Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Silence prevailed, the way darkness fell like the last embers of a campfire in a cave extinguished by the cold wind. His body was tense and his heart was beating rapidly, resisting the illusion of death. Another gladiator fell into the deep pool of sulfuric acid below him. Their skin and flesh were peeled off and dissolved layer by layer, and their smiles died under the gaze of maggot eyes... …

A buzzing current flowed across the surface of the components in the Iron Blood's electronic clock. Angron's subconscious tried to slip away from the network of countless uneasy memories and phantoms along the steady sound of current, allowing him to have a peaceful sleep. .

But the few minutes of peace were quickly broken by a strong uneasiness. His eyelids trembled, his breathing became rapid and irregular, and the hard bed, which was too soft for a gladiator, was soaked with sweat.

The memories of every battle tore him in all directions, and he stood on the red sand again, clinging to dozens of relatives. Bloody competitions ensued. A wolf in embarrassment suddenly appeared with her skinny body and buzzing collar. Blood and tendons were twisted and torn. Uncontrollable black fire flowed out of the witch's palms, and her screams were strangled. He died in the palm of his hand that was shattered into burnt wood, and the blood of his companions melted into the rope of triumph around his waist...

Suddenly Angron woke up and escaped from the continuous nightmare. He stared at the ceiling, the iron-grey roof of the Iron Blood surrounding him. His heart was still beating rapidly, and his breathing and heartbeat were not stable at all.

He lay on the bed, his trembling hands becoming too heavy to rub his wide eyes to help him return to reality. Angron looked around quietly and found evidence of safety in various cold furnishings that had nothing to do with the bloody smell of the arena.

He gradually realized that he was indeed far away from the arena, no longer forced to kill enemies or companions one after another, and no longer lost in the flowers falling from the sky and the high emotions of the audience.

He calmed down and took deep, thorough breaths again and again, just like Onoma Moss had taught him. "Breathe in, Angron," the old man said, wiping his newly issued sword and shield. "Breathe out, you are the greatest gladiator master."

And now he no longer needs to participate in the gladiatorial combat. Angron thought. It was all over, he shouldn't continue to be caught by the shadows of the past, he shouldn't show weakness.

However, Angron also knew that the decades of killing had left a permanent mark on his soul, crashing upon his subconscious in every moment of relaxation.

The killing had made him extremely painful, and the blood spilled in the red sand was used to fill the endless bloodthirsty ravines of the Desians. He reluctantly told himself that the honor of a gladiator also had value, and for a time accepted the honor he bestowed upon himself. meaning, until he rushed to the high platform and drank the blood of the high-ranking knight into his mouth. That moment announced the end of his self-deception and should have been the end of his painful life.

But his brothers came. Falling from the sky, imprisoning lords and freeing warriors.

Angron sat up and fumbled to light the lamp in the room unfamiliarly. He turned his hands, palms upward, and silently stared at his washed hands under the light.

Perturabo and Rogal Dorn, they revived his mentor and were never angry for a moment about the misunderstanding when he first woke up. The two Primarchs arrived here with the faith and smile that had brought them to countless planets in the galaxy, and would accompany Nuceria through what was sure to be a difficult period.

Slowly, he lay down again. Not pitted rocks, not stinging hay. The quilt and cushions on the bed supported his body and brought him more peace.

He relaxed his consciousness, unsure whether the nightmare would come again. Regardless, Angron knew that these nightmares that haunted him could no longer harm his loved ones in reality.

——

“The first required property of concrete is strength. When we measure the strength of concrete, we usually stir the mortar and measure the strength for three days, seven days, and twenty-eight days. We add appropriate amounts of water and Construction will begin immediately after the other materials, so setting time after mixing is also an important consideration... Don't touch my cape, kid. The Skyhawk is embroidered, not painted, so don't try to wipe it off with your hands. "

"...The grinding rollers and grinding discs will squeeze and grind the raw materials. The crushed raw materials will be baked, dried and lifted upward by the hot air blowing from below. When passing through the powder separator, the coarse powder will be knocked down and re-pulverized. For To prevent friction between the grinding roller and the grinding disc when the mill is idling, there will be a certain gap between the grinding roller and the grinding disc. The powder selector on the mill body can adjust the fineness of the material by changing the rotation speed of the rotor... You are trapped. Yes? Good night, Ferguson. No, I don't need to sleep."

Rogal Dorn stopped patrolling and read the bedtime story he was preaching, stopped and leaned over, holding the Imperial Materials Popular Science Series in his hand with one hand, and gently but steadily pulled it up for the little gladiator Ferguson with the other hand. Quilt.

In Invite, children are required to sleep with their quilts covered to protect them from the severe cold of the natural environment. His grandfather had done the same thing for him before he was so tall, so Donne thought it was normal for older people to tuck younger ones into bed.

"My lord, my lord!" A figure appeared at the door of the hall. The female gladiator whose leg was replaced by a steel spear called him softly. The tip of the spear pointed on the ground was skillfully used to support the center of gravity of the body. Sigismund stood beside the gladiator and completed the escort silently.

Dawn walked toward her. "Cleist," he said.

"My lord," the female gladiator raised her head and looked at the tall Dorne reluctantly: "Angron and Onomamos...where are they? When can we see them?"

"They are being treated on the ship," Dorn said. "They will return to the ground as soon as possible to discuss Nuceria's next plan with you."

Kleist pursed his lips. In front of Rogal Dorn, the female gladiator did not show any timidity, but she did have a kind of hesitation that was shocked.

"We all miss him," Kleist said. "We trust you, but we miss Angron... I know we haven't seen each other for only three days, but here, as long as our companions haven't returned at sunset, we Can we at least see Angron?"

Dorn nodded and sent a communication to the Iron Blood. After half a minute, he lowered his hands from the headphones.

"Perturabo refuses to allow you to speak to him now," Dorn said quietly, "because Angron is asleep."

Kleist was surprised: "He...can he sleep?"

"You can sleep." Dorn confirmed.

The female gladiator suddenly covered her face with her hands, wiping away the tears that instantly flowed down with her thumbs.

"Thank you..." Kleist's voice was broken, almost sobbing. Even the day she lost her legs and feet, she never cried. "thank you all."

"You're welcome," Dawn said, "You can go and rest."