Warhammer: Start with a dog

The night is gentle.

The calm waves on the sparkling silver sea of ​​Lakeham Bay are like herds on the blue plains, gracefully passing over the stone piles on the shore.

The sea breeze carried the salty moisture under the moonlight of Macragge and blew through the harbor, alleys and the towering white walls of Hera Fortress.

The guards of the Chapter patrolled the city walls, and the pilgrims slept soundly in the inns at the foot of the mountain.

Chief Thinker Diglis silently and unexpectedly indulged in his meditation on this quiet night as usual.

He frowned in discomfort. The crystals and metal threads on the psychic hood in the cobalt blue armor kept flickering and flickering, like a rapid whisper.

However, the threads of nightmares outside the system hindered his ability to wake up.

The murmur that came riding on the Qinglan in the night penetrated the eternal stasis where the Primarch took his last breath thousands of years ago - the coffin - it was the heirs of Guilliman's courage and glory who did not want to Admittedly, they only wanted to decorate the coffin lavishly, use the splendid hall originally used for debates, meetings and receptions to bury the bones, and add layers of gorgeous carvings to the outside of the coffin where their father was still alive.

Endow humans with divinity and inspire humans with the name of God.

——————

Come, prince of the utopia.

Everything you desire can come true today.

Everything I see today is untrue.

Thirteenth Prince, open your eyes.

Tonight.

The dream dinner is about to begin.

——————

The power of ether turned into raindrops and struck ethereally on the shell of nothingness.

Suddenly far and suddenly near.

Illusive yet real.

Benedict.

Benedict.

Benedict.

A complex mixed aroma seeped into the nose, stimulating Robert Guilliman's olfactory bulbs and taste nerves.

Incense, rose, pink pepper, um... this should be saffron? ...Cistus, ebony, sandalwood and leather reminded him of the rolling cliffs and deep forests of Hera's Crown, hiking, bonfires, and the torches on the city walls.

And... the night and the smell of metal, the snow and the ocean, the mountains and the desert, parchment, ink, engine oil, promethium and... wine?

Really wine, and that rare real thing, made from the oldest pure, non-bitter grapes, a beautiful, delicious, delightful liquid from the Belle Epoque.

The smell of fruity wood wine was getting closer and closer, as if someone had brought a glass to his lips.

With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine a layer of condensed water droplets hanging halfway on the wall of the golden cup filled with ice wine.

how can that be possible?

He remembered everything before he fell in the desecrated halls of the Emperor's Pride, his descendants dying just to keep him alive for one more second.

The poison Fulgrim sent into his blood burned his last life force in that moment of frozen eternity.

Why am I not dead yet?

I……

——Wait a minute——What is this strange memory that suddenly came in——

--Who is that--

--I? ——

——How could I——

——This is a betrayal of the truth of the Empire——

——I will never... I will never give in...! I……--

Colors, sounds, and touches all returned to the body.

—————

In an instant, the aroma of food and wine, the gentle footsteps of people walking on the floor, the noise of chatter and a voice with which he had been involved in a life-and-death struggle just a moment ago rushed vividly and abruptly into all his senses. middle.

"What's wrong with you? Guilliman, if you don't like drinking, just say so and don't keep my hand raised."

The melodious voice of the Phoenician Phoenix was as beautiful as ever, but it was completely opposite to the uncontrolled sound of the crazy and blasphemous creature that Guilliman last remembered - impatient, but still maintaining the appropriate restraint. , although he is hypocritical, he fully fulfills his duty, sees through everything but is still full of care.

This caused the Ultramarines' original movement, which was about to launch a violent attack, to hesitate for a moment and turn into a stiff and weird posture.

Robert Guilliman found himself unarmed, wearing comfortable sandals and a dress-like blue and white gold embroidered toga, standing in a hall that he seemed to have met once before. He was not the only one here - more than one. Both of them.

"Okay, okay, if you don't drink it, I'll take it back." The person opposite was almost as tall as him - maybe taller but a little slender. His purple eyes blinked unhappily, and his silver-white eyes blinked unhappily. The hair was smooth and shiny, and was braided and pulled into a bun on the back of the head, with only a few strands hanging naturally from the sides. Moon silver, fine gold and black diamonds were hand-made into a towering horn crown hair comb inserted on top.

Guilliman suddenly realized that the extremely delicate, but tough jeweled hair comb was incompatible with Fulgrim wrapped in silk and wool, and the craftsmanship and atmosphere that created it——

A huge mechanical arm stretched out from the side and took away the glass of platinum wine held by Fulgrim in his hand. He seemed to see a shadow of metal reflection in the corner of his eye.

What?

"Perhaps you shouldn't give him a drink first. You should eat something to cushion your stomach before drinking." A seemingly familiar voice sounded from below him. Guilliman turned his head slightly stiffly and lowered his gaze -

Silver cloak and robe of Casillas, scarab, sun and lotus jewels, blue-green eyes, long black hair and ebony skin.

Who is this?

This kind of feeling between brothers can't lie, but he can't remember that he has ever had any brother who was as petite as a mortal and as beautiful as a small purple-breasted Buddha, Dharma and Monk... He was a brother, right?

Who is this?

"Magnus." The "mortal" whose name was called turned his head slightly, ignoring Guilliman's pupils that were dilated due to excessive surprise.

"What's the matter, Dorn?" The man who strode over from the other end of the room was the brother with short white hair that Guilliman was familiar with. He was wearing a form-fitting dress, but he didn't look like the last time Guilliman had seen him. When I saw him, I was filled with anguish, hatred and the pain of persistence. The Terran Guard looked very young. He nodded to Guilliman as a greeting and took Magnus away, but left behind the melon, ham and cheese snack he brought to Guilliman.

Guilliman watched as they walked to join several figures on the sofa behind the curtain at one end of the room. There was a black and white long-haired canine lazily sitting in the center of the sofa and yawning. His white The mane partially outlined itself in the darkness.

The red lightning emblem of the prairie eagle is looming in his white cloak. The wings behind the interlocutor whose face is obscured by the flowers and candlelight on the table are folded and drooping peacefully, while the figures of several other people are completely in the thick black shadow. It was blurry under the cover of the silk curtain, and only the black feathers that reached the ground could be seen draped on the floor with a green or blue-purple luster.

On the other side of the long dining table filled with dazzling delicacies in the center of the room, the ruby ​​eyes of the Fire Dragon Lord were reflecting the color of the candlelight in pleasure. One of the three people he faced was facing away from Guilliman. Holding a pipe made of briar root nodules and the hardened shell of some kind of creature, the tobacco is still smoldering in it.

"Oh, poor - and venerable Robert Guilliman! A ghost who is still lost in his duties," a voice spoke with the soft, poetic accent of a dead world of sin. Passing by him, there was no smell of rotten flesh and blood as expected, but the smell of decayed rose petals, rock roses, fresh metal, fragrant wood and leather, as well as Reca coffee and ink, "He couldn't drink it. He seems to be busy with our drinks."

A creepy feeling rolled across the skin of the Lord of Macragge's back, and the lack of protection from power armor and weapons made his kidneys twitch when he heard this voice.

He carefully turned sideways and was surprised to see Conrad Coates with an elation that was infinitely close to victory. He was holding a particularly huge and gorgeous orange-gold feline in his arms and was walking away from him. Across the hall. Midnight Ghost's skin is still as white and bloodless as he remembered, but his long, gorgeous black hair like billowing silk robes is brushing against his ankles on his sandals - the hair quality is very good, smooth, soft and slender .

Guilliman watched him follow, and saw the golden feline lying on Curze's shoulder, staring at him with its emerald eyes.

A thought jumped into the mind of the Ultramarines Primarch: The big golden cat seemed to have lost to someone and was very unhappy.

"You really shouldn't be here yet, Guilliman."

The Fenris Wolf King's voice rang in his ears with a calmness, self-respect and clarity of speech that Guilliman had never heard before. No matter what language he was speaking, the grammar and pronunciation were impeccable.

He turned around and saw a clean-shaven man with blond hair that was not only neatly trimmed but also carefully combed back with hairspray - Leman Russ. The Wolf King's clothes were ironed to perfection, and his collar was buttoned. At the top, the blue eyes were so blue that they were almost transparent, and the light of great reason shone in them.

"Who are you……"

"I am ordered to maintain order." The other person replied coldly but politely, as if he was about to raise something in his hand.

"Be kind to him, Russ." A voice that made Guilliman feel good immediately but couldn't remember where he heard it said. He turned around and saw a picture that he had never expected to look so calm and calm. With a noble face and copper-shined hair, there are molten golden eyes.

"Perhaps I can help?" Is this... the brother he knew... who was possessed and destroyed by mechanical implants...? Is it his original appearance?

"No need." Russ raised his hand. He seemed to have used no force. Something poked Guilliman, and the wound on the Thirteenth Primarch's neck felt a stinging pain.

The pain pulled at him.

Pain called to him.

The first ray of early morning light poured in from the window of the hall, stinging Guilliman and closing his eyes when he raised his head and looked towards the hall for the last time.

Before falling back into eternity, he seemed to see that the main seat on the main table was indeed not empty.

Its daybreak.