Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Perturabo began to climb again, his gauntlets firmly grasping the broken structural frame of the Great Pyramid of Tizka. His iron boots stepped on the debris of glass and metal, as well as some wet remains of Devouring Bees hanging on the frame. . ơɱ

More than ten years ago, his consciousness was reborn during a climb and he met Morse.

A month ago, he climbed up the snowy peak, met his real father and brother at the top, and regained his identity as the emperor's son.

Today, he pulled himself up to the top of the pyramid with its tip cut off, and among the ruins saw his first brother who personally welcomed him back to the empire. The red giant sat silently under the starry sky, resting quietly against the remains of the gorgeous spire of the past. His burnt-dried red hair was scattered around his neck, and his scarlet skin as smooth as molten copper and his simple robes were soaked in sweat and blood.

The shadow blocked the upper half of Magnus's face, and the long blood trail that fell down his right cheek into his robe was like a string of dark tears under the moon, sliding across the peaceful face of the original body.

Perturabo walked up to Magnus and held out his hand simply. Magnus' tired body moved, placing his right hand into his brother's palm and allowing Perturabo to pull him to his feet.

"Magnus, the fifteenth Primarch, from Prospero." Magnus reintroduced himself. The mutilation of his face was illuminated by the light, and the terrible hollows in the thin closed eyelids made Perturabo couldn't help but hold his brother's hand tighter.

"Perturabo, from Olympia." Perturabo raised his head, put a hand on Magnus's shoulder, pulled Magnus in, and gave him a brotherly hug, the same as when he hugged. Confident whispers. "Every time within a day of seeing you, you start crying, my dear brother."

Magnus felt the warm, wet stains on his left cheek that were different from the cold, dry blood stains on his right cheek. He was grateful that Perturabo had pulled him close so that the two of them did not have to look directly into each other's faces and could express the soft truth beneath their respective shells.

"I'm sorry, Perturabo," Magnus said, wrapping his arms tightly around Perturabo. "This is all Prospero can give you. Everything is dust."

Perturabo patted Magnus on the back, "You have not lost your precious life. This is the best greeting gift, Magnus. Although I do hope that you can be more... intact."

"Seeing you again is the best gift you can give me, Perturabo."

Then Perturabo let him go, trying not to let his eyes linger on Magnus's missing right eye. The two of them looked at the mutilated earth under the golden tower.

"We can rebuild all of this." Perturabo said, "You draw the drawings and decide again how the glory of the City of Light will return. I and my army are responsible for implementing your plan. As strange as it sounds , but when it comes to completing city construction, especially stone carving, they are as enthusiastic as participating in frontline gangs. If you have time, I can make a prosthetic eye for you. "

"Oh," Magnus laughed and pointed to his empty eye sockets, "I did not use it for an irrevocable sacrifice, it was just a one-time payment for the energy entity to cast the spell...that is, from In terms of ritual significance and spiritual integrity, I did not lose my right eye permanently. Well... that is to say, as long as reasonable and effective medical rescue is carried out, non-material energy is replenished, and combined with our resilience that is difficult to explain scientifically, I can actually grow an eye again."

Perturabo was silent for a moment and said firmly: "That's good, you can grow it yourself. Where are the Morse?"

"Waiting for you to stop talking to each other." Morse walked out from behind the collapsed wall. "Is my poor little body so imperceptible, my dear two giants?"

Facing Perturabo's "why didn't you remind me" look, Magnus successfully imitated his usual innocent smile.

——

"I'm tired of hearing them show off their brotherhood." Morse stood next to Amon, leaning on the other side of the half-remaining fig trunk.

The upper part of the fig tree had been chopped off by the claws of the Devouring Bee, and was currently sinking in the pond, announcing their misfortune together with the ruined duckweeds.

He turned his head and caught a glimpse of Amon's hair with his peripheral vision: "Can you imagine, a big red man who stood up straight and was taller than me was actually crying tears? Even a child can't shed tears." I think it’s cute.”

"You look familiar, sir." Amon said. The scholar who had been busy treating patients for days looked a little haggard. In fact, everyone in the city was exhausted. One moment he was sleeping, and the next moment he was hit in the face by a Soul Eater Bee. He tried to escape in panic, and the next moment he found that everything around him was burned down. This was definitely not something that ordinary minds in Tizka could bear. stimulation.

Perhaps the only thing that can comfort them is that those who still have clothes on when sleeping will not sit naked in the ruins of their houses in despair, praying that the passing iron-gray giants will not notice their neglected and unexercised bodies.

"I did see you," Morse said, "during Magnus's previous pause."

"And in the prophecy I saw," said Amon, "the wolves destroyed Tizca. You stood in the brown-black oil and fire, and mocked Prospero as you now mock my words."

"I'm not laughing at you." Morse rubbed the muscles on his face, "You can think of it as my fixed expression, and it's really not easy to change it."

Amon nodded calmly: "But there are many deviations between the facts and the predictions. I am not sure whether this is caused by the incomplete mapping of images and objects."

"Like there are no wolves?"

"There is no fire either."

"Then let it go," Morse said. "Thanks to an adventure in the past two days, I have read at least nine hundred and ninety-nine new prophecies. It is obvious that they cannot all come true. Then you have to follow Magnus returns to Terra?"

"I'll go to Terra."

"See you later, Scholar," Morse said. "I look forward to seeing you in the Fifteenth Legion."

Amon smiled gently. Morse turned and left.

Neither of them mentioned that the prophecy is completely different from the real scene. Apart from the fact that the prophecy is just an image, there is another interpretation, that is, the prophecy has not actually happened yet, and the real crisis still lurks deep in the dark mist.

However, in these days of post-disaster reconstruction, no one really wants to talk about this fruitless topic.

——

In the far corner of the vast Milky Way, someone was bending over. His mortal hands, whose skin was chapped by the sun all year round, reached into the sand and groped for the outline of a wooden box.

Confused, he took out the wooden box, brushed off the dust, and opened the dark wooden lid that had endured for many years.

A mysterious ancient book written in an unknown language is placed intact in the box. Maybe it has been waiting here for thousands of years, or maybe it just appeared yesterday.

The flock of birds hovering in the sky gradually disappeared. After the mortals took out the ancient books, the strange birds that had been spinning around for days seemed to be suddenly satisfied and finally left forever together with their sharp chirping.