Chapter 234 On the other side, the battle of machines
Perturabo did not understand at first why when he crashed into the interior of the small church from the main entrance on a flying skateboard, these should have shown his unattainable racial characteristics. A slender creature, but it reacted almost indifferently to the intrusion of a giant ape.
It wasn't until he walked into the church hall and was stopped by a broad blade flashing cold light at the door, and heard "Where is your master" coming from behind the bone-white helmet of the Eldar, that he He realized how much he looked like a flesh-and-blood mechanical creation belonging to a certain Comorian noble, with his peculiar shape of nearly four meters tall, half body made of bionic leather and half body smooth metal. In other words, how inhuman he was.
He lowered his head higher than the carved black gold stone door frame, and half of his face was sunk in the dark void of the mechanical skeleton. The dark green light flowing on its surface illuminated the top of the nightmare-like helmet.
"I am my own master." Perturabo said, saying this sentence made him feel a little subtle, on the one hand because he adopted a surprisingly plain and empty tone, and on the other hand On the one hand, his unfamiliarity with the Eldar language is inevitably giving him a mechanical tranquility.
There was deep suspicion in the slightly raised blades of the Eldar, and their actions told Perturabo that he was being recognized as a machine out of control. It made him smile indescribably, at the misestimation of the power of a Primarch by these races who believed themselves to be clever, even if he was now only a small part of the complete him.
"So, machine, where do you come from?" the Eldar gatekeeper whispered dully, the movement of his knife being more subtle than the trembling of an insect's wings. "Who made you? Allowed you to come here-"
"I am my own master, that has been said." said Perturabo, and the second repetition made his Pronunciation becomes smoother. He took a step forward, assessing the circumstances under which the two-meter-long blade would be unbearably swung. "I am here for your faith."
His determination gradually became clear. Yes, he needs to borrow their power to gain a foothold in this dark city.
After possessing the Iron Warrior long enough, solo action begins to become too much for him to adapt to. He is essentially a controller, and Perturabo realizes this.
"Yes, yes." The Eldar looked at him, and it sounded like he licked his lips to keep them moist. His voice became dangerous, and the long blade was moving slowly, "But you should know that out of control machines …”
Perturabo kicked the unknown Eldar in the wrist. The Eldar barely held the handle of the knife and tried to retreat quickly, while Perturabo immediately chased after him. He grabbed the long knife with an iron palm and pulled it out of its owner's hand, throwing it onto the ground that was shaped like a bone by the brick surface.
The next moment, the Eldar was picked up by the Primarch, his armor pressed against the brick wall, and broken stones fell from the back of the Eldar.
The Primarch's vocal apparatus began to simulate the speech of the Eldar, emanating from the surviving grid and face half covered with bionic skin.
"Don't try to lecture me, Shrine of Cairn. You may think you've wandered far enough on your broken path, but you don't know what's truly worth fearing. Do you understand?"
He was not prepared to give a more specific explanation of his existence. He did not really understand this race immersed in the psychedelic blood wine of darkness and depravity, so he hoped that they would find their own fantasies and put this into practice. Fantasy rests on his existence.
After he easily relied on preemptive tactics and the warrior's unfamiliarity with an iron ring machine to win a quick victory, more enemies poured out of the church, and the black armor seemed to come from the depths of Commorragh itself. Emerged in the dark cold night.
What happened next was efficient and lengthy, beginning with a series of occasional howls of excruciating physical pain, and the shattering of armor and skin. Glass and broken iron are piercing into more living bodies, and this is only the first in a series of battles.
Division and violence immediately erupted wherever the black armor was, and the colors of silver, green, and gold swept out a storm so precise that it was silent. In the constant movement, running and jumping, the fragments were tumbling in the air chasing each other. Several flying figures with wings passed by nearby. Perturabo grabbed one of them and borrowed a broad-bladed long knife to let its arterial blood flow. It splashed out from its body, its wings flapping continuously.
In this battle, a subtle and regular rhythm can be observed in the metallic flash that follows every unarmed attack of the Man of Steel.
The battle gradually reduced from a multi-person chaotic battle that was turbid and blurry like the sulfur smoke of a volcano, to a clear and dangerous simple situation.
Life survived under Perturabo's hand. On the other hand, he had heard about the resurrection technology of the Haemonculi, and the church he belonged to happened to be related to the people scattered at the bottom of Commorragh. There is a cooperative family among the Haemonculi.
"Stop..."
Perturabo heard a voice say. He paused his fight to check the condition of his mechanical body.
This set of skeletons modified by the Emperor showed excellent anti-cutting and anti-blow properties when faced with damage lower than the erosion of the warp, and these aliens as opponents seemed not familiar enough to defeat an alien A metal creation driven by the fragments of the Star God. Simply put, he gets very little real damage.
An Eldar woman stood inside the church door, the folding fan folded away and held in her slender, modified hands. Her dress and the embroidered patterns on her finery were proof of her status, and it was her narrow lips that issued the request for an armistice.
"Yes, it's you." The Eldar snapped, "Stop fighting! I acknowledge your power, Machine, but there is no need for this dispute to break out, why can't we talk about what you are asking for from us Content, and then provide you with the path to higher power you need?”
Perturabo focused on the exaggerated collar decorations of the Eldar, and then, his inspection moved to the Eldar. Different from human face. She is more slender, her lines are sharp and elongated, and her powerful and highly efficient muscles are tightly attached to the surface of her bones, like a precision-designed creation, but with more autonomy.
He picked up a broken sharp blade from the ground, looked at it in his hand, and before causing more tension among the Eldar, he dropped the sharp blade and let it clatter to the ground.
Then he took out from the package he carried the gift that the church had given today to the Wyatt family that he had destroyed. Good thing this unique craftsmanship gun wasn't damaged in battle.
"This is not a weapon," said Perturabo.
"Of course," the Eldar became a little impatient, "This is a gift, the bullet cannot be fired——"
Perturabo raised his hand, and a thin The chip came out of the gun, followed by the next one. Four shots later, the Eldar fell to the ground, bleeding, the first casualty of the battle.
"It's over." Perturabo said calmly, walking into the church.
Behind him, mercenaries and church members struggled to stand up among the collapsed masonry and broken stone slabs, leaning their bodies at various angles, barely getting close to the steel giant in the center. They enter the church.
Perturabo admired the broken stonework, strange metals and decorative colonnades, the rich interior decoration that kept the church's ornate exterior from becoming a mockery of its interior. He carefully looked at the crystal cups, ceramic bottles and other works of various crafts placed on the gallery shelf, showing his unique attention to these works without any explanation for his behavior.
When he walked on the creaking ground to the inner courtyard of the church and stopped next to the statue of the blacksmith god Val in the center, he finally said the next sentence.
"It was not damaged by the followers of the Dark Muses in the iconoclasm," said Perturabo.
Beside him, the Eldar whispered, their spirits intertwined in a noisy and trivial web, until the xenos determined how they would obey their new power.
"I can introduce you to the next affairs of our church, such as the dance invitation of the Church of the Sun - this is an urgent matter. After all, we are just a humble and insignificant small sect. This..."
An Eldar stood up, clad in rich robes with artfully designed slits at the chest and wrists, the venom in his eyes concealed by his temporary surrender to a higher power.
His guess about Perturabo's identity is difficult for outsiders to know. Perhaps only people like Morse who have the ability to read minds can get a glimpse of it. But he acted with enough respect, and that was enough.
"Perturabo," said the Mechanic Primarch.
"Well, Lord Perturabo." The final sound of the word "Lord" was deliberately prolonged by the Eldar, and the Eldar's observations were everywhere. Life here has tempered them, giving these cruel and bloodthirsty creatures the caution and meticulousness that matches their brutality.
Perhaps their spirits will only lose control when they over-ingest hallucinogenic substances, or when they are immersed in the bloody enjoyment of the moment. It is difficult to comment on whether eternal death in such a state is a kind of relief from the consciousness while the soul is still alive. , and the torture after death already belongs to another consciousness.
Perturabo turned his neck and pointed his cybernetic face at the Eldar.
"I give you permission to talk to me," he said, his mastery of the native Eldar accent slowly rising. "What is the Church of the Sun?"
——
"Welcome, my friends!" Ahmed shouted through a loudspeaker to the crowd who continued to enter the hall, allowing A slave offered him a cup of fine purple wine. "Find your place, friends! Tonight's entertainment is about to begin!"
In this vast hall, musicians and dancers wait under gilded curtains, orators and mimes converse, and restrained slaves become part of the display of their masters' mastery of sadism to visitors. A living carrier.
Invited visitors enter the hall wearing clothes with various colors of strange luster, but the main body is black fabric and smooth leather, and admire the lighting installation of the Church of the Sun above their heads that imitates Comoros. Above the metal spire, the stars that were plundered from various star fields by this proud race during the heyday of the Eldar Empire created a series of coldly shining light ball linkage systems.
Whether it is true or false, the visitors expressed their admiration and respect for the host of the banquet through their exaggerated expressions of words and actions. Only those large families who are also at the pinnacle of power in Commorragh have the right to cast an ironic glance at the crude show off of the Church of the Sun.
The arrival of Conrad Coates caused a rapid sensation that spread throughout the banquet hall.
Living at the bottom of the City of Darkness, deeper than the barren ports and dilapidated ruins, deeper than the labyrinth gaps, catacombs and heavily polluted poisonous waterways and streets paved with fragments of poison crystal guns , the Haemonculi who live with the dangerous and twisted multitude of spiers and caves have long declared, openly or secretly, that these twisted and ancient flesh monsters will not abandon their crazy experiments and instead waste their time making noises with the other residents of Commorragh. In the midst of a noisy struggle for power.
They watched indifferently, sitting around the table, enjoying the painful taste of the war at the top like high-quality gourmets, waiting for the situation to alternate between division and stability again and again, knowing full well that no matter who wins or loses, no one will Dare to offend the flesh and blood artist who actually controls the life and death cycle of important people in the upper echelons.
It is precisely for this reason that Konrad Curze, the Blood Marquis who killed his old master and announced his identity as a Haemonculus, has recently cooperated with a young slave, making Curze's actions extra special. Get attention.
Bold and greedy people continue to penetrate into the deepest spiral lair of Commorragh to test the movements and intentions of other Haemonculi. Of course, they gained nothing and lost much more.
All in all, the Church of the Sun, which is still considered sober, has not invited a Haemonculus to the meeting, not to mention that this Haemonculus is an alien among aliens: apart from being too large, he has not even done more Biomodification.
“You’ve been looking at me for a long time, friend. Is there anything you want to share with me?” the uninvited guest Conrad Coates hissed as he bowed past a family member, soft and extremely clean. There is no smell in his black hair - this has become a symbol of him, a unique form of emptiness and existence.
"For you, I don't think so." The Eldar replied cautiously, fearing that the moody Haemonculus would include him as experimental material on the spot. His family will not provoke the entire Haemon system for this.
“Really?” Konrad Coze chuckled softly, sat down directly next to the Eldar, turned his fingers, and suddenly a card with a double-sided mask of sorrow and joy appeared in his hand. . "Didn't you receive it? Didn't you feel the pulse of it? Can't you understand the beginning of the legend that will be born tonight, and the fantasy night that you will recall repeatedly in the next few hundred years?"< br>
He suddenly fell silent and looked at the door of the banquet hall suspiciously.
There, a strange giant made of steel stepped in.
Recommend a very interesting external fanfic, translated by lof, the translator is very good, called "Twenty Sisters of the Primarch and a Desperate Guilliman"
(End of this chapter)