Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 56 Extra: In short, it’s a home theater

+++The first volume is over, let’s write a side story+++

"Conrad's actions are always so absurd. Why would he repeat to everyone his predictions that are already out of touch with reality?"

Calm anger drove Perturabo's footsteps. He passed through the gate of Lokos and found a place in the wilderness that was wide enough to accommodate his giant body. He sat down and temporarily removed the many nerve-connecting devices. The data bundle rested under the deserted old tree after the misty sunset.

"Is this how you treat your guests, Perturabo?" Morse stepped out from behind the tree.

Perturabo slightly changed the position of his legs and said in a deep voice: "I did not invite my brothers to Olympia just to hear one of them belittle my character."

"Disparaging? You are redefining the word." Morse said, "Conrad is often just using his unique madness to reveal another real possibility. Talk to me about what he said about you. ”

Perturabo's fingers on his knees shrank for a moment, and then shrank into fists, leaving no room to grasp anything.

"He didn't say anything of reference value, and all the facts were obviously contrary to his wild words." He tried to speak calmly, but the sound in his throat was very dry.

When Perturabo lowered his head, his huge figure looked very much like the sculptures of tragic works: stiff and hesitant, eyes looking at the earth, immersed in distant thoughts.

Morse stood leaning against the tree trunk and patted the giant's shoulder with his left hand, causing Perturabo to suddenly look up at him.

"Decades ago, I heard a fool's prophecy." Morse said, "The subject of the prophecy is you, although I can get a glimpse of my destiny from it. I had no time to think about it at the time, but every time I think about it later, I realize that everything is wrong. Fortunately."

"Later, I was walking on the intertwined garden paths. When the opportunity was right, I cut off a few remaining leaves from the branches of the zodiac sign. I will review it with you today. It is a good way to kill time."

He raised his hand, and the curse flowed into the air, constructing a picture without boundaries.

The sky darkens, the fleet hangs out, and the land burns to ashes. The road was blown up, and even the surface of the water on the fertile plain was almost blazing with black eyes. The deep-cut earth and rocks were the bleeding wounds of Olympia, and countless broken and charred corpses filled the scars of the mother planet with useless remains.

As soon as he saw this scene, the reason in Perturabo's mind almost collapsed like a rock.

"Who is—" he roared uncontrollably until Morse pushed him on the shoulder and snapped him into the frame.

He stood on the edge of the mountain ridge, and the Trident members gathered in the distance. The heavy armor is filled with the smell of gunpowder smoke, like an anesthetic, suffocating the body's brain that has been paralyzed by the massacre. This familiar yet unfamiliar body is riddled with scars, extremely heavy and extremely painful, almost a living image of depression and distortion.

In this body, a heavy shudder crucified him in the pain of being unable to react or move. He didn't want to understand it all - because he understood it all.

It didn't take a moment for Perturabo to know that the man watching the bombing of his home and orchestrating the destruction of Olympia was another version of himself.

"Look, Perturabo," whispered Mors as he emerged from the smoky air in the form of a pale golden shadow. "To accept this possibility, we have to be honest. From another broken reflection, we read and dismantle the ending of the tragedy."

The golden shadow hung over Perturabo, and Perturabo followed the abominable form. This is a dead memory, a dead end at the end of a garden maze, and all Perturabo can do is feel.

Of course, his soul can close the eyes of perception in this temporary body, not hearing or hearing, and living through this nightmare unconsciously.

But steel doesn't run away.

Perturabo felt his teeth clenching. He allowed his panic and shrinkage to be replaced by anger - a rage directed only at himself.

Different from the Lokos that were designed in their own world and added a certain artistic sense to the absolute practicality, this Lokos has been integrated with war and iron blood early on.

The roar of the cannon was solid, catching the entire Lokos in flames. Thousands of cannonballs tore the sky into gray-black rags and pounded into the walls of Lokos through the Arcadia Valley.

Thousands of tons of high explosives were used in batches to cleanse the city that Perturabo had designed decades ago. The city walls collapsed and dust rushed to the sky.

The Lord of Steel destroyed everything he had built with his own hands, tearing out his heart and blood with rage, pain, and ridiculous false cruelty until it was as damaged as his heart.

"You already hate him," Morse said. "Be prepared for you to hate him even more. But don't hate yourself - this 'yourself' I'm talking to."

Perturabo heard the conversations of several tridents, and those voices went straight into his ears.

One Astartes insists that destroying the city himself is a waste of the Iron Warriors' manpower, while another explains to the Iron Lord that "he is telling everyone that he has the right to destroy what he has built."

These deplorable words caused Perturabo to briefly fall into self-doubt, while another of his descendants' ongoing explanations were more akin to an unconscious curse.

The Iron Lord cursed his Legion, twisting them until they delighted in massacre on their home planet, and the Legion cursed him with silent obedience, driving him to self-loathing and despair.

The legions quickly entered the city, and Lokos was already in flames.

The sons this city once raised are coming back to kill all the old, men, women and children unfit for genetic modification. The Iron Warriors plucked the people of Lokos, lining them up outside the crumbling walls, coating their flesh with rubble and broken bricks with intense artillery fire.

Perturabo witnessed all this, noticing that one of his heirs hesitated before firing each shot. Perturabo waited in silence as the scion was executed by other mad warriors.

"Steel begets strength," Morse said, "strength begets will, will begets faith, faith begets honor, and honor begets steel."

Perturabo was not sure whether this was an encouragement or a sarcastic comment, but he added in his mind: "This is the unbreakable litany.

As he finished his silent words, Morse responded with precise timing to the unspoken words: "I know you won't let it gather dust. This is not a demand, this is trust."

His honesty comforted Perturabo like a soft touch.

The Lord of Steel followed his legion into the burning Lokos. He saw a small civil strife in the army. Hesitant warriors were labeled as traitors in the quarrel. Explosive shells tore the breastplate, and the curved black and yellow stripes bulged outward. Breaking inward, the first heart burst out with blood, and then the helmet was smashed, and the blood flowed out through the breathing grid together with the passing life.

Perturabo witnessed all this.

His feet walked through the burning houses, through the turned-up roads, through the blood and dirt, and his iron boots kicked away the corpses. Finally, the palace opened to him. He stepped over the gold and silver reliefs that had shaken off the door like a carpet of destruction. The endless sound of gunfire announced his arrival, just like the joyful cheers and greetings of the Lokos people many years ago.

The moment he entered the palace, Perturabo felt a sense of disgust in the Lord of Steel's emotions, which he really could not understand. Through a pair of cold eyes, he saw the coffin in the center of the hall. Sleeping in the crystal and velvet was the body of an old man—far older than the old man in Perturabo's memory.

The hand covered in armor was raised, and the cover of the coffin was crushed, revealing an old and thin face.

Peturabo couldn't help but want to shout, that abominable waste! In that world, Damex did not die early from the poison of the four gods, but was forced to death by himself! What a lucky opportunity he had, but he had to put it all into thunderous fire and destruction!

Then his vision darkened and the Lord of Steel closed his eyes. Perturabo heard him call father.

He followed the Lord of Steel into the darkness until Morse spoke softly: "Don't be afraid."

Another voice awoke the Lord of Steel, a voice that sounded far older than his own, even though their ages might not be that different.

Callifon's voice came from the throne of Lokos.

The Lord of Steel raised his head, and Perturabo saw a woman who was tortured by time, not just old age - the Callifon he was familiar with also refused life-extending surgery. The real source of her torment was far more serious than aging. It can destroy the human mind.

Sitting on the throne was a desperate holdout, her every word weighed down by her weakened lungs, her heart and lungs weakened by excessive grief.

The conversation between the two began, and the impact of information allowed Perturabo to quickly analyze the development of the world.

He was first shocked by the rebellion in Olympia, hearing the image of the Lord of Steel vetoing Damex, and then became speechless after learning that the rebellion in Olympia was due to the Lord of Iron's unrestrained and stupid conscription.

He had several ups and downs, hitting rock bottom after hearing Callifon call him the disaster of Olympia.

"...Your nihilism is despicable, brother." the old tyrant said sharply. A furious Callifon, Perturabo was dazzled by the combination of these two concepts. Callifon should not have been forced into this.

They also mentioned other sons of tyrants. In the years since Perturabo left, Harkon was drowned in a barrel for treason, and Andros sadly died one day at the age of ninety. The Iron Lord was blinded by the war and returned home, and he, Perturabo, never even had the chance to see these people again.

He felt a cold, steady hand on the back of his neck, Morse urging him to relax. And Perturabo didn't know how much longer he could hold out.

"...The Empire will not succeed," said the Iron Lord, "The Empire is my father's folly. I believe in it because I want it to come true, but nothing is ever so perfect."

So he is a traitor. Perturabo thought silently.

Of course, it's no surprise that a Broken One who hates his home planet, hates his citizens, hates his offspring, and projects his anger onto everything he has ever created, becomes a traitor. Every punch he swung out hit his painful soul simultaneously. His emotional relief was restrained in inappropriate places and over-released in wrong places. All this is worth pondering.

Perturabo finally separated himself from the empathy of a witness, and once again looked at this absurd tragedy that had ended with a calm mind.

This is not because he quickly found his true location, but because the scene he is currently witnessing is too different from himself.

He no longer accepted another Iron Lord as himself. It was a distorted mirror, a smeared blank paper, a false example. It was not him, not now, and not in the future.

He would remember everything he saw today, from the smallest dust to the largest planet, and he would remember forever how a man named Perturabo, who was also reborn in Olympia and led the Legion into an expedition, could drag everything into such a terrible abyss.

He did not need to forgive him, accept him, or recognize him, he just needed to remember.

"...You are weak, and the improperly forged steel is as fragile as a dry reed," said Kaliphon, "You are angry like a child."

Perturabo hoped that Kaliphon would not continue.

His own self-esteem would not be damaged by this, and the dignity of the Iron Lord would not increase by not being blamed, but there was one thing that would be closely related to it, that is, Kaliphon's controlled life.

"...You get the army, and the first thing you do is to thrash them to death..."

That beast. That madman. That tyrant. That child.

"... You wasted your soldiers to prove something that didn't need to be proved, and you were angry when no one noticed and praised your self-sacrifice. You destroyed everything, why, brother?"

The man who destroyed everything spoke, and Perturabo was no longer surprised by the cruelty of that man: "I am not your brother... Mortal love is useless."

The lies he told could only deceive himself, whom he wanted to deceive. He denied family affection because he had just destroyed the family affection he had with his own hands.

He was no longer qualified to be loved, so he said he didn't need it.

Kaliphon's narration continued, and the Lord of Steel was blinded by anger, but Perturabo witnessed the tyrant's request for death.

He looked at Kaliphon's aging face and the last cluster of blazing spiritual fire in that body, knowing that he and Mors were the only two witnesses of Kaliphon's funeral in that world. His eyes were burning, and his throat seemed to be blocked by cold iron.

"Your selfishness is sad, brother. You are the biggest fool." Kaliphon said.

The Lord of Steel rushed forward angrily and grabbed the mortal's throat.

Perturabo witnessed it all.

He heard the Lord of Steel lie, desperately seeking justification for his brutality. "No mercy for traitors," he said, so why couldn't he be harsh on his own betrayal?

He questioned the panicked traitor, whose mind was already broken, knowing that the man might not be unaware of his own self-deception.

For a moment he began to imagine where the scene went wrong, and soon he got the answer.

Mors. Mors did not exist in this forked road.

"In fact, in most cases I do not exist," Mors said softly, "at least I have not found a second me who has resurrected from my first death. But I have found many other you, some better, some worse. Don't underestimate your potential, but don't overestimate it either - I know you won't."

Won't you?

He heard a despairing sound of neck vertebrae breaking, and the traitor strangled her while using his other hand to adjust her hair.

Perturabo followed the traitor's gaze and looked into Cariphon's eyes with him. He witnessed the compassionate regret frozen in Kaliphon's eyes, and his heart became extremely empty. As for the traitor, he had been knocked down by his own cruelty, falling on the glass, tears rolling down his self-proclaimed iron face. He proved that he deserved this pain.

As for Perturabo, his heart no longer hurt, only a silent pain, silently digging the hole in his body. He will remember all this, not only to learn a lesson, but also as a belated memorial that is too far away.

"Do you want to see more?" Morse asked.

The light stopped trembling, the dust in the air stopped, and the section of time was sealed. The golden light condensed, and the man in the black robe walked out of nothingness. The decorative stripes on the clothes were the ones he designed for Morse not long ago.

He stretched out his hand and looked at Perturabo in the body quietly.

"What happened next?" Perturabo asked.

"A lot." Morse said, "I have been waiting for someone to accompany me to re-read these stories."

Perturabo propped up his heavy body that was difficult to move, and tried to hold Morse's hand.

After he left the first-person perspective, he found that tears were still flowing down his face. Then, a blink brought another teardrop.

"You can go to the Emperor. Or the Sigillite." Perturabo closed his eyes and looked into the regretful dead eyes again. Let others see all this, it is not his shame. And if someone can strengthen his supervision because of this, it is a good thing.

"The Emperor is too busy." Morse replied, "Wait until the Great Crusade is over and everything is settled, it will not be too late to find him."

"You are right." Perturabo said. "We still have a long journey."