Warhammer: Start with a dog

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A blade kills a person. The death of one person ultimately murders a galactic generation. But when the blade has not yet been sharpened into a weapon destined to commit that murder, can we distinguish every atomic particle that will make it up from tens of millions of tons of ore? No matter what method is used, prediction or calculation, what amount of sacrifices will be required as a price, or how many galaxies and generations of people will be required to work hard? Are those who dig out the ore, select the raw materials, and finally make and sharpen it, injecting the potential for destruction and killing into it, also accomplices in this grand murder? So the question is, can we prevent the evil that has not yet happened, or can we forgive or define things that have not yet happened? If early prevention, forgiveness and remedy are meaningful, then does it mean that their premise must also be meaningful...

————————A random note in the corner of a book page found by an inquisitor in Wandering Port

————————

Varo Digris continued to be safely led through the abyssal turbulence in the deepest part of the warp that even the most powerful and crazy wizards could not and dared not set foot in.

Here, the meaning of time and space is completely lost. When the bubble that enveloped him passed the special intersection at the deepest part of the abyss, he risked a look there - it seemed to be a black hole in the universe, a missing soul, a false hope, a pupil of a beast approaching, a bottomless well or -

Darkness suddenly fell on the eyes of his body and soul, and the voice that sounded like his father sounded in his ears, still gentle, but slightly reproachful: "Curiosity kills the cat, and it can also kill a chief think tank. Respectable Digris, don't let me be embarrassed to be rude to you."

"My eyesight..." The chief think tank raised his finger, and the touch under his fingernail told him that his two eyeballs were still intact in his skull, dry, and could still move, without pain or blood.

"Yes. That's what I mean by impoliteness. I took them away temporarily before I could remind you." Julius' voice said, "To make you safer when traveling here. It's very convenient for us to walk here, but it's too unsafe for any human who still has ideals but fails to find the final shelter."

Although the Chief Think Tank was a little hesitant to use such gentle words as "walk" and "travel" to describe such a dangerous place that is beyond the human mind, he wisely chose to digest the content of this passage instead of asking more questions.

His eyes saw through the pictures that the tendrils that had just penetrated into his mind passed to him and saw countless altars dedicated to the Ancient Four and their great demons in the past, present, and future. The throats of the voluntary or involuntary sacrifices were crossed with countless scarlet and rolling hideous wounds, like countless weird smiles; his body, as light as a feather, walked through countless murder moments and battlefield scenes for tens of thousands of years, and the cut flesh and blood still had the last wisps of heat from his life.

For a moment, he didn't know where he was and who he was.

One moment he was standing on the red sand, watching the ragged gladiators beside him raise their crude and primitive weapons and pass over him, feeding the bloodthirsty audience with their lives and meaningless deaths; the next moment he came to a desolate and huge black rock desert basin, witnessing the most despicable deception and betrayal atrocities between the legions that once called each other brothers and cousins. He recognized the Emperor's Children, Iron Warriors, Night Lords, Word Bearers, Iron Hands, Death Guard, Sons of Horus, Salamanders, Raven Guard, Alpha and... World Eaters... from the blood of the melee and killings that took place everywhere. Just when he felt dizzy, he suddenly found himself lying on the uneven stone ground, surrounded by blood and broken limbs. His own neck was oozing with the hot blood that took his life. The commander of the Emperor's Children beside him was holding his weapon high and was triumphantly fighting with a gorgeous purple power armor and a simple black armored iron-handed man.

And not far from where he fell, a giant with purple eyes and the most perfect and flawless face he had ever seen was holding a silver-white blade with purple mist. He just let out a grief-stricken cry. The wet blood of the demigod on the magic sword that had just committed the crime of betrayal and murder was still dripping down, but the scar across the throat was pressed down by the sharp blade in the hand of the owner of the still terrified face——

Blood splattered, and with it splattered more revenge, revenge and endless war——

With a pair of The tall headless body of the silver hand rolled to the ground, and countless invisible hands, countless angry and huge forces surged out of the cavity like a hurricane. The chief think tank trembled and found many inhuman magics that should not be observed by people like him. When he raised his eyes in horror, he saw more specific details, tears flowing from purple eyes, the flaming sword aimed at himself slashing his burnt throat, and his giving up in grief and despair and those things that took the opportunity to enter him-

Is this what he should see? Is this what he can be shown? How can he peek into this secret? And are all these real?

A voice in his heart told him that this is all real, because some of these things can't be imitated by anything.

But...

If so...

He was in a theater that was once magnificent and full of artistic splendor and elegance, but now it was decayed and decadent, transformed beyond recognition by traces of corruption and graffiti of suspicious liquids that could be seen everywhere. Where was this...

The familiar ultramarine power armor flashed before his eyes, accompanied by the rustling sound of the snake's huge scales moving. He suddenly realized that the color of the corpse under his feet belonged to the same bloodline as his. Diglis opened his eyes wide eyes. His spiritual energy turned into lightning and was violently imprisoned around him.

"No--!!!!"

The short sword could not withstand the exquisite blow of the magic blade. The Ultramarines were dying in droves, using themselves as shields to resist the advancement of the fallen figure. Several people died just to delay for a second until the light of teleportation brightened. Since then, the heroic sacrifice has been left here, and no one will know about it ten thousand years later.

He was probably the first person besides the two people involved to know.

A huge sadness flooded him.

Then Diglis found that he had been taken away again and appeared in another scene he had never imagined. When he thought he could not be disturbed by anything again, he saw clearly the murder that was taking place.

This caused him to tremble all over, and if it weren't for his incorporeal form, he would have collapsed to the ground completely.

He saw Terra and Luna passing through the huge portholes that were several kilometers high. He saw the spiked hammer of the Worldbreaker smashing down mercilessly, and the blood merged with the noble face that was ruthlessly destroyed, and turned red. The pure white wings - no, no, no more - the scene turned, and the great hammer was still being raised high, falling heavily, raised, falling, raised, falling.

He... what is this monster wearing a giant black armor with red eyeballs on his chest hitting? ! Is he smashing it? ! How dare he - how dare he - what was that? ! Who is that - no, no, no, he can't accept it, he can't see this, he can't, his rage, his psychic powers are uncontrollable, it's going to burn him from the inside -

An eyeball connected to the optic nerve and detached from the skull, without blinking, was knocked out of the smashed remains of flesh and bone, rolled down beside the boots of the chief think tank standing there, and flipped back and forth in its original state. twice.

The blood all over Diglis's body was frozen, the chief think tank's limbs were cold, his mouth was speechless, and even the tip of his little finger was numb. He couldn't even cry. He sucked in the oxygen that didn't exist so that he wouldn't exist. The lungs supported his breathing, as if his lungs and heart had lost their original function at this time.

He lowered his head slowly and stiffly, and just looked at the iris of the eyeball. It was golden at first, but when it swayed, the light changed. It seemed like a green sea for an instant, and then it It turned into the darkest black like the ocean on a rainy night, glaring at him from the deep darkness of the other side of ancient time.

The dizziness rose from the depths of his throat. Diglis just wanted to rush over and grab his staff and pour out all his power unreservedly towards the hateful leader of rebellion, even if it burned his own flesh and soul. It doesn’t matter if it’s ashes——

"Shh." Julius's voice appeared in Diglis's ears again, stopping his impulse. The tone of Julius's words sounded so calm and calm, so calm that it almost drove Diglis crazy. The ground screamed at him, who the hell are you? ! Why are you so calm when facing with your own eyes this battle that will determine the lives and fate of so many humans and Astartes ten thousand years from now? ! !

"Well... this is a gift from our Lord, but unfortunately it cannot be shared, because it first requires the gift of blood, opportunity and time." As if it could see through his wordless scream, the voice explained After a while, he continued to remind him, "Shh. Don't worry, keep reading. The stories I tell you will soon end."

Tigris witnessed death and resurrection amid reluctance and convulsions. He saw something summoning the dead body back to the world and became another new existence. He saw the duel between two wounded gods. White and black, dotted with scarlet blood In it, entangled and almost evenly matched, he gasped nervously as his claws opened the throat of the sacred being and brought blood, he held his breath as they burned each other with the fire in their eyes, and finally, he Saw who killed whom with what.

The chief think tank now almost wants to beg Julius to cut off his sight and remove the relevant memories from his mind, because he clearly knows that what he sees now is completely shaking him every minute and every second. All the knowledge he has learned over the past hundreds of years has shaken his belief in the empire. The cornerstone of indestructible loyalty - Julius's voice came back in time, just as he had learned a lot about being a teacher in this situation - "Think about the person you want to protect, but Dear Tigris, just be loyal to the people you want to protect."

This reminder was like a glimmer of light in the smoke, drawing his attention away from the chaos. When he gathered his shattered mind and looked around again, he found that the environment here had changed slightly.

"This is the last sacrifice..." Julius seemed to be sighing. His voice, which had always been as calm and gentle as a book of sermons, finally took on some human emotion.

The Chief Librarian's heart dropped into his stomach. Looking up, those blood-stained golden bodies, big or small, had all left this place. Only the gradually forgotten darkness and coldness began to shroud the eye sockets of the empty huge corpse. The last Moon Wolf was still guarding beside his corpse, just as he was watching him back then.

Then he saw the culprit of the thirteen dark expeditions in the next nine thousand years appear at the door. He had not yet been swallowed by Chaos and rushed in with others. Then he was stunned to witness the last selected sacrifice being sent to the altar of the Four Gods by the agent of the ancient will. The priest's eloquent and gentle words like a venomous snake made the flame of ambition spread in Ezekiel Abaddon's eyes like a ignited wildfire. This cycle of revenge was ended here and solidified into a entity, becoming the echo of his crimes behind him and following him forever.

"It's over." Julius' voice said, "We should go back."

Please...you...collect_6Ⅰ9ⅠBookⅠBar (Six\\\\\\Nine\\\\\\Book\\\\\\Bar!)

"No!" At the moment of crossing countless dimensions, the Chief Librarian tried his best to throw the greatest force he could muster in the direction of the hateful man. Did he hit it? Or was it just like his own existence that he couldn't even blow a speck of dust in that time and space? Digris didn't know.

Because the next moment.

He felt the burning on his face, and remembered the scene where they just saw each other igniting each other with the light in their eyes, so he jumped up and pressed his face with the frost transformed by psychic energy, but then felt the icy cold and piercing feeling again, and hurriedly let it go.

Digris shook off the frost that turned into cold water on his eyelashes, and the focus of his pupils slowly aligned, and the world became clear again.

He saw that "Robert Guilliman" transformed by Julius with exquisite magic was looking at him from above with concern just like just now.

He himself was still sitting in his original seat, the afternoon sun of Magna City slanting through the window lattice and shining on his face, indicating that it might have been only a short while since the Eldar envoys left. It was the warm sun that caused the scorching illusion just now.

In his Leman ears, he heard the herbs in the garden swaying and growing, tiny insects crawling through the deep soil, birds landing on the roofs of houses and pacing, the fire in the big kitchen crackling, the fat of the barbecue dripping on it, and a team of honor guards stepping hard to take over at the door of the Temple of Rectification - the rustling sounds of countless living lives made him want to cry.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"I..." Digris moved his lips, and it took him a long time to rediscover his language center. "You..."

"Are you okay? Don't worry, it won't have any effect on your body here. If you can't stand up now, you can sit for a while."

Julius considerately pushed a wine glass to him. Digris took a look and smelled the scent of the precious cognac produced by Quatis. He couldn't wait to grab it and drink it all. The golden wine seemed to have been filtered, purer and fresher. He felt that his soul and body were gradually reunited, and the power that had been infused into his deep body had left at some point.

The chief think tank slowly focused his eyes on the smiling Julius' neck.

The horizontal scar.

Now he knew how it was formed.

-This is not just from the murder of "Robert Guilliman".

It condenses the painful truth of murder, revenge, sacrifice and sacrifice that has run through everything for thousands of years.