Warhammer: Start with a dog

(*Your actions are becoming more and more confusing. Is drinking every family so interesting? Looking at your previous behavior, in addition to discovering that you may have a unique affection for the thin blood of my hypocritical and empty brother, Meaningless.)

"Shhh."

A soft voice speaks to people in two worlds.

"Who is pretending to be a fool? Come out and face me! Heretic!"

As he shouted, Ptolemion's gray eyes were trying their best to enlarge its black pupils so that its owner could vigilantly observe every corner of this cell.

This is not an easy task, because this place - like most spaces on the ships of all the Night Lords or one of their cousins, has no lights. The genetically modified warriors inherited the eyes and motivation of their father. A helmet allows them to see without the aid of light.

And if there is no genetic gift from the Midnight Ghost or the Shadow Crow, then the only thing that can be relied on is the possible starlight leaking in from a certain gap or a certain porthole, or in this city-like void ship. Slaves who lived at the bottom avoided their masters and used dark hand-held lamps that covered everything but the front.

Obviously, the genetic chain on which Ptolemion's organ development relied did not belong to any of the above, so he tried his best to open his eyes wide but could not see clearly this darkness that was so dark that he couldn't even see his fingers.

Ptolemion's eyes tried their best to collect visual signals, and he used all his other senses at the same time, but when he suddenly turned around and attacked or touched the dark form he had imagined several times, he began to feel lucky that the cabin was safe. The sound insulation effect is not that good, and the sound of the engine and the movement of equipment can still be heard in the distance.

Ptolemion even thought he had heard several attempts by someone to knock on the wall to send out a coded signal, which gave him a little hope in the darkness: maybe some of his comrades had survived, and they were here. in a nearby cell.

Although when he tried to reply with a tap, the other party always fell silent, and then started ringing again.

A trace of emotion that he had abandoned but now grew like a sprout in his heart began to spread along his soul, the ancient and ultimate human instinct of fear of complete darkness.

A sentence that he had read but had forgotten on the side page of an ancient divination scroll came to mind in this darkness:

When you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes into you.

The first is light.

With light.

All things can be observed.

Everything that is observed begins to be defined.

Then a little light suddenly appeared here.

A huge creature slowly and mysteriously emerged from the junction of light and shadow, like the final reconciliation of the contradictions of light and shadow: he has white skin that is more heartbreaking than the white bones in the moonlight. The night became darker, and his long black hair was dragged to the ground like a cloak. Another part was randomly pulled up and tied into a messy corolla shape behind his head. The power he radiated outward was full of the desire to destroy everything. , but because of its own existence, it draws it in, like a bird folding its black wings.

This huge creature looks fatally dangerous and visibly destitute, but at the same time it is thrillingly noble and beautiful.

As he began to approach, the champion of the Origin Chapter realized - with shame and resentment - that he had just held his breath for a moment because of the sense of sanctity this creature gave him.

Obviously at this place and time, it was difficult for people to believe that he was a divine creature with this appearance, so the Astartes immediately chanted the names of the Emperor and Guilliman loudly, and began to look around to find a Something that can be held in the hand and used as a weapon.

Unfortunately, he was destined to be disappointed. There was nothing here except him and the existence that suddenly appeared on the opposite side.

When it took another step, Ptolemion's hair stood up when he realized the height difference between the opponent and himself. He knew that it... no... he... could only be a demigod, even though mortals in this era It will only be known that the Emperor had nine holy descendants, and that they had nine evil enemies, but the Origin Chapter with an extremely long history will not mistake its own records, and the Astartes know more details.

His reaction was clear: shouting a war cry, the Astartes' eyes were filled with noble rage and a spirit of resignation. He put aside his fear, clenched his fists, and launched an attack on the Primarch, the enemy of the Thirteenth Legion. charge.

——————

"Hmm, very energetic, but luckily it was me you met. You know, knights shouldn't die with their bare hands."

After making a joke, Lamizane reached out and touched the opponent, causing a fierce but unsuccessful uppercut.

The moment the cold fingertips touched Ptolemion's warm skin, the company champion shuddered, feeling a small part of himself leaving him.

Full of rage, he attacked again with more lands, but could only hit the void.

Lamizane and Coze began to review all the major events related to the champion's past and future in their minds.

"As expected, even though Malcador is very powerful, he still couldn't imagine that such detailed changes would happen, and he completely eliminated them in advance. The so-called wise man thinks a lot."

(*You...how on earth did you think of...how did you notice this?! No one has ever noticed this before. It's incredible. Are there just a bunch of fools in this galaxy that is destined to be silent?!)

"So you study hard and read more so that you can better connect the prophecy and divination content to interpret the required information when needed, or complete the metaphorical choice you have been given - this is what 'you' should master the most Learn your skills, Conrad.”

(*……!)

"This way I feel more at ease. I originally thought we needed more government slaves... talents in internal affairs and diplomacy. Letting any original Night Lord on this ship do diplomacy would be the stupidest thing I have ever done. one."

(*Markarian can do the job.)

"Correction, Markarian can still do it before entering Dauntless. I only trust Fulgrim in Dauntless diplomacy."

(*...?! Wait, Fulgrim? Dauntless? Are you saying that room really belongs to Fulgrim?!)

"Oh, that's another story."

He turned his eyes to the Chapter Company Champion of Origin who still did not give up his attack.

"Hello," he said politely, "Ptolemion Saralon. There are some elders here who have something to say that you should listen to."

"I have no friendly relations with the hateful source of heresy, the fallen seed."

"What a pity. It seems that you have no friendship with your other ninety-eight brothers."

(*There is no sense of decency in your speech.)

That weak light illuminated the flash of confusion on the loyalist's face. It was obvious that if it was just his own life or - well - there were not many people, he would choose to refuse without hesitation, but Ninety Eight people meant the entire company. The third company originally had one position that had not been filled in time before the start of this battle.

etc! How does he know our total number? !

Ptolemion stared at the other person's face in horror, like a withered alabaster statue, and quickly calmed down.

"What do you want to say? Demon, I listen. After listening, you should accept the sanction from the throne!"

"Of course, of course. First, I have a proposal..."

(*Sigh, this little guy is still too young.)