Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"...So I ordered to rush to Prospero from the real universe. Perturabo said, his well-hidden eagerness showing in his fingers clasped around the table. "The message from the solar system said that you never arrived Tyra, what happened? "

"I was collecting my travel experiences on a day trip to the Realm of the Chaos Gods," Morse said. "Apparently I came back safe and sound again."

"you win?"

"Actually, it gave up on this ruse, but we still have to wrap up and start thinking about what Tzeentch was doing during this time - in short, you made a very wise decision."

"You mean I chose to leave the real universe?" Perturabo thought of Magnus's cry about how disgusting the subspace was.

While his knowledge of this told him that Magnus was overreaching, it did give him some additional warnings about the importance of keeping the fleet clean.

"Not only that, if you hadn't escaped from Prospero, I might have to go back to that maze again." Morse's fingers crossed the surface of the fleet's voyage record document, and the turning paper made a rustling sound, "Although it does not affect Your true nature, but who knows what kind of transformation that part of you will undergo after falling into the maze, right?"

"Their choice to act like this actually has something to do with me?" Perturabo said incomprehensibly. "But I'm sure all the scholars will be surprised to see me."

“Actually, a more accurate description is that their threads of fate intersect with yours additionally due to interference.

Perturabo nodded silently.

After losing Prospero's body and receiving a less than optimistic reply from Terra, he finds himself in the dark about both his brother and Morse's situation.

Having made the decision to continue accelerating, all Perturabo could do was maintain a steely composure in front of his heirs.

Mors sensed Perturabo's worry. He left the table and came to the window of the office. There is no form of Prospero visible within the visual distance, only the deep and cold dark universe and the bright spots left by the sparse stars.

The clear awareness that you are in a sea of ​​stars will bring different sensory experiences to different people. A conqueror will be excited, a scholar will be full of exploration, and for Morse, he can taste a sense of calmness, even if this calmness is just a thin illusion covering the turbulent eddies.

"You can keep a window on your Iron Blood in the future." Morse tapped the window with his knuckles, "Just in your office. It will help your mental health."

"I will," Perturabo agreed.

"Okay," Morse said. "How long until the fleet reaches Prospero?"

"Nine days... no, less than nine days." Perturabo calculated, taking back the time he blurted out for no apparent reason, "We can arrive within a week."

"Then let's pray together that Prospero can live for more than a week." Morse replied, "If I am not wrong in my guess, according to the characteristics of the Lord of Change, the person who has hurt you is almost dead now.

Perturabo didn't know whether to start his rebuttal by saying that those people were incapable of harming him, or first be surprised by Morse's rare and almost cursed tone.

"Maybe," he said at last.

Mors turned to look at Perturabo, and for a moment he imagined the possibility that he had not landed in Olympia on the old night.

In the library at the center of the Labyrinth of Tzeentch, he saw too many branches of the universe. Whether it is true or false does not matter, but if the prophecy is only regarded as a type of intelligence - credible, uncredible, partially credible, wartime Isn't intelligence just such a thing - then he did realize a lot of new content.

Perhaps one day he would share what he saw with Perturabo, but not now.

"I'm going to Prospero," Mors said, "to see where Magnus has single-handedly directed the situation on that planet."

"The Iron Warriors will arrive soon." Perturabo said firmly.

——

"I haven't seen you." Morse patted the black robe, confirming with satisfaction that his body did not have excessively weird creases on his face or neck due to long-term folding.

He threw down the small cloth bag that had just jumped out of it and was originally hanging on the wall, and looked at the mortal appearance in front of him that was gray with fatigue. This psyker looked like faded parchment that had been exposed to the sun for too long, haggard. And weak.

"But I guess you're Amon," Morse said.

He received no response. The master of Magnus named Amon was currently in an almost completely still state, just like everything around him, as stagnant as a wax statue.

Morse looked at the cloth bag he just threw. The first moment the thing left his hand, it fell into an extremely slow flow of time like other objects, stagnating in the air, as if it was held out by an invisible bracket. Strange form.

Morse reached out and touched the traces of the ether, reading Magnus' handwriting in a familiar style. This Primarch paused time in Tizca, making the flow of time here different from the outside.

He found several calculations made by the hermit in the pile of papers on Amon's platform, regarding his interpretation of the prophecies, and his advice to the Tizka people in recent days that it would be best to have a basement in their homes to avoid crises.

It seems that he also convinced Perturabo to give him the cloth bag for safekeeping. Morse didn't know how Perturabo explained the contents of the bag to Amon.

He followed the stairs back to the ground and saw a staggering army of Soul-eating Bees at a glance; outside the city wall, due to the different speed of time, denser numbers of Soul-Eating Bees came from all directions and blocked the boundaries of the domain.

What is even more eye-catching is the twisted pyramid like a huge background plate. Silver-white sharp corners protrude from every material connection on the pyramid surface, blending into the purple-blue creeping halo in the sky above.

At the top of the golden pagoda, a dim golden ball of light struggled to contain the spread of purple-blue light, like the crumbling dusk sun, struggling in the changing clouds.

He set out for the Pyramid, burning down all the warp beasts that invaded the physical universe along the way.

Just before the light ball at the top of the pyramid was about to turn completely gray, the red giant rushed back from the other end of the city. His feet were bare, his chest was heaving violently, his body was covered with the dirty and sticky poison stained when he slaughtered the Devouring Bees, and his red hair was messy. There were half-scorched marks on his body, the excessive extraction of psychic energy had left deep pain in his soul, and his own blood was flowing on his hands.

Magnus's embarrassment exceeded Morse's imagination, but his painful multi-colored eyes were fixed in gold and red as blazing as living fire, and they would never go out even if they were covered with dust.

Morse waved to him, causing Magnus, who was running around the golden tower and the city, to notice him.

The Primarch rushed to him immediately and asked without a moment's delay: "How is Perturabo?"

"He's fine." Morse said, a string of golden runes flashing from his left hand. "He's driving his boat to you. I'm afraid something will happen to you."

As he spoke this he sensed the position of another body, and thus knew that Perturabo was approaching Prospero's orbit.

This is one of the possible consequences of an unskilled psychic trying to forcefully change the flow of time in an area. In just a few minutes, several days have passed in the outside world. Fortunately, in this case, this side effect can be considered a good thing.

A look of confusion flashed across Magnus's face, and his overloaded spirit even prevented him from feeling relieved. He just stood there, trembling all over.

"Magnus, let's go to the pyramid and I'll teach you how to deal with the energy furnace." Morse woke him up.

"Whether it is through psychic or physical means, forcibly destroying the furnace will cause subspace cracks." Magnus's statement contained doubts.

"Yes, I want to use spells." Morse answered Magnus's question, "I hope you are equally talented in this area."