Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 4 We're Even
Light filtered through the grid and Morse awoke from another peaceful and good sleep.

Feeling some discomfort in his throat, he touched it, and the dry and hard blood clots broke into pieces and fell on the black clothes.

Sure enough, he was attacked by Perturabo last night.

He cleared his throat and strolled leisurely outside.The temperature is hot at noon, and the sun shines from directly above the open space; the airflow under the cliff is steady, and the woods with little wind are quiet.Thanks to Morse's spiritual power, even herbivores are extremely rare around his residence.

The boy was facing away from him, and the stone broke under his hands, making a crisp sound.

Morse silenced the footsteps and quietly walked behind Perturabo.

He saw the wound on the boy's hand first.

From his fingers to his wrists, improperly used stone carving tools left many damages on the surface of his skin.Whenever he raised the stone hammer and hit the sharp-nosed chisel hard, drops of blood would seep out from his cracked scars, like a string of bright red beads.

Perturabo vented his anger by refusing to erase the bloodstains, leaving these records of mortal injuries on his skin that should have been smoother than a carved stone statue.

His work is also unsatisfactory, with blurred shapes, disproportioned proportions, and too many stupid mistakes that are typical of novices.

Morse could only see that he wanted to carve two human figures facing each other, and that the stone was taken from an unfinished work he had left behind.

Milliseconds later the comparison was over and he confirmed that the stone was the head of his griffin statue.

Mors sat down on the floor beside Perturabo.The latter's facial masseter muscles contracted, he gritted his teeth and swung the stone hammer. His left hand holding the chisel lost control and the chisel flew out, leaving an ugly beveled gap in the stone.

Without pausing, Perturabo immediately leaned over to retrieve the tool.

Morse lived alone, and his tools were undoubtedly made in adult sizes.This is a bit too big for Perturabo.

The chisel slipped through the boy's weary fingers again, and fell with a clatter, like a cunning flying fish snatching the bait, rewarding the boy with a bit of fanciful sweetness.

Perturabo said nothing, even his sometimes uncontrollable rage had been cooled and extinguished, and beads of cold, futile sweat rolled over his chapped pale lips.

He stared at the materials in front of him, such as chisels, hammers, carving knives, curved rulers, files...and a piece of failed work that didn't take shape.These artifacts were encompassed by the reflection of his eyes and made him reluctant to see anything else.

The wind and light seemed to circle around him, and Perturabo used an Olympian night to construct illusory bunkers and trenches in his mind.

Morse reflected on his behavior for a moment, and then he confirmed the principle of communication that he had told Perturabo a long time ago.

Since Perturabo didn't ask, he didn't need anything.

He patted his dusty black clothes and walked into the surrounding green woods.

His day-to-day life isn't much fun, Morse admits.He just broke off some wood, peeled off the shoots and bast, and dried it to use as firewood or as raw material for carving.

If there was a dead bird, he would lean over and hold his chin to observe the bird's feathers. If the color, length, and toughness were all just right, he would clean and dry the feathers and paste them on the corner of a painting or a chess piece.

On rare occasions, Morse would go to Lokos, the nearest city-state, and walk silently through the market, observing the postures and expressions of the residents.

The last time he entered Lokos was during the sports truce period in Olympia. All city-states agreed to rest and stop fighting at this time and participate in grand events on the sports field.

Relying on the sale of a comedy script that can be performed, he sat with the city-state tyrant at that time under a gorgeous and exquisite awning, which was made by countless hard-working weavers and designers day and night, and watched the fresh flowers raised in the sand under the high platform. The wrestling champion laurels show off his big, glossy muscles.

Morse raised his hand and pushed aside a cone-shaped green leaf in front of him, and stepped forward, the dead leaves that had not been decomposed by biology rustled.

When he let go of the slender branch that rebounded up and down, there was a newly broken light brown twig more than three inches long between his two fingers.

The line of sight passes through the rectangular slits of trees and moss, and the roving of the clouds in the sky causes the light and shadow in the forest to change.In the middle of the two adjacent tree trunks, a small piece of bright brownish-yellow shadow flashed past.

"Why do craftsmen learn to hunt?"

Morse muttered softly and answered his own question: "You want to get the best leather, feathers, sinews, leg bones..."

"Then can I use my own abilities to kill them?"

He imitated the tone of a child, and the corners of his mouth curled up strangely.He almost laughed at himself.

"Of course, as long as you are really more skilled than a bow and arrow."

The light brown twigs came out, and in the next second, the soft and nimble shadows fell silently into the dead branches and vegetation, and some mammals, who might be their relatives, smashed through the leaves in a panic and fled in all directions.

"It's really hard, every time I shoot something I can't find where it died. I have to recover my arrows and get my loot."

"Maybe it didn't die, it just fell, bled, and disappeared."

Morse bent down and met the creature's beautiful, pleading moist eyes.The gurgling blood is leaving the prey's arteries, and the land is nourished.

He touched the prey's forehead, and the psionic energy instantly destroyed the prey's nervous and brain systems.

The creature was of good age, rich in oil, and had smooth and pliable skin.Satisfied, Morse picked up a stone, chipped it into pieces, pulled its legs, and dismantled the raw materials.

When the temperature began to drop, Morse returned to his residence carrying a leg of his prey and a bag of raw materials wrapped in animal skins.

Perturabo was still there.

The tools in his hand were changed. The chisel and hammer used to cut out the general shape of the stone were replaced by a thin and hard file.

The blade cut the surface of the stone, leaving a shallow scratch with traces of dust. These stubborn stone fragments were no paler than the boy's face.

Naturally, he no longer had the strength to carve the stone effectively.Perturabo just grabbed the tool, like a machine that had lost its energy, and had the spirit to repeatedly do one thing until the moment of death that ended the universe.

Morse passed by him and put down the ingredients in his hand.

Some dry firewood and shredded hay flew from the roof, and two pieces of flint came from a diagonal cross pane on the second floor.

He lit a fire in the yard, and the smoke rose up the cliff, drifting together with the clouds and mist below into the clear darkness above.

The residents of Olympia are distributed among various city-states. Due to natural conditions, the total population is not large.Even so, if Morse's cluster of fire is added to all the golden and red lights that are lighting up on half of the planet at this time, the total number should be greater than the number of stars visible to the naked eye.So the stars are just hanging, lurking.

There was a place to draw water behind the house, and Morse began to clean today's harvest and drain the excess blood from the prey meat.

Well, he had to say that he didn't know the scientific name of this elk-like but more tooth-eating prey, which he usually called "Locus deer" in his mind.

Soon after, meat was skewered into small irregular pieces on metal supports.The hissing of the grease falling into the fire made Morse miss the beautiful serpent and the scale-encrusted robe.

He flipped the iron sign and took the time to look at Perturabo's state.

Perturabo turned his head sharply, pretending that he had never peeped into the fire.

Morse shrugged, and the salt shaker flew into his palm, and was caught neatly with his five fingers.

Morse waited patiently as the salt melted and disappeared as it was sprinkled into the texture of the barbecue.

The flames are conquering the blood and flesh of the Lokos deer. The black edges gradually condense and the charred area expands. The food is irreversibly transformed into roasted char.

Morse ignored it.

The iron sign continues to rotate.

Then, he heard a heavy muffled sound.

Perturabo stood up and fell.

Hunger brought cold, thirst brought weakness, and prolonged sitting robbed him of strength.A former demigod, now lying awkwardly among the sand and rocks, unable to support his body.

Morse sprinkled a sprinkling of cinnamon and anise over the roast.

The second muffled sound came quickly, the clenched teeth were locked in pain, and the sound was like the vibration of a bass string.

Then Perturabo grabbed his black sleeve.

"I..." He exhaled heavily, overcoming the burning and dry pain in his throat, and his voice was harsher than the friction of a blade across the glass: "I want to eat."

Morse replied dryly, "Oh."

"I want to eat," Perturabo repeated.The second request is much easier and more confident than the first.

Morse calmly removed the half-burnt kebab and tossed it lightly.Food fell into the fire.

He pulled his sleeve away from Perturabo: "I understand."

Perturabo's body stiffened.There was a struggle in his silence, and then he relaxed.

"A request for a price..." The boy's voice was quite deep, containing the erratic of something breaking: "I want to eat, what do you want?"

Morse laughed.

"Let's figure out what each of us has done first," he said briskly, in a tone as light as the two of them had always been in harmony.

"I took you to take a picture, and you came back with me for no reason. Even."

"I helped you deceive the Star Vortex, and I took away your power and knowledge. It's even."

"I woke up this morning to find you slit my throat, destroyed a stone statue of me, borrowed my tools, and now ask me for food."

Having said this, Morse put his hand on the top of Perturabo's head, down the back of his head, and finally patted his back with interest, raising his tone.

"But I'm glad you've finally learned to ask. One more apology and I'll just pretend you're a good boy and we'll even out."

Perturabo's expression was breaking.

"I shouldn't have... tried to kill you."

"anything else?"

"I apologize."

He looked deeply at Morse and said.

Morse glanced at him and smiled.

The second skewer of barbecue was placed on the metal rack by itself.

Mors poured Perturabo a glass of warm water. The boy took the wooden cup, lowered his head, and sat on the straw mat next to him at Mors's signal.

(End of this chapter)