Warhammer: Start with a dog

Waiting without an agreed time is really boring.

When the seventy-sixth time it took only 1 microsecond to crack all the witchcraft traps and locks set by his heirs, the psychic advisor of the "Silver Skull" chapter finally decided to stop the "priest" before he returned. Let’s take a walk around here first.

Anyway, his authority on this ship should be high enough.

Uther Maatra leaned on his staff and slowly walked alone in the deserted passage of the Destiny Steel.

The outlet of the air conditioner was working hissingly out of sight. The temperature inside the ship was always maintained at a low equilibrium temperature, but considering the environment outside the ship, this temperature was indeed considered pleasant.

He only needs to wrap his woolen shawl tightly to look like a thin mortal who is a little afraid of the cold but can bear it.

Perturabo and his companion elves had set the scent filtration values ​​on their mothership very strictly, and although he didn't show it, Ma'atra loved it.

There are no too many disputes, sacrifices, or unpleasant smells of living people here. A faint smell of ozone appears from certain places and then dissipates, bringing a sense of clearness and thinness.

Those who don’t know the inside story may mistakenly guess that this is to create an experience similar to the air on the snow-capped mountain plateau – indeed, there are many similarities between the two.

Maatra glanced at it and thought, this kind of temperature and breath would remind him of the days when he and Perturabo were trekking for archeology in the snowfields and valleys of Holy Terra, or, later, they were together in other places. The time of local fighting.

He couldn't remember many details. After all, the memory of the scholar he was proud of had been damaged to a certain extent in the process of killing him from the occult. A nostalgic and sad look appeared on his face with a complexion as good as fragrant wood.

But he still remembered that glimpse, the fleet of aircraft that covered the sky, the ant-like people moving in despair and panic along the avenue in the cold rain; the face of Ahriman, the son he once loved, reflected in the memory fragments Flashing by, there were also yellow and black striped paintings and black basalt fortresses. Miraculously, he still remembered the name of the Iron Warrior, City Breaker; and perhaps the towering mountains covered with ice rocks. What do they call that miraculous fortress on the cliff, its massive shadow flitting across the white reflective snow? Crow's nest?

He remembered again the giant he saw that day.

His brother's face seemed carved out of rock, leaping out of eternal mountains and rivers. His power armor bore a resemblance to the original form of the gigantic Terminator, but he embellished it with many ingenuities and powerful weapons, and adorned himself with many golden texts in ancient languages ​​from the distant past of Terra. , a language that spread to Olympia.

These words wrapped around his brother's armor are not descriptions of honorary poems. Magnus-Matra stood on the bank of the river of memory, looking down from a third-person perspective, looking at these golden, The most terrifying, darkest, and most vicious words recording curses flowed past his eyes.

Why did I turn a blind eye then?

The Fourth Primarch in the picture is far more powerful than his descendants and warriors at all levels. In comparison, he is like a moody god with thunder and lightning in mythology or a huge swirling storm with lightning and thunder on the ocean.

The viewer suddenly felt that the rumors about Perturabo being able to defeat an entire army in one sudden blow may not have been exaggerated.

But he did not fall into the feeling of blindness, stubbornness, and disbelief as he did later, although his power was unabashed, as if he knew the answers to everything.

Maatra saw his brother smiling at his former self in the memory picture. It was shallow and unaccustomed, but it was indeed sincere.

"The meteorological technical officer told me that I am very worried that you will be swept away by the super storm here or something," Perturabo's voice had a strong echo and a decisive drop.

"My answer to them was that if anything could sweep my big, red brother away, it wouldn't be enough to just destroy an area with a storm. They'd have to get something more powerful. .”

Maatra saw sadly that he also replied with a smile, but he could not remember what he said to Perturabo.

The water level of the river became unstable.

The two god-like Primarchs approached and embraced each other, the collision of two powerful forces reminiscent of primal bestial competition.

They separated slightly, but the final scene was still warm and beautiful: the happy mood brought by family affection flashed in their eyes.

The water mirror of memory dissipated like a broken player screen. Maatra didn't react at all, just quietly letting her thoughts flow with the rhythm of her stroll.

The picture just now was obviously mixed with some other things. They are not as coherent and solid as the original. Sometimes when watching, there will be obvious random splicing of memory fragments. However, as long as you don't use or specifically pursue this aspect of power, Maa will be fine. The trouble with what Terra has to do now is limited.

In order to achieve the complete "death" of the fifteenth Primarch Magnus in an instant in a mystical sense, so that this instant can cut off the close connection that he made with the Supreme Conspirator a long time ago. , these losses now seem worthwhile and completely acceptable.

But the more regrettable loss came from the fact that the spiritual link between him and all his descendants was cut off at the same time.

Maatra knew that if the person involved was not in the same place as the Demon Prince Magnus and could witness that the entity wrapped in lies had not dissipated, then the level of psychic screams and the sense of broken connections would make His other intelligent offspring scattered across the galaxy easily came to the only possible conclusion: that the Primarch of the Thousand Sons Legion, Magnus the Red, was truly dead.

In other words——

The undisguised footsteps behind him interrupted the psychic consultant's thoughts. He had already recorded the characteristics of this psychic power in his list, and it was exactly the person he was waiting for.

At this moment, he suddenly realized that he had walked exactly in a circle and returned to the place where he started, which was the door of his innocent heir's library.

Ah, another example of extremely ingenious design. Perturabo's talent in constructing mazes and Rubik's Cube designs is still so amazing no matter how long it takes.

Then Perturabo said that this apprentice will give me a very, very great surprise, which is very exciting.

The psychic consultant turned around slowly with a calm smile.

"Long wait, Mayatra Gu...ask?"

After Magnus-Matra saw the appearance of the visitor clearly, the smiling mask on his face was shattered into thousands of pieces like his soul.

The psychic readings here quickly spiked to a level that set off alarms.

"why you--!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The Fifteenth Primarch screamed uncontrollably in his brother's face.

Gua.

Like the surprise you see Magnus?