Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Mors withdrew his will from where Perturabo was, his circumstances no longer allowing for his distraction.

The sharp dagger cut through the black cloth covering the palm. The material made of solid thread and linen was cut off one after another under the sharp concept beyond the world, and the layers were loosened and peeled off, revealing what was actually pierced by the dagger.

A void.

More black cloth strips disintegrated from the surface of his arm and scattered on the damp ground.

The contents wrapped in the black robe seemed to disappear out of thin air, or perhaps never existed.

Morse closed his eyes, and the dark cloth that lost its support collapsed inward, and fell to the floor in response to the call of gravity, crumpling into a heap of carbon black and soaked in the blood of evil things.

What fell on the top of the cloth was the exquisite little dagger, which seemed to tell everyone of the feat it had accomplished in an extremely mocking way.

Then, a form that could not be observed in the real universe opened its eyes and stepped out of his false body.

Each piece of lost disguise represents the exposure of more essence. From the fingers to the shoulders, from the soles of the feet to the chest, the golden mantra supports a nothingness that looks like a human body.

Every morsel of food and drink he ever took turned into nothingness, and every drop of blood he shed was an illusion created by runes.

After peeling off the robes and bandages covering his whole body and terminating the simulation and portrayal of his face, what remains now is the core of his authenticity.

Morse tried to smile. He felt that the position of his head should have fluctuated a little.

Normally he wouldn't exist in this form unless he had to. 6̾̾

This is not because he is particularly dissatisfied with his inhuman condition, but this appearance is actually a bit rough and unpolished compared to the body he once had.

He raised his left hand, and countless flowing mantras reflected golden light under different lighting conditions, outlining his general appearance.

Even the most inconspicuous piece of incantation less than an inch long is a supreme command that directly communicates the basic rules of the real universe.

Curse.

This is how runes are called, a system distinct from psionics that directly shakes the very foundations of reality.

As for his right hand, that part of the stored curse was lost behind the curtain about fifteen thousand years ago; when it returned to its original form, his right hand also ceased to exist for the time being.

When he thought of related events, he had to mention a certain bandit who he didn't even know how to describe. After connecting that incident with Perturabo's existence, Morse found that he had finally unintentionally figured out what mysterious technology that man was tinkering with back then.

That guy never told anyone what he wanted to do.

When he stepped on the ground, the whole scene changed further. The room he was in turned into a small gold and silver cabin, and outside the cabin was a vast ocean of endless swirls of colors.

In the deep and endless space, infinite things are devouring each other and iterating every second. Fixed time and space, and even conventional physical laws are meaningless here, and there is only eternal chaos.

He exited the cabin, an ornate sail made of stitched mammal hides flying above his head. The boat was rising and falling, and from time to time there were wind and waves mixed with contemptuous and sweet laughter, telling him the course of the boat.

Morse simply sat down and let the waves of subspace guide the boat.

Then, a short half-length wooden arrow was knocked onto the ship's board by the waves and landed in front of Morse. What followed was a vague conversation.

"This is my arrow, I shot the deer!"

"Our arrows are obviously exactly the same. Don't lie, brother, this is my deer."

"But I carved a mark on the arrow shaft..."

Morse picked up the broken arrow and found a horizontal mark on the wooden pole near the arrow sword. The curse climbed from his hollow skin to the broken arrow, annihilating it instantly.

He heard the shrill laughter become more shrill, and a large bird with blue feathers flew to the top of the mast, chirping and laughing loudly.

A string of runes flew up, scorching the feathers of the big bird, causing it to fall headfirst back into the ocean.

The second thing that flew onto the ship was a piece of iron. The sound coming from it became clearer, and some hazy reflections were intercepted from time and space, stored, and replayed at this time.

Those rather ethereal things passed through truth, illusion and reality, and captured Morse again across tens of thousands of years, when he had another name.

For his first forge, some psychic energy was used to control the temperature of the furnace. There is no mentor, no companion, and his brother has other things to do - he is receiving education from a mentor from afar, the education of building a city.

He himself studied all the changes in steel and listened to the sound of flames. His experiment was of course a failure, and the iron sword broke into several deformed pieces of iron. He could hear himself sighing and distressing.

When he held the failed product and was about to use his spiritual energy to secretly roll it into small balls and throw them away, a cold and majestic force held up the failed iron piece.

A long and narrow beam of light came out from the crack of the opened door, piercing into the dark room after the fire was extinguished. The wind comes from outside the door, carrying the scent of woods and cold sun.

The illusion ended abruptly, the Warp had no ability to simulate things that did not belong to them. Morse shrugged his shoulders, picked up the broken piece of iron, and threw the illusion back into the depths of the sea.

He stood up and held the edge of the boat with one hand.

The next vision no longer relies on something concrete, nor is it so friendly.

He saw his own body - the first and only one - lying in the ditch of the half-built city, his dim eyes still open, looking at the great city. The city was to be named after his brother, and the reason for his defeat in the brotherly fight could only be described as absurd.

The heavy rain blew over the masonry and the eagle emblem on the masonry poured into the canal. Someone walked towards him from the depths of the rain curtain, and the flash of lightning made the entire scene look grim and pale.

The changing images condensed into blue bird feathers and fell on his shoulders, conveying its words before being destroyed: "Your death happened a long time ago... How can you still be a living person peacefully? You There is no way to survive like this...Do you know what happened next?"

Morse impatiently tossed a handful of feathered ashes back into the sea.

He just lived a long time, and it was not the degenerative disease of the central nervous system that caused progressive cognitive function impairment and behavioral impairment.

“He reshapes my inner being with lightning, masonry, and wind and thunder, sustains me with the spirit of sorrow and green olives, washes me and makes me whiter than snow.”

"He formed my skin from the dust of the ground, and filled my flesh with his curses."

"My spirit and the incantation are one. I am a dead man, a lasting monument, and a living book."

He is a collection of mantras, a living memory.

Morse looked at his missing right arm.

When he was under the rocks of Lupacalia, assisting the fire thief to open and close the door to the nightmare and non-material realm, going deep into the sea of ​​destruction and disorder of gods and escaping, part of the curse was in Permanently lost during use, taking away all related memories.

He still doesn't know what instructions he lost to manipulate reality back then. There is only one thing that he will probably not forget in ten thousand years.

And he didn't even know whether he should describe it as "this incident will be remembered until the end of his life." After all, he had never lived again since his first death.

"Your duties are temporarily over."

The wind of Moro blew far away, and the incandescent flames drifted away. There was burnt blood and distant thunder in the voice of the first thinker. This was the final cold revelation.

"You should leave."

So he left -

So he left.

Morse jumped out of the boat and stepped on the surface of the turbulent waves. The tide immediately receded, leaving only a chaotic golden sand plain. Looking down through his transparent body, every grain of yellow sand is the most precious and brilliant gold coin. Gold and jewels were piled up like mountains, and the whole piece of blue sapphire reflected endless gorgeous light.

He has reached the edge of bliss.

Morse raised his left hand and cursed to make a big sword emerge from the sea of ​​chaos. Then he traveled to the depths of gold.