Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 519 Isstvan III (4)

The divination room was filled with a light bile-yellow mist, giving off a slightly pungent smell, but for the Primarch and the Captain of the First Company who were born on Barbarus, this familiar environment did not make them choke and cough - this light mist was exactly the air of the mother planet that Mortarion brought from Barbarus into the void of the universe.

With Mortarion's tacit approval, the air of the Death Guard's homeworld has been carefully managed; the partial retention of the past atmospheric environment is now intended to take care of the locals' lungs as they adapt to the toxic air and provide a long and gentle buffer.

Typhon watched his Primarch pace among the scrying crystals.

After being carefully designed and arranged, these crystals seemed to be able to calculate the present and even some fragments of the future that Mortarion wanted to infer through the combination of light and dark at specific angles.

However, during their voyage filled with anxiety and disbelief, the crystal seemed to have lost its effect, and no matter how Mortarion muttered and re-derived the algorithms he defined, he could not see clearly why Magnus died.

Or, he saw part of it, but he could neither get a glimpse of the full picture of that period of history nor was it enough to convince Mortarion of his resistance.

After all, Typhon could feel the shadow of psychic energy wandering around Mortarion, and the fluorescence brought by the surreal matter flickered faintly with the shaking of the scythe in his hand. This meant that his Primarch was still exposed to the mysterious sorcery energy of the Warp in his own unique way, and was making use of it - in a way that perhaps Mortarion himself could not fully understand.

Just as Ahriman said - Typhon thought of the chief think tank he met in the Thousand Dust Sun. His lord was like a blind man walking on the edge of a cliff, carefully ensuring the path under his feet with a well-designed crutch.

But he was too accustomed to using a cane, and he could walk so well. Perhaps if one tried to erase the darkness in front of his eyes hastily and forcibly, it would shatter his stubbornness and turn it into fearful confusion and a wrong step.

Azak Ahriman had whispered to him with a melancholy in his pale blue eyes, and Typhon wondered if the gifted raven had also vanished into the dust of history along with Prospero.

"My lord, I have not heard what the Guards said to you outside the throne room. Moreover, you have been troubled by it since leaving Terra." Typhon hesitated, but still asked directly, knowing that Mortarion hated any courtesy and flattery, and the friendship between them could withstand such questions that might be offensive to other legions.

Mortarion's haggard face was half submerged in darkness, leaving only his bright yellow eyes exposed in the dim dusk light in the room. At this moment, these eyes were filled with a deeper level of unhappiness, even a kind of anger.

The first half of his sentence sounded peaceful. As he spoke, the Primarch knelt down on the brocade carpet in the center of the crystal circle and held the sickle flat in front of him at a specific angle.

"Those golden guards first announced Perturabo's treason and the Emperor's intention to re-proclaim Horus Lupercal as Warmaster..."

Mortarion said thoughtfully, the crystals flickering around him. "Once Horus returns from the Isstvan system, the Terran Council will officially start this process... At this time, are they still obsessed with formalities?"

“And, Aurelion. Would I be willing to follow his orders?” Mortarion sneered sarcastically. He paused abruptly, then continued dully: “Finally, Magnus is… gone.”

"I understand, my lord." Typhon shook his head, judging Mortarion's attitude.

Mortarion gave him a complicated answer. He was not sure how to express his hatred for the Word Bearers and his disbelief at Perturabo's betrayal at the same time. Of course, most importantly, should he be unhappy about the departure of the Red Primarch? Which emotion would best cater to the resentful Primarch in front of him?
No, he thought. To Mortarion, the most unacceptable hurt lay in the words that remained unsaid.

"The Emperor's silence is unfortunate for us," he advised, his voice sounding more sincere as he recalled the Emperor who came to Barbarus as a hermit more than a hundred years ago. "But we must always make our own decisions. In fact, my lord, we have always done so."

"Of course." Mortarion frowned, stretched out his hand to touch the long handle of the sickle wrapped in cloth strips, and then grasped it tightly, with veins bulging on the back of his hand. The sharp and heavy sickle was raised in an instant, and the hook tip suddenly pierced through one of the many crystals.

A handful of black mist that even Typhon could see gushed out from the pure crystal, and Typhon was surprised. From his perspective, this meant that in their environment, a magical energy that they had never noticed before had become dense enough to condense into droplets, faintly passing through the protection of the Geller force field and separating from the empty magical sea air into reality.

Mortarion stood up and stared at the broken crystal gloomily. The black fog soon dissipated, and the light yellow pleasant mist no longer had the dangerous burning smell and the terrible omen of destruction. But this unexpected discovery undoubtedly took root in the heart of the Primarch, and cast a large area of ​​dark clouds.

"We are very close to Isstvan," Typhon reminded in surprise. "Is this fog related to what is happening on Isstvan III?"

Mortarion drew a slow breath and released it through clenched teeth. The intensity of his emotion seemed to surprise even himself. His eyes darted over. "My calculations offer no answer on that score. Are we nearly there? Very well. I shall go to Horus."

"What about the Word Bearers?" Typhon asked.

"No one cares about that little guy." Mortarion rejected unhappily, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes.

Who has the power to unleash a mysterious sorcery around Isstvan III?

Not the Death Guard themselves, pure from the Warp; not the Luna Wolves, not the Iron Warriors or the Imperial Fists, who had their established Librarian system, but not enough to blur the precision of his numerology.

The Alpha Legion? Doubtful, those fungi that lived in shadow and damp, elusive and unpredictable... but he had never smelled the stench of sorcery in their Primarch, or in those who might have been Primarchs.

Of course, he thought grimly, of course, it could only be the Word Bearers. That group of people - but how could that group of people who uphold most of the Imperial Truths be tainted with Warp sorcery? If so, then Lorgar Aurelion has finally learned to openly trample on the Creed, to show his hypocrisy. Then, I'm afraid he has lost the last of his precious virtues.

"So, after we met with Lord Horus, we went straight to Isstvan III to join the war, ignoring one of the Emperor's suggestions to you?" Typhon asked.

Mortarion remained silent.

“Please allow me to be frank, my lord. Regardless of your attitude toward the Word Bearers, without ever meeting them, we will have many unanswered questions.” Typhon placed a fist closer to his heart, overcoming Mortarion’s silent objections. “Then, my lord, I request an audience with Lorgar Aurelion for you. As your comrade, and captain of your first company.”

Mortarion was tempted to reject Typhon's proposal, but his Captain was right, and the Death Guard were not a Legion that would choose to bypass difficulties.

Some of his brothers might be flexible and choose the path that suits him best, but the Death Guard will only crush everything in front of them with heavy armor and tough and ruthless tracks. Especially at such a fateful moment, when he must find the source of the destructive black psionic energy, he cannot easily let go of the most accessible opportunity.

"I will not go with you to face Lorgar Aurelion. He hates Magnus and me as much as I hate him. But I will not let you go alone either. Send the Battle Captain with you."

Part of his legion had other combat missions to deal with, and not every captain arrived in the Isstvan system.

"You will bring me Aurelion's attitude and news, and look for traces of sorcery and fel energy. You must return here, return to my side, and give me your gains, whether more or less."

Captain Nathaniel Garro of the Seventh Company? One of the few Terran warriors in the Legion, that thin and calm face emerged in Typhon's mind.

"Yes, sir." Typhon smiled and tapped his chest again.

Mortarion squinted, looking at the reflection of his own lamp-like eyes in the crystals. A bad feeling seeped down his cold sickle into his fingers.

“No,” the Lord of Death changed his mind. “I will not leave Aurelion alone with my Death Guard. You will come with me to Horus. In return, I will go with you to the Triumvirate. Just in time to see the new ship the Mechanicus has gifted him… oh, those blind Martians.”

-

Torgadon pushed open the half-open metal door, holding his helmet in his hand. There were a few short bloodstains on his face, and a strong smell of copper and iron filled the limited indoor space. The other soldiers who were crowded here involuntarily made some space for Torgadon, and then everyone quickly got busy again and returned to their tasks.

"I heard that the Death Guard is coming, Loken?" Torgaddon threw his helmet onto the table, rested his hands on the edge of the table, and looked at the Thinker display embedded in the center of the movable metal table. A cold green light flickered on half of his companion's body.

"I hope they brought antidotes as a friendly gift to the other Cousin Legions," said Torgaddon.

"How come I didn't know they would release toxins on us?" Loken didn't raise his head from the information in front of him because of the joke. After all, he had fought with the Death Guard and even established a friendship with their Seventh Captain. And he was not as used to making small jokes as Torgaddon.

"Look at this."

He stepped aside and Torgaddon glanced at the screen. "Oh, Kahn."

The World Eaters' legion commander has appeared at the front line. The number of reports of serious injuries sent in from there is surging. The requisitioned medical train will soon carry one-third of the pharmacy department and a large number of engineers to complete the work they need.

The total number of enemy Astartes in that direction is estimated to be over 10,000, with no less than a million auxiliary troops. More than 300 aircraft are hovering above the castle, and the enemy's supplies over there cannot be observed from the ground. I'm afraid there are a large number of garrison troops organized in the shadows from the middle nest to the lower nest.

There was even a Titan that was forcibly torn apart by a team of World Eaters, like a giant elephant being mauled to death by a pack of mad dogs - of course, with the assistance of the Iron Warriors' artillery.

"They are even planning to launch an attack outward," Loken said. "Kahn is trying to find a breakthrough in our line."

"We can't help it. The World Eaters are good at attacking, and Kahn, as the commander of the legion," Torgaddon laughed, "Ah, as the commander of the legion, of course he is the epitome of the fighting style of the entire legion. It just so happens that the Death Guard are here..." His smile disappeared, "A clash between them will bring maximum bloodshed."

"This will be especially true when the Primarch himself joins the battlefield." Loken said softly, although no Primarch has yet appeared directly on the front lines to fight.

"Where is the Emperor's Children?" Torgaddon asked. "Where is Tarvitz?"

"We won't see him again until we retake the first base station we lost," Loken said, noticing a new signal and opening the message in the center of the screen.

The news came from the Word Bearers' flagship, saying that the Death Guard Primarch Mortarion had completed a pleasant meeting with them. They shared the current combat situation on Isstvan III, carefully studied the evil deeds of the Iron Warriors, introduced each other's draft strategic plans, and swore each other's absolute loyalty to the Emperor, etc.

"It doesn't sound like anything has been agreed upon," Torgaddon pointed out astutely.

"There are still many new military orders." Loken refuted his friend. "The Death Guard will follow the Giamet Wasteland to penetrate the gap between the City of Hymns and the City of Fugue, destroy the strata to cut off the communication between the two sides; participate in smashing the Emperor's Children defense line west of the Palace of the Chancellor; First Captain Typhon and Mortarion himself will go straight to the Palace of the Chancellor where Perturabo is located from the front road; all troops are on the move, and there will be no reserves on standby."

"This means that we need to strengthen our offensive efforts." Torgadon thought attentively, analyzing the general's tendencies from these orders. "Emperor, will there ever be a day when they can sit peacefully at the same long table in the conference hall?"

"Oh, I'm not sure, because these orders came from the Spirit of Vengeance." Locke added, answering Torgaddon's doubts.

Loken believed that the Primarch Mortarion had met with their father, Horus Lupercal. What would they have discussed? Loken could not be sure...

He could imagine part of it: imagine how the sullen, taciturn Mortarion would be easily softened, once again, before the revered Horus, just as their father had always been when he met Mortarion.

Would the Lord of Death rejoice at Horus's awakening? That would have to be on a delicate level, one that only their father's sensitive and vibrant mind could touch.

However, this harmony will be fleeting, and an indelible pain will lie between them, as well as the doubts that follow... because the one who was ordered to destroy Prospero was the Moon Wolf. And Horus and Magnus are just about the only two Primarchs who have truly touched Mortarion's heart...

Death has brutally cut open scars that will never heal everywhere, within the legions and between the legions.

"Sir," his deputy called out to him, "you ought to see this."

Locke stopped thinking too much, and after a brief moment of loss, he quickly regained his spirits. "Come," he said seriously.

The adjutant adjusted the access key on the data pad for him, and partial images from the other side's battle were immediately displayed in the room, further squeezing the already insufficient space.

Torgadon stared at the floating images in the projection. "I almost suspect they are the Fifteenth Legion." "Because of those halos?"

"Because their armor has changed color, Gaviel. But the coloring is not nearly as good as the one we saw on Prospero," Torgaddon said. "Though in terms of the clear distinction between friend and foe, I should commend the Word Bearers. How did they do it? By—"

He paused for a few seconds, listening to the chorus of singing coming over the comms, then continued incredulously, "By singing praises to the Emperor? By their faith and their fury?"

A miracle. Or a curse. Locke thought to himself.

Forgive him for being able to think of these words that violate the objective rationality of the Imperial truth - because this is what he is currently witnessing, in the bloody battle with the Emperor's Children, several Word Bearers who are obviously trapped in death because of being alone are embracing the supernatural phenomenon.

The Word Bearers had apparently transcended the limitations of Imperial technology in some controllable form, and were covered in an invisible, brilliant shield that was strong enough to burn the enemy and protect themselves.

As they chanted the Imperial Truth and gestured the Eagle emblem across their chests, explosives rained down on them and fell into the bodies under their boots. Sharp swords and roaring weapons hit the outer layer of their armor, either sliding along the curve or breaking into cracks.

Even if the enemy's power sword did manage to break through the gleaming armor and fatally slashed into the Word Bearers' abdomen, Loken still witnessed with his own eyes that the warrior was exempt from at least falling into a state of suspended animation, and smashed the Emperor's Child's purple-gold shoulder straps with a burning hammer, causing his enemy to fall down with half of his body destroyed and burning... Of course, the strength and speed of the Word Bearers also exceeded the limits they should have.

Around the battlefield, blood continued to sublimate and disappear in the thin golden halo like mist, as if it was enveloping the entire area in some kind of truly descended holy light.

However, this miracle soon came to an end...

The blood stopped rising, the dazzling light gradually faded, the high prayers of the Word Bearers turned back into low murmurs, and they turned back into flesh and blood that could be killed. The Emperor's Children, who had just nimbly moved away to avoid the attack, quickly surrounded them and killed half of the Word Bearers team.

Despite this, in a short miraculous moment, the three Word Bearers still managed to kill more than ten Emperor's Children - a staggering ratio, especially for the Emperor's Children Legion, which was not bad in close combat.

"Is the Golden Throne...really protecting the Word Bearers?" Torgaddon was in deep mental shock. A terrible fact appeared before his eyes, that is, the Word Bearers had truly received visible blessings - in the past Great Crusades, no entire legion had ever truly received the divine blessing.

“I must admit, this was not what I expected, Mortarion. Perhaps that is why Aurelion dared to send his scion forward so aggressively.” Horus Lupercal said, reaching up from the bottom, letting his fingers brush across the projected image installed in the command bridge of Vengeful Spirit, as if he was holding up a corner of the battlefield on the ground below.

"I just said that in my impression, the warriors of the Word Bearers are not as strong as the Death Guard." Horus added.

"You believe them?" Mortarion said, then clamped his mouth shut.

Even though the projection in front of him had fallen into a faintly translucent darkness along with the camera as the Word Bearers warrior fell, he still stared at the extremely terrifying scene for him, his fingers sketching some calculation symbols between the folds of his gray-yellow robe. After a few seconds, he grabbed the robe, tightened his fingers, and then loosened them.

He found nothing. No answers to the wonders of the Word Bearers came to his mind, and everything seemed to lie behind a hazy mist...

Yet, Mortarion thought doubtfully, he did find that the miracle took the same form as the psychic sorcery the Emperor had once displayed for him.

Did he misunderstand Lorgar Aurelion, just as he had learned nothing from Aurelion's constant pretense aboard the Triumvirate?
Or is this also a ploy to cover up their hidden rebellion?
However, his unhappiness quickly overwhelmed his rare tolerance for Aurelion. Aurelion's thoughts and attitude never changed, and when he brought up the topic they had argued about, that obsessive stubbornness was still deeply engraved in Aurelion's bones, just like the golden words on his face engraved on his body.

What an abominable bigotry, Mortarion thought to himself in disgust. The Word Bearers had destroyed the Imperial Truth's rejection of sorcery, and the promise the Emperor had made him - a promise to control the future of sorcery in the Warp after all was over. He had tainted the pure essence of death and war.

He tilted his head, waiting for Horus's answer. If there was anyone he could trust in the Isstvan system, it was Horus Lupercal, the blood brother he had first trusted. In a turbulent world, Horus was a rare and unchanging person. His eyes were as bright as before, and his abundant strength always supported his huge body, as if the serious injuries he had suffered had not affected him at all.

Ten minutes ago, Mortarion had informed the person concerned that the Emperor had instructed Horus to re-grant the position of Warmaster. Horus nodded happily and happily took over the responsibilities that were originally his.

The wolf god told him that power must be in the hands of those who can control the situation. This is an extremely arrogant truth, and it is also the right choice that must be implemented. Someone has made mistakes, and perhaps he is still making mistakes. But the situation must continue to be pushed forward, no matter what they use as fuel.

Mortarion listened in silence.

Horus withdrew his hand from the holographic projection, threw off his cloak, turned around and strode back to his seat. Behind him, the flags of the Luna Wolves and the Imperial Eagle were still hanging in the command bridge of the Vengeful Spirit, highlighting the golden threads of the embroidery in the dim light behind.

Mortarion walked towards him under Horus's encouraging gaze, climbed the steps and stood beside Horus.

Here the light was dimmer, farther from the Luna Wolves and the Death Guard he had brought with him. He saw their sea-green armor blending with the unadorned white of his own brood, some of them knowing each other, the low rumble of voices that hung around him like the flutter of a fly's wings.

As the distance widened, he suddenly gained a strange perspective, as if he was standing at a higher place - much higher than the steps, accompanied by Horus Lupercal. After leaving the crowd, the wolf-god's voice seemed to become lower and softer, farther away from the others and closer to Mortarion.

Horus said calmly: "Mortarion, your arrival is the key to opening the situation. You can see how tense the situation on our battlefield is. If we continue to fight like this... you can see that the World Eaters have launched a counterattack."

“You lacked the strength to overcome the Iron Warriors’ tactical defences and were held back for so long,” Mortarion said, with a hint of satisfaction. “A war challenge befitting the Death Guard.”

"I will give you the power to make decisions on the assault mission. You come to this battlefield from the outside world and look at it from a completely new perspective. Of course, your vision must be clearer than ours now." The voice of the Wolf God contained a convincing power.

Mortarion could not help but imagine how his forces would be deployed at the forefront of the battle line, gathering all weapons, all heavy infantry, tanks, aircraft and artillery, exerting all their strength to exert heavy pressure, bringing silence to the Iron Warriors... yes, bringing destruction and death to the Iron Warriors.

...Why the Iron Warriors? Mortarion lowered his eyes briefly, the sadness and confusion in his heart accumulated like a cloud, and then was instantly overwhelmed by a fury of betrayal.

Horus seemed unaware of his turbulent emotions, or perhaps he was considerate enough not to reveal them.

He changed the subject. "I am actually a little surprised, Mortarion. You asked me so many questions about the current situation, the Emperor's, Isstvan III's, Perturabo's and Rogal Dorn's, as well as the Emperor's Children and the World Eaters. We formulated these offensive regulations... I thank you for coming, did I forget to say this? Let me make up for it now-"

"You have not forgotten," Mortarion insisted, with a singular persistence.

Horus was startled, then shook his head naturally and smiled, "Well, then I haven't forgotten. But you know what I want to ask you, Mortarion. If you want to hear my opinion, then tell me. Otherwise, if you really don't want to know, I won't interfere with you. You have always had your own ideas and persistence."

“Of course I am not unwilling,” Mortarion said. “There is nothing I cannot hear.”

"The Son of Magnus took my Crescent Moon, and the lives of tens of thousands of my sons, all of whose psychic energy they were so proud of, poured into this civil war. No one will ever know what Magnus did to bring upon himself the Emperor's extreme wrath, and unequivocal judgment - no, allow me to amend this. I'm afraid no one, except Perturabo, will ever know."

"Did Perturabo reveal anything to you, Horus?"

"He is only repeating a truth, my brother," Horus said. "War destroys everything. We have brought destruction to the thousands that refused to yield in the galaxy. Now the storm of destruction is still spreading, devouring every breath of air it approaches, and finally we are the only ones left to face the storm."

-

"I seem to be witnessing a spectacle, cousin," Eidolon said, his tone rising in a lilt.

"If you are not driven enough to state your opinion when no one asks, then don't distract us by speaking," Lane said, sitting on a stone bench at the edge of the long hall, wiping his pair of battle axes with a soft cloth.

His superior Sigismund had just gone out to the West City to inspect the actual situation of the war, and perhaps also participated in some personal fighting. Lan had to stay here and temporarily take over his superior's position.

“You have a bad temper, Imperial Fist,” Lucius said with a smile, the scars on his face wrinkled in layers like a faded blanket from overwashing.

"Like Lane said, we can express our views more directly, brothers," Vespasian said, and his relief made Lane breathe a sigh of relief.

Surrounded by a group of purple-gold Emperor's Children, Fafnir Lane felt that the pressure on him was increasing for no reason. The one who impressed him the most was another senior general, Vespasian. He admired the way this Lord Commander usually talked to others.

"You mean the Word Bearers and the Death Guard? They fought side by side," Lann said, raising his axe and wiping the scratched handle.

His rough fingers touched a deep cut on it. Not long ago, he almost had a finger cut off, and that battle was engraved on his weapon in the form of scars.

"Is it not surprising, cousin?" Eidolon said with regret, his eyes fixed on Lann. "The Death Guard, who are most opposed to the supernatural, and the Word Bearers, who are bashing our gates with flaming rocks. Because of what? The Emperor's blessing is not witchcraft? Just like Mortarion's fortune-telling is not witchcraft?"

He laughed. Lan took a deep breath and stared at the cuts on the weapon.

"It makes them more worthy opponents," Lucius said, "more powerful, and their respect and fall are more meaningful."

The glorious honor in battle was indeed an irresistible temptation for the Astartes, Lann thought, but if a swordsman like Lucius was also pursuing it unremittingly, then all of this would seem... no longer pure for Lann.

"It is more meaningful to find out what they have exchanged for the blessing. This does not conform to the laws of the warp." Lann said, "All thanks to the false emperor's favor? Then the false emperor might as well rain down fire from the sky," he emphasized, imitating the exaggerated tone of the Word Bearers, "and turn all these honorless traitor primarchs of our fathers and the Astartes under his command who cannot distinguish right from wrong but can 'return to the right path and serve the holy work' into ashes."

"I'm afraid it's because of 'you can still get lost and return'?" Lucius tapped his fingers on the hilt of his sword, and suddenly drew his sword, drawing a bright blade light in the air, and pointed the tip of the sword at the Thinker, intending to point to the battle site where they last heard this broadcast.

Vespasian held Lucius's shoulder. "You will damage our machinery, Lucius."

He immediately turned to Lan and asked, "Is this the conclusion of your think tank?"

The Imperial Fists do have their own Librarians, but Rogal Dorn is not a fan of the tricks and tricks of the Warp, so the Librarians of the 7th Legion do not have much of a reputation for actual combat among all the Legions, except that they do have a Librarian Department.

"Hmm... I don't think so." Lann stopped what he was doing. "It's from the Thousand Sons."

"Of course, of course," Eidolon said. "I wish Amon good luck. How will he find it? To the front lines to meet every decision made by Horus in the sky?"

"You think I know about them Warp-Sensitives?" Lann said, "But we are indeed about to face Horus Lupercal's decision. Perhaps Mortarion's. The center of gravity of the entire battle line has shifted, and the outer fortifications are being neutralized. If you do not want to lose the honor of fighting in a forced retreat, then develop a strategy to maintain the trenches..."

He deliberately added the pronouns: "Dear sirs."

"Your respect comes too late, but it doesn't matter." Eidolon nodded, and then said to Lucius: "And you, I think you must have some opinions about the failure of these teams in the battle, Lucius."

Lucius immediately understood what he meant, and he drew out the sword that he had just hung back on his waist. He vowed that he was about to lead a small conflict that he would surely win...

Lann blinked and returned to silence. Following Rogal Dorn's orders, he did not speak rashly. It was not Amon who made the judgment, but other Thousand Sons warriors who came from afar and left in a hurry.

Azak Ahriman, and his Prodigal Ring.

(End of this chapter)