Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

What nonsense is that fool talking about? Damn, cursed, life-threatening, gibbering mad prince, he deserves to be dragged into the lake of drowning by the supreme and corrupt heaven, stuffed into the boat without sails, and put him Throw him across the sea and fall forever, never speak a word again, never utter a prophetic syllable, cut off his hand, tear his paper, and prevent him from making a pattern worthy of death!

Morse took a breath, calmed his breathing, and put the pen that had been hanging for a long time back on the pen holder. The pen holder collapsed due to stress.

He knocked on the table, and the ink, the broken pen holder, and the broken quill automatically recovered one after another.

Andos didn't know what to do, and he even regretted taking Morse to meet his crazy brother.

Although he didn't know what crazy words Cruz and Morse said, the craftsman couldn't control his emotions. Not to mention he hadn't seen it, I'm afraid his apprentice Perturabo had never seen it either.

"Mr. Morse," he struggled to speak, controlling his volume very carefully. Perhaps he didn't have such concentration when carving the smallest objects, "my brother is a madman... no matter what he says, Whatever, please...don't take it to heart."

"Do you know what he said?" Morse leaned back, and the wicker chair suddenly fell back. After a few shakes, it stopped worryingly.

His eyes were staring straight at Andros, making the prince's heart tremble.

"Did he say something offensive?" the prince asked worriedly. "Cruz is always like this. He has a set of prophecies that he claims to have? He will say a few words that are impossible to happen, such as the wolf will eat the wolf. These words about the heart of God...please don't take them too seriously, Morse.

Morse quietly placed his index finger on the center of his eyebrows, placed his thumb on the side of his temple, and placed the other three fingers along the bridge of his nose in sequence, with his little finger resting on the tip of his nose.

After a long time, he opened his eyes, and he seemed to have regained his previous calmness and even coldness.

"He said something deeply offensive, Prince," Morse said dryly. "Something that deserves to be cursed a thousand times. His prophecy negates everything I have done."

His hands dropped from his face, hanging down naturally, along the edge of the desk and drawers to his knees. Stored in one of the drawers are the fleeting records he has written over the years.

"I don't think there is any possibility of what he predicted happening, Prince; any unauthorized speculation about the future is a clear insult to my craft."

If that was the future, did he die in the process?

Was he doing nothing by allowing his apprentice to be taken away, defeated, and corrupted?

Or maybe in that historical section, he was never resurrected after his first death - that would be great!

"Since it's just nonsense from his hysteria, there's no need to worry about it." Prince Andros persuaded him kindly.

Morse exhaled again, maintaining his superficial rationality.

Yes, he didn't have to be consumed by rage.

This was not his first encounter with a prophet; how to extract potentially valid information from the prophecies and ignore those irrelevant branches of events should have been something he had already become proficient in.

"You're right, Andros." He tasted a hint of unresolved anger deep in his words. "Nothing is going to happen." "

Andos still couldn't make up his mind. His ability to empathize tells him that Morse still has a lot of burning anger in his heart, but his noble sense of morality does not allow him to leave just now.

Even though he knew full well that it was Morse who had first questioned the ceremony they were hosting, and it was Morse who asked to see his mad brother.

"Let's talk about something else, Mr. Morse."

Andos persuaded softly, his eyes roaming around a small area in the room that did not involve privacy, and finally picked a topic that he thought would never cause any further complications.

He looked at the bottles of paint on Morse's desk: "What craft work have you been working on recently, Mr. Morse? There is so much content in the meeting, I rarely guess it correctly."

"Some miniature models." Morse picked up a small sculpture about one finger high from the table.

The color on the sculpture was only half-painted, and was thrown aside by the creator according to his impatient routine, so that the model was only distinguished by the main colors of each area, and neither light, shadow nor material effects had yet to be processed.

"Do you want to take it to see?"

Andos took the model with both hands and observed it carefully.

Even if the creator was particularly good at quitting things halfway, Andros was still fascinated by Morse's own basic skills that would make anyone amazed and ashamed.

The prince laughed and asked sincerely: "Can you allow me to try to finish the coloring process?"

"Have you finished the draft I gave you last time?"

"Not yet, I always feel that I can't handle the intersection between the waves and the rocks in that painting..."

"Forget your inherent colors, prince. Think of environmental colors. As a hint, the shadow of the left half of the rock is purple, and the shadow of the right half of the rock is green."

Andos's eyes lit up, and he felt very happy about the new artistic inspiration: "I will try it when I get back, thank you."

Holding the slender little model in his hand, he was anxious to go back and complete the exercise he had been worrying about for a long time. However, his mood did not improve much after seeing Morse, and he really couldn't leave.

If Perturabo were here, Mr. Morse would have recovered his mood soon: when they were in the same place, they could often achieve a natural harmony through mutual sarcasm and dislike - but Perturabo was outside the city wall, about to fight for Lokos, and Andos knew that he could not pull this savior with him.

With the mentality of trying one last time, Andos cast his eyes on a new work he had never seen before.

It looked like a half-finished emblem, with a jagged iron wall forming a circle with a gap, and in the middle were inlaid with gold gears, steel hammers and emerald mountains.

The most noteworthy thing is that there seemed to be some mysterious characteristics on the work. He couldn't tell what it was, but he felt that the emblem seemed to be covered with fascinating sacred power, although cold, but clean.

Morse did not stop his observation, which gave Andos the courage to ask his question.

He tried to be polite and not too pretentious and asked: "Is this your latest idea, Mr. Morse?"

Morse's intriguing expression made him feel a little cold.

"You are indeed obsessed with art, Prince." He said, picking up the emblem with his fingertips wrapped in black cloth and handing it to Andos personally.

"Touch him, Prince."

Andos did it without knowing why.

The moment his hand touched the emblem, a cold but pure power suddenly penetrated his whole body. He bathed in it, and felt that his body and mind were purified, and the various distracting thoughts that were not many to begin with were burned away.

When he came to his senses, the drop of water dripping from the water clock told him that not even a second had passed.

He returned the emblem and asked curiously: "The feeling just now... is it a gift?"

Morse nodded, and his gaze finally made people feel the warmth of his usual days: "Just treat it as it is, Prince."

Morse chatted with the prince for a few more words and sent him away.

The matter finally confused him completely.

If Andos, who is obsessed with art, has not been polluted, and the crazy psychic Cruz is also safe, then who will suffer the disaster?

He picked up the emblem and played with it in his hand, and Cruz's prophecy was still like a heavy stone in his heart.

The prophecy itself should not be taken seriously. No matter whether the content is reasonable or not, whether it will happen or not, he only does what he should do.

Morse supported his chin and turned the emblem upside down on the table.

The problem that really needs to be taken seriously is that he has smelled too many annoying and dirty evils from everywhere.

The essence of the prophecy is the erosion of the vast ocean into reality, which is the most important piece of information among all.

The curtain of evil thoughts has been quietly lifted, and he must find the damn gap.