Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

They went in one by one, reaching the oldest deep pit under Gomor.

The Haemonculi, who lived in darkness for millennia, became more and more addicted to paranoid blood fantasies, regarding the beauty of flesh and blood as the only and highest art, and even the bottomless false salvation of those withered spirits and souls.

This even made him wonder sometimes, what is the essential difference between such extreme bias and arrogance and the weak relatives of the Eldar who took another path of survival?

After capturing the last Haemonculi he invited tonight into the maze-like spiral nest, Konrad Curze landed lightly on the ground, silently following the glowing spine transformed into bright metal, stepping on the mixture of solidified flesh and bones on the ground, and following a series of special idol marks in countless spirals to the final gathering place.

His clean habits concealed any suspicious smells, which made his tracking smoother, just like every assassination in the past.

The Eldar, or rather the branch of the Eldar that Victor decided to rename the Dark Eldar, have an almost innate sensitivity to doubts and dangerous omens in order to continue their fragile lives in this dangerous world. Therefore, Konrad Curze does not mind increasing his strength in any way.

Does he really care so much about his own cleanliness? Curze is glad that no one has asked him this.

The thin threads that are enough to separate steel are hidden in the corridors, and more venom launchers and various capture devices are hidden behind the walls covered with black and brown viscous fluids. Some Haemonculi will use memory-assisted potions to successfully overcome the hidden crises in the nest, allowing the memory potion to drive their flesh and blood.

The Haemonculi he followed did this.

But Curze didn't need it.

He peeked in the shadows outside the door and happily confirmed that there were more Haemonculi present than he expected.

One, two... eight Haemonculi were already discussing their scientific research experiences harmoniously at the long metal-rimmed table. The appendages with dangerous items such as syringes or neurotoxin guns either put down their weapons or hid them in a more inconspicuous way.

Curze decided to be a little late for once and listen to this valuable academic seminar in the shadows. He closed his dark eyes and let the sound flow into his ears through the air flow, distinguishing the connotation behind every subtle difference in tone.

Five minutes later, a Haemonculi mentioned Curze.

"Has our famous Bloody Marquis not arrived yet?"

"Don't worry, Elliot, even though he has only been a Haemonculi for a few years, the Bloody Marquis will not die in the gravity trap just like that."

Another voice was hoarse and cold, and it was difficult to tell whether it was ironic or not.

"Have you made any breakthroughs in your recent research?" A tired voice joined the conversation and ended the discussion about Curze. "Vakira Yuris?"

"My theater needs sponsors." The cold female voice answered, and some metal limbs knocked on the ground in disorder.

Curze stopped breathing for a moment, completely concentrating on listening and remembering, judging the identity of each Haemonculus, the value they can create for him, and the stability of their mental state.

He didn't care whether these people loved or hated him, which was the least important of all the factors.

"If you need a sponsor, Ms. Yuris." The first Haemonculus said, "I can recommend a family to you, which does not conflict with the association that Konrad wants to establish here... An ancient family that has enough gold and turquoise stored in the secondary plane to keep them from the madness day and night."

"Name." Valkyra Yuris spit out a word.

"Konrad Curze." Curze answered.

The Haemonculus turned their heads from the long table, dozens of prosthetic limbs spread out like spider legs, and faces wearing hoods or bone masks looked at a shadow deep into the room.

In the depths of the ambiguous shadows, the hidden side door suddenly made a "creaking" sound.

Amid the piercing noise of the infinitely elongated door hinges, Konrad Curze, wearing only a loose leather jacket, bent over and slid lightly out of the narrow door.

After a slow turn, his pale face covered by long black hair gradually appeared in the sight of the eight Haemonchi without reservation.

"Any questions?" Curze asked with a gentle smile, "My name is Konrad Curze, everyone."

"You are late." Vakira Yuris said, "Give us a reason, you are the host of our banquet."

"Reason." Curze walked without a sound. He came to the short side of the long table, supported the edge of the table with both hands, and bent his overly tall body. "No reason, unless any of you... are willing to guess."

The Haemonchi were silent behind their masks.

"Okay, I'll do it." A Haemonculus hidden in the interference position stood up with the two appendages behind him. The position he set was enough to make most of the Eldar lose their correct sense of him. "You hid in the shadows, disregarded our dignity, and listened to our conversations. Now you have heard enough, Blood Lord, what do you think?"

"What do you want." Curze said.

"What?"

Curze laughed softly, and the laughter seemed to be stuck on a melody that only echoed in Curze's mind.

"You guessed it right, Gabbiad, so what reward do you want? A seat with a higher starting point? A tilt in scientific research resources? More financial sponsorship? Give me an answer for your correct guess. "

There was a small commotion among the Haemonculi, manifested by the rubbing of non-corporeal body appendages and the collision of clothing.

Gabbiad turned off the generator that interfered with his position in displeasure, and old wrinkles filled his deformed body.

"You must learn to respect, Konrad Coze." Gabbiad's voice was weak but high-pitched. "Don't play with power with us, play tricks, and despise dignity. Focus on the path of flesh and blood art, which is the path of darkness. The path of truth.”

"Focus on the way of art until there is no place for you in the future Gomo?" Cozi looked at the old blood actor with interest and said slowly, "Until all the nobles are surrounded by private use. Haemonculi, as insignificant jesters, we must serve the nobles in exchange for a pitiful amount of research funds? Don't pretend that you don't care about anything..."

His tone suddenly dropped: "I appreciate your insistence on the doctrine in your heart, Gabbiad. Unfortunately, that is not my doctrine. Sit down, sit down."

Vakira Yuris was the first to turn his head and look at Gabbiad. The actions of the hostess of the Theater of Pain took the lead. After a few seconds, Gabbiad sat down again.

Konrad Curze glanced around, making sure everyone was looking into his dark eyes.

He calmly pulled out a chair stuck under the long table with two fingers, sat down, and moved his shoulders and neck.

"Let us recall, gentlemen," he said, "remember our status in the past. Nobles and churches, no one dares to offend our dignity, just like I offended you today..."

He laughed suddenly, his face twitching and contorting. Curze covered his face with his hands and slowly rubbed his cheeks until the painful muscles relaxed again. He let out a breath.

"But, what now? Do they still respect us, think highly of us, and provide us with all the precious resources we desire for free, just so that we can give them a chance to be resurrected when necessary?"

"No, my friends. Come out of the Blood Nest, smell the air of Gomo, listen to the omens of division and the restlessness of rifles. With your keenness, do you really know nothing about the world?"

"No, you have known for a long time. You have long been aware of this... subtle vibration in the air of Gemo. Otherwise, how could you seniors walking on the noble road be willing to stoop to this level and listen to such a deviant like me? The strange creature is making wild claims here, claiming that it will establish a new association that will include all Haemonculi sooner or later!"

"What kind of people are we? We have skills, but no power! We work independently and have no support. Our skills can be passed down, and even a fledgling fool like me can learn the trick of resurrection! Xueling Ren Are we respected as a group? Yes! But are we respected as individuals?”

Conrad Coates's high tone suddenly dropped, and his body, curled up in pain, stretched again.

"We seem to be inviolable, but any one of us... can be replaced." He whispered softly, "A Bloodling who is not... selfless enough can certainly be replaced by the future ruling group. The other one is asking for less of the same kind to replace; after all, the number of Haemonculi, compared with the number of noble families... after the situation is calmed down in the future, maybe we will become a little... too many. "

"I understand what you're thinking, Konrad." Valkyra Uris folded his three free hands on the table. There is also no trace of dust on the surface of this long table. "What's your idea?"

"It's simple, we, um..." Conrad said, "rule G'mor."

His words elicited a roar of laughter, not from derision but from a general desire for the dramatic - for Coates himself led the chorus of laughter.

He laughed openly at himself, forcing others to follow his lead in laughter, igniting the cold air in the room to a nerve-wracking temperature.

"Okay, okay, my dear friends." Conrad Coates pressed down with one hand, like a conductor of an orchestra, to stop the laughter. "I think you want to ask me why I am so wishful thinking, or, let me ask for you, 'It sounds so easy, so what should I do?' Is this a question? Okay, okay..."

"Strife has come," said Vakira.

"I commend you for your outspokenness, Ms. Uris," Coates said.

"I'm honored, Conrad." There was no emotion in Juris's smile.

"Yes, just like Vakira said, the dispute has arrived, the game is being reshuffled, the old rules are falling apart, and the glory of the past will soon serve as the bloody foundation of the new eternal city... While you are busy working for yourselves When it comes to finding new sponsors, or let's put it more bluntly, 'owners', I'm... becoming my own owner."

"Gamo is a port city, friends. Even though she is prosperous, rich and great, there are countless levels between the spiers above and the mills below, and these are just the tip of her iceberg. She is still a network in the webway. The port city..."

"And my partner, Asturbar Victor, is taking over the third port of the conspiracy he founded. Amber and gold flow into our pockets, friends, our empty treasury is overflowing, and the nobles and the church are busy competing with each other and can't see this insignificant little society..."

Conrad Curze spread his right hand: "On the other side, friends. I also got some new friendly sponsorship. Anyone, anyone, willing to talk about it?"

"The disastrous dinner of the Church of the Sun." Another Haemonchir said. "You actually dared to cooperate with the crazy followers of the God of Laughter, Conrad."

"Very good, Zeke." Conrad nodded, "The occurrence of the Great Fall has proved the doomsday prophecy of the clowns, and they are very powerful. This is not a joke, friends. Those who provoke the clowns will face real ridicule."

Gabiad reopened his interference position, as if this could give him more sense of security: "What you want to do is to confront the entire aristocratic system of Gomorrah, Conrad Koz, is this enough? The nobles and the church are competitors at the same level. If it were me, I would think that cooperating with some of the powerful to fight against the other part would have more room for success..."

"No, no, no." Koz contemptuously denied him continuously, "We must deny all the past depravity, blasphemy Blasphemy, absurdity, disconnection, division, pain and chaos can only compensate for all the ridiculous mistakes and bitter frustrations we have made, and strive for a higher power that will fully support us... You know who I mean, my beloved friends. "

Gabiad shook his head uneasily: "The Pantheon is a joke, Conrad! You can't keep replaying those ancient myths like those clowns in flowery clothes. It doesn't matter now!"

"Yes, the past is over, only the future remains, which is why we still have the possibility of winning his favor, Gabiad." Curze said, "He is full of disgust for Gomo, but he doesn't want to see our Eternal City completely destroyed by the disaster of Chaos."

"Val incarnation." Gabiad muttered in a low voice.

Curze smiled, this smile was more sincere than any previous one, as if the several blood orcs present were old friends who had known each other for hundreds of years, and what unfolded today was just a harmonious after-dinner tea party.

His unreserved smile even aroused a dizzy feeling in the others, although this feeling quickly turned into a warning of greater danger.

Conrad Curze did not deny Gabiad's words, nor did he confirm them.

The Blood Lord's eyes flashed with malicious joy: "Well, welcome to the Night Demon King's Court, my dear friends."

--

"If I remember correctly," Morse said, "we haven't seen your brother for two days, Perturabo."

"He has his own things to do, I think, although he doesn't say anything to us." Perturabo continued to try to repair a small mechanical work in the church. "And I have nothing to do. Gomo is not a stage for humans."

"At least you have completely conquered a small church, so it's not a complete failure."

"Oh." Perturabo broke a vertical bar of the machine.

Morse moved his fingers: "Since you are so bored, go and open a gift. Someone will visit the front hall in ten minutes, and I am looking forward to it."