Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 449 Project XI
As human voices came out of the three-headed snake's inhuman mouth, the huge transparent body gradually shrank until it could barely wrap around the deep blue planet itself, like a slender string of beads.

Even so, its size is still astonishing, and the reduction in size makes the light inside it more dazzling, from gloomy scarlet, cold bright yellow to bruise-like deep purple, as if several intertwined colorful colors are trapped within that transparent skin. Rather than being beautiful, it is more bizarre.

One of the snake heads was revealed in front of the front oriel window of the Cliff as its body rose and fell. As it approached, a wisp of golden flame was stirred up like a ripple, burning back the tip of the head of this huge chaotic creature, making it unable to actually touch the hull where Morse and Perturabo were.

Although not as clear as that seen by psychics like Morse, the light cast by the three-headed snake from behind the curtain was strong enough for a Primarch with normal psychic talent to capture its outline.

Perturabo pushed aside his wooden chair and stood, staring at the approaching beast, looking into the brilliant light it shone in his eyes. "Do not hide behind evil, Eleven; you will not be able to escape from it. The Iron Warriors will have plenty of time to find you on this planet, and you will have to explain all you have done."

Number Eleven remained unmoved. His voice became even deeper and hoarser than at the beginning, echoing the wailing of the injured three-headed snake itself.

"Are you Warmaster?" he hissed through the snake's maw.

The entire three-headed snake withdrew slightly from the planet Ishtar and moved closer to the small torpedo boat, which was as small as a grain of sand compared to the planet.

Morse glanced at Perturabo and said, "We will make sure we are safe." This meant that he handed the power of conversation to the current Imperial Warmaster.

"You were indeed involved in my brother's murder, traitor," Perturabo whispered, the senseless suffering Horus had endured passing before his eyes like smoke, and he suppressed the rage rising in his throat. "What did you want? What sorcery did you use to steal the blade from the Shadow Prison? Why did you kill Horus Lupercal!"

The three-headed snake quietly circled its tail, enclosing the Cliff on a huge macroscopic plane, carefully preventing its damaged scales from being further burned by the golden flames.

"Sixteen is not really dead, is he?" it hissed. "Did your Emperor allow him to die? No, he cherished Sixteen..."

Its boredom with the conversation was so obvious in an instant that it interrupted itself.

Perturabo pieced together the entire story in his mind, from the theft of the Nemesis Blade, to some kind of deception or deception of the two Masters of the Word Bearers, and his injury in Davin, all the unexpected dangers that were closely related to the Illuminati's Eleven.

"He almost died, and he lost the honor and power that should have been his. The damage you did to the Empire—"

"You're doing better than him, Four, I can foresee..."

"And what about the losses of Terra's Shadow Prison? What about the losses of the Word Bearers?"

"I feel sorry for them—"

"How can you justify your evil deeds?"

"Because you're asking questions, Four," Eleven said, and the huge snake body began to move again. The huge snake head struggled to move half of its physical existence into the real universe, allowing Perturabo to see the black snake eyes like glass marbles embedded in the transparent skin and brilliance. It looked down at him, and the voice became very soft.

"You're not as furious as you act, Four. You were trying to get a crack out of me, but you could have just listened to me. Now you're interrupting my every word, so I'm going to ask a question too - doesn't he have anything to say to me, Four?"

"Not a single word."

Number Eleven was speechless. Then his voice rang out again, not much louder than a snake's breath.

"This is a pity - this is your Emperor, he stands behind all of you, holding the string above your heads, forcing you to dig your own graves. No one can stop him, yes, you don't even know what he wants to do, but you don't have more choices -" There was cold mockery in the snake's words.

"It's your turn to explain, Eleven," Perturabo interrupted expressionlessly.

Perhaps others did not know of the Emperor's plan, but that was because of the danger of the plan. Even if it were up to Perturabo to make the decision, he would not reveal the plan to use the power of Tyrant to anyone except those who needed it.

Morse made him a small gesture, insignificant, but giving enough of a hint: Keep talking, I need time.

"I do not seek his life, Warmaster. I merely ensure that Horus Lupercal does not take your place," the three-headed serpent said, its tail tip dipping back into the Warp. "He is loyal to your Emperor, utterly and unwaveringly loyal - and Seventeen, who is even more insane, though fortunately he has no hope of ever being crowned."

"When you insult the Emperor, you insult my loyalty."

"Should I be sorry for that? You just don't know his plans..."

"And Erda told it to you."

The three-headed snake rolled violently in shock, and its body lashed at the outer layer of Morse's golden light shield. There was a tearing and shattering sound like a heavy rain, and crystal fragments flew up like snowflakes.

Perturabo shouted: "Only equal forces can oppose each other. Who doesn't know this law?"

"You know more than I thought," the three-headed serpent's twisting stopped so that the Primarch could speak for him, while the debris continued to fall into the depths of space.

"If - you already know everything that nightmare sun means, and you still serve him... then what else can I do? What else can I do? But, if all of us are like this..."

He whispered sarcastically, and the center head of the three-headed snake grinned, almost imitating a human smile.

"Elda said," he said, his voice was not just panting, but trembling, half of which came from unbelievable surprise, and the other half came from self-deprecating indifference: "She said: If you knew the truth he hid, you would feel more betrayed than she did."

Morse rarely spoke: "She uses herself to underestimate others--"

"She always makes mistakes--" the three-headed snake said, his voice overlapping with Morse's, which stopped the giant snake's movement.

"You knew she would make mistakes, yet you still committed sins for her," Perturabo questioned suspiciously, casually meeting Morse's gaze once again, and the craftsman nodded slightly.

"Just like you kill for the Emperor." Eleven was not interested. "Fulfilling the duty given to you at birth, and playing the role of a good tool."

"But that doesn't include killing your brothers." Perturabo said, beginning to doubt the circumstances of Russ's first encounter with Eleven. He remembered that it was Leman Russ who first reported Eleven's whereabouts.

"I did hurt your brother. If you want to rebuke me, then do it." "More than that."

"You want to judge by the number of people I killed. The number of people I killed is not even a tiny fraction of those in the Great Crusade. Death and destruction are the roots of its birth. The kindest among you have all intentionally nurtured it, not to mention that Lorgar Aurelion is among you..."

"What I want to ask is: whose blood did you use to raise a giant chaos snake that devours the stars?"

The giant shield made up of golden words disappeared in an instant, and then chain-like ropes suddenly radiated out, forming a huge net that tightly bound the crystal snake inside.

The three-headed snake struggled in the net, twisting its crystal clear body violently, trying to break free. However, the spell net prepared by Morse was tough and indestructible, and it kept closing inwards. The crystal snake body broke with a crackling sound, which was terrifying.

The giant snake immediately began to shed its skin, shedding its old shell at a very fast speed, hoping to escape, but the golden net did not loosen up, but became tighter and tighter. Morse had a grim expression, and the edge of his black robe had been decomposed into golden threads woven with words, which folded and expanded in the non-material realm.

Soon, the crystal snake shed its skin for the second time, trying to break free from the giant net or escape through the gap, but all its efforts were in vain.

Perturabo noticed a flash of surprise on Morse's face. The craftsman quickly changed some runes, adding more additional functions to them. The more he did this, the more obvious the surprise became.

He moved away from the window, leaving the space for casting the spell entirely to the craftsman himself.

The struggle between the net and the snake was unresolved, and Morse suddenly asked: "Who changed your form?"

+This is me. +The three-headed snake suppressed the severe pain caused by the golden net, and Snake Eyes occasionally appeared outside the window, looking directly at Perturabo in the room, +This is also you, all of you. For - ah - +
His scream was like a knife cutting through glass, and his voice became lighter, lighter than the first breeze blowing through the spire of Terra's Palace, just slightly louder than the silent silence in the universe.

+In order to become a tyrant star, my father gave us birth and made us forget our earliest essence. Now that I have seen it, there is no way out except for a disguise that is better than nothing. ——+
Perturabo took in all the information he had received in a single instant, and put his words into words as if he had known it all before, forgetting all his surprises.

"The Emperor will surely be able to give you a new appearance, Eleven!"

+Then you must find a way to stop me, Perturabo. +
The crystal shell of No. 11 shattered for the last time, and he gave up more parts than ever before, and these hard shells finally stopped Morse's pursuit for a moment. A fragmentary stream of light fell into the curtain, abandoning the planet Ishtar where he originally lived in the vacuum.

Morse retracted all the spell threads and staggered a step.

"Damn Erda, No. 11 is simply not afraid of death." He cursed and changed the words used to emphasize the tone.

Then, Morse shook his head and recovered. "His injuries are serious. I hope he can still breathe next time I see him. He has absorbed so much subspace energy!"

Perturabo stood there for a moment, telling himself that he had to ask questions, that he was not afraid of answers, and that he deserved them. He knew that if he asked, Morse would answer, and he also knew that there was a hidden truth in the information revealed by Eleven, because behind the words, the craftsman was carefully studying his expression, trying to see his mood and opinion.

"That Warp Creature is Number Eleven?" he said, in a voice that was neither too loud nor too soft, just a normal tone. He heard his question echo strangely in the limited space, sounding unnatural, "That is - the Primarch?"

"This doesn't change anything," Morse shrugged deliberately. "You know, it just makes your existence a little more legendary. You don't always think of yourself as a pure human, right? You never thought of it that way."

After Perturabo nodded, the Artisan continued, "It seems that the liberation of Erda - I am inclined to believe that it was in some form that caused the Eleven to abandon their normal appearance. If Lorgar did see the Primarch in human form, it could only be a temporary skin he put on himself. At least... the amount of psychic energy he stored in this more essential container form is even more exaggerated than that of Magnus."

Perturabo lowered his head, glanced at his palm, and sighed: "You told me that the Emperor was my creator."

“Sometimes you have to take it literally,” Morse said, “rather than automatically saying ‘father’ or something like that, which is a social relationship concept.”

Perturabo remained still for a few more seconds, then sat back in his chair.

He should have been surprised by the news, but he felt nothing but reason about it: his mind was distracted by another hint, as if an ancient key had opened a door he had never thought of, and the rusty iron door was clearly there, but he subconsciously felt that their path must be behind another wider golden door.

"The Illuminati's goal is to prevent the birth of Tyrants, which is the exact opposite of ours," Perturabo said, remembering the unfinished words of the letter Morse had read to him. "But if - some of us knew that the Emperor was Tyrant..."

"Then it's going to be very complicated," Morse said, his face taking on a deeper, waxy coldness. "Some will push it too far, some will hesitate, and I'm sure there will be some who will try to stop it."

He paused.

"The Emperor did not wish to tell you, but He did decide. 'There are those who have prevented the creation of Tyrantus, not out of fear of the future, but out of a high regard for me. I do not wish them to stop me out of sentiment, though I would not blame them for it. Tell Perturabo that when I step down, the Imperium will be ruled by Malcador and Horus, and you and Perturabo will journey to the Dark Side of the Webway.' This section is obviously not meant to be read to you in its entirety, Perturabo."

"So, father will..." Perturabo felt his own emotions. What was this? Surprise? Or reluctance? Or fear, a long-lost fear? Or a sense of daze as the dust settled? He thought of the Emperor, and then he continued: "...towards the end?"

"He's on his way," Morse replied. "My suggestion is that we go to Ishtar and maybe find Jalda. I'm determined to get her to stop living solely in our mouths."

-

“And Daniel said, I have seen a vision in the night, and, behold, the four winds of the sky rose up upon the great sea.”

Lorgar recited today's scriptures, repeating the reading and silent recitation for who knows how many times. His first head of the sect was often remembered by him, so today it was the turn of the book from which he got his name.

The planet he was on at this time had a mild climate, a gentle breeze, and a light olive scent in the morning pasture, which was exactly what the upset Word Bearers needed today - the Word Bearers army accidentally arrived here, and the locals immediately surrendered. He regarded it as a comfort given to him by His mercy.

He walked with his eyes closed, letting his hearing and intuition guide his way.

"…I saw one like a son of man coming with the clouds of heaven, and he was presented to the Ancient of Days…I heard one of the Holy One speaking, ‘When will this vision be fulfilled, which takes away the daily burnt offering and the transgression of desolation, which tramples the sanctuary and the host underfoot?’"

He paused, and heard another set of footsteps. A few locals were running toward him briskly, their robes billowing, as was often the case. What did they bring today? Wreaths? Or olive branches?

Lorgar opened his eyes.

(End of this chapter)