Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 470 Cherish life

He heard the volcanic rush in his veins. When he breathed, the hot temperature in his blood rolled around his ear bones, causing pain in the nerves at the back of his head, one twitch, then the next.

Along with the stinging pain that bit him, he heard his modified body creaking in the parchment-like robes: the stinging pain seemed to be pinching his heart and carving the bones under his muscles. once. Again.

It has to do with the child he once was.

This has to do with his genetic father.

This was an echo of Magnus.

And it doesn't stop there.

Amon found himself lying in the meditation chamber of the small pyramid. The inner side of the high zenith was carved with a map of the stars around Tizca, half-decorated and half-real beasts of the star sea - now proven to be dangerous vortices deep in the subspace. With evil demons and monsters.

The sharp claws moved in the darkness, and the scratching and low-pitched clicking like a scarab beetle could be heard endlessly. The ferocious beast's ferocious eyes stared at him in a trance, penetrating his skull together with the rumbling roar of ominous omen, invisibly inflicting almost tangible mental torture.

Amon waved away the scorching waves left by subspace in his mind, and the room became bright again. Prospero's blazing sunlight passed through the high-altitude psychic shield isolation layer and transformed into a gentle and bright soft light, creating crystal ripples among the dust particles floating in the room.

The psychic fires were extinguished one by one from the candlesticks, and bright light poured further into the small pyramid.

Outside the pyramid is the long street of Tizca. In the clear light of the afternoon and evening, it is reflected on the countless smooth glass surfaces and decorative crystal panels of the cast buildings, and also through the many bazaars and the upper floors of the flat-roofed houses. The various pieces of cloth used to block the sun reflect a thousand kinds of bright brilliance.

Amon blinked again, breathing rapidly and unsteadily.

burning fire. moon. The flash of light on the edge of the warhammer. Brown oil on the water. Blue electric light. The remnants and debris of burning papyrus fly into the sky. The dust under the sky condensed into a terrifying thick smoke that strangled the throat in the reverberation of the wolf's howl, while a giant snake with gorgeous wings still lingered on the edge of the Great Pyramid, hissing and screaming, just like the disaster it pushed. Finally, the snake head of evil thoughts peeked out from behind the veil...

The prophetic visions came back to him like old memories, arriving with the piece of existence that Magnus' death had hollowed out of his chest. There is no change from two hundred years ago.

He swayed, controlling himself from the rotation of heaven and earth. Blood flowed from his mouth. Part of his mouth was bitten open.

Magnus. Prospero. Two terms that determined his life intertwined before his eyes. Both were unforgettable enough for him, and both were destined to be swallowed up by blood and fire at the beginning of their birth, just as they had echoed in his mind from two centuries ago. Countless moments in a nightmare.

He overruled them, but Magnus still disappeared from the soul of every Thousand Dust Sun. The scorching sun with dancing tongues of fire suddenly exploded into a thousand broken dust, scattered in the air and disappeared before them. The eternal burning embers remain deep in the soul, burning through the sweet and bitter wind of Tizca Strait, and the dust mixed with rust spots.

Azak Ahriman may have been the last person to see Magnus, Amon thought, when Magnus left the Pyramid of Fortepu and insisted on taking a few temple lecturers and students aboard the Wanzhang Ray [ 1], he was inspired by this only when this ship sailed into the depths of the vast galaxy.

Soon after, he knew he had lost him. His only child.

Even in the relationship between the Primarch and the Emperor, when he gave up the position and title he had rashly assumed, and everything returned to a silent code of understanding, their relationship remained close.

But at the last moment, he couldn't even do anything for Magnus.

No goodbyes either.

As for Prospero... the howls of the wolves still echoed in his ears, and he could taste the approaching echo - what did the wolf mean?

He sighed. For a while he even thought it would be the Space Wolves...how could it be? The Primarch Leman Russ and their Magnus were friends.

Luna Wolf? No, there is no reason... Fifty years ago, when the foundation of the think tank system was not yet complete, Tubek, who was still a guest in the Luna Wolves, still remembers Lupekar's friendship...

The curtain of the small pyramid is open, not far away is the Tizka Great Library, like a shining eye left in the world, stopping in the city rebuilt by the Primarch. Amon coughed a few times, and a dry blood came out of his throat, like the hiss of sand rolling over a stone. He stared into the light, looking for the power he needed.

No one...no one, he thought, could take Prospero from here again. Even if the prophecy is carried again by the raven following the shadow, it will no longer be there. He would not allow himself to face a second loss, not to mention the loss that his children would not want to see.

He walked out of the meditation hall, and when his fingers touched the scarab on his chest, the golden beetle witnessed the trembling of his fingers.

He has already heard the voice of the Iron Warriors outside Tizca. They are not noisy. The cold steel is buzzing in the open plains of the countryside. Like their mental aura, it has long been made into a quiet and powerful one. Iron block. But the existence of these warriors made him feel strange beyond intuition, as if they were out of tune with the times.

At such a juncture, a moment when Magnus left them for unknown reasons - oh, Amon had already predicted it, and maybe the chiefs of various schools also knew about it, but most people would never know how their father existed. Will suddenly become an unhealable inner hole, forever.

Their hearts will be restless in the wildness of pain, lifted up by the majesty and love of Magnus, temporarily floating above the water. But one day, these leaves will spin off the branches and sink under the water.

Yes, at such a juncture, will the arrival of the Iron Warriors be a coincidence? Or do they know something about this, a truth that the Fifteenth Legion has no way of knowing? Do you understand the haze that has not dissipated from the galaxy in recent months since the victory of Ullanor? They know little more than anyone else... even if the issue is the death of the Legion Primarch...

They will talk. The leader of this portion of the Iron Warriors' army, as well as the Hidden Ones stationed at Prospero, is Amon, Master of Sand.

Prospero will receive from it a sign pointing to the filling of the painful void in his chest, and this will be their first step back into this suddenly unfamiliar world.

He swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and the lingering uneasiness.

——

"It's impossible to say for sure. We are in danger from the darkness, and to describe this danger in itself would be a violation of our pact with the Primarch and the Emperor, not to mention that I don't think we can overcome the perception of dark psychic energy. You. The only thing I can tell you is that Primarch Magnus saved our lives on his way, and we believed that he alone could do that at that moment."

"The Primarch saved you."

Frix nodded: "There is no doubt that we are lucky enough to come to Prospero. I think we must express our gratitude to him. If Prospero can help us contact our Primarch, I believe that our genes My father will also send praise and blessings to his close friend for his selfless help."

"Praise?" Amon's expression made Frix feel something strange. It contained scrutiny and hesitation, as well as an indelible pain. "Praise our original body Magnus?"

"That's exactly what I believe," Fricks said firmly.

"It seems you don't know what happened after that."

"We really knew nothing about it, except for the sudden burst of darkness that followed shortly afterwards."

"The entire galaxy must know that moment," Amon said, thoughts flashed across his tired face, and his voice was always very low, flat and depressed.

"I'm afraid what happened to our genetic father is related to this. Since - you don't know what happened, then go live on the outskirts of the city, Iron Warriors. Wait for the communication to be restored, and wait for your father. The Fifteenth Legion takes over I’m afraid I don’t want to receive you when I come down.”

"What happened next?" Fricks had to ask.

"You wish you knew?"

"If you are willing to tell, Ninth Company Commander."

Amon's expression was more restrained, almost silent from an outside perspective, and his hands rested on his helmet, which was a bit sinister for a scholar of the Fifteenth Legion.

"We do not know...all that lies behind," Amon said. "We are stationed in Prospero, and when the darkness falls, we are as unable as anyone else in the world to touch the essence of the shadow - the horror that lies within it. It's enough to stop anyone who knows anything about the vast ocean, and at the same time, it really makes us..."

Silence came between the two of them, and Frix noticed that the other Thousand Dust Suns guarding the small pyramid were also silent, like iron dolls trapped in eternal self-questioning, repeatedly listening and questioning their own hearts. This is not a good sign.

"If you don't want to say..."

"No," Amon shook his head and returned his gaze to Frix. His voice echoed in the room, as if passing through the limitations of masonry and glass, causing tremors in a wider distance, "No. "He continued, "Tell your Primarch Perturabo that Magnus the Red, leader of the Fifteenth Legion, is dead."

He paused, allowing Frix to fall into silent shock. The war blacksmith felt the coldness of steel and the protection the armor brought him at the same time. He continued to look at Amon, gaining some new and vague insights from the other person's gaze.

"We have paid an unworthy price for our fate, and it is now irreparable." Amon continued, "We have only Prospero, the pearl of the world, and it cannot be lost again. This may be our The only remaining chance, and the reverberation of the Primarch's dream, is that here we will protect our home, standing on the edge of the city."

Fricks returned from his stupor. His thinking was one step ahead of his emotions and entered the gear structure that was operating firmly like a machine.

Just because Amon didn't make a request doesn't mean the Iron Warriors can remain indifferent.

"If the City of Light is threatened," he said, "we will return to Prospero to defend ourselves against the invasion of foreign enemies. If possible, the Iron Warriors Legion will send more warriors. This is Caidomo Frix A promise made on behalf of the thirty thousand Iron Warriors now in Prospero, for the venerable salvation of Primarch Magnus, and for our friendship."

Magnus, the word also became sour and hot in Frix's mouth, as hard to say as strong acid. They can't yet reveal their centuries-old acquaintance with Magnus, and Frix is ​​still trying to come to terms with Magnus' sudden departure.

Indeed, the current situation has been changing recently, and there have been many discussions, which have also been heard in the web channel, but the death of a primarch?

It was as shocking as the fall of the leader of the Luna Wolves.

"If," Amon repeated, "if. The day when this if comes may not be far away."

"But aren't the subspace channels in chaos these days, making it difficult to travel through them?"

"I have no evidence to produce," Amon said, "but there is never a sign of misfortune. Magnus's departure was so sudden. Prospero will remember everything... Warsmith Frix "

Amon looked at him, seeming to recognize something. "Perhaps I heard Ahriman mention you, Frix."

"Ahriman?" The long-lost name returned to War Blacksmith's mind. He could vaguely remember that old friend. No, among all the boring old memories of the Internet that had been repeated a hundred times in his mind, all the memories were as new as yesterday. : Azak Ahriman's blue eyes stared at him through time, and there seemed to be a trace of smile left on his olive-skinned face.

"I once knew him," Frix said vaguely, knowing that Ahriman probably didn't think he was still alive. The Black Crow should not have publicized his disappearance, otherwise sooner or later they will be confirmed that these Iron Warriors are all dead people on the list - even if he can defend it, saying that this is a long secret mission .

"I'm looking forward to seeing him again, and I hope Ahriman won't be too surprised." He quickly added that this sentence came from a complicated heart, and Fricks was not good at analyzing all the factors wrapped in this emotion.

"Okay." Amon nodded slightly, his eyebrows slightly stretched. He stood up, his movements not as agile as an Astartes should be. He put on his helmet, his face hidden behind an invisible mask.

Whether Amon is a full Astartes is a mystery that is not widely spread. He is not young and possesses strange psychic powers, but he does indeed wear a suit of Astartes armor. Perhaps no one can answer this answer except Magnus, the dead Magnus.

The helmet loudspeaker interfered with his voice, and also covered up more sad expressions: "The genetic father I serve has saved you, and I wish you to cherish your life."

"Without a doubt."

——

The halo among the dim stars caught Azak Ahriman's attention. He saw a faint flowing dark light traveling through the sea of ​​stars, like a tangible and intelligent ocean current that traveled impermanently, which even made him question whether there was any malicious intention in this vast starry sky. The chaotic waves of the subspace hindered their steps. And that surging darkness...

He stared into the silent sky and took a deep breath.