Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

No. 44

As the human voice spat out from the inhuman mouth of the three-headed snake, the huge transparent body gradually shrank until it could wrap around the dark blue planet itself, like a slender bead chain.

Even so, its size is still astonishing, and the reduction of its shape makes the light inside it more dazzling. From gloomy scarlet, cold bright yellow to bruise-like deep purple, it seems that there are several intertwined colorful quilts. Trapped within that layer of transparent skin, it is more eerie than aesthetic.

One of the snake heads was revealed directly in front of the oriel window on the front of the Cliff as its body undulated. As it approached, a ray of golden flame was stirred up like ripples, blowing the head of this huge chaotic thing. The tip burned away, preventing it from actually touching the hull of the ship where Morse and Perturabo were.

Although not as clear as a psyker like Morse, the light the three-headed snake cast from behind the curtain was enough for a Primarch with normal psychic talent to capture its outline.

Perturabo pushed away the wooden chair and stood up, staring closely at the approaching giant beast, staring directly at its brilliant brilliance that burned in his eyes: "Don't hide behind evil things, No. 11; since you are no longer able to take advantage of them to escape, Steel The Warriors have enough time to find you on this planet, and you will explain what you have done."

No. 11 was unmoved. His voice sounded even lower than before, echoing the three-headed snake's wounded cry.

"Have you become a Warmaster?" he asked in a hissing voice through the snake's huge mouth.

The entire three-headed snake slightly pulled away from the planet Ishtar, and got closer to the small torpedo boat, which was as small as gravel compared to the planet.

Morse glanced at Perturabo: "We will make sure we are safe." This meant that he was handing over the power of dialogue to the current Imperial Warmaster.

"You are indeed closely related to the assassination of my brother, traitor," Perturabo scolded in a low voice. The unwarranted pain Horus experienced passed like smoke in front of his eyes, and he suppressed the anger rising in his throat. , "What exactly do you want to do? What witchcraft did you use to steal the blade from the Shadow Prison? Why did you assassinate Horus Luperkar!"

The three-headed snake quietly circled its tail, enclosing the Shanya number on a huge macro plane, carefully preventing its damaged scales from being further burned by the golden fire.

"Number Sixteen is not really dead, is he?" it hissed, "Did your Emperor let him die? No, he cherished Number Sixteen..."

Its boredom with the conversation became evident for a moment, causing it to interrupt itself.

Perturabo rehearsed the entire story in his mind, from the theft of the old enemy blade, to some kind of bewitchment or deception of the two leaders of the Word Bearers, to his injury in Davin, all unexpected dangers. Closely related to the number eleven of the Illuminati.

"He almost died, and he lost the honor and power that was rightfully his. You did the harm to the Empire-"

"You're doing better than him, Four, I can see that..."

"What about the loss of Terra's Shadow Prison? What about the loss of the Word Bearers?"

"I feel sorry for them—"

"How can you make excuses for your evil deeds?"

"Because you are asking a question, No. 4." No. 11 said. The huge snake body began to move again. The huge snake head struggled to move half of its existence to the real universe, so that Perturabo could see the transparent embedded in it. Black snake eyes like glass marbles in the skin and brilliance. It looked down at him, and its words grew softer.

"You're not as angry as you show, Four, and you're trying to get a crack at me, but you could have just listened to me. Now you're interrupting every sentence I say, so I'm going to ask a question too. ——He doesn’t have anything to say to me, Four?”

"Not a word."

No. 11 was speechless, and then his voice sounded again, not much louder than a snake's breath.

"It's a shame - this is your Emperor, standing behind you all, holding the strings above your heads, letting you dig your own graves. No one can stop him, yes, not even him You don’t know what you want to do, but you don’t have any more choices—” Snake’s words were filled with cold mockery.

"It's your turn to explain, Number 11." Perturabo interrupted him expressionlessly.

Perhaps others were unaware of the Emperor's plan, but that was because of its danger. Even if Perturabo is left to make the decision, he will not reveal his plan to use the power of the Tyrant Star to anyone other than those who need it.

Morse made a small gesture to him, insignificant, but a sufficient hint: keep talking, I need time.

"O Warmaster, I do not want his life, I only ensure that Horus Luperkar does not sit in your current position," the three-headed serpent said, the tip of its tail dipping back into the warp. "He is loyal to Your emperor is completely loyal and unshakable - and No. 17, he is even crazier, but fortunately he has no hope of being crowned."

"In insulting the Emperor, you also insult my loyalty."

"Should I be sorry for this? You just don't know his plan..."

"And Erda told it to you."

The three-headed snake writhed violently in shock. The snake's body hit the outer layer of Morse's golden light shield. There was a tearing and shattering sound like a heavy rain, and crystal fragments were raised like snowflakes.

Perturabo shouted: "Only equal forces can confront each other. Who knows this law!"

"You know more than I thought," the three-headed snake stopped rolling to speak for the primarch, while the debris continued to fall into the depths of the universe.

"If--you already know everything that nightmare sun means, and you still serve him... then what can I do? What else can I do? But if all of us are like this..."

He whispered sarcastically, and the head in the center of the three-headed snake grinned, almost imitating a human smile.

"Elda said," he said, the voice was not just a gasp, but a tremor, half of which came from unbelievable surprise, and the other half came from self-deprecating indifference: "She said: If you know the truth he has concealed, you will feel more betrayed than she does."

Morse rarely spoke: "She uses herself to underestimate others--"

"She always makes mistakes--" said the three-headed snake, his voice overlapped with Morse's, which stopped the movement of the giant snake.

"You knew she would make mistakes, but you still committed crimes for her." Perturabo asked suspiciously, and looked at Morse again inadvertently. The craftsman nodded slightly.

"Just like you kill for the Emperor." No. 11 was not interested. "Take on the responsibilities given when you were born, and play the role of a good tool."

"But it does not include killing your brothers." Perturabo said, and began to doubt the situation when Russ first met No. 11. He remembered that it was Leman Russ who first reported No. 11's whereabouts.

"I did hurt your brother. If you want to blame me, then do it."

"More than that."

"You want to judge by the number of people I killed. The number of people I killed is not even a tiny fraction of the Great Crusade. Death and destruction are the roots of its birth. The kindest among you have intentionally nurtured it, not to mention that Lorgar Aurelion is among you..."

"What I want to ask is: whose blood did you use to nurture a Chaos Serpent that devours the stars!"

The giant shield composed of golden words disappeared in an instant, and then suddenly radiated chain-like ropes, forming a huge net that tightly bound the crystal snake.

The three-headed snake struggled in the net, twisting its crystal body violently, trying to break free from the bondage. The spell net prepared by Morse was tough and indestructible, constantly closing inward, and the crystal snake body broke with a crackling sound, making a terrifying sound.

The giant snake immediately began to shed its skin, shedding its old shell at a very fast speed, hoping to escape. However, the golden net did not relax, but tightened. Morse looked grim, and the edge of his black robe had been decomposed into golden threads woven with words, folding and expanding in the non-material realm.

Soon, the crystal snake shed its skin for the second time, intending to break the giant net or escape from the gap, but all its efforts were ineffective.

Perturabo noticed that Morse's face suddenly flashed with surprise. The craftsman quickly replaced some runes and added more additional effects to them. The more he did this, the more obvious the surprise became.

He stepped aside from the window, leaving the space for casting to the craftsman himself.

The struggle between the net and the snake was unresolved, and Morse suddenly said: "Who changed your form?"

+ This is me. + The three-headed snake suppressed the severe pain caused by the cut of the golden net. The snake's eyes occasionally appeared outside the window and looked directly at Perturabo in the room. + This is also you, all of you. For-ah-+

His scream was like a sharp blade cutting through glass, and his voice became lighter, lighter than the first breeze blowing through the spire of Terra Palace, just slightly louder than the silence in the universe.

+For the Tyrant Star, the father gave us birth and made us forget our earliest essence, and now that I have seen it, there is no way back except for a disguise that is better than nothing-+

Perturabo summarized all the information he had obtained in an instant, and immediately organized his words, as if he had known all this for a long time, and put all his multiple surprises behind him.

"The Emperor will surely give you a new appearance, Eleven!"

+Then you have to find a way to stop me, Perturabo. +

Eleven's crystal shell shattered for the last time, and he gave up more parts than ever before, and these hard shells finally stopped Morse's pursuit for a moment. A fragmentary stream of light fell behind the curtain, abandoning his original planet Ishtar in the vacuum.

Morse retracted all the spell threads and staggered a step.

"Damn Erda, No. 11 is simply not afraid of death." He cursed and changed the words used to strengthen his tone.

Then, Morse shook his head and recovered: "His injuries are not light. I hope he can still breathe next time I see him-how much warp energy he has absorbed!"

Perturabo stood there for a moment, telling himself that he should ask questions. He was not afraid of getting answers, and he deserved them. He knew that if he asked, Morse would answer. He also knew that there was a certain hidden truth in the information revealed by No. 11, because behind the words, the craftsman was carefully observing his expression, trying to see his mood and opinion.

"That warp creation is No. 11?" He said, his voice was neither loud nor soft, just a normal tone. He heard his question echoing strangely in the limited space, and it didn't sound natural, "Is that-the Primarch?"

"This doesn't change anything," Morse shrugged deliberately. "You know, it just makes your existence a little more legendary. You don't feel like you're a pure human, right? You don't. Think so.”

After Perturabo nodded, the craftsman continued: "It seems that Erda was liberated - I am inclined to make Eleven give up his normal appearance in some form. If Lorgar really saw a humanoid Primarch, then It can only be a temporary skin he wears for himself. At least... the spiritual energy he stores in this more essential container form is even more exaggerated than Magnus."

Perturabo lowered his head, glanced at his palm, and sighed: "You told me that the Emperor is my creator."

"Sometimes you should take it literally," Morse said, "rather than automatically replacing it with 'father' or something like that, which is a concept of social relationships."

Perturabo remained still for a few seconds, then sat back in his chair.

He should have been surprised by the news, but he could feel nothing but reason about it: his mind was seized by another suggestion, as if an ancient key had opened a door he had never known. He had thought about the door, and the rusty iron door was obviously there, but he subconsciously felt that their path must be behind another wider golden door.

"The Illuminati's goal is to prevent the birth of the Tyrant Star, which is exactly the opposite of our goal." Perturabo said, remembering the unfinished words of Morse when he read the letter to him, "But what if--we Some of them know that the Emperor is the Tyrant Star..."

"Then it's going to get very complicated," Morse said, adding a deeper, waxy grimness to his face. "Some people are going to push it too much, some people are going to waver, and I I believe there are people who are determined to stop it.”

He paused.

"The Emperor doesn't want to tell you, but he has indeed decided." There are also some people who prevent the birth of the Tyrant Star, not because they are timid about the future, but because they value me too much. I don't want them to stop me because of their emotions. Even if I don't blame them for it. Tell Perturabo that when I am gone, the Empire will be ruled by Malcador and Horus, and you and Perturabo will go to the dark side of the webway. 'This part is obviously not used. Come and read it to you in its entirety, Perturabo."

"So, father will..." Perturabo felt his own emotions, what is this? Surprised? Still reluctant to give up? Or fear, long-lost fear? Or is it a kind of confusion that has settled? He thought of the Emperor, and then he continued: "...towards the end?"

"He's on his way," Morse answered. "My suggestion is that we go to Ishtar and have a look, maybe we can find Erda. I decided to make her stop living just in our mouths."

——

“Daniel said, I saw a vision in the night, and I saw the four winds of heaven rising up and blowing on the sea.”

Luojia recited today's scripture, repeating the reading and silent reciting for unknown rounds. His first Master was often remembered in his memory, so today it was the turn of the book from which he took his name.

The planet he was on at this time had a mild climate and warm winds, and the morning pasture was filled with the light fragrance of olives. It was exactly what the distracted Truth Word Bearer needed today - the Word Bearer army came here by chance, and the local People immediately surrendered. He regarded it as a comfort bestowed upon him by His mercy.

He wandered with his eyes closed, letting his hearing and intuition guide his way.

“…and behold, one like a Son of Man came with the clouds of heaven, and was brought to the presence of the Ancient of Days…I heard the voice of a Holy One, who takes away the continual burnt offering and the sin of destruction. How long will it take for the vision of the sanctuary to be trampled down by armies to be fulfilled?”

He paused and heard another set of footsteps. His robes were rolled up, and several locals were running towards him with brisk steps, which was also a common thing. What did they bring today? Garland? Or an olive branch?

Lorgar opened his eyes.