Chapter 96 Communication
"...So I ordered to rush to Prospero from the real universe." Perturabo said, his well-hidden eagerness revealed in his fingers clasping the edge of the table. "The message from the solar system said that you never reached Terra. What happened?"
"I am collecting travel experiences from one-day trips to the realm of the Chaos Gods." Morse said, "Obviously I Another safe return."
"You win?"
"Actually, it gave up the trick, but we still have to wrap up and start thinking about Tzeentch in this section. What did time do again - in short, you made a very wise decision.”
"You mean I chose to leave the real universe?" Perturabo thought of Magnus's cry about how disgusting the subspace was.
While his knowledge of this told him that Magnus was overreaching, it did give him some additional warnings about the importance of keeping the fleet clean.
"Moreover, if you had not escaped from Prospero, I might have to go back to that maze again." Morse's fingers crossed the surface of the fleet's voyage record document, and the flipped paper made a rustle. Voice, "Although it does not affect your identity, who knows what kind of transformation that part of you will undergo after falling into the maze, right."
"Their choice to act this way actually has something to do with me?" Petu Rab said unintelligibly. "But I'm sure all the scholars are surprised to see me."
"Actually, a more accurate description is that their fate threads and yours have additionally intersected due to interference."
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Perturabo nodded silently.
After losing Prospero's body and receiving a less than optimistic reply from Terra, he found himself ignorant of both his brother's and Mors's situation.
After making the decision to continue accelerating, the only thing Perturabo could do was to maintain a steely composure in front of his heirs.
Morse noticed Perturabo's worry. He left the table and came to the window of the office. There is no form of Prospero visible within the visual distance, only the deep and cold dark universe and the bright spots left by the sparse stars.
Being clearly aware that you are in the sea of stars will bring different sensory experiences to different people. A conqueror will be excited, a scholar will be full of exploration, and for Morse, he can taste a sense of calmness, even if this calmness is just a thin illusion covering the turbulent eddies.
"You can keep a window on your Iron Blood in the future." Morse tapped the window with his knuckles, "Just in your office. It will help your mental health."
"I will," Perturabo agreed.
"Okay." Morse said. "How long will it take for the fleet to arrive at Prospero?"
"Nine days... no, less than nine days." Perturabo calculated, taking back the time that he blurted out for some reason, "It can be reached within a week. "
"Then let's pray that Prospero can survive a week," Morse replied, "If I haven't guessed wrong, according to the characteristics of the Lord of Change, the person who hurt you is now. It’s almost time to die.”
Perturabo didn't know whether to start his rebuttal by saying that those people were incapable of harming him, or first be surprised by Morse's rare and almost cursed tone.
“Maybe,” he said at last.
Mors turned back to look at Perturabo, and for a moment imagined the possibility that he had not landed in Olympia on the old night.
In the library in the center of the Labyrinth of Tzeentch, he saw too many branches of the universe. Whether it is true or false does not matter, but if the prophecy is only regarded as a type of information - credible, unbelievable, partial Believe it or not, wartime intelligence is just this kind of thing - then he did realize a lot of new content.
Perhaps one day he will share what he saw and heard with Perturabo, but not now.
"I'm going to Prospero," Mors said, "to see where Magnus has single-handedly directed the situation on that planet."
"The Iron Warriors then Come." Perturabo said firmly. ——
“I haven’t seen you.” Morse patted the black robe and confirmed with satisfaction that his body did not have any marks on his face or neck due to long-term folding. Excessive weird creases.
He threw down the small cloth bag that had just jumped out of it and was originally hanging on the wall, and looked at the mortal face that was gray with fatigue in front of him. This psyker looked like he had been in the sun for too long. of faded parchment, haggard and weak.
"But I guess you're Amon," Morse said.
He received no response. The master of Magnus named Amon is currently in an almost completely still state, just like everything around him, stagnant like a wax statue.
Morse looked at the cloth bag he threw just now. The first moment the thing left his hand, it fell into an extremely slow flow of time like other objects, stagnating in the air, like It is held up by invisible supports to form strange shapes.
Morse reached out and touched the traces of the ether, reading Magnus' handwriting in a familiar style. This Primarch paused time in Tizca, making the flow of time here different from the outside.
He found several calculations made by the hermit in the pile of papers on the platform of Amun, regarding his interpretation of the prophecies, and his persuasion to the Tizka people in recent days that it would be better for them to appear in their homes. A basement to hide from crisis.
It seems that he also convinced Perturabo to give him the cloth bag for safekeeping. Morse didn't know how Perturabo explained the contents of the bag to Amon.
He followed the stairs back to the ground, and saw a staggering army of Soul-Eating Bees at a glance; outside the city wall, due to the different speed of time, there were even denser numbers of Soul-Eating Bees swarming in from all directions, and they were Domain boundaries are blocked.
What is even more eye-catching is the twisted pyramid like a huge background plate. Silver-white sharp corners protrude from every material connection on the pyramid surface, blending with the purple-blue creeping halo in the sky above. As one body.
At the top of the golden pagoda, a dim golden ball of light struggled to contain the spread of purple-blue light, like the crumbling dusk sun, struggling in the changing clouds.
He set out for the Pyramid, burning down all the warp beasts that invaded the physical universe along the way.
Just before the light ball at the top of the pyramid was about to turn completely gray, the red giant rushed back from the other end of the city. His feet were bare, his chest was heaving violently, his body was covered with the dirty and sticky poison stained when he slaughtered the Devouring Bees, and his red hair was messy. There were half-scorched marks on his body, the excessive extraction of psychic energy had left deep pain in his soul, and his own blood was flowing on his hands.
Magnus's embarrassment exceeded Morse's imagination, but his painful multi-colored eyes were fixed in gold and red as blazing as living fire, and they would never go out even if they were covered with dust.
Morse waved to him, causing Magnus, who was rushing around the golden tower and the city, to notice him.
The Primarch rushed to him immediately and asked without a moment's delay: "How is Perturabo?"
"He is fine," said Morse, The golden light of a string of ancient runes flashed in his left hand, "I'm driving the boat to you, for fear that something will happen to you."
As he spoke this he sensed the position of another body, and thus knew that Perturabo was approaching Prospero's orbit.
This is one of the possible consequences of unskilled psychics trying to forcibly change the flow rate of time in the area. In just a few minutes, several days have passed in the outside world. Fortunately, in this case, this side effect can be considered a good thing.
A look of confusion flashed across Magnus's face, and his overloaded spirit even prevented him from being relieved. He just stood there, trembling all over.
"Magnus, let's go to the pyramid and I'll teach you how to deal with the energy furnace." Morse woke him up.
"Whether it is by spiritual or physical means, forcibly destroying the furnace will cause the creation of subspace cracks." Magnus's statement contained doubts.
"Yes, I want to use spells." Morse answered Magnus's question, "I hope you are equally talented in this area."
(End of Chapter)