Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Morse suddenly bounced off the bronze bell of the clock tower against which he was leaning. In no more than a thousandth of a second, he immediately pulled out a piece of pure white paper from the air and slapped it on the surface of the clock.

He flipped his right hand to conjure up a quill, and started writing faster on the spot, no longer caring about any rhetorical techniques or dramatic expressions.

"Perturabo, you have grown up and matured, and there are all companions in the world who are inseparable. To put it simply, we will never see you again, and don't expect to find me again..."

The next moment, the sound of powder peeling off the edge of the wall tiles made by the addressee came from the other side of the huge copper bell.

Perturabo used astonishing lightness to hang his three-meter-high body outside the clock tower. The only reason why he did not come in was that even if he curled up, the huge clock still did not have enough room for him. Too much.

"You are indeed here, Morse." Perturabo was lying on the edge of the bell tower platform, and the characteristic large laurel ring used for decoration hung neatly on his forehead. The young giant waved slightly: "Everyone's banquet has begun... What are you writing?"

Morse rolled the paper into a ball and threw it into the air, where it was automatically broken down into dust.

"It won't matter now that you're here. I think you've grown up, so it's time to say goodbye - do you have to lie on the wall for everyone to see?"

Perturabo broke off a piece of the relief on the edge of the bell tower under the sudden impact of the catastrophic announcement.

He grabbed the broken stone and put it back into the bell tower to avoid falling objects. His eyebrows immediately tightened: "This is a closed area in the palace, and everyone in the palace is celebrating the new ruler's accession to the throne in the Grand Theater... Don’t disappear! I haven’t finished yet!”

Before he finished speaking, Morse's new body, which had just been made, fell to the floor.

Perturabo immediately pulled the body, and found that the entire weight of this empty shell, which could be called a poor quality product, was only on one layer of skin, and that all invisible external parts had no substance at all. As soon as he took the hand of the body, the remaining parts Like a deflated doll, it fell limply.

This briefly reminded him of the model he saw on Morse's desk last time. The front looked the same except that it was unfinished, but there was not even a cover added to the large cavity on the back used to save material. . Morse mocked him seriously at the time, saying that this was to facilitate the calculation of shrinkage and ensure the degree of combination when the model material cooled.

He put away his distracting thoughts, carried the body with only one layer of skin left, and returned to the ground briskly, looking around, anxiously praying that Morse hadn't really left yet.

Why was Morse suddenly in a hurry to leave? Did he accidentally do something wrong today?

Or did someone say something to Morse?

Don't let him know who it is!

"Do you really think I'm too big?" Perturabo held the body in one hand and strode through the abandoned second half of the palace. "I also think so. Any daily necessities in Olympia are no longer suitable for my height. On the first day after returning from the attack on Caldis, they had to report with fear that I might have to lie on the floor to sleep."

The reconstruction work of the palace is still in progress, with the front hall and main hall being completed first, while the gardens and clock towers at the rear are temporarily arranged in the second half of the list of things.

During the celebration, all non-essential construction has been suspended, and the place is empty for the time being. Only the breeze blows, making the black robe hanging on Morse's body flutter.

"Why are you leaving? It can't just be because of my adulthood."

Perturabo quickly thought about the possible whereabouts of Mors, and his intuition told him that Mors would not just leave like this, although this might just be wishful thinking provided to him by the brain center.

He had always known that Morse had a private storage room because Morse's objects were constantly rotated in Lokos Capital's workshop. Now that he's leaving, maybe he'll take some of the unfinished craftsmanship he needs with him.

Perturabo quickly cut off a large piece of the iron-gray cloth covering the construction building next to it with his saber, quickly folded and packed up the body left behind by Morse, first walked quickly, and then changed to a trot.

The streets he had walked countless times in the past ten years supported him as he ran.

After leaving the Royal Palace of Lokos, there were more pedestrians passing by on the street. Perturabo knew that everyone was watching his actions with silent wonder, but he had no time to think too much. The only thing he could do was to avoid it with inhuman reaction speed before almost hitting a passerby coming from the corner.

"Morse." He whispered to himself, the wind blowing from both sides carrying his words away.

The familiar workshop was already in front of him. He stopped at the door. The wooden door was not locked or even closed as usual. The door panel was shaking slightly. I don't know whether it was Morse who came before him or the wind pressure he brought. Pushed the door.

After a moment of timidity, Perturabo opened the door, lowered his body, and carefully squeezed in. The pile of things was so full that visitors could have the illusion that the place was all-encompassing.

He didn't dare to go any further, because with his current size, if he took one more step, countless shelves would collapse like a series of dominoes.

"Are you here?" he asked, trying to detect something unusual in the subtle wind noise.

His sharp eyes quickly caught an old two-person stone sculpture in the center of the shelf in the room. The vague and weird image was confusing, and one could only barely tell that it was a child fighting with his elders.

He always thought Morse had thrown it away.

This made his heart skip a beat.

Perturabo gritted his teeth and raised his voice: "Morse! I am determined to re-carve this original stone statue. You know that I never really completed it. Since you are going to give me a gift, then you also need to Accept my reward."

He paused, suddenly feeling bitterness rising in his throat. "You said, I want to learn to be fair."

+I also said that gifts do not count in the system of transactions, Perturabo. +

A soft voice came directly into his hearing. He didn't know if this meant that Morse was far away from here, but he clearly understood that this was probably the last opportunity for communication.

Perturabo's frown unfurled, and his muscles relaxed together.

"You did say that, Morse. So my reward is not a gift, it is a weight, a piece of goods, a price. I will use it to buy your stay."

There was a long silence, so long that Perturabo began to wonder whether his behavior was a kind of whimsical absurdity. His fingers were stiff and curled between making a fist and relaxing, and more distracting thoughts flew through his mind.

He didn't understand why everything suddenly changed. Today shouldn't be the moment to say goodbye.

Who wants Morse to leave?

Then, he saw the small rough stone statue floating up and landing in a transparent palm that gradually appeared and glowed with light gold.

The black coarse cloth covered the ethereal form and appeared deep in the workshop. From the change of the runes on his head, he knew that Morse was looking at him.

+You have learned well, Perturabo. + Nothingness said, with emotion and anger difficult to distinguish in his tone, + As an apprentice, maybe it’s time for you to become a master. +

“I still have unfinished work,” Perturabo said. "Taking a apprenticeship at this time will only prove that the apprentice you trained is not qualified."

There was another long silence, but the golden figure did not leave. Then silence becomes tolerance, and depression becomes gentleness.

When he spoke again, Morse's words were no longer vague. The rough little stone statue turned in his hands, foreshadowing the sharp irony that Perturabo knew so well.

"You are indeed unqualified, Perturabo. There is one thing that you have not noticed along the way. Has the otherworldly perception ability given to you by your creator failed? Or is your creator inherently poor in skills?"

"Ah, what's the matter?"

"Your package," Morse said. "How did you pack it? Look down!"

Perturabo immediately bowed his head upon hearing this.

Because he was walking too hastily when he came, he was forced to pull the fabric at high speed and proved that the textile machine could not create an unbreakable iron plate, even if the dye was chosen to be the color of steel.

At this time, the package had been damaged by an unknown hook, and the bottom was cracked. Half of the black robe was falling outside the iron-gray cloth, fluttering in the wind, hinting to every passerby that there was something unthinkable hidden in the package. Mystery.

Perturabo immediately rewrapped Morse's body, his proud brain was screaming, and he instantly had a deeper understanding of the surprised looks of passers-by.

And Morse's voice still echoes in the workshop.

"...Someone is going to ask you how you make a realistic foldable doll, my apprentice..."

"Okay, I understand!" said Perturabo, "So are you still leaving?"

Morse smacked his lips slightly, his tone in a daze. "It's too late, it's unfortunate."

Outside the window, a beam of golden light pierced the atmosphere of Olympia and landed vertically on the top of the eternal snow-capped mountains of Telefus, like a burning star, silent and majestic, incredibly distant and close, waiting for pilgrims to visit.