Chapter 243 Conrad's Gizmo
Perturabo believes that Gabbiad is the first orthodox Haemonculi he met in Commorragh - Conrad Curze certainly cannot Counted among them, they were the Emperor's children, his blood relatives.
The Haemonculi's body is covered by a complex interference position. Compared with the misleading grid and fake refraction fitted in optical physics, this position continuously radiates to the surroundings enough to sting the soul and Neurotoxins in the mind, silently tampering with other Eldar's perceptions of him.
Unfortunately, all his efforts to hide his face and body fell apart under Perturabo's mechanical body powered by C'tan shards.
The Iron Lord could clearly see the haggard and deathly white face, the wrinkled body and the nightmare-like ugly smile. He looked hungry and nervous, between the cheekbones and browbones wrapped by the skin that had lost its elasticity, his strange eyes like black stones lingering in smoke reflected a sharp light.
+I'm here. + Morse said to Perturabo, carefully controlling the energy of the subspace, preparing to do something beyond the specifications, while not touching any possible warning equipment.
Well, thought Perturabo, be prepared to play tricks on you. He allowed a bright yellow light to light up in his empty mechanical eye sockets, taking the more eye-catching color from the two-color stripes used by the Iron Warriors Legion.
His metal structure began to operate. On the half body that had lost its outer skin, the living illusion of flesh and blood appeared for a period of time, and then disappeared after the observer blinked, and so on.
The fragments of the Star God that have become more closely integrated with his mechanical body in recent days inject flowing luminous arcs into the movement of his joints and the breathing of his ribs, allowing the electric light to fade in and out of his every move. Now.
Gabbiad and his remnant servants waited anxiously in the church hall.
He never believed the rumors about Val's incarnation.
Regardless of the fact that the legend of the Pantheon has long disappeared, Val, the craftsman god who is famous for pursuing aesthetics rather than morality, spirituality rather than the world, suddenly threw away an incarnation decades after the Great Fall. Entering the eternal city of Comoros is obviously an unreasonable move that makes no sense at all.
Considering the tradition of the church taking the initiative to create gods to stabilize its status, he would rather believe that this is another shameful and absurd stupid trick of a small church.
His faith fell apart at the first sight of Perturabo.
The dark mind of the Haemon was suddenly held in the hollow palms of some huge and cold intellectual consciousness, controlled and evaluated.
This cold existence does not only originate from where the machine is, it resides in the entire dark space. The frost brought by his breath rolls into a torrent of numbers and symbols, penetrating directly from his chest and back of his neck. It brings strong distortion and dislocation, and continuously extends the vibration in the cavity.
In an instant, he compared these ominous and terrifying premonitions with the gaze of the hungry enemy when he went outside Comoros, and was horrified to discover that there was a kind of connection between the two. The commonality is a subspace resonance that is beyond the reach of Eldar humans.
"Stop." said the Iron Giant. The bright yellow light in his eyes dissipated, and the pressure in the room faded away like smoke and breeze. Gabbiad tried to move the two appendages extending from his tailbone - they were frozen to the ground by the frost.
Bang. The Haemon didn't look, but he knew that it was the collision sound caused by the fall of one of the remains of his servants. Unable to resist the mental pressure, the servant just broke his own throat.
"I heard," the robot said slowly, with a flat tone and deliberate grammar, as if still adapting to the current Eldar language, "that you are going to offer me a gift."
Gabbiad tried his best to move his eyes away from the illusion of golden runes floating near the robot, and stopped thinking about the profound mysteries that those Eldar characters arranged in an irregular way at first glance meant. secret.
"Yes, Lord Avatar," the Haemonculus humbly bent his already curved body and twisted his expression into a respectful one, knowing full well that the robot would be able to see through the interference position. His true appearance. "I hope to show you my latest scientific and technological research results..."
"Stop." The robot's half-face with epidermis showed little interest, "In whose name do you come to my house?" In front of you? "
Gabiad concentrated, estimating what kind of punishment the robot would give him if he gave an inappropriate reply.
He could not see any compassion for Isa's children in this machine, even though Val was the god who forged Isa's tears into soul stones in mythology and gave them to the children of the goddess of life.
"Your attendant, Konrad Curze, has praised you to us," Gabbiad said carefully. "Lord Avatar."
"Lie, Konrad Curze is not a servant. His pure heart is within his body." The robot calmly said, "And I, own me Spread it, my name, Perturabo."
Gabiad's fake smile disappeared for a moment, and the high praise given to the Blood Marquis was not what he expected. He didn't understand why the alien among the Haemonculi could so easily win the favor of the Avatar of Vaal - or any other being that was equivalent to the incarnation of a god.
Conrad Curze and Perturabo, how long have they known each other? What kind of conversations did they have with each other?
"Yes, Lord Perturabo." Gabbiad changed the title obediently, letting the fear in his heart caused by facing the unknown sink in his rapid thinking, "I will keep it in mind Your order.”
Perturabo looked at him quietly, the yellow light in his eyes flickering weakly but steadily.
"You," he said, "when did you hear about me from Conrad?"
Gabbiad's behind-the-ear signal-capturing device told him that there was no monitoring installed here device. He hoped there really wasn't.
“In our assembly, Conrad said, we want to respect you.” Gabbiad spat out the word assembly carefully.
"A gathering of you..." Perturabo repeated, the emphasis falling on the gathering. "Rally of the Confederates."
"Yes."
"Very good." Perturabo did not pursue the question and moved the topic away from Konrad Curze. "Now, show your gift."
In the robot puppet's statement, Gabbiad keenly caught a hint of doubt, and his withered heart beat in his failing chest for the first time in a long time. Combining the questions before and after, he suddenly came to a guess that alarmed him.
"I dare to ask, sir," Gabbiad raised his head, "What noble position do you hold in Conrad's assembly?"
"With you It doesn't matter, Haemon." Perturabo said indifferently, the shadow of the forging flame ignited under his palm with missing fingers, burning away Gabbiad's ability to speak, and making the Haemon feel that his lips were being branded. Stitch, "Now, show the gift."
——
Perturabo is unaware of the Conclave of Haemonculi that Konrad Curze is establishing.
Gabiad thought excitedly, subconsciously moving his mouth that returned to normal: the important helper Conrad said, but knew nothing about his Night Ghost King's Court. Konrad Coates is using fictitious covenants to deceive them and using language traps to exaggerate the description of the crisis. His connection to Vaal's incarnation is not at all as close as he suggests.
In the best case scenario, the unquestionably superhumanly powerful "Perturabo" compliments Conrad Curze as a casual courtesy; The connection between them is not even deep enough to share an important covenant.
Well, the authenticity of Val's incarnation has been proven, and it's time for the Bloody Marquis's bluff to be exposed in front of the right person - his extraordinary power is undoubted, and the fake person can be exposed.
Conrad was right about one thing. The Haemonculi people also made their own preparations for the changes in the situation in Comoros.
The portrait of Comoros is painted by the black blood flowing from the subversion and cycle of conspiracy, political power and family. The story of betrayal is repeated year after year. Living in the blood nest at the bottom of the city, amidst the tremors of the upper levels, the dust suddenly rising in the air is certainly noticeable enough.
Besides Conrad Coates, Gabbiad made another bet early on, which happened to be the Church of the Sun.
A few days ago, the bloody massacre that broke out at a dinner organized by the church seriously damaged the reputation of the church; Gabbiad therefore weighed both the church and Coze.
He complained in his heart more than once. If the Night Ghost Court was just a loosely structured mutual aid association instead of an ambitious rebel, he could even choose both sides.
But now, the hard power of the church has not been damaged, and among the powers claimed by Coze, the incarnation of the God of Artisan has been suspected of using his name, and the remaining Laughing God Troupe also has the possibility of such fraud. . Comparing the two, Gabbiad already had a preference in his mind.
He boarded the gravity ship and set its course towards the Church of the Sun. On the deck, he looked down at the dark city sliding beneath his feet.
Spiers, antennas and long bridges spanning dark canals divide the urban area on the ground floor. Above, the minaret approaches the captured black sun, while below, in the eternal night, rugged areas grow layer by layer in the gaps, piling up and elongating like stalactites.
In the distant port, ships shuttled between the docking claws, and the dark mirror-like webway portal opened from time to time, capturing food for this grand city to feed on.
A scream suddenly erupted from the side of the spacecraft, and Gabbiad avoided an attack with agility that didn't match his appearance. The hooked blade sliced across his chest where he had been, a gang of skateboard thugs attacking him without reason.
He cursed in his heart and hid in the cabin. This group of looters is so audacious!
The thug's aircraft pulled out light as it swooped, and together with the wings of the Scourge, it enveloped the dim sky around him, rushing towards him like a swarm of bats. Bladed skateboards carved cracks across the outside of his airship, dim light and poisonous debris flew in all directions, and flashes of light erupted all around the airship.
His minions shot down a few with fire, and one Scourge's wings were accidentally cut by the reflective razor of his skateboard, causing him to fall painfully from the sky. The Scourge were free with their carbines and blasters, tearing at the hull's armor, while more thugs managed to jump aboard his ship, brandishing hell's knives, the double-linked ammo from their poison crystal pods seeming to take their toll. The explosions of grenades and grenades were endless.
Those wild faces cheered in atrocities, and the patchwork armor obtained from scavenging and looting proved their status as low-level scum.
Gabbiad walked quickly inside the cabin, commanding his servants to resist the annoying surprise attack, and urging the helmsman to escape the siege as soon as possible. He has no interest in getting entangled with these things, but now he is very likely to be besieged. The Haemonculi didn't understand how he could be favored by them.
During the battle, another larger anti-gravity airship approached here. A series of decomposition cannons exploded in the air, causing the attacker's flesh and blood to fall downwards.
The hunting chains and long hooks pulled his airship, pulling the two close to each other. A group of warriors jumped from the airship to his deck, looking for him.
Gabbiad did not go out hastily. Even though the airship looked like a group of rescuers, the timely arrival of the airship had proved that the previous attacks by natural disasters and skateboard thugs were not accidental. This was a murder against him.
The Haemonculi hopes to find a chance to escape from this predicament.
In addition, he noticed that the firearms held in the arms of these new warriors seemed to have been modified in some way. Different from conventional blasters or poison crystal guns, their weapons were filled with some kind of alternative ammunition. This alerted Gabbiad.
Separated from him by a wall, the footsteps of the soldiers first approached, then moved away, gradually disappearing within his wide range of perception.
Gabiad considered self-destruction in advance as an escape method. In the lair, one of his ears is lying in an empty crystal coffin. This means that he can enter the process of absorbing pain to resurrect his flesh and blood body at any time. Even if it takes longer, he will enjoy the bone-gnawing pain because it is equivalent to safety.
"There are thirteen principles of revenge." A seemingly familiar voice suddenly sounded outside the wall, and Gabbiad mobilized his observation equipment.
He saw a warrior in ordinary clothes, wearing segmented armor with a large number of sharp blades, animal skins and iron hooks hanging from his waist, and a strand of hair tied above the full-covering helmet. Colorless, but with red tassels that are probably as scarlet as blood.
"One of the maxims is that if you want something to go your way, you have to deal with it yourself," the voice said, its accent proud and cold. The samurai fired a shot at the wall and turned to retreat.
Gabiad was nervous for a moment and dodged away from the wall. There was no sudden explosion, no phase fragmentation. Knowing that the conspiracy had not ended yet, his tense heart did not relax. The Haemonculus tried to keep moving, but his legs suddenly became weak.
No, he has not lost his strength, his consciousness is still clear, and the commands to his muscles and implants are still clear, but something heavy and external is peeling off his body, warmth The protection was leaving him, and the cold touch penetrated his exposed muscles.
His skin was cracking, peeling away intact and uninvolved from his cheeks, arms, torso, and shriveled legs and feet, turning into a pale, overlapping pile of soft material that piled up on his sides. Under a metal appendage.
Gabiad screamed, slowly and painfully dragging his body with only muscles, internal organs and bones, crawling out of the piles of skin he had shed, removing the dark brown blood and bloated The flesh and blood body moved closer to the door.
After the skin, the erosion he suffered penetrated deep into the muscles, and the fibers were broken one by one, like twisted worms, falling into a pool of dripping blood. The breakdown of muscles is not as neat and rapid as that of skin, but more sluggish and chaotic, without retaining sufficient integrity.
This is more like an inconsequential side effect, or additional damage unintentionally created by the creators of this skinned flesh virus.
"Victor..." Gabbiad's wailing ended after his vocal cords broke. He had recalled the warrior's voice, Asdubal Victor. He found him personally and used a virus that could penetrate any protection. The inventor of the virus could only be -
"Conrad Coates, this guy..." A shadow fell Behind him, his words were light but hard, with a unique ironic effect.
Behind him, there was the sound of shadows picking up his fallen skin, and then the skin was thrown away.
Gabbiad fell to the ground, his remaining internal organs and bones unable to support him from making further movements. The shadow crossed over his head and walked outward, and the door opened from the outside at this moment. The samurai's combat boots stepped inside.
"Well, this is our first official meeting, Asdubal Victor." The shadow said briskly.
"Indeed." The Cabal Archon said directly, "I don't even know your name. Besides, your performance is impressive."
(End of Chapter)< br>