and then help you send the ambiguous information back to Perturabo."

Donne's gaze shifted slightly, and during this moment of unhappy pause, an invisible pressure seemed to condense in the air.

"Reject? You assumed what I thought, Constantine. Constantine." He took a step forward and folded his hands behind his back, as if he had locked himself into some invisible bondage. "Before you arrived here, more preparations were made than you thought. A small interception battle with the Twentieth Legion has ended. According to it, the Fifteenth Legion has been destroyed due to betrayal."

"So, you give up your duties as a Guard of Terra?"

Roger Dorn strode away from the drawing board, and suddenly lifted the panel covering the porthole upwards, revealing the colorful stars swirling outside.

Waldo noticed that the flap was supposed to be controlled by an automatic motor rather than by human hands.

The blue-purple cosmic storm rolled like an angry wave, rolling up red clouds, as if the stars in the distance were being swallowed by endless whirlpools - the stars where Fulgrim was.

The original body turned sideways and stood with his hands behind his back: "This is not the most important thing now. The question of whether I give up or not is not imminent. Even whether what you and Perturabo said is true needs to be discussed later. I will not Because I am a Terran Guard, I will ignore your warning." He glanced at Waldo, "Similarly, I will not believe his temptation just because I am friendly with Perturabo."

His statement seemed to be tinged with emotion because of the content of his words.

"What must be resolved immediately is the problem of Fulgrim and Ferrus Manus." He continued, "I can't see the specific things happening on that satellite, but the mutations on them have already Radiation begins to affect their offspring. Since you have been tasked by the Emperor to become a god-killing spear, you may be about to make your first use. Later, I will take you to the Medusa moon, if necessary. When the time comes, execute the fallen primarch."

Waldo looked at him, unable to confirm Rogal Dorn's situation for a moment.

The views of the leader of the Imperial Fist Legion are always so direct, even too direct, that one cannot help but follow common sense and guess that there is a hidden meaning behind his words.

Donn frowned and said softly: "Stop your speculations, Constantin Waldo. I am in a very bad mood right now. I don't want to kill my brother, which makes me feel especially bad. Therefore, I don't Need you to piss me off further."

"A hundred years ago, I encountered the possibility of corruption among my brothers. Since then, I have been prepared to kill a traitor." Dorn continued, hiding the subject of the second half of his sentence. , "I don't need more hesitation to maliciously show my reluctance."

Waldo looked away from Donne's face, his heart as calm as water. "So, we're going to find your two brothers. When do we leave?"

Dorn stretched out his hand to Waldo, his fingers fell on Waldo's pale spear tip, and then he exerted slight pressure.

In an instant, a transcendent connection formed between Valdor's spear and Dorne, and indescribable power flowed between them.

A stream of blood quickly overflowed from his punctured skin, solidifying into a cinnabar-like trace in an instant.

Dorn withdrew his fingers and stared at his wounds, while Waldo emerged from the phantom of a tower. The knowledge brought to him by the Sun Spear was like rain falling on his heart, briefly causing ripples and then returning to a long-lasting calm.

"You do have the ability to kill us," Dorn said with a solemn tone. At the moment of being stabbed, he undoubtedly felt some unusual factors - a loss that went beyond ordinary physical damage. Waldo recalled that Perturabo had performed the exact same test.

"So?" Waldo asked, tilting his spear toward the open porthole, pointing at the planet surrounded by polluted clouds and mist.

"Let's go." Dorn nodded.

They walked quickly through the spacious corridor, and Waldo calmly greeted and ignored the glances directed at him. He knew that his iconic armor and unconventional appearance would be enough to attract the attention of any mortal or Astartes, but these were not the current focus.

Rogal Dorn was already striding away in front, almost running. His cloak was raised high, and his back drew a sharp golden shadow in the air. Constantine Valdor chased after him, following Rogal Dorn's running speed, heading to the deck of the Phalanx. Their armor made a constant clanking sound, like ice dissolving in hot iron.

A series of questions flashed through Waldo's mind, including whether the Astartes in the Imperial Fists army were like Rogal Dorn, at least willing to ignore the Iron Warriors' invitation for the time being; including whether they had to face two A genetic primarch that may have fallen, and why does Rogal Dorn believe that he can fight one against two - let alone Fulgrim and Ferrus Manus; and there are more doubts, such as him Not even a member of the guard is with him, no Sigismund, no Acammus. Which end point does this belong to between the two poles of confidence and pessimism.

But all he did was run, and hold on to his spear.

——

"I don't think this is a good idea, Ferrus," Fulgrim said to Ferrus silently. Although his tone was gentle in his mind, he knew that he was getting nervous.

"What's not a good idea?" Ferrus asked, his voice coming from the steel ribs that enveloped Fulgrim - like an invisible cage, Fulgrim thought.

"Trust...the Emperor," Fulgrim said, bitterness welling up in his consciousness. The silver lake they were currently in looked so much like the mercury-like eyes of Ferrus Manus... What a cold luster, what an indestructible loyalty.

He raised his head and felt that he was being watched by his brother, and then he saw the reflection of his consciousness in Ferus's eyes... not a real entity, but a flowing, fiery emotion, full of hesitation. Explore the flickering flames.

"I don't understand, Fulgrim," Ferrus answered him lowly, his voice hushed. "I am infinitely grateful that you came to find me, but what are you saying? My brother. Are you saying that we should not trust the Emperor? Should not fulfill our oath and mission?"

On the back of the silver lake, the hallucinatory light and shadow were being eaten away bit by bit by a deep black mist, gradually approaching with an unsettling sense of oppression.

This progress was very slow, giving Fulgrim the feeling that the black mist did not seem to be able to completely compete with the gorgeous wandering clouds... it was not strong enough, not indestructible enough - it had not really been born yet.

However, if the two of them take the initiative to approach, the power of the black mist will be enough to take them away...

They all heard the whispers of Chaos screaming in annoyance, cursing the "Cursed Ones" for their interference...

So, is the Black Mist the power of the Emperor?

It was similar to but contradictory to his father, and completely different from the dazzling light in Fulgrim's memory... But other than this feeling, what evidence did he have? Or perhaps, was this the Emperor's power that had changed over the centuries, or was his own faith beginning to crumble?

Fulgrim's heart wavered, and he took a deep breath, unable to stop the distracting thoughts swirling in his mind. In this ocean constructed by the soul, all emotions are embodied, and the silver lake around him boils uneasily in bleeding red colors.

"I feel your emotions," Ferrus said with a touch of tenderness in his voice, his silvery lakes gently embracing Fulgrim's body, soothing his nerves. "In order to rescue me, you were in the Uncertain Demon Realm - let's call it that for the time being," he said with disgust. "You expended too much energy, which made you full of doubts. We will not doubt the Emperor, we neither There is no reason or power.”

Fulgrim was silent. What Ferus said was reasonable, his words were calm and clear, but the fire in Fulgrim's heart could not be extinguished.

His intuition told him that things were far from simple.

"Maybe you are right..." He murmured hesitantly, "But..."

"What?" Ferrus said quietly, "At least give me a reason, Fulgrim."

His voice trembled slightly, and Fulgrim immediately realized that the reason for the trembling was not doubt, but pain.

Through their connected spirits, Fulgrim quickly sensed Ferrus' presence—his broken and missing soul.

His will slipped through Ferus and touched every gap that was hurt by this realm. Every hole was connected to the greedy abyss deep inside. Every scar could not be healed. The moist and hot liquid metal came from Overflowing from these defects, it was dyed with a thrilling purple-red color, and then dispersed into the dim hazy nothingness.

This process was silent, and Fulgrim deeply suspected that it was irreversible.

Decisions must be made quickly.

"You have grown weak, Ferrus," Fulgrim said, almost lovingly. "Your power has been taken away too much. You are being torn apart. I took you from this Chaos, but you are being taken away by the Warp again... We can't go on like this, my brother."

"What are you doing?" Ferrus shouted nervously.

The Phoenix flames burst out from the steel fence like an eruption, the red flames penetrated the mercury seal, and in an instant they ignited on the turbulent surface of the Silver Lake, sealing the liquid metal inside the flames.

"I was worried about you leaving," Fulgrim said ambiguously.

In this way, Ferrus did not have to continue to be exposed to the erosion of Chaos.

At the same time, he also eliminated the possibility of his brother plunging into the Emperor's Black Mist.

He is much more adept at controlling his own power in mysticism than Ferrus Manus... Yes, there is no think tank among the Emperor's Children, but the Iron Hands have a think tank, but that is because no Emperor's Children think tank trained after the Council of Nicaea can surpass the brilliant Purple Phoenix.

However, few people know this.

"Fulgrim!" Ferrus shouted, "Stop!"

The Phoenix watched the source of its body slowly drift into the turbulent warp environment around it.

He was also unable to stop this process, but could only barely delay it.

There was a crackling sound in his head, as if it was invisible firewood, or a bone that was breaking...

During the whole process of escaping and struggling, they were too deeply involved with the environment here, almost reaching an inseparable level-just like the dyed ink, it will eventually dissolve into the water again.

And in the depths of that strange cloud, it seemed that a brand new shadow was slowly condensing into shape.

He closed his eyes, no longer looking at the kaleidoscope-like ever-changing warp light, but focused on the fire in his heart, urging it to continue burning, cutting off the entanglement of Chaos and Ferrus, barely burning the bond between them and this space...

Just like using a raging fire to burn off a waterfall, there will eventually be a moment of futility.

Unless - they give up their own polluted power.

But that is no longer possible.

It only takes a moment of hesitation, and the unprotected will will inevitably evaporate under the erosion. The boiling and filthy power of the warp will replace their thoughts, surging in their remaining bodies, turning them into a product that is unrecognizable, a mimic of themselves.

His mind screamed at him to avoid this ending.

"Stop? No, believe me," Fulgrim said bitterly, "Or at least give me a reason, Ferrus."

In response to him, there was silence, and the Silver Lake was boiling hotly, stirring up different emotions between trust, reluctance and hesitation.

Among them, Ferrus's suspicion of his behavior broke Fulgrim's heart. He could never prove that the Emperor was not the Emperor - and he was so convinced.

——

"According to calculations, we are about to reach the bottom of the chamber."

Rogal Dorn panted. They had just rushed out of an army of unborn beings. The bodies of the Iron Hands attached to them kept piling up in the tunnel...

No, they were already dead, relying on the low temperature of the chamber to freeze, relying on the Iron Hands' own technology to repair and sleep until their primarchs woke them up.

At least, Ferrus did provide a way for Rogal Dorn to quickly expel these things. His Stormfang Knife tore these bodies apart as its name suggested. The unborn screamed unwillingly in pieces and were rolled back to where they came from by the curtain.

As for Constantine Valdor, the thing killed by his spear did not even make a dying throat sound, and directly turned into a wisp of pure energy in the flickering pure white light.

And he sometimes killed the former Astartes more cleanly than Rogal Dorn himself. It was only at these times that Dorn found that there were still things he refused to accept.

He adjusted his mindset, felt the golden skull on his waist rub against the edge of the plastron, and tried his best to cancel any hesitation he had.

Perhaps others would think that these were things that should not appear on Rogal Dorn - perhaps this was just unknown.

"You heard it." Valdor said, this was not a question.

Rogal Dorn paused, put his weapon at his waist, and began to pry the last half-open door. This door was not locked, but its axle was completely stuck, resisting the entry of outsiders.

And, yes.

He heard it.