Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 504 Phoenix in the Mirror (1)

Taiwan Novel Network→𝗍𝗐𝗄𝖺𝗇.𝖼𝗈𝗆

The Cadian people are deep here, Fulgrim thought, looking for a way forward in the vague and changing environment.

Colorful arcs of light moved before Fulgrim's eyes, clinging to the unpredictable material. Their structures are constantly reorganized, complex and psychedelic. Instead of helping, his superhuman senses made everything more confusing. Countless lines and sounds are intertwined, like overlapping phantoms, bringing an unbearable sense of oppression.

Is he still walking in the real world? Stepping on some actual object? Or does every step he takes fall between different realities? Can't be sure.

He looked at his steel arm, and there was a flash of silver light, and his eyes stopped for a moment. Is this the arm given to him by Ferus, or is the shadow of Ferus emerging in his heart? Ferus...has he sunk? No, he couldn't believe that.

There were many low shadows on the surrounding ground. He walked past shadow after shadow step by step. These shadows were lying on the ground, as if they were longing for something in the depths. Dazzling purple light attached to those bodies, gradually evolving into a piercing scream, emanating from their shadows...

These sound waves exist both within and outside the range of human hearing, which seems to prove that Fulgrim is not within the scope of humans. But he didn't care, he didn't want to think so much. He came here for only one purpose. That's taking who he needs to take.

He walked through the long corridor, and it was so dark here - the ground pulsed softly and warmly, like living organs, and many decorative rune stands stood upright around the path. Sixty and six. Just standing there, sixty and six. The continuous shelves formed a wave-like arc, sixty-six and six.

Is this part of some ritual? Those unsolved blasphemous runes were carved on the wall, radiating into his brain along with the reverberating roar.

Fulgrim whispered to himself: Where is Ferrus? Because he has gone very deep, and one question is enough to clarify his path forward. His heart and will can always point to a direction. He has this belief.

He sensed more shining spots, those fractals of heavy oil paint winding into long hair-like lines, or ripples in the water. He vaguely saw something ahead. But it’s hard to see clearly.

It seemed to be a series of tall shadows, like the black paint on the back of the mercury in the mirror. Each one is the same height as the Primarch, but has extra limbs or some obvious disability. Some of them are made of flesh and blood, some of them are not. This complex combination of styles reminded him of Ferus frequently.

He was afraid that Ferus was one of them—really? Will he turn into such a terrifying shadow? Is it something so twisted that it loses its identity?

No, he didn't believe it. Even if he were to transform, Ferus would not be so ordinary. He was an unusual person from the moment he was born.

In the stories he told him, even if he didn't describe it himself, Fulgrim knew that he was always Medusa's first ray of light. This sometimes becomes a confirmation of Fulgrim's own existence... As good as Ferrus is, he is as good as he is. This was the case before, and now this subtle emotion has gradually changed, but the result is the same.

A mirror - yes, a mirror. It was like he was currently facing mirror-like black shadows, reflecting his own shadow.

... He faintly heard a whisper, the voice seemed to come from those dark shadows, with some kind of mockery and contempt. "Look at how stupid and imperfect you are...how stupid you are when you look at yourself in the mirror. You can't bear the afterimages of your flaws. Your heart is filled with dust. How dare you deceive yourself..."

The sound was like corrosive venom, slowly seeping into Fulgrim's consciousness. He couldn't help but frown, raised his head and looked around.

"Imperfect?" Fulgrim muttered to himself, and that voice made him feel a cold sense of self-doubt for a moment. He quickly realized that this was the result of the intentional influence of the source of power here, and tried to put it all behind him... Was he really as powerful as Ferus? Are they really mirrors of each other? Or is it that he has just been hiding under Ferus's light, relying on the other party's strength to cover up his own shortcomings...

He raised his hand as if he wanted to touch the shadows, but his fingers stopped in mid-air.

No! It was an extremely boring manipulation method. Fulgrim drove away the noise, took back his hand, and swung his sword to shatter the mirror-like shadow he almost touched.

At this point in time, couldn't he still not see through which voices were his true thoughts and which things he should really be worried about? Then his life was in vain, and Ferus was his friend in vain.

He went forward.

The fog gradually took shape, forming a huge pit in the depths, like the reflection of an eye in the sky, a dangerous abyss and rift full of fear. Various huge inhuman reflections still existed around him, and some traces of clothing could be vaguely discerned. Fulgrim began to realize that these things were transformed beings from the natives of Cadia.

The souls and essence of these Heavenly Eye cultists have disappeared under the gaze of the cracks in the sky and the earth. All they have left are these twisted, praying shadows.

And rivers. A river that smells of incense and psychedelics. Surges along the stairs into the deep valley, like blood flowing from a cave.

A sacrifice. The word immediately appeared in Fulgrim's mind.

Fulgrim took a deep breath and continued along the path, sixty and six steps. He counted one staircase, sixty and six steps, and then the next. Numbers have meaning. It didn't mean enough to stop him. Whatever it was, he knew where he was.

He smiled brightly. Yes, he knew these were not Ferus. He could tell. Ferus was as bright and striking as he was.

He stepped deeper and deeper into the darkness, his goal always the same - to find Ferus and get him away from this chaos.

There is a deepest shadow in the deepest place. The existence of this shadow is larger, more blurry and illusory. No, that's a portal, a portal to the next space. Going deeper, it's not where Cardia's reflection is.

Fulgrim stepped in calmly. The road beneath his feet became smooth again, even resembling the obsidian smooth ground when he came. Here, the flaming sword in his hand turned into a dim flame, almost blown away by the pressure and strong wind.

Sixty-six steps later, he began to feel a faint purple light falling from an infinitely high light source in the sky, and gradually spread to the surroundings until it reflected countless lacquer and glaze pictures embedded on the walls. and Linlang Jewelry. All these cold inorganic substances are moving organically and have some kind of activity.

In addition, there are many reflective objects as bright as mirrors. The luster and structure of the metal are constantly changing, and the surrounding walls seem to sometimes come closer and sometimes move away, with elusive rhythms and changes, like a never-ending mirror maze.

And gradually a different wind sound came from the depths, as cold as Medusa's polar regions, so cold that it gave the illusion of heat - this was like Medusa's volcano again.

The light continued to spread, illuminating a human figure.

Is it humanoid? Maybe. In other words, this is such a huge machine, motionless and stagnant, covered in bright silver mirror-like mercury metallic luster; the skin of its chest turns into hollow tempered glass, revealing the two stars inside like crystal. The silver heart is like a carefully designed clock, made of countless perfect gears.

But its lower limbs were a turbid fusion of flesh and blood, wrapped in purple smoke and gauze-like mist, dragging heavily on the ground. If you look carefully, you will see that it is a complex existence made up of more than a hundred corpses. It is horrifying but exquisitely designed. They are connected to each other without any gaps. It is so technically exquisite and wonderful... but also so twisted and far away from human beings. Very far.

Fugre took a deep breath and saw his extremely pale face in the mercury on the mirror.

He saw him...he knew he saw him. So much steel attached to him made him no longer like himself. What is that? No... this is not the real Ferus, Ferus is just overlapping with this terrifying machine. He barely remembered what the maid had said: Ferrus resisted all this.

He hasn't really become anything irredeemable. Fulgrim was convinced of this. So where is he? Emperor, his heart is beating so fast.

At first, he stood frozen on the spot, unable to move, but this silent thought only lasted less than a second. Fulgrim stepped forward, letting the cold wind blow his white hair.

Then he stretched out his hand, that silver hand, toward the machine that seemed to have not been started.

"Ferrus, are you there?" Fulgrim asked, looking at it unblinkingly and tilting his head slightly.

The thing didn't answer him. Its gorgeous and weird appearance breathed quietly, like a mirror, tilting his head at the same angle toward Fulgrim.

"I'm coming," Fulgrim said softly. "Let me take you away, Ferus. I know you want to leave."

Because I know you that way.

Fulgrim took another step forward. His steel hands penetrated unhindered into the furnace of the steel machine in front of him, as if the glass did not exist, and intuitively grasped a heart - this should be the position of the engine, from the mechanical structure In terms of.

Meanwhile, Fulgrim continued to stare at the machine.

The machine was trembling slightly, the parts trembling in its depths, and a heat rose, burning Fulgrim's silver hands.

"Ferrus, are you there?" Fulgrim asked dryly, expecting some sound to come from the communicator in his armor.

Ferus shouldn't be unresponsive. He believed Ferrus saw him and heard him. After all he called him.

Maybe he just couldn't wake up from this pile.

Fulgrim carefully took out his silver hand and exchanged the flaming sword into this hand. Then Fulgrim stretched out his other hand, and his flesh and blood hand reached into the chest of the machine.

His hand was immediately scratched by the mercury. An icy hypothermia chased his blood. Fulgrim was unmoved, and the golden and red light was injected into the steel organ of the machine, like a new and fresh energy, gradually filling the heart, calling out to the dormant existence inside the machine.

Fulgrim faintly heard some sounds. He didn't ask Ferrus if he could hear him again - at this point, he suddenly began to worry that the other party wouldn't answer.

The veil covering the machine also spread over Fulgrim's body along the place where they were close. It seemed to bring some stinging pain, but it was not obvious because his senses had become dulled unconsciously. His pain threshold was quietly increasing. And he saw that the arm that was injecting blood into the machine had become translucent, as if the skin and flesh itself had turned into a layer of veil.

When the mechanical heart began to beat, Fulgrim still did not hear Ferrus's voice. He could not wake him up so easily... Then, he had to stop.

This power was traveling to the whole body of the machine. If it continued, it would most likely be the lower half of the machine's corpse combination that would be awakened.

Fulgrim grabbed the mechanical heart with one hand. With the other hand, he gently placed the flaming sword on the chest of the machine in front of him, and the tip of the sword gradually slid up along the chest, exploring the unusual perception. He knew that if he found the right place, Ferrus would respond to him. He had such trust.

Finally, his sword stopped near the neck of the machine.

Is this the place? Fulgrim muttered to himself, recalling his limited knowledge of the occult… the head, the mind?

The head of the machine was a faceless skull, with no pattern except for the flowing mercury of metal. Was Ferrus' mind here? Was his dormant self lodged in this iron head?

Yes, perhaps, this was indeed one of the few parts of the whole machine that was not decorated. And Fulgrim decided to trust his heart.

He had to be calm.

Even so, for a very rare moment in his life, Fulgrim heard himself pray. By the Emperor. He heard himself say this.

Then, he pinched his glass-like hands hard, and blood spurted out instantly, each drop of blood was a spark, lighting the furnace inside the steel, destroying a large part of the internal structure, trying to reduce any possible hidden dangers - even if he had a strong doubt that this was Ferrus's transformed body. At the same time, he swung his sword vigorously. With a heart-breaking sound, the head of the machine was cut off and fell into his arms.

Fulgrim's heart was beating wildly: Did I do the right thing? He couldn't help asking himself, hugging the faceless head tightly.

The machine in front of him was shaking violently, and part of the twisted limbs of the lower body fell off and burned in his flames, turning into a handful of unattractive carbon.

But in the end, there were still more than sixty-six corpses left. Each of their mouths was emitting sharp screams, a discordant harmony, a painful ensemble. The headless machine gradually began to move. Every gesture of it made Fulgrim feel familiar. He became more and more convinced that this was the body that Ferrus projected in this alien space... Did he do the right thing? Did he destroy something?

Then, a ripple surged on the faceless steel head in his hands. After separating from the polluted body, some familiar outlines formed in front of Fulgrim.

Then his heart settled down. This is what he was looking for. The heart symbolizes existence, the head symbolizes mind. He has found Ferrus' mind. And he is waking up again.

The cavern began to tremble, and the roar of the crimson river intensified. Before him, the mindless machine suddenly began to move. The hands transformed into larger claws, and more metal spikes protruded from every bone in the shoulders and chest, moving rhythmically as if alive, slowly moving from the original position, but still limited by the uncoordinated stiffness and the damage Fulgrim had done to it, unable to react quickly.

Fulgrim continued to hold the flaming sword with the hand that had become transparent, and held Ferrus' head with his iron hand, turning to find a way out.

The way back was completely different from the way he came. The blinding light behind him continued to expand, trying to extinguish the flames behind him with its cold breath. The remaining consciousness of his offspring's soul suddenly opened up, protecting behind him and resisting the rushing wind. The steps became infinitely long, making it impossible for him to judge how far he had run... The world around him, which was jointly built by gears, machinery, transmission belts and steel plates, was moving madly, making him like a bird trapped in a steel cage, jumping in vain between different railings.

Or was he marking time? Because he always felt that the hanging metal ornaments around him were what he had seen before, and the broken mirrors and pieces of colored glaze under his feet were also what his combat boots had crushed before - unlike the previous fragility, these various jewels now became extremely hard and gradually scratched the bottom of his combat boots.

The mechanical world was spinning madly, and the sound of gears biting was deafening. When the first drop of blood on his feet fell on the ground, he heard a sharp and hoarse, complex and varied compound laughter, which was the hissing of snakes and the screaming of foxes, the cough of old people and the cheers of young people. There was a sense of triumphant joy in the laughter, and a recognizable whisper of meaning...

...You are all here...The cold iron and the feathers are like fire, once you enter the abyss, you will never return...

Is that what he said? Or is this just another illusion in his mind? Is it a greedy trap for the two of them?

No matter what, he must leave with Ferrus Manus.

Behind him, something was chasing him from the gorgeous rose light that had turned into blood. It was not just the light itself, but some kind of tangible thing, scratching, tearing, and extracting the sticky air around it, as if it was growing in the rose light, hungry for the real soul and will.

In the bloody broken glass under his feet, he saw the flowing metal and the tangled and curled half of the corpse... Yes, the creature whose mind he had robbed began to chase it, why did it wake up now?

- Because Ferrus no longer suppressed the countless souls that merged into one.

For some reason, when he thought of this, he couldn't help laughing. Even though Ferrus's head in his arms hadn't paid attention to him, his feet were gradually revealing a translucent light pink glow as blood seeped out.

Fulgrim gently soothed the fiery souls of fire that tried to wrap around his ankles, to extend and protect his existence, thinking that he would always move on, that his flame would always continue to burn forever day by day. Even if another part of him turned to ash! His heart was still his own.

"Ferus," he whispered patiently.

With a sharp whistle that broke through the air, the silver knife slid sideways across his shoulder, bringing a gust of cold wind. The obsidian ground covered with sharp objects pulsed like blood vessels, becoming swollen and soft, and the sharp knives and flesh tentacles accompanied them in a perfect order, piercing from multiple corners of the ground, like embroidery threaded by a needle.

Every space seemed to be moving dangerously, gears, blades, tentacles and liquids constantly intertwined and separated, intricate and flawless, as if waiting for a wrong move, machinery and flesh were ready to trap him in this endless nightmare at any time.

Alas, Fulgrim sighed. These chaotic and blasphemous things were not worth his attention. He only cared about how his brother could wake up.

He turned his feet from time to time, like stepping on the steps of a double ballet, struggling with the mechanical giant that pounced on him - his translucent hand was a little weak, and there were strands of purple-red webs spreading inside, climbing up along the bones and blood vessels, soaking his blood.

This hand might not be left.

When he got out, he guessed that he might take away Ferrus's title of Iron Hand - then he would have to pretend to refuse it in front of Ferrus.

He adjusted his steps, carefully observing the direction around him, and walked between the interconnected corridors, controlling the firelight that covered his body, cleverly saving his energy, and protecting Ferrus's head.

Now that Rogal Dorn knew where he was going, he could believe that the master of the Imperial Fists could find a way out for him... All he needed to do was to persist.

And dancing in flames.