Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Frix was one of the first warriors to gather at the space port where the Iron Morning Star was to dock. To be precise, the moment the list was read out, he turned around and headed all the way to the designated location for the vehicle to stay.

He was accompanied by some unsparing battle brothers, such as the only war blacksmith selected in this mission, Bill Perrin. This excellent naval commander was an outlier among the Iron Warriors. Sometimes when looking at the sea of ​​stars, he would show a little melancholy that was different from others. The brothers joked that he must have written a collection of war poems in private. Regardless, he returned to Terra with nothing.

After the transport truck was full, they were sent to the port to wait. What surprised Fricks and even all the first batch of warriors who arrived was that Perturabo was on the platform of the port, taking off his helmet and holding it in his hands. Alone in the wind whistling high in the sky, I waited for their arrival.

"You are here." Perturabo said, as if he was suddenly awakened from his meditation, and his complex and huge thinking had just returned to the reality of Nuceria from an infinite distance.

Outsiders would definitely think that the stern and sculptured facial lines of the Iron Lord at this time symbolized some kind of coldness before the outbreak. However, the Iron Warrior knew that the Gene Father actually had amazing tolerance and tolerance for his people.

So far, his anger has only been fully demonstrated in battles against enemies, while the wrongdoers among his descendants have been more likely to get fleeting disappointment - even if the cold disappointment is far more hurtful than the angry roar. .

"You are here early. Don't have anything to bring?" asked Perturabo, allowing the group of armored heirs to gather around him.

Everyone shook their heads. Frix was thinking of Ahriman, who claimed to live in the library and refuse visitors these days. He looked back on his last conversation with his friend and felt that the effect was actually pretty good, so he didn't dwell on it anymore.

Perturabo breathed slowly, the cables above his head reflecting silver light meekly.

"Don't you need your poetry collection, Bill?" he asked from the warsmith, and his words confirmed the rumors among the warriors.

Frix looked towards his brother nicknamed "The Good Captain" and caught the sound of power armor locking in the air. He could imagine that many of the thirty or so brothers present were secretly laughing in their hearts.

"No need, Father." Bill Perrin said dullly. "I……"

"What's wrong?" asked Perturabo. "This is your hobby, are you considering giving it up?"

The war blacksmith was silent for a second.

"No, Father. I just think..." He hesitated, but his trust in Perturabo allowed him to finish the rest of his words while feeling a surge of heat in his ears: "This sounds like a new life. , so I should write a whole new book of poems.”

"That's fine," said Perturabo, "or I'll have to ask my other smiths if they reacted inappropriately when you shared your poetry."

"We're brothers," Bill said, his voice amplifying.

"Okay, I will see for you whether Sachin Roy secretly dug out your poetry collection and published it in your market. Bob, what about you? You don't need to say goodbye to your captain?"

"He will definitely give me his carvings," Bob said, speaking particularly candidly as he no longer had to meet the team leader. "But his skills are very poor. I don't want to spend decades in secret missions wearing shoulder pads." There’s an ugly pendant hanging on it.”

There were bursts of laughter from some steel helmets, and a smile also flashed in Perturabo's ice-blue eyes. These warriors who were about to leave the expedition team seemed to be in a better mood than he imagined, which was why he came here today to wait in advance - he was not sure how the Iron Warriors viewed this secret mission.

"What about you?" The Iron Lord lowered his head and scanned the crowd. Being able to identify the identity of the warrior inside the armor at a glance through identical armor of the same series may be a universal talent of the Primarch, or it may be Perturabo's personal ability. "Kaidomo Frix? Won't you say goodbye to Azak Ahriman?"

"He's doing research," Fricks said honestly. "When he made up his mind, no one could find him."

"Okay," Perturabo pondered, but still asked a question he was worried about: "Do you think that my decision is too rash, and you have doubts about the unknown mission? Are you really willing? Accept this sudden instruction?"

This caused Fricks' confusion. He did not understand the concerns in the words of the genetic father. He could only express his thoughts sincerely: "I do, father."

"Even if you don't know anything about the upcoming mission?"

"We knew we were going to contribute to the resurgence of humanity," Fricks said. "That's all I needed to know."

Perturabo's question remained unanswered. He knew that Frix was not being perfunctory, but this was not enough to answer his worries. Then his warsmith spoke.

"We are warriors, father." Bill said in a soft tone different from most iron warriors. His sensitivity may be the unique talent of this poet-like warrior. "We love you, not only because you are our genetic father." , Lord of the Legion. Our love and obedience come from our same dream. It has nothing to do with the external conditions that fix our mutual position. What we love is you."

——

"How?" Morse said, playing with the little soldiers on the table. "Are you made shy by the children?"

"No." Perturabo of Terra said, tearing off the drawing paper covered with messy sketches, balling it up and throwing it into the wastebasket, but it fell outside because it was not thrown correctly. He stretched out his arm to pick up the paper ball and put it in the wastebasket.

"This is what you have to ask yourself." Morse said with a smile, "You yourself have underestimated the determination of your soldiers. They are not the vast majority of citizens under your rule. For the rewards they can get for their efforts, , endure a certain degree of difficulty - in fact, these warriors do not feel that they are enduring difficulties at all. Their inner drive is extremely noble and powerful, and the glorious cause unprecedented in human history is itself pursued by the Astartes."

"They go on expeditions for their ideals. For them, the opportunity to pay is itself the reward."

"They are warriors," Perturabo repeated.

"My Lord of Iron." Morse flipped the switch behind the soldier, "After so many years of fighting, do you realize it?"

The crudely made soldier automatically wielded the sword with a somewhat clumsy momentum driven by mechanical power. Perturabo let the little soldier come to his palm, deftly opened its shell, and began to help Morse perfect this overly simple robot. He couldn't bear to let this little soldier with yellow and black shoulder armor continue to throw around.

"I have seen it coming," said Perturabo. "When will the War Hounds arrive in Nuceria?"

"Oh, you keep your head up over there," Morse said. "The Steel Morning Star has set sail. Don't continue blowing wind on the platform. Be careful of being hit by the drop pod."

——

"You're here, Kahn." Jaeger said, with a strange expression that Kahn had never seen before.

Although this battle-hardened captain used all the self-control an Astartes could muster to maintain his apparent composure, the subtle changes in the movements of many muscle groups on his body and the adrenaline secreted by his body due to emotional changes Chemical substances such as toxins still exposed his emotions. He didn't look like he had just met his genetic father, but rather like he had narrowly escaped from a pressing battle.

What is even more difficult to understand is that Kahn did not smell any bloody smell from him that truly symbolized the impending crisis.

Kahn pointed to the door, and the company commander nodded to him. They all know that their Primarch is waiting in this room, but the difference is that Jagger has just walked out of it, and Kahn is about to enter.

It was the third hour that the Resolute Resolve was docked in orbit around Nuceria, and their Primarch, after boarding the massive ship, seemed determined to return to the Hall of Triumph that the War Hounds had built for their Primarch. Inside, he met individually with his legion commanders in order.

This was not a shocking decision, but the entire battleship did fall into silent silence because none of the company commanders who entered the room—except Jaeger who came out to watch the door—came out again. The decks and corridors, usually noisy with the clamor of Astartes warriors and weapons testing, fell into a mysterious silence.

Kahn listened to the voice behind the door. Behind this door, he also only captured a strange silence, like a large battlefield where only flying dust was still moving, and the hail of bullets had subsided. He didn't know what it meant.

If this happened normally, Kahn might have raised his vigilance to the highest level, but facing this ordinary hatch in front of him, he was strangely unable to raise any negative vigilance - he couldn't even find a trace of uneasiness in his heart. .

Before meeting the Primarch, Kahn had already placed his emotions on him, and his blood began to flow faster just at the thought of meeting the Gene-Father.

"Here..." Kahn gestured to the door, asking Jagger with his eyes why he was acting so strangely, and why his eyebrows and facial muscles were still trembling.

"Be prepared, Kahn." Jaeger said, the corner of his mouth twitching, "Accept him."

"He is the core of our bloodline," Kahn said. "He is the one we should follow. He brings us a mission, and all we need is to obey."

Jaeger turned his face away, his expression extremely stiff. Kahn noticed that the dazzling ornaments on the blue and white formal dress that Jaeger wore to welcome the original body today had disappeared, but the lightning bolt's coat of arms was still on his shoulders as a symbol of war merit.

He couldn't imagine why, but he didn't think about it any further. Apparently this was the Primarch's decision.

Kahn gave a final nod to Jaeger and knocked on the door.

He still remembered that he heard the news that the Sixth Legion was lucky enough to find the original body in the training ground. When Perturabo returned to Terra, they were exploring unknown crises in a wild world. He still vividly remembered how the calmed Ninth Legion described the Primarch of the Fourth Legion they had seen with their own eyes, and every piece of news made him expect more of his Primarch's appearance.

Ever since they learned on Terra that Angron had asked to see them, Karn's heart had never been at peace. They arrived without delay, even temporarily ignoring the occasional strange behavior of the astropaths on the ship.

"Come in." He heard a low thunder as if ringing in his ears, knocking on the blood vessels connected to his heart.

His teeth were clenched with excitement, and he completely ignored the very light laughter that seemed to come from where Jagger was behind him.

The door lock automatically unlocked, and in front of him, a deep staircase stretched silently. Kahn walked inside without fear, and the door closed again behind him, blocking out the light. Darkness and silence enveloped him together.

The stairs were long and low, making Kahn, who had come here more than once, feel strangely unfamiliar.

Kahn began to think that Jaeger might have played a little scare trick. He didn't know why this captain with a poor sense of humor suddenly had this leisure. The dark vision that was usually closely related to crisis did not affect Kahn's thinking at all. In fact, he felt an inexplicable warmth. And Kahn believed in his combat instincts.

Kiel, Kunna, Anchiz... His brothers should be here, in the same hall with the Primarch, so long, in silence. He felt envious.

His steps moved forward steadily, and then slightly faster.

Gene Primarch. He thought.

He breathed and stepped forward, hoping that his dress would remain flat during the movement. He never wore such restrictive clothes, but like other brothers, Kahn sincerely hoped to give the Primarch a good enough first impression.

Suddenly, something seemed to be heard from the darkness, followed by a gust of wind rushing towards him. Kahn instinctively reached behind him, then controlled his hand and withdrew the action of trying to take out the battle axe that he was not wearing at the moment.

When a warm and grand touch overwhelmed him, took him away, messed up his dress, and made him lose all the ability to think and even breathe in an instant, Kahn's body softened uncontrollably, the hot sensation vibrated his nerves and flesh, and the strong emotions gushing from his heart mixed his thoughts into a ball.

The temperature of the earth and the red sand was embracing him in the form of arms around his body, and his arms were hot. He didn't understand what was happening at the moment, and the excessive information and emotions took away Kahn's clear consciousness. His hands were numb as if he had lost touch, his soul was screaming silently, and the urge to cry made the whole world start to spin around his spine. The hot breath rolled over his cheeks and blew directly into his brain. In the Triumphal Hall, the lights came on and the laughter of the surrounding battle brothers suddenly burst out, as if they were coming from across the deep water, unrecognizable and difficult to respond to.

After a long while, Kahn's brain began to work again, splitting and combining the information that his senses could understand one by one, so that he could understand who he was and where he was again.

A face, the face of the Primarch, was right in front of him. So strange, so familiar. He saw the shadows of countless legion brothers in the Primarch's bronze skin and jawline, and the Primarch's golden eyes selflessly accommodated the true meaning of all words and entities in the world. All the waiting was fulfilled here, and all the questions were answered. The past years were given an end. In the arms of the Gene Father, Kahn was born for the second time.

"Don't be dazed, child." Angron said, stopping his hug, still squatting in front of his offspring, and covering Kahn's shoulders with his broad hands instead.

His low voice was gentler than anyone else in the world, as if it had echoed in Kahn's life and soul thousands of times.

"It's not easy to hug you. As long as the light is on, if I take one step forward, you will take three steps back. I am Angron, what's your name?" "Captain of the 8th Assault Company, Kahn." Kahn heard himself say, annoyed by the uncontrolled flatness of his voice, "Father, my life belongs to you."