Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 502 Direction
"What kind of witchcraft is still interfering with us? Test it again. Have you confirmed it?"

Fafnir Lane asked again on behalf of his Primarch about the work of the Astropaths, until Rogal Dorn raised his hand to stop the First Assault Commander from asking further questions.

"Medusa was being watched by the eye, so she was disturbed." Rogal Dorn said briefly, "There is no need to confirm the transmission of the ground star language again. Let Sigismund and Jonad lead the team to the ground, and you follow, and go directly to the Iron Hands Fortress positioning point."

Lann turned around and leaned slightly towards the tall primarch, a pair of heavy axes stacked on his back, which were his usual weapons.

"So, how do we maintain contact with the Phalanx, relying on electricity—"

"Unless you hear the words through the air, do not trust any communication maintained by the machine. Medusa's machines are not safe, and you should know this. Assist the Iron Hands in their fight and remain vigilant of their conditions; maintain a position to escape the battle and return home; I want to hear the intelligence you receive."

Lan swallowed more questions. The interruption of the command chain caused by the loss of communication control would not hinder the speed of swinging his weapon. He easily put aside all unnecessary doubts.

"Yes, my lord." He accepted the order and prepared to head to the surface of the Iron Hands' home planet with the Emperor's Children troops remaining in the fleet.

There was no more time for him to hesitate. The ground of Medusa was in turmoil. According to the Emperor's Son, an endless wave of witchcraft was invading the surface of the planet. Lann sneered at these complex and turbulent things. Excessive understanding was not necessary to kill them. What he needed to confirm more was his own combat deployment and personnel arrangements under the premise of questionable communication reliability.

And under what circumstances they can win.

When they have killed enough of the sorcery-influenced creatures that oppose them? When the filth in the Iron Hands fortress has been purged? Or something else?
When he actually started fighting with his opponent shortly afterwards, he no longer thought about how to win.

The situation was slightly different from what the Emperor's Children described, but after a while, more members of the Iron Hands themselves began to fight against them. These warriors were increasingly infected by sorcery, and their aimless resistance seemed to be melting faster and faster, as if the source of their souls had been tainted by some cruel taint, causing their own wills to easily deviate, and this phenomenon occurred in large numbers.

In any case, Lann was almost certain that they were transforming into another kind of monster and beast. Lann endured the terrible noise of the friction of these armors with disgust. There was an absurd and distorted rhythm in it. In addition, their armor gained real life-like flexibility, and extra limbs stretched out from the deformed steel, and the expanded skin itself further filled the strangely shaped armor. Their steel and flesh grew together.

Even if the Imperial Fists and the Iron Hands were not as close as one family, Lann did not want to see his cousin become so evil - it would only remind him of some of the witchcraft and technological heresy he had encountered during the Great Crusade. When these two phenomena were combined, it was the Iron Hands he saw at this moment.

"Defend the right wing!" Lann yelled, his voice resonating across the battlefield through the grid's amplification. The sound of heavy bombs immediately exploded on one side of the battlefield, forcibly crushing the Space Marines rushing towards them in the dim darkness. Fire flickered everywhere, and a high-altitude catwalk collapsed due to the decay of the supporting structure below, leading to the collapse of half of the obsidian room. A deafening light and a series of explosions suddenly rose from the back, and the air wave lifted Lann away.

He held his position and pulled his axe from the body of another passing demon. A compartment storing munitions exploded. He moved with the flames on his back, found the silver light of the force field brought by the Emperor's Son wielding the power sword, and approached the corresponding direction in the chaotic battle.

More than one person did the same thing as him. They moved through the darkness like sharp knives and stabbed, trying to defeat the mutated metal fragments in groups. Ceramic steel and adamantium danced in the darkness around them without any rules. Melta and explosive bombs dealt with different materials. Every time they swung their weapons, they could find an object to defeat. After a certain metal scream, the data in their helmets became chaotic, and a large number of meaningless codes twisted like dancing. Lan began to catch the clues from the air with his naked eyes to meet the enemy...

Under a piece of loose soil somewhere under his feet, something seemed to be breaking apart, disintegrating into an indescribable unreal product... and the air was rapidly heating up, and the steel in the entire indoor area seemed to be moving towards a melting state, gradually emitting a purple-red luster.

Lan squinted his eyes through the gaps in the broken building and was surprised to find that the world outside the window had become brighter. The shape of the clouds was gradually recognizable, but their color was quite strange... Light-colored steam was rising, with pearlescent colors, floating and chasing in the soft breeze. And laughter, gradually rising laughter, lingering in his ears, and the sound itself seemed to be dripping with the sweet smell of clear motor oil and scented candles...

The world itself is further collapsing, there must be some fundamental reason for this.

Suddenly, he was forced to raise his hand to block a power sword that was stabbing at him. The long sword was wrapped with some strange halo and easily cut through his arm armor. Lann turned sideways and blocked the sword light with his shoulder armor. At this moment, he did not feel any horror that the Emperor's son actually attacked him. He chopped into the opponent's arm with his battle axe smoothly. When a cluster of hypertrophic flesh and blood spurted out along the axe, he heard a whisper from the depths of the opponent's throat, a happy laugh, accompanied by a kind of frenzy of breaking free from restraints.

The cold weapons collided suddenly, and a series of brutal and fierce slashes and counterattacks were exchanged back and forth, accompanied by the peeling paint of the armor and blood dripping along the cracks. Lann pulled out his battle axe, and the Emperor's Son fell backwards after breaking away from the support of the battle axe. The strange vitality dissipated like smoke in a short time, leaving only a lingering fragrance.

He had no time to catch his breath, or to consider how the corruption had spread to the Emperor's Children. He simply aimed his axe at more enemies, until the Imperial Fists' orders shattered his immersion in the battle.

A new order came from the rear: "Return to the Mountain Array!" Of course, there was also a call from the Emperor's Children themselves, calling on the warriors who could still understand human language to return to the Emperor's Pride.

Lane knew exactly how to participate in an orderly retreat, which was to fight all the way back.

-

"That is a subspace rift. The radiation there is too strong. The scars left on the real universe there are unparalleled."

The Imperial Fists' Librarian reported to his Primarch, his voice trembling constantly, the result of weakness and excessive shock. His mind had just been pulled away from the focus on the Warp, and for someone who had just looked directly at the scars of the Warp, the state of his resolute soul was very stable.

"We can't just dispel what's behind the veil," he concluded.

Rogal Dorn was watching him, looking him in the eyes, examining his lucidity. At the same time that the two companies were heading to the surface of Medusa for reconnaissance, Rogal Dorn had come to their meditation chamber, and they were following the Primarch's orders, exploring ways to resolve the difficulties before them through non-material means.

The answer they got was not optimistic.

These monsters of the Immaterial Realm were tied to the Warp Rift, just as the souls of the entire Iron Hands Legion had never been more closely connected to Ferrus Manus himself. Through resonant spirits, they knew that the state of the Iron X Legion was a direct reflection of the Primarch's condition, and that the Emperor's Children were becoming increasingly close to that state.

As for Ferrus Manus himself, unlike the invisible presence in the real universe, his projection in the Warp can be found, but the location is daunting for them. Medusa was already close to the great rift in the Warp, and the traces left by the Iron Hands Primarch went deeper into it. Even though the Imperial Fists' think tanks wanted to pursue, their Primarch stopped them. The Primarch raised his head and looked at the faint Warp rift. His will flowed in his blood, brighter than any Warp ether.

"As expected," the Primarch said, "the key to the problem lies in Ferrus Manus. Although you are my best think tanks, and you are my chief, your strength is still far from enough to fight against the troubles caused by the Primarch. Even Azak Ahriman cannot guarantee this."

The Librarian responded frankly: "Yes, father. In addition, the warp curtain here is now very fragile. Medusa has a tendency to fall into the other side, but some anchors fix it to the real universe. It is preliminarily speculated that this is the effect of some ancient technology that the planet itself has."

"How long can it last?"

"Can not be sure."

"Good." Rogal Dorn nodded. "You continue to monitor the status of the rift. Give it an official name. Considering that it cannot be closed, this will be a long-term problem. Can you contact any of the Iron Warriors, White Scars, or Space Wolves?"

"Not yet. It's not the subspace storm that's the problem, it's the positioning disorder..."

Before he finished speaking, the other two think tanks who were trying to communicate remotely with the astropath both raised their heads and squinted their eyes in the same direction.

"Report." Dorn noticed immediately.

"A golden thread has appeared, my Lord," replied one of the Astropathic Choir working with the Librarian nearby, "a thread... from the Astronomican, pointing our way... we see it, blurry, all interference, but there is a steady direction..."

"Pointing where?" Rog Dorn spoke faster, and a sharp light seemed to reflect in his eyes.

"We are tracing, your Excellency... another signal, there is another person on this line, they are going in the opposite direction from us, but they are guided by the same way. I can be sure, your Excellency..."

Rogal Dorn stared at the unique face of the Astropath silently. He seemed to be waiting for something, or suppressing his emotions. No, just waiting.

"An astropathic message has been sent," the Librarian said, analyzing the complex signal woven with etheric energy...isn't that really ether? He felt that it seemed to be something more specious, more resilient and indestructible than the subspace energy that ordinary people's minds can send, and its nature was also different. These thoughts only flashed through his mind.

"The content is--" He paused, "I have something to tell you, Rogal Dorn. Wait at your location..."

Dawn waited a second, "What else?"

"No more, only this much..." The think tank blinked, frowned, and raised his hand to wipe the blood from the corner of his eye. Looking directly at the golden light consumed him more than he expected. The light seemed gentle, but in fact it was enough to burn his retina.

Dorn nodded, "Then continue to do what you are supposed to do. Monitor the rift and Medusa, and be prepared to analyze the information your brothers bring back."

-

John Grammaticus's soliloquy in the Webway seemed never-ending, and no, he didn't actually utter any of the syllables aloud, but he did bleed a little from his mouth from time to time, which was certainly enough to be annoying.

When John finally let his tears of pain drip onto his chest, Or Persson and Constantine Waldo looked at each other, and the more intimidating commander of the imperial guards spoke first.

"Stop trying the spell." Waldo said coldly, tapping John's shoulder with the side blade of the Solar Spear at an angle, which was already very gentle for him.

"Oh, I didn't mean to," John answered vaguely, sounding distressed. "After all, I saw that mysterious document... It always runs back to my mind and then jumps out of my mouth with a few syllables. Damn it, I don't understand what it means at all, but I just can't help thinking about it."

Ol Persson glanced subconsciously at the scroll tied around his waist. He knew the existence of spells, and understood their dangers and possibilities, but he had little knowledge of their specific uses. "It is a dangerous language. If you continue to think about it, the danger will only increase, not decrease..."

"You cannot perceive it correctly, so you can only bring harm to yourself. The content of this scroll is incomplete, lacking morphemes with corresponding meanings." Waldo said bluntly.

"What?" Ole asked.

The Commander of the Custodes hit John on the neck once, knocking the confused young Eternal agent unconscious and easily picking him up in his hand.

"To prevent him from misusing it." Constantine Waldo explained.

"Then...how do we navigate here? He knows the map of this section of the road..." Or felt a little tongue-tied.

"I can sense the direction of my Lord." Waldo said calmly, striding forward.

(End of this chapter)