Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"This is the first time this hospital bed has been used." Perturabo sat in the iron chair next to the hospital bed, watching the lines on the data screen fluctuate at a steady rate, so he removed several nerve transmission lines and used coils to connect the brain The last bundle of cables is tied and secured. "To treat a seriously injured brother."

The giant who was undoubtedly his brother was still lying in the hospital bed, but his tall and strong body showed a great contrast in weakness and damage. Even in his unconscious state, he would occasionally growl in pain from his throat.

After washing away the blood all over his body, several shocking scars were crisscrossed on his rough skin. The bloody gash at his throat cut by an ax was particularly eye-catching. He was finally knocked unconscious by a concussion grenade before he was knocked unconscious, which saved his life.

Relying on the extraordinary self-healing power of the Primarch and the precious medicine spray temporarily prepared by the pharmacist, these wounds gradually recovered at a speed that could be observed with the naked eye. This was almost all the Apothecaries Astartes could do for a Primarch who was physiologically almost another creature.

Perturabo rubbed his brows with two fingers, making his frown less stiff.

Dorn closed the door of the ward and strode to the bedside with his message and the golden armor that he had not yet taken off. When he observed this brother, he still maintained a stone-cold expression, but his hand did accidentally break off the steel guardrail of the hospital bed.

He silently put down the broken guardrail: "This city, which the locals call Desia, has been completely taken over by us. The gladiators in the arena have temporarily requisitioned the empty palace for resettlement."

Rogal Dorn's takeover often means the collective imprisonment of the ruling class, the key incarceration of leaders, and the general martial law of the civilian population. Perturabo was accustomed to such simplifications.

"One Terra hour," said Perturabo, "and thirty-seven minutes. Where is the old gladiator who appeared in the arena with this brother?"

"Still out of rescue," Dorn replied. "He was severely injured and had many old injuries on his body that were not healed."

"I think we have to revive him," Perturabo whispered. "I can feel how important this old man is to our brothers."

Both he and Rogal Dorn understood the depth of the relationship a mortal could form with a Primarch. With the exception of Horus Luperkar and the unknown Second Primarch, each of the known brothers had an extremely deep emotional connection to their home planet, which is what binds people to each other. A concentrated place of emotional connection.

Even Leman Russ has two giant wolves who are so close that they want to hang out with each other every day.

"I learned the local language, and a female gladiator named Kleist told me that our brother's name was Angron, and he was the most famous warrior in the Desia gladiatorial arena."

"Do they trust you?" Perturabo did not turn his head, his eyes still fixed on the data board monitoring Angron's vital signs.

"No," Dawn said, pronouncing the word with more emphasis than usual.

The more guarded they were, the more the myriad sufferings Angron and his companions had endured were highlighted.

Perturabo took a breath, and the blood mist on the sand almost merged with his brother named Angron. Even in the Iron Blood, the blood in the red sand still had no way to escape. As he stared at the data screen, the sight of Angron's scarred body in his peripheral vision made his heart tremble in his chest.

"This kind of thing always happens." Perturabo said, aware of the unnatural tremor at the end of his voice. "The galaxy is so vast, there are destined to be a group of people living in the purgatory of water and fire. And our brothers, too, are One of many lives.”

"We will change everything." Dorn said solemnly, and the certainty in his words proved that this was not even a promise or an oath to him, but just a piece of common sense that did not require thinking. "When will Angron wake up?" ? This is his home planet and he has the right to decide the future of his own planet."

"have no idea."

Perturabo finally looked away from the data screen. His eyes immediately fell on Angron, or his attention had long been taken away by the pain of his brother's coma.

If he were to deal with the planet, he would launch a complete cleansing. Perturabo thought, and decided to stand up and take steps to kill the accumulated emotions.

"When he wants to wake up. I've been sitting for a long time, so get up and walk around. Do you need to sit down?"

Rogal Dorn nodded, changed places with Perturabo, and sat down in the iron chair with his golden armor on his back.

"He'll wake up," said Dorn, whose anger was often not easily observed on the surface. "The bound slave owners throughout the arena are waiting for his decision."

"And his companions. I watched today's battle scene recorded in the electronic component. Our brothers attach great importance to their companions, even though there are only two people alive today - including himself, and the old gladiator on the edge of life and death. ”

Perturabo lingered silently beside the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles in his linen robe, and then realized that the blood on his brother's body had smeared on himself from the contact in the care.

He should change into a clean robe, but he didn't want to accidentally miss his brother's awakening because of his absence for a few minutes.

Perturabo put his hand on the guardrail on the other side, controlling his strength so as not to break the guardrail on this side as well. He began to prepare his opening remarks, which made him realize that he was rarely nervous.

Angron was different from every brother he had ever seen. From Horus Luperkar to Rogal Dorn, except for Magnus, who was too naive at the time, they all showed mature and complete attitudes. Hold each other’s arms.

Only Angron. When he saw the giant and decided to commit suicide, it was difficult to judge whether Angron was mature, but his brokenness was obvious.

Perturabo recalled that when he first met Rogal Dorn, he had secretly vowed to prove that Rogal Dorn was the only one who could mistake the referent of a long list of titles.

If the person he met by chance today was not Angron, he would definitely call out the more than ten catchy nicknames he had made up in his mind.

But he must not say to Angron, "I am the Lord of the Olympian Kings, the Conqueror under the banner of the Aquila, the Ruler of hundreds of stars."

He was not selfish enough to reopen the scars on his brother's psyche the first moment he woke up. Even if you add hypocritical modifications such as "caring for the people", it will definitely not work.

Not long after, a message came from the pharmacist Titus. Although Onomamos still has difficulty waking up, he is out of danger and his vital signs are stable. The two Primarchs breathed a sigh of relief as they came face to face.

After that, after another period of time, the amplitude of a sinusoidal line on the data screen suddenly expanded. Perturabo was shocked and nodded to Dorn, indicating that Angron was about to wake up.

The greeting rolled to his lips, I am Perturabo, your brother. We finally found you. he thinks. This should be enough.

Angron's eyelids kept trembling, and suddenly, his eyes opened with unexpected calmness, and he scanned the surrounding environment with an alertness that was close to boredom.

"Hello, I……"

Just as Perturabo spoke, he heard Angron roar angrily and pounced on Rogal Dorn, punching the unsuspecting Dorn into the wall with his body and his golden armor.

The gladiator's wound burst open again and blood spilled out. He turned back and stared at Perturabo's face, the deep sadness in his brass eyes striking directly into the latter's heart.

"Did he drive the nails into you!" the soldier growled, "Don't be afraid, tell me, was it him!"