Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Perturabo looked at the knocker in front of him, then took a step back, then turned and looked directly at the black wave rolling almost against his face. The breath of death surged forward, and the radioactive dust was mixed with the swirling wind and waves. The mutated black shadow soul stretched out its skinny claws, and scratched his face at the first moment of its appearance, cutting out a strip on his chin. A bloody gap.

He raised his hand to touch the dripping blood and realized that the wound could not heal immediately. This made him even more certain that once he fell into the clutches of the dark world, he would pay a price he could not imagine.

But what about the temple?

Perturabo pressed his thumb on the bleeding wound and walked around the pool in front of the temple. A group of crows were startled and flew towards him with a noisy cackle. They froze into stiff stones as they approached the pool. , plopped on the grassy ground. The turbid yellow sun chuckled in the sky, spreading its gaudy luster like a mother-of-pearl around Perturabo, like a purple vortex that added color all the time.

Perturabo frowned, looking for a way forward close to the edge of the beautiful world and the pale world.

Although he didn't want to, he had to admit that these changing brilliance made him more disgusted - even afraid - than the black world on the other side that brought primitive fear.

Earlier in his life, in his dimly remembered past, he must have been bathed in a similar light: a whirlpool from the stars, with mad malice, seizing upon his callous young spirit and letting it slip. He knew that he was being watched forever. When he walked, when he drank water, when he passed by rocks and trees, and when he was about to fall asleep, a bruise-like wound was opened in the sky, and a bird poked out from the wound. Shameless huge eyes...

The temple collapsed, the bronze door collapsed, and the mountain embedded in the temple door rumbled and collapsed, causing the earth and rocks beneath his feet to collapse. At the same time, the colorful colors of the world faded rapidly, the song of Elijos sounded loudly, all the silver keys were shattered, the light suddenly brightened, and the ground formed a doorless door.

Perturabo put aside the disbelief in his heart and almost blurted out the rebuke: "What did you rely on to summon the four gods? That temple?"

Perturabo growled and gathered strength, using the torn snake bones like a whip or a long stick to fight more monsters that surrounded him. Each monster is a more deformed and twisted shadow of the prey that he has torn or chopped into pieces. He strangled a membrane-winged bird, and the red eyes of the beast were crushed into burning powder by him, and they were all wide-eyed. Her eyes were fixed on his neck, longing for the dried blood there.

The moment it fell, it began to emit silver spiritual radiance, and connected with the silver key hanging on Perturabo's waist to form a clear starlight, and in this connected light, Gradually a different kind of telepathy emerged, unlike any Perturabo had ever known.

He continued to move forward, feeling someone calling him faintly in his ears, "Father", a person, no, many people were surrounding him. He wondered with wonder when he had married anyone and had children; but his intuition still provided him with the corresponding emotions.

"Four Gods? No, those are just the four most powerful extra-dimensional psychic aliens. Calling them gods is as stupid as calling our Lord of Mankind the future god," Elihos responded excitedly, singing continuously. The sound also shattered into debris like ice crystals. This reaction made Perturabo stunned for a moment. He had never heard of such an argument.

He waited expectantly for a while, and sure enough, no one paid any attention to him.

"Who are you?" Perturabo said coldly, "Get out."

Still, the uneasiness in his heart spread like an out-of-control toppled candle.

Perturabo punched suddenly, hitting a feathered snake that was rushing towards him from top to bottom. Its huge mouth was enough to swallow a whole mortal, and its thick body was covered with scales like iron armor. While fighting, an idea slipped through my mind. He is a Primarch. Primarch...

Accompanied by some kind of extremely ancient and distant singing, a circle of silver light like a door frame lit up on the ground, and the dreamlike silver crystal spread outwards, temporarily helping Perturabo get rid of the intrusion of the Chaos Warcraft.

Perturabo didn't hear anything. He turned around directly. The number of mechanical arms behind him continued to increase with his will. From the pair of conventional servo mechanical arms, it expanded to a set of dual automatic assault firepower matrices, and then It is the composite heavy bolter and the suspended masterwork bolt pistol, as well as the plasma pistol enough to arm a hundred-man squad, as well as a large number of melta and deflagration pulses originally intended for distribution in groups of five, and the Terminator's unique shoulder reaper The automatic cannon...the processing controller floated around him and was grasped by him. It was used to exempt all units within twelve meters from the programmed behavior restrictions.

Now, his uneasiness was compounded by an anxiety that made him eager to respond to his heirs and tell them of his safety.

Along with his words, the silver light like a door opened a star-like gap on the ground. The inside seemed to be another complete universe. Stars rose and fell in the deep sky where the silver light flowed, and the power of the Four Gods of Chaos or the Nightmare Sun They are all different and do not seem to belong to the same system.

——

He learned about human society while growing up. He watched the basilisk attack the shepherd, so he went to the village to get a sword, and then cut off the basilisk's head. People looked at him in fear, and the shepherd asked him warily. What remuneration is required - this is his first lesson when entering human society.

Some of his own strength was also enhanced in this protective environment, and even in a sense, he was liberated - even if he didn't know where this feeling came from.

The third key fell from the sky, perhaps thanks to the aftermath of his battle in the ruins.

One person removed the eye that symbolized fear from his side and covered it. But today, that eye came back with a new look, from a haughty and malicious gaze to a seductive smirk and whisper - but he still recognized it.

"Who are you?" he asked the key, feeling like he was making a fool of himself. His common sense told him that the key did not have any voice expansion components installed and was solid inside, unable to answer his question.

Perturabo snorted, grabbing the key and moving forward. He seemed to hear some strange sounds coming from the key, which seemed to be the cold and rapid breathing of a person, and the chaotic sounds of rummaging for things. Now the things surrounding him increased further.

"Hurry," Elihos urged nervously, his voice becoming unsteady, "I am not as powerful as the three Eternals of your Imperium of Mankind, and we want to preserve the Primarch more than you do. life……"

"Disgusting," he whispered. "No."

The silver light surged like a wave, barely forming a face wearing a faceless mask. Obviously, this person's power is not strong enough, and his intermittent appearances have touched the edge of his ability.

At his feet, the once crew's life and combat supplies were in shambles. These components of hydration bags, lights, ID tags, and visual enhancement equipment...standard equipment from sixty years ago. But why sixty years?

He took the second key from the protruding corner of the broken ship's keel, and relied on brute force to lock it with the ring of the first key. The sound from the key was further enhanced, and gradually formed a staccato language: "No... reject it..."

The Key shrieked, its warning becoming more coherent: "You must hold on, Primarch, you cannot be harmed by the Ancient Four—"

According to his calculated cadence and stride length, after walking about three miles, he found a key and lay on the edge of the muddy road.

The rolling black mist was weakening here like never before, and the smell that disgusted him was correspondingly stronger, almost suffocating him. He wiped the side of his face again. The bleeding wound healed quietly, and a thin layer of blood scab formed on the scratch. This was not a good sign, so he tore off the scab and let the blood start flowing again.

It's not over yet. His nursery capsule fell through the atmosphere into Olympia, and he grew up in the mountains where he landed.

He is the son of the Emperor, ranked fourth. His legion is called the Iron Warriors. His mentor is the Emperor's old friend Artisan Mors. He came to Devon 63-8 to put down the rebellion, and the evil that is entangled in him is The power comes from the dark gods. In the past two hundred years of memory, he has fought against them more than once and escaped from the threat of chaos——

He hesitated for a moment, tore off his clothes and wrapped them around his palms, then leaned over to pick up the key and held it in his hand for inspection. The key is made of silver. The ring of the key should be a pattern derived from the ring of an eight-pointed star. Each quarter of the quadrant is engraved with decorations of different themes, followed by green grass blades, sharp blades and axes, Screaming ravens and coiled limbs.

At some point, his hand cannon returned to his wrist, followed by the mechanical arm on his back and a partially modified Terminator suit. The flames of the gun erupted around him, like an extension of the Iron Lord's arm and will. Taking his combat ability to a higher level - in other words, the bullets pouring down while wearing heavy armor and holding a heavy cannon are the Iron Lord's true combat level.

He carefully climbed over some erected rotten plates and uneven metal pillars, and immediately realized that this was the wreckage of a human warship - if he could see more fragments, then he could even further judge the ship. Boat model and origin.

Everything suddenly became clear, his identity and his responsibilities. He is Perturabo.

Perturabo turned his wrist and began to feel that something was missing on the back of his hand.

"Come, Primarch," the singing voice sang, low and hoarse, like an old crow wailing in the cold wind above the traveler's head in winter, "Away from the Ancient Four, away from the Nightmare Sun -"

Titus opened his eyes slightly and looked at the sudden fluctuations in the data on the detector. In the complex body of the Primarch, which was derived from the greatest genetic engineering of mankind, all the values ​​began to rise again to the constant range of awakening. He almost shouted He spoke out and conveyed the good news to the other war blacksmiths who were on duty outside the infirmary day and night.

He felt that this was not inherently the case here. Although this was based on intuition and expectation rather than purely rational judgment, he felt that the situation here must be closely related to the specific initiator, and the person who caused this situation should be that he was still in the In that larger view, the only human figure seen was the human figure under the shadow of the hydra.

Perturabo stared at the faceless face, "Did you attract the four gods?"

Perturabo didn't feel he needed to be reminded, no matter which half of the world the silver key pointed to. What he needs to do now is to run or fight - because enemies are pouring out of the purple world around him, and the temple door that looks like the entrance to a forest fairyland flashes with a filthy rotten brilliance, and after collapse and destruction An ugly vision of mutilation.

The cool wind blew through the back of his neck again. He turned around, and the temple with coiled snakes was chasing him. After he walked for an unknown amount of time, the temple was still chasing him. The multi-headed snake was on the bronze door. Staring at his back, the snake's eyes flashed with a dazzling red light.

Then, Perturabo began to fall.

"Elojos of the Illuminati, a meager silversmith," said the stranger, "come into my crystal dream, Primarch, and you cannot sacrifice..."

He clearly recalled this childhood time that had been lost for many years, and now it could no longer touch him. What returns with the memory is the power of the Iron Lord.

He slew more beasts for the Olympians, first a basilisk and later a hydra. Perturabo twists off the snake's head, like a reflection of his actions two hundred years ago, a kind of convoluted fate. The difference is that he would eat snake meat back then and didn't know that the meat was poisonous. Now he won't eat whatever creation of Chaos is on hand.

This may be related to his level of psionics or mental clarity, but exploring the role of psionics in shaping the fantasy world and the expansion of these basic theoretical fields has never been Perturabo's topic. All he needs to do is to use existing theories and then destroy all the enemies around him.

Elijos was surprised by the sensitivity of the Primarch: "Yes, this is the existing primitive altar, and the remaining power in it can be used... No, Primarch, you must leave, I can no longer maintain it... "

The muzzles of all thermal weapons were aimed at the bronze door behind him, and then, blazing ammunition sparks hit the beautifully carved temple door like a torrent. The flame jets and explosions merged into a raging wave of steel. The snake scales were peeled off, the fruit was sunken and burned, and the tree of life became unrecognizable almost instantly. The charred oil mist and the blood of steel replaced all the corruption of chaos in an instant. A breath that brutally and unstoppably destroys all corruption that seeks to imprison steel.

Elijos cleared his throat and restrained his excitement: "Yes, only strength is enough to resist strength. The Nightmare Sun has been summoned inadvertently, and it must be suppressed by the equivalent force..."

He swore a ritual curse in Olympian dialect, and more mutated beasts pounced on him, trying their best to leave a claw mark on his body, or stab his arm with bone fragments caught in the tips of their hooves, maybe he had already A slight blow, not enough for him to notice, but just enough to break his skin - if that had happened, the effect would have been inevitable, and Perturabo tried his best not to let it go. His fate fell into the unknown abyss of terror.

However, before he could speak, the Primarch's symptoms dropped again, to a disappointingly low level, indicating that their Genefather would remain unconscious.

He looked anxiously out of the porthole, horrified by what he saw: World 63-8 in the Devon System was falling apart entirely.