Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"Do you miss her?" Morse asked. The two of them stood at the front of the Iron Blood, looking out of the window at the small starship in the distance.

A few hours later, under the protection of Geller's position and the continuous gaze of Morse, the ship will dive into the vast ocean and return to Olympia, the planet where green mountains and silvery steel intersect.

Perturabo lowered his eyes after the starship was out of sight, and his aura reached a surprisingly peaceful state. Seen from another perspective, his consciousness residing in this body is emitting a faint golden light of tranquility.

Different from the calmness obtained by restraining emotions and running thoughts, this is a kind of peace from the inside out, just like the water of a mountain lake after the ice surface melts. It is not frozen due to low temperature, but just exists quietly, reflecting the blue and sunny sky. cloud shadow.

"I thought I didn't miss her so much," said Perturabo, moving away from the window, Morse walking with him.

Only the forward half of the Iron Blood, named the Dodekatheon, had enough portholes. This contained the activity room prepared by Perturabo for his Masons' Club, the future tactical discussion and simulation center, and The living quarters of the Iron Warriors.

The Lord of Iron believes that this is enough to take care of the mental health of his children. Of course, he himself will come here from time to time to gaze at the stars and discuss various issues from daily life to daily battles with his warriors.

"Where are we going now?" Mors said, and Perturabo thought he was asking knowingly.

He was finally convinced that the possibility of hiding something completely from Morse's eyes was no less likely than letting the aliens shout Long Live the Emperor - perhaps the latter was simpler, as Horus seemed to have had a successful example.

"Go back to my office," Perturabo replied. "I have a gift for you."

"You can believe it or not, but I really didn't find out what it was. Morse elongated the vowels in the language. In these little things, he would leave some freshness for himself as a spice.

Perturabo nodded. After going back and forth several times, he gradually lost confidence in his gift.

In fact, this was not something Morse really needed. He didn't understand how he came up with such a weird gift. Perhaps this was the drawback of having been in the war for a long time. Even as a primarch, his brain was soaked with war-related entries.

It didn't take long for them to return to the office. Perturabo walked towards his cabinet, took a deep breath behind Morse's back, resisted the gaze from behind, raised his broad palm and stood it near the palm lock. .

"I need to tell you beforehand," said Perturabo, "your preferences have always been a mystery to me. You have paid little attention to the basic needs of humans, clothing, food, shelter, these have never been There is only one thing that has not moved you. I have never been separated from you since I met you.”

"Hmm..." Morse thought for a moment, "unfriendly language? Do you want to give me a dictionary?"

"No." Perturabo's facial lines tightened. He was now like a carved stone statue, and it became a little difficult for him to move. "It's your chair."

Wicker chairs, wicker chairs, more wicker chairs. Perturabo often wondered how many chairs Morse could pull out of the void. This man in black robes wished he could spend half of the day sitting in the wicker chair, and the remaining quarter of the time lying in the wicker chair. The last quarter lay in bed sleeping.

Perturabo pressed his palm and the cabinet door slid open to both sides. The speed at which his feet moved away from the cabinet door was slower than the reaction time of a Primarch or even a Space Marine. To be more precise, the movement speed of a mortal under the age of five or over eighty might be as fast as his. Equivalent.

"Wow," Morse said, walking quickly forward.

The contents of the cabinet slid to the center of the room along the path laid out by the golden spell, and the top fell into Morse's palm wrapped with a black cloth strip. Perturabo held his breath.

What appeared in front of Morse was a unique chair - a magical object that was difficult to summarize in simple words, so it could only be temporarily described as a chair.

The chair is made of black leather as the backrest and seat cushion. For mobility, the chair legs are modified into two huge wheels and a footrest is added.

A hidden operating lever is installed at the front of the armrest, which relies on the user's fingers to activate the hidden energy system in the chair and control the direction and speed of movement.

"What's the top speed you can reach?"

"About two hundred miles an hour," Perturabo whispered. "It uses the plasma reactor function. If the booster is activated, the short-term instantaneous speed can exceed the speed of sound."

Morse wiped his face and tried to suppress the smile on his face. He found the hidden button on the back of the chair, and after pressing it, two gun barrels immediately stretched out from above the chair. If the user is sitting in it, the two barrels will be supported just above the user's left and right shoulders.

"This is a laser weapon," Perturabo introduced his creation. "It is not the kind of mortal auxiliary army of the Empire. It is an ancient technology left on the Judgment Rock of the Olympia satellite. It can accurately break through thick armor and has strong armor-piercing ability. The mode can be switched through the bypass switch. In addition, a smoke grenade launcher and searchlight are attached.”

Morse stroked the smooth iron-gray barrel, enjoying the cold gentleness of the steel in his palm. If he wasn't in the Iron-Blooded, which Perturabo had just built, he would have already sat on it and started to experience it.

Perturabo bent down and flipped the control switch hidden in the wheel axle, and a new barrel protruded from under the right armrest. At the same time, the seat cushion popped open, exposing the metal box hidden under the thick black leather cushion to the air.

"This cannon can fire projectiles with subatomic cores." Perturabo introduced as calmly as possible, "It is used to destroy bunkers and enemies behind bunkers. It is suitable for supporting street fighting."

Morse opened the metal box and took out a gleaming silver power dagger and a brand new yellow and black striped bolter modified to a size that could be used by mortals. The remaining space was filled with several boxes of ammunition.

"Cool," he said.

A small joy was born in Perturabo's heart.

Morse's fingers slid across the armrest and activated the mechanism hidden under the leather on the left side. Another gun barrel—actually six gun barrels that came together separated from the leather of the armrest, were supported by the outstretched mechanical arm, and were placed in the air.

"Gatling?"

"Gatling, the fastest firing weapon in this chair," Perturabo said. "Also, the thrusters are under the footrests."

"Any more surprises?" Morse asked.

"Of course, it's just the last one." The corners of Perturabo's mouth began to rise. He patted the wheel of the chair, and a holographic projection immediately covered the chair, hiding all the guns and guns in the light and shadow.

At the same time, a gradually solidifying human figure constructed from projection appeared on the chair. It looked like a particularly weak version of Morse. He was slumped feebly in the ordinary leather chair, his thin arms resting on the armrests. On the chair, the back of the chair barely supported the weak figure of the projection. He took a breath with difficulty from time to time, and the holographic image played in a loop.

Morse laughed so much that he started coughing into his mouth. "Your father is here," he patted his chest and gasped, "You are a genius, Perturabo, seriously. You really are."

"So you... like it?"

"The only reason I didn't start trying it right away was because I didn't want to blow up your new ship." Morse laughed. "I like it so much. Don't worry, I will engrave a curse on each bullet to increase its power."

"Wow." Perturabo happily suppressed the smile at the corner of his mouth with his thumb and index finger. "As long as you like it."

Morse shook his head regretfully: "I lost to you this time. The gift I gave you was too ordinary. I will give you a new one next time. Please reach out and take it."

The next moment, a huge warhammer suddenly fell from the sky and was caught by Perturabo who was in a hurry.

The warhammer has a simple design and smooth structure. The flowing runes are looming under the light, and it is unknown what function it has. A miniature hammer-shaped icon that looks the same as this hammer is engraved on the front end of the hammer handle. It is embossed in white on the black chassis, and a short yellow strip on the edge draws a circle of black and yellow standard features of the Iron Warriors.

"I designed a Legion icon for you," Morse said. "You can also design another one yourself. By the way, I have added some functions to this hammer. You can try it slowly - but there is no automatic background music. , if you want me to add it now.”

"I'm short of a weapon," said Perturabo, who now had nothing to hide his rare smile as both hands were used to hold the handle of the hammer. "I can let the Iron Blood take it to the other side of me. Thank you, Morse. But you have to follow the Iron Blood..."

Before he finished speaking, another Perturabo's voice came to Perturabo's mind here, causing his movements to temporarily stop, and the joy on his face added surprise.

"The astrology device shows," his voice came along with the shared memory, "that there is a huge starship in the orbit of the planet ahead. It is almost the same size as a small satellite, and it is covered with the same things as the Empire. The existing technology includes various ancient weapons, and includes a large complex of monasteries and other buildings that are still being repaired and rebuilt.”

"Yes, it is much larger than the Iron-Blooded. And yes, the white-haired giant walking on the deck should be a Primarch."

I really want to write the official history of the reopening of the Talking Emperor...

Lao He: The bastard street kid dad forced me to 996 for thirty years

Wolf King: Lost to the Emperor for dinner, sad

Post-Primarch Ullanor: As expected, my father ran away and went back to Terra to fish. Uh-huh.

Warmaster Davin: The Emperor becomes a god? If you let it go, can he still become a god like that?

Happy Birthday: Refers to forcibly taking the father out to work