Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

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"He does not ask us to repay the debt we owe Him, so those who believe they can redeem His forgiveness have nothing to do with this unconditional gift." - "The Book of Lorgar"

Lion El'Jonson stood in the flowing blood and pulled the sword back.

The alien flesh and blood reluctantly retained his long sword, and the blood overflowing from the countless wounds deep inside it formed a pool of blood that was still spreading, covering the boots, splashing on the golden and red engraved decorations on his black armor, and wetting the beast fur on his shoulders - this fur once belonged to a real living thing, not an inanimate thing made in a culture tank.

Finally, the blood splashed on his golden hair that fluttered with his movements in the hot air of the battlefield, and then fell from the ends of his hair.

"Ah--" A long cry of pain trembled from a layer of vocal cords in the alien's body, which overflowed from the severed head shell, causing its milky white tentacles and transparent glass-like shell to tremble weakly.

Then, the lion's prey fell completely, and the flowing light on its body dimmed instantly.

There was no clear word in its heretical call, but Leon understood the consciousness it conveyed: No. It said. No.

Leon did not even blink once. Since he landed on the ground, he had never once exposed that he could feel the alien's thoughts.

His rational brain had already quickly told him the reason for this. Although the aliens that fell in front of him were often larger than the Caliban beasts he had faced before, the Randan aliens were so similar to the Caliban beasts in terms of having intelligent beasts, and the expedition they launched was exactly the same as the Knights' hunting of the beasts.

Since he could understand the whispers of the forest to him, there was no reason why he couldn't understand the whimpers of the Randan alien.

The deeper their conquests went, the closer they were to the core of the alien's empire, the more he could sense it all.

But he was no longer the king of the lions in the forest. He had long been promoted to the commander of the First Legion. His unnecessary understanding of the aliens would become part of the secret, not an excuse for others to doubt Lion El'Jonson's loyalty and ability.

Prey. This was the only identity that the Randan alien could obtain in front of Lion El'Jonson.

After all, he had long learned from intelligence that the Space Marines could hardly understand these free and ethereal sounds from the aliens.

His eyes swept across the surrounding scene and looked down at the center of the battlefield. The dark armor of the Dark Angels was flowing with sticky blood clots and dark juices. Some warriors inevitably fell down, but more of them were still standing, alert to hidden attacks that might suddenly appear around them.

Sometimes, within the leather layer under their feet, a newborn alien would break through the flesh and blood and leap upwards, with a tight gelatinous membrane covering its outer side like the body membrane of a fetus, and quickly fall off when it comes into contact with the air, allowing the alien to grow in just a few seconds. Before they grow and mature, they must quickly destroy the enemy.

"It's not dead." The Lion announced in a low voice, refusing to explain why he judged so. The Dark Angel's Primarch walked down the hill of alien flesh and blood with a bloody long sword in hand, sensing the hidden vitality.

His warriors stood quietly as he passed by them, ready to suddenly attack from a prepared posture and tear apart the alien cubs that wanted to attack anyone. Their prey was not completely dead yet.

The Lion could smell the breath of death that was about to fall, but was still blocked by a trace of vitality. Yes, only a little bit of it still survived in the depths of the flesh and blood tissue covering more than 300,000 square miles. The remaining consciousness barely lived in the flesh and blood that was becoming inactive and festering, hiding here and there...

Another prey running around, he thought indifferently, this is the prey of the Dark Angels, but not entirely his.

It is powerful, but not enough to challenge the limits of a Primarch, not enough to be hunted by Lion El'Jonson himself.

There-

Lion stopped suddenly, and a trace of anger flashed across his noble face.

This is not his own voice. Who is it this time, through a distant vibration, conveying this malicious advice to him?

This is not the first time he has heard it. In the low-Earth orbit of the previous planet, when the Dark Angels hunted the iconic plankton ship of Randan, he also heard this lofty guidance, not through language, but through the consciousness itself that transcends the limitations of words, and suddenly echoed in his heart.

Shoot its eyes, all of its eyes.

The voice said, weaving the information it conveyed into the language system, and reproducing it in Gothic again, the lion interpreted the information. He completed it with ease, perhaps there was only one person in the entire galaxy who was familiar with how to recast sensitive perception and experience into a dull language in endless combinations.

Even if he understood the other party, Leon still chose to ignore its voice.

He later discovered that when the blood-red eyeballs on the two pairs of flesh and blood wide wings of the biological ship were damaged by more than 70%, its wings would indeed suddenly lose the ability to fire laser cannons without any connection, and even lose the defensive void force field, and fall off under the bombardment of the ship's cannon.

The voice told the truth.

An untrustworthy inducement, like a poisoned piece of meat placed in a trap by the Calibans. Maybe the first piece is not poisonous, but the poison in the second and third pieces is definitely not pleasant.

over there……

The voice sounded quietly for the second time. Leon pursed his lips and stepped over the uneven broken bones on the ground with a gloomy expression. His offspring would interpret his brief pause as the Lion's secret thoughts, but he still felt the discomfort of being harassed. He turned around abruptly, refusing to obey the voice.

The Dark Angels looked at him, waiting for his next order. The Lion King's sharp gaze swept over each of their faces, examining their thoughts through the rising blood mist.

"Return to orbit," he said, "the ground threat and air defense system have been eliminated, and small-scale orbital bombing has been launched to avoid affecting the task team on the back of the planet."

His warriors moved into action, and Leon El'Jonson's decision was sound and unquestionable.

Of course, if someone were so bold, Leon hoped that his reaction would not reveal his current annoyance in any form of action.

The information was sent to the briefing room inside the orbiting ship, and the troops began preparing to retreat. In the upper dark gray atmosphere, tiny flashes of gold filaments loomed, and the long-awaited aircraft was about to pass through the thick smoke and descend like black lightning.

I have not deceived you, it whispered, I have not told you lies.

Ah. Leon thought. Get out of my head.

How can you trust me? It said, followed by a quiet anxiety.

Then, the emotion conveyed by that voice became soft and painful. In that leisurely and distant call, there was the sound of corroded and burned breath, as well as some vague and grotesque illusions.

Trying to incorporate those illusions into a language system made Leon seem to have returned to the early days of his life, when his understanding of things remained in an extremely simple state. He now knew that the knight named Luther patiently held his hand Lifting up, he repeated over and over as a rush of air passed between his fingers, "Wind," he said, "This is the wind."

Leon El'Jonson put the long sword back into its scabbard, and there was a soft sound when the sword grids collided. The ruby ​​weight ball echoed with the dark red blood stained on his body. A spiritual shield is built silently.

When he was in Caliban, he innately knew how to use spiritual power to resist the invasion of some non-physical aspects. But this time, his defense didn't work. He and it reached a balance of power on some level.

The voice was silent for a moment, but he knew it was still there.

After a moment, it spoke again.

Well, Primarch, you must know that there are countless internal hatreds within a group without external influence. We have some common enemies...

I don't work with aliens. Leon said coldly.

I... The voice was silent, which made Leon's heartstrings seem to have some fleeting connection with its existence. A sore touch cut through his skin like claws, along his arms. Up, then down against your back.

This warning of danger gradually began to stir Leon's anger, and at the same time, his uneasy feelings expanded equally. He realized that he had lost control of his emotions, and that his proud rationality was disturbed by the presence of this voice.

If the source of this sound is never eliminated, the fatal feeling will sooner or later make him frustrated.

Leon's hand once again grasped the hilt of the sword that was sheathed.

"Sir," Houguyin walked towards him, "we should prepare to retreat."

Leon glanced at his men, "You go first. Give me an aircraft."

He knew that today was the day when one of the Emperor's envoys, the craftsmen of the old night, visited the Wandering Temple. If he returned now, he could catch up with the brief meeting that unfolded in the overflowing fragrance - but compared to going there Instead of completing a boring meeting that could only be done by an adjutant or a company commander, he would rather spend the time meeting the Emperor's emissaries achieving real merit.

Huqu'in greeted him and began to lead the Dark Angels in their evacuation.

Leon closed his eyes and waited until the eagle-like aircraft descended in front of him with plasma flames and strong wind pressure. The image of the Holy Grail, one of Caliban's relics, is painted on the outside of the Stormbird's armor, glimmering in the mists of oil, blood, and the ashes of fire on the battlefield.

The Lion climbed the ramp of the Stormbird, his blood-stained cloak and robe falling heavily behind him.

tell me where you are. Leon El'Jonson said to the voice in his mind emotionlessly.

You won't see me today, Primarch, we... I'm hundreds of planets away.

It spoke, and its voice was as soft as a long and elegant murmur, existing in some vague memory.

Leon nodded calmly, discerning the truth of its words. Somehow, he already knew that the other party was not lying. This uncontrollable subjective assumption made him determined to kill the other party.

So, the tone conveyed by the lion's relaxed thoughts added a little wavering to his hint, where is my escaped prey?

It fell into silence for so long that Leon was not sure whether the other party had doubts about him. Fortunately, not long after, the voice answered him.

On the back of the planet, it said, board your...vehicle, and I will help you find our enemy.

Did you find the bait you gave me? Leon answered sharply, challenging the voice and carefully discerning the feedback he could get.

Leon El'Jonson's real hunting has begun, and finding out the habits of his unique prey will be the first step to completing the hunt.

...You can think of it as, the original body.

Said the lion's prey.

——

"Meet the throne, really," Jack said angrily, venting his annoyance on the several small aliens they had just hunted, putting the stomping function of his boots to full use. "The position of the fifth man in our team is cursed! Another sacrifice, really? Is this reasonable?"

Hashem did not stop him or correct the Luna Wolf's inappropriate remarks about the curse.

The Word Bearer sat down above the bloodied alien skeleton, his gray armor creaking.

Hashem silently recited some scriptures and their insights in his heart, silently praying that the souls of the deceased would go to the throne of Terra instead of being taken away by the Randan alien.

In the past years of war, the Legion has never publicly stated where the warriors devoured by Randan have gone, but the Astartes are not living beings without inspiration and understanding of the spiritual environment.

No matter what, the way to escape lies within the bolter in their hands, and their comrades under the control of the alien will rejoice in their own death.

"In death you serve," Yuri once preached to the Word Bearers in the Wandering Temple. "Aliens have their filthy sanctuaries after death, but we will return to the throne. Since the beginning Ultimately, we are under His mercy and we are in Him.”

Kroger shook off his gauntlet: "They have not gotten along well with us, and the battles we face are becoming more and more dangerous. Death is not a small probability event. Your temper has not been good recently, Jack."

"Oh, okay, okay, we are all the same, aren't we?" Jack adjusted his helmet and was silent for a few seconds to recover. "At least we saved his body this time."

He paused for a second, "Barela is probably one of the few Halhabat who can actually put something in your resting place cemetery, right?"

"The Hall of Hindsight, there is a name there, Jack." The priest of Muristan said quietly. Even though the deceased had argued with him for three consecutive missions during his lifetime, he still respected the other party's sacrifice.

After finishing speaking, Hashem calmed down and felt whether there was any danger lurking in the surrounding psychic environment, especially inside the biological ship they were sitting under.

There is always a lingering sense of oppression on the surface of these planets. The afterimages of countless creatures whisper in their ears one after another, emitting shapeless and broken songs. After the Randan aliens attached to the surface of the planet are eliminated one by one, These voices suddenly turned from leisurely tranquility to mourning for the ruined fate, like the cold wind wandering in the lost paradise, telling the despair that was about to dissipate.

Soon after, his helmet turned slightly: "Without a large-scale call, we can prepare to evacuate."

"It seems that the angels' hunting was quite successful," Jack murmured. "They finally cleared the nerve nodes on the plain. After all, it was the original body who led the team, wasn't it?"

"We got a sample." Hammer said, holding a glass culture jar sealed with metal in his hands.

This is a silent flesh and blood sample they took out from the inside of a closed abdominal cavity of a biological ship. The shape is somewhat similar to the Randan biological ship itself. It may be their prototype or cub, or the one that breeds invading aliens. Prototype, no one knows. As for the remaining samples, they have all been destroyed.

"Barela got it." Hashem said softly, stood up, bypassed some alien skin holes damaged in battle and natural weathering, walked towards Hammer on the slope of the belly of the biological ship, and walked from Iron Warrior Hammer's He took the glass jar in his hand and held it up to his chest, "We are walking on divergent roads, but we are all warriors of the Emperor."

"It's so rare," Jack said with a smile, "to hear you two groups forgive each other."

Hashem turned back: "This is not forgiveness, my friend. Even though our arguments never stop, we still need to remember that He alone is above and everyone below is equal. From the Astartes to the Auxiliaries, to Mortals who are loyal to Him, we have no right to condemn each other, and forgiveness is out of the question. Yes, we will never rain fire on the bodies of the lost like they did, but we respect their merits-"

"Hashem!" Jack exclaimed.

The glass jar held in the Word Bearer's hand suddenly shattered, and the silent alien flesh and blood seemed to be injected with some kind of vivid consciousness, reviving without warning. The bone blade generated in an instant pierced the connection under the Space Marine's helmet, Red blood spurted out instantly.

Hashem stepped backward, fell backwards without any force, and fell into the hole that was not covered by the surface film of the biological ship.

Kroger suddenly stood up, and the hand cannon's crosshairs chased Hashem's body with the fastest reaction speed, but the cannonball still missed the falling Word Bearer.

"Go find him." He immediately ordered, "Kill him."