Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Time went backwards in my raised hand, and my palm was wrapped in a black strip of cloth. There is a bouquet of flowers in my hand. Flowers do not belong to me, but they need me - I say this without shame. I gained nothing and got more than I imagined.

I had never been a good playwright, and besides, my biography of that child ended abruptly when he grew up. No, I have not forgotten this matter. When time leaves me, I still carry the unfinished story in my chest.

There are green thorns hidden in my empty shell, and I am flipping through the map of purgatory in my hands - I hope you know that even though my thoughts are quite confusing, the last half sentence is still an objective description based on facts.

The album looks like a thin book, and the cover seems to be made of metal. Its pages are so light and thin, sewn together from the skin of silent soulless beings, sustained by the living blood of a small section of spine.

It is unwilling to respond to my fingers, unless I intentionally use ancient spells, and the atlas reluctantly changes the texture and direction of the skin, forming a page full of endless lines and words.

And this is exactly the first feedback that the Purgatory Map should give to living people with real souls when it comes to the atlas.

I closed the album and thought about who wrote this book, and why the incarnation of the Laughing God took out the map of Purgatory from the Black Library and returned it to the Human Empire with his own hands.

The more I read, the more I am convinced that this is the work of a human being... So, who is it? Is it Neos? No, if Nyos had such an understanding of the Webway, he would not be so difficult and vague in advancing the Webway plan...

However, I always feel that the author of this atlas must be related to the emperor.

Beneath my feet, the upper spiers of Gomo were shrouded in inherent clouds and mist. This place is naturally the best stage for the dark legend to unfold. There is no need to deliberately write or write, the story is already natural.

There, I looked at the golden spire, which once belonged to a church that arrogantly claimed the sunrise, but tonight it has changed its owner.

The influence of another person gradually turned into a silent tendril, quietly sliding towards this eternal and dark city. Hundreds of powerful people were replaced and replaced, and countless operations in the shadows were perfectly planned and executed.

Konrad Curze, the Bloody Marquis, the eighth son of the Emperor, was also the host of a grand banquet. He sat in the middle of the fur-covered throne, and used the hall that once belonged to the enemy to launch a grand dinner that belonged exclusively to the Night Ghost King's Court.

I have to recall that at the beginning of everything, in that long and glorious night, brothers who had never met before danced against each other between banquets. This same hall witnessed the beginning of the story.

Just three days ago, the secrets of the fallen god Vaal were relayed to the ears of the Blood Marquis; the Primarch was assessing the opportunities and consequences of the Chaos Demigod's arrival on Gomorr, and the decision-making chess he was in charge of immediately fell: a carnival was about to be held. .

Today, at this moment, the feast has been held for three days: gold and silver rolled by like water, delicacies were served in exquisite crystal vessels, and the remains of wine and meat sank into the dark canal filled with mist.

Asdúbal Viktor was entrusted by Konrad Curze to organize the entire Eldar banquet. Letters were delivered to the halls, and hundreds of guests were invited.

The invitees appeared in this luxurious high-ceilinged hall with invitations, threats, fear, or joy. They took their seats one by one, tasted the scarlet wine in the cup, and wondered why the Xinxing Royal Court had brought all the people together. People gather here.

Is this a conspirator's party? An ancient ritual, they thought, announcing the ultimate promise of the rise of the Conspiracy Alliance and the public execution of those who opposed it?

How many Eldar will be transformed into a living plaque and example of the consequences of disloyalty to the host of the banquet at the end of this six-day feast?

I watched them unite under Conrad Coates, drinking and dining. The six-day banquet is already halfway through.

And on the other side of the Webway, on the Forge Star of Death, a complete destruction is coming as promised.

Perturabot held up Anaris at dawn, and the turbid light resting on the broken blade was weakened by the presence of the ruler Zahurash. What the incarnation of the Laughing God said is true. The corrosion of the divine sword comes from Vastor's active or forced corruption, not the material itself.

When the broken blade fell into the hands of the Primarch, the ruins of the entire temple that relied on the broken blade immediately began to collapse on a large scale. The operation of the forge ceased after the last roar, and the tomb of the old gods collapsed completely underground. The maze of death vented its despair and ruin, dust rose, and the collapsed walls chased Perturabo's swift footsteps.

That mechanical giant strode across the collapsed and unfamiliar world, crushing the remains of rocks and dead bones beneath its feet.

The incarnation of the Laughing God stood up lightly, ignoring the bleeding body, spreading blood all the way, chasing the pace of the Primarch running at full speed; they stepped over pieces of broken metal and smashed masonry, and gradually stretched out from the wall. The mechanical servo arm is looking for the only way out among the thousands of mechanical ghosts emerging from the shadows.

They could always escape Val's grave, I suppose. A Primarch, an avatar of the Laughing God; the fury of a dying planet could not kill them all. Even though the core of the earth boiled and the lava fire dormant in the mountains erupted with the collapse of the temple, Perturabo was still able to successfully return to the airship in the sky.

I have no doubt that he can do this, so I return the consciousness that was withdrawn in the etheric ocean to my body, and no longer keep an eye on Cordolis all the time.

In Comor's banquet hall, Conrad Coates never put away the black sun crystal chandelier that fell from the ceiling during the theater company's debut a few days ago. Today, it is still broken in the middle of the hall, with crystal black diamonds scattered everywhere. The Blood Marquis did not hesitate to use this to emphasize its crucial driving position in the decline of the Church of the Sun.

He leaned in the throne with his eyes lowered, neither drinking nor eating, looking around the entire gorgeous hall casually, observing the many lives under the seat.

Among the bustling crowd of gorgeously dressed people, the only remaining servant with red gloves stood out. To this day, the former female noble is still the only servant of the royal court who has been successfully transformed. This result did not satisfy Konrad Coates.

Naturally, the host of the banquet could not leave without hesitation, staying away from the collision of jewels and the sound of folding fans; the Blood Marquis' black eyes looked solemn as he imagined four rotating genetic spirals in his mind.

A spokesman for the family squeezed through the crowd, knelt on one knee in front of Coze, and spoke urgently of his request. The Blood Marquis silently stared at the Eldar's thin and sharp frame in the bustling hall, until the latter began to hide his uneasiness.

Curze showed a casual smile and summoned a dark blue Talos engine with lightning painted on the carapace. He took a bone knife from the tentacles of the engine, leaned over, and carved a pair of wingspan on the pale forehead of the Eldar. Simple coat of arms on both sides of the skull.

"The throne will remember you and your family." Coze said calmly. The engine took away the bloody bone knife for him, handed him water and a white towel, and let the Blood Marquis wash his already clean snow-colored hands in the silver basin.

The Blood Marquis nodded slightly to the shadow, and the green markings on the employee lurking in the shadow flashed past.

The engines had no complaints about their over-qualification; in fact, there was never a glimmer of resistance in their ignorant minds.

The Talos engine brought cups of wine with a bitter aroma, floating or dragging metal tentacles, swimming freely between the long tables, passing them from seat to seat.

On both sides of the banquet venue, the choir in the shadow of the high platform played elegant instrumental music, and the chants composed by the Primarch himself filled the vast hall with astonishing solemnity and holiness.

"Get the airship down, Avatar!"

Perturabo rushed to grab the fragment of the divine sword with his metal hand before the underground tomb was completely buried. With his other hand, he grabbed a stone beam at the edge of the temple and threw his dusty mechanical body back to the ground.

He implemented his plan and waited in the Vaal Temple for three days, giving Konrad Curze time to prepare. Then he returned to the surface and actively attracted Vastor's attention.

The Laughing God incarnate jumped to the surface covered with obsidian fragments. After the fragments were taken away, the energy environment was completely unbalanced. At this moment, these crystals have been entangled with a deep atmosphere of corruption, almost turning into a sticky swamp covering the entire planet. Two near-gods, one large and one small, were running at top speed on the surface of Cordolis, stepping on the molten gravel.

A few seconds later, the power of chaos completely erupted in the remaining parts of the temple. The sticky energy impacted the fragile curtain, exploding a disgusting huge dark hole, greedily devouring the matter of the real universe.

A series of explosions erupted from within Cordolis. Not only the core of the temple, more rumbling vibrations began to be transmitted from the depths of the ground, shaking many plates of Cordolis.

Black lightning tore out a large number of jagged teeth in the dark sky, and high-temperature fire and molten gravel rushed high into the sky from the gaps in the plates, stirred by tidal energy. Deep in the clouds, the Harlequin airship dodged left and right, looking for two small, difficult-to-identify dots on the dark earth amidst the chaotic and terrifying thunder.

The sacred music of the choir under Konrad Coates is still distant and peaceful, giving the world comfort conditions suitable for spiritual thinking. The feast lasted for three days, which was just the time for rest.

The Blood Marquis left the throne and gently dusted off any dust that might have been on his robes. Midnight tones are condensed in the heavy robes he cut and dyed by his own hands, with bright streaks of lightning. A bright red cloak hangs behind the king, reflecting his noble and flawless body.

When he stood up, the jubilant banquet fell silent for a moment, only the melodious music still lingered.

"My friends," the Blood Marquis said calmly, raising his hands to his guests. How could the midnight ghost crawling up in this hellish city of sin not understand the restraint of etiquette? No, of course he understood all this, and he limited himself to the double edge between politeness and madness, "Are you satisfied with this entertainment banquet?"

"Can you feel that a piece of history is being created? This eternal city is ushering in a change worth remembering? Thousands of years later, ten thousand years from now, I want you to look back on tonight's story with the most reverence, Youdu The darkness will not calm down, the sinful city will not prosper, but Gemo will indeed live on for generations to come!"

"Honor the throne," he said.

The spirit clan raised their glasses one after another: "To the royal court!"

Kurtz smiled, raised the glass, bit his lip, mixed it with his own blood, and drank it in one gulp.

Avatar ran, her laughter still steady: "Oh, both worlds are falling apart!"

The remnants of the sky collapsed in front of the fugitives' eyes, a brick, a piece of broken tiles. The gray world ended here, just as the glorious banquet was unfolding there.

The dark mountains collapsed, and the ground tilted like a deck in a storm. Ugly rocks larger than the palace buildings were rushed into the sky by the hot lava, and then fell down in flames. The airship was like a leaf blown by the strong wind, dragging the Tuchucha engine, and slowly and difficultly approached Perturabo.

Cordolis has become blurred and unrecognizable in the subspace vision, and the ground collapsed from all the hidden gaps, turning into food for the chaotic ocean.

I stretched out my hand and touched the large afterimage left by Cordolis in the etheric field of vision. The manic planet cracked into countless crazy fragments so quickly, which gave me the illusion that Cordolis was under my fingers. Tip collapse.

What kind of phenomenon is this? I don't know how to describe it. My hazy mind was still recording the last moments of this grand epic. I saw a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity recorded in my thoughts, and I couldn't refuse. It's everything a failed copywriter needs, a doubly interesting story.

All of Cordolis was in the final stages of being destroyed by the violence of the Emperor's fourth son, a prelude to the bloody end of Konrad Curze's merry banquet. I see it as an interesting contrast.

Would the weakened Chaos Demigod be enough to defeat two Primarchs, plus myself, and maybe the Emperor? I don't think so...but Gomo is going to burn, it's visible to the naked eye.

In the dazzling hall under the dark sun, hellish orchestration and pulse-pounding drums finally covered the previous sacred music under the arrangement of Coz. This made the bloodline among the descendants of the Eldar that remained decadent and cruel feel relaxed and the pressure faded away.

They happily accepted another round of wine. These interesting creatures actually dared to stand under the Lord of the Bloody Royal Court - well, they knew what they were doing, but if the power was not fought for, they would surely fall. into the hands of the enemy.

When the Bloody Marquis's banquet reached an enviable climax, the chain thrown from the Harlequin airship was finally caught tightly by Perturabo. The airship managed to escape before the Webway Gate was torn apart, returning with a full load and witnessing the destruction of a world.

I know that the play in Caudolis has reached its end, or at least a temporary end.

This makes me indulge in the wonderful drama written by fate instead of the little poem compiled by my miserable and weak pen, and fantasize about how the curtain will be drawn exactly.

I saw rare fates combined into one voice, and unknown mourning merged into a unified cry. I've seen it all.

The fates of countless worlds whisper in the shadows, and we are creating our own. I've seen a lot of stories about Conrad Coates? How many more did he see?

Perturabo came with fire, and one who knelt at Curze's feet said, "O Marquis, you shall have all this."

Another interesting thing, I still haven't seen where Victor is. He should have shared the master's seat, or at least the second-in-command position... Oh, I take that back. Victor had just entered through the side door of the hall. So, where was he three days before the banquet?

I really didn't deliberately look for flaws in him. I'm just going to wait and see.

Let this incomplete party continue, I thought. Sin will complete my story.

The etheric ocean began to roll violently, and echoes sounded from the depths of chaos. The words composed of the friction sounds of multiple machines sounded like "my key."

I said, "Look, Conrad. Are your enemies here? Oh my, they're all here."

In this way, my narrative poem full of shortcomings and long drama that cannot be expressed in words has actually always been like this, continuing without the need for words. The existence of language is a clumsy and one-sided expression of facts. Human beings, as a life form, can only persist in capturing the reflection of the truth in this way.

The Emperor is above.

I'm very sorry. I fell asleep after writing yesterday. When I woke up, I found that I didn't click send (