Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Yochuka huddled in the cave, and dark stones fell from the sky. After a while, he discovered that they were the dark shadows pressed on his retinas by the too-low roof of the cave. Or maybe these darkness came from the depths of his painful nightmares. , dark color blocks born from nightmares, gathered in his eyes, making him unable to breathe even in his dreams.

He didn't want to cry. He didn't want people to see him weak since he was caught in the arena. He shed too many tears, but he couldn't even wake up from the nightmare.

His hands ached like burned wood, the smell of fire lingering on the slave marks he had been branded on, clawing at his purple skin along with the pain along his bloody legs, the stinging pain running through his palms even It dispels the ignorant humiliation and trampled self-esteem in young souls.

Blood rolled out of his stomach and turned into wild eyes along his goosebump-covered cheeks. He wanted to run away and die. He heard everyone laughing at him, from the dais floating high above in the audience.

He wanted to forget the red sand, struggling to swim away from the sulfuric acid, the hot broken torn skin was peeled off, the maggot eyes fell like rotten sawdust, his head hurt, and the temperature was hotter than the sun in the middle of the arena. Gao, that's the branding iron of a high-level rider...

A cool touch penetrated deep into his throat, wrapping around his curled up heart against his trachea and blood vessels. The clear amber drew him into a silent trickle caressed by the wind, and the peaceful color embraced his cheeks. , he began to miss his mother and father, and missed the time without red sand.

He didn't know if they were still alive. Maybe he would die of illness tomorrow. He was bitten to death by the beast today. The black teeth pierced his palms. The maggot eyes brought disgusting cheers and the crowd shouted. Bet on the blood of wolves and the knives of sea beasts, the feet of giant elephants and human intestines...

"Yochuka," Amber is calling him, topaz is calling him, the red rope is holding his falling hand, and his fingers are twitching to hook the fallen silk of the red rope, "Yochuka, wake up, it's already It's okay, I just want you to wake up..."

The heavy voice and the hot breath like a beast enveloped his head, so powerful and low, sad and painful, and the bright yellow color came closer, illuminating his damaged and curled up body from the inside out.

The blood stains left his hair, and the torture of hot and cold was gently taken away by a pair of father-like rough palms. He melted and stretched in the light, and himself rose from the abyss of pain and distortion, wandering on the edge of return. .

"Dad..." He made a sound in his throat, and finally felt a hand on his shoulder. The amber and topaz turned back into the giant's gentle and painful eyes, the red rope wrapped around the giant's waist, and scars of blood remained on his skin. Honor itself was humiliation.

Angron, the undefeated beast of the red sand—the high-ranking riders called him that, but Jochuka didn't like it.

Yochuka buried his head on Angron's shoulder. His skin, which was hot due to the high fever, felt the coolness. He tried hard to hold back his tears. Angron held him and gently rubbed the top of his head. Yochuka also reached out and patted Angron's head, some short stubble pricking his palm.

"I've caused you trouble again," Jochuka muttered. "I don't want this, Angron."

Angron put a finger against his forehead, frowning slightly because of the excessive temperature. He picked up a piece of animal skin and wrapped it around Yochuka, preserving the boy's body heat.

"It's okay, thank you for being alive." Angron said, "The night is very dark today. Can you sleep, little Yochuka?"

Yochuka tried to slow down his rapid breathing and let a gentler breathing rhythm take him to sleep.

His mind began to drift, but the next thought jolted him awake. He asked himself why he should live until tomorrow. Yochuka knew that this was wrong, that his death would make Angron sad, but he had already caused Angron enough pain, and Angron always hurt twice for him.

"Angron," Jochuka said, "I can sleep."

"Let me tell you a bedtime story, kid," Onomamos said. He is the elder of the cave and looks after all the warriors, especially Angron.

The giant becomes less ferocious or tall when in the presence of Onomamos. His warmth was revealed more, and the gladiators found the gap between their hearts, and formed brothers and sisters with Angron as if they were connected by blood.

The old man tore off a piece of cloth, slowly bent down, and replaced the cloth covering Yochuka's wound. "A long time ago, there was a great fighter, a fighter who was never defeated."

"Like Angron?"

Yochuca knew Onomamos was comforting him. He actively cooperated with him and let the pain in his heart fade away during the exchange.

"Maybe," the old man said softly.

"What did he do?" Angron asked in a low voice to avoid waking the others sleeping in the cave. Tomorrow, all living slaves will be thrown back into the arena, and they need sleep.

"He conquered all the cities in the world with an army, one after another, one after another. The high-ranking horsemen offered him everything they had in fear." Onomamos stood up slowly. "He also called him 'The One Who Devoured the World'."

"Where did he go after that?" Yochuka asked, closing his eyes.

"He's doing well, very, very well." Onomamos said. In Angron's brassy eyes, the old man's sadness after seeing Mingwu could be seen.

Yochuka nodded, wrapped himself tightly in the animal skin, and regulated his breathing obediently. Angron patted the little slave's back gently and rhythmically until sleep made Yochuka's eyes stop moving uneasily.

Angron's sleepiness had dissipated. He actually couldn't sleep most of the time, and tonight was no exception.

He silently pressed the ringing chain on his arm, bowed and left the depths of the cave, approaching the entrance. The gray-bearded gladiator followed him, away from the snores of the gladiators.

A glimpse of the night view of Desia, the main city of Nuceria, was the closest place to hell that the imprisoned gladiators could see. Today's night is particularly dark, and there seems to be a thin and eerie sound flying in the red sand, like a thin blade cutting a thread or a long staff cutting through the clouds.

"Onomamos," Angron asked, "what became of that fighter?"

"Rumors say his name is Desia." The old man said.

Angron didn't shake his head or nod. He sat silently, watching in the dark night, waiting for the wounds on his body to heal, and for tomorrow's wrestling match. After the sun rises, his emotions will rise and fall again with the entire arena, and the cheers of the audience and the pain of the enemy will be injected into his soul at the same time.

His hatred and joy are both unfounded, and as he strangles his emaciated foe with his bare hands, he inherits his desperate rage, a burning fire that turns back into a buzz before scorching his bones and evaporating his blood. The roar of thirst and the swelling excitement of the Desians in the audience. He will immediately begin to despise himself after his high self-appreciation.

In the end, all that could be left on his body were scars, the scars on his waist, and the broken scars on his heart.

"I heard they captured a new mutated beastman." Onomamos said, "Maybe they will become our opponents tomorrow."

Angron's heart sank. It had nothing to do with fear, his heart was just sinking, sinking deeper and deeper day after day.

"You should go and rest first." Angron advised, "I don't need sleep."

The old man studied him. "Cheer up, Angron," he said. "We are all alive."

"I know." Angron said.

Onomamos returned to the relative warmth of the depths of the cave. The old man's breathing soon merged into the restless snoring of the sleeping gladiator. Angron tried to close his eyes and rest, but he failed.

The wind whistled. Is there such wind this season? Angron wasn't sure.

Everyone is dying. He wanted to die in his hands, or in the hands of others. He didn't know if Yochuka would survive the night.

The light rain of flowers on the arena seemed to be falling continuously, and the weapons, chains and his hands merged into one. His distaste for fighting had built up in the fighting itself, his ego dissolving in the hot sand, and Angron knew he needed to find himself again, stronger. But he couldn't find a reason.

Mutated beastman. he thinks. what else? Prison fighter? He knew those creatures were worse beastmen - they had steel cables hanging from the backs of their heads.

Suddenly, he heard something rolling from outside the cave. A nearly round thing with a distant smell of blood.

Angron increased his vigilance and intercepted a gust of wind as it struck him. The sharp hidden weapon scratched his skin, but he did not fall into a hazy dizziness, and the hidden weapon was not poisoned.

A piece of cloth was nailed with a hidden weapon and flew towards him. This sudden incident made Angron's heart beat faster. It was unclear whether he was excited or hesitant.

He took off the strip of cloth and tried to read the words on it.

Angron's extraordinary understanding helped him easily decipher most of the meaning of these words, but this only added to the confusion.

"Xi Gao Le, Xi Gao Le, let you laugh and get through the troubles. The midnight gospel comes from the dark capital, and the Laughing God tells you not to be surprised. The Lord of the Red Sand is waiting for help, and the demigods are coming to save the people in danger. The blood relatives are ignorant and have nothing to do, and we are helpless and sigh in our hearts. . I will give you my gift, pray for your trust, and hope to work with you for a long time. ——Aman Laroni.

He looked at the signature at the end of the banner and wondered who would do such a prank. However, it was undeniable that a new fire gradually glowed red in his heart.

"The demigods are coming..." he repeated in his mind.

More rolling sounds approached in the dark night. Angron intercepted the nearest thing and picked it up for observation. The next moment, his eyes widened and his heartbeat stopped for half a beat.

The object in his hand was a dead head. Those pointed ears quickly revived his childhood memories, and the alien appearance overlapped with a face that had attacked him many years ago.

He thought he had forgotten it. He found that he could never admit his mistake.

More heads rolled out of the cave with a disgusting smell. Among the group of aliens that had attacked him in his childhood, all the faces that had escaped now rolled back to his feet, with wide eyes and twisted expressions. The look on his face showed how painful a death had befallen him.

What is this, a tribute? To a slave?

Angron's heart was suddenly held up by thousands of complex emotions, hatred mixed with anger, shock mixed with relief. For the first time in many years, his heart rose so high.

With force in his hand, he crushed the head to pieces with one hand, and the plasma exploded along his hand and flowed downward.

"The demigods are coming..." he repeated a second time. The thick juice and broken bones gave rise to a surge of anger that made him want to vomit.

The gladiator clenched his upper and lower teeth, and the grinding sound from the two rows of teeth was transmitted along the bones to the eardrums. The brothers in the cave were still sleeping soundly, and he could only suppress the growl deep in his throat: Why did such a ridiculous promise come out of the night after so many years of pain and death!

He looked around, his eyes widening in the dark night of red sand, hunting for traces of these uninvited guests from the smallest movement of wind and sand, until the fine sand covered his eyes like the blood in the arena today. , pricking numb drops of moisture. Angron wiped away these rusty water drops, and the blood was dark under the moon.

Angron grabbed another head on the ground, not feeling the slightest joy that his hatred had been resolved.

The skull came too late here. Only then did he realize that his resentment towards the high-level riders had been so concentrated that he could neither express nor alleviate it. It had even become a part of his life, so ubiquitous that he could not even notice it.

A ridiculous dizziness occupied his brain, and he felt a strong withdrawal.

Inside the cave are his companions and brothers. His day-to-day battles and killings are all concentrated in this dark cave. The dust falling on the rock wall and the ashes from the fire are the only reality in his life. It is all the desperate reality that exudes blood and blood that he possesses. He spent days and years in this cave, watching his heart sinking day by day.

However, on this ridiculous night, this funny note and the real bone of hatred, the source of all the disasters he saw, suddenly fell into his hands.

In an instant, a hole was pierced in his inherent life, and sharp anger burned out of the numb ashes. He suddenly had an unparalleled desire to rush out of the cave and bet on today's battle against Jochuka - more than that, he wanted to tear into pieces all the people who had been in the audience and laughed loudly at the blood and broken bones of the gladiators. , one by one, the skulls of the perpetrators were crushed together with these alien bones, and then buried deeply in the red sand.

In this moment, he saw the possibility of tearing apart the existing rules. He had done it many years ago, more than once. He was not tall enough at that time, and his escape and resistance failed. He knelt in the red sand and watched as his companions were tied hand and foot with chains and thrown into the herd. The senior riders laughed at his painful reaction. But this time——

What's the difference this time? His brothers and sisters, who were unable to protect themselves, were still lying in this dark cave. They had fevers, broken legs, and were riddled with pain. They were marching toward death in a long struggle. His resistance meant death for all, and the slave master would execute them one by one, the moment he stood up and threw away his chains.

As for the "demigod" and the "helping hand" in this note...

Makes people laugh. Angron thought. Gladiators who put their hopes in others have perished in the red sand or in the maw of wild beasts.

Angron broke the rocks with his bare hands, dug holes in the stone walls, calmly squeezed the alien skulls one by one into the narrow pit, and then covered them with gravel and red sand. He did these tasks silently in the dark, so that his brothers and sisters would not be suspected by the high-ranking riders the next day.

"Cheer up, Angron." He said to himself, life would go on, and he had no hope for the so-called rescuer. "Everyone is still alive."

But enemies can be killed. He thought, the seeds of unwillingness in his heart once again broke through the solid soil of anger and hatred. He clearly saw a possibility outside the cave.

What can he do?

Angron closed his eyes and gradually fell into sleep. After so many years, he finally imagined the most miserable death of the slave owners on the red sand of Nuceria in his sleep again.

Regarding the many things that need to be declared: (It’s too long to post, so please look at the picture orz)