Chapter 247 Map of Purgatory
"We left Commorragh to Konrad Curze." Perturabo said, a little absent-mindedly. "And the Eldar."
"Within three days, Perturabo." Morse emphasized the passage of time, "You and Konrad Curze have not officially met for more than Three Terran natural days, and now you have begun to worry about whether a healthy adult primarch will encounter unfriendly emergencies in the city he has lived in for a full twenty years."
"He is not like the others, and Commorragh is not like Invet." Perturabo made a squinting motion as a volley of explosive sparks erupted from the spiked spiers below them. The burning gas burned into a gloomy green light, illuminating the dark fog below Comoros.
Morse looked at Perturabo for a while, until the robot showed a strange expression. The craftsman shook his head and sloppily combed his messy black hair with his fingers.
Perturabo is considering his brother's safety as part of his responsibility.
It is difficult for Morse to confirm when the Iron Lord had such a change of mentality. It may be traced back to the day when he picked up Magnus in the ruins, or maybe he and Rogge Dorn's troubled Phalanx are interconnected, or perhaps he is still haunted by Angron's disaster on Nuceria.
A person's thinking base cannot be changed, but his personality will always fluctuate with changes in experience and environment. Everyone is part of the case. Including himself, Morse thought.
In any case, seeing this huge robot caring deeply for a Primarch whom he had only known for a few days, Morse decided to accuse Curze. This must be the terrible penetrating influence that the bloody Marquis's innate sensitive heart had on Perturabo.
Circles of green flames spread out in front of the colorful airship of the Pied Eldar Troupe, like a whirlpool leading to the bottom of the deep sea.
Vector's nightmare loyally pointed them to the correct door to the Webway. This time the Eldar who contacted the nightmares was no longer the busy Avatar, but the clown in the troupe. After bidding farewell to the nightmares in a dramatic rendition of death, the Pied Clowns sang a lilting syncopated ditty with high spirits.
They penetrated deep into the dimension of the maze, allowing the Green Flame Gate to close behind the ship.
Different from the plain green-lit network tunnel that the Emperor is building on his own, this complete tunnel is more like a miracle between dream and reality. Rainbow-like ripples formed layers of waves on the intact tunnel walls, blocking the hidden disasters in the deep starry sky outside the Webway.
The branch portals and street signs made of wraith bones and unknown metals are still well preserved, and the main paths and capillary-like networks are mostly untouched, even if some of them have been destroyed by the screams of Elysium. It suddenly collapsed and became an eternal playground for unborn creatures.
"The wraith bones maintain the webway, otherwise the demons beyond the veil would have pierced the wide arteries flowing through the Eldar." The Avatar floated up with his iconic smiling mask, turning his hands a leather book inside. "Those claws of nothingness, dirty fangs, crunching, biting our roads, and the roads are the homes we inherit."
Morse immediately sensed that his psychic abilities had been challenged in some way, and that this unpleasant sensation came directly from the book in the hands of the troupe leader.
“Oh, don’t you like this book?” The Pied Eldar exclaimed exaggeratedly, as if they had just noticed Morse’s unfriendly eyes, and then changed their minds under Perturabo’s cold gaze. He felt sluggish, as if he had suffered some kind of spiritual damage.
“Just tell me if you have anything to say,” said Perturabo. His short Eldar sentences were actually more like a living person's speech than his longer ones, since he didn't have to think about the complexities of breaths, cohesions, and subtle intonations.
Avatar closed the book in her hands with regret. "I brought it with great difficulty from the Black Library," he teased at last, showing his growing seriousness by standing straighter.
“We are about to arrive at Cordolis, one of the tombs of the craftsman god Vaal.” Avatar said calmly, “When she was born in hunger and thirst, no kin were spared in Cordolis. We may have been the first scavengers of Caudolis ”
"That's not a very kind name for the Pantheon," Morse said. "The Eldar."
"Oh, then change it to one of the many moons of Val." The Avatar answered lightly. The airship with a poker pattern sailed into the separation point and approached the gate of the Webway. The outside world is as dark as late at night, and noisy as a storm.
"What is here?" asked Perturabo.
At this time, the airship had just left the flame-blackened webway door and jumped into the real universe from between the bronzed cross bones. Remaining steam is rising from the many pores in Cordolis's surface, casting a hazy afterglow of flames over the glistening black rubble.
"Hmm..." Avatar tilted his head and spread out the thick books in his hands. "Perhaps you can read it yourself? I think..."
He turned the pages deftly for a while, letting the paper with not-so-splendid material flip through the Eldar's slender fingers. After a few seconds, he held down a piece of paper and handed the entire book to Perturabo.
Books with their own psionic suppression effect will not affect Perturabo, who is now completely powered by Star God fragments.
He recognized the handwriting on the book and unexpectedly discovered that the book was written in human language. However, he immediately discovered that the language of the book was the least surprising thing.
What Avatar showed him was a map with astonishing content. With Cordolis as the core, tens of thousands of independent portals of the web extended like a fine network, with the smallest handwriting With meticulous markings, the connection points leading to each door are marked one by one.
He pinned the page with his fingers and flicked through the other pages of the book. Almost every page is an incredibly detailed diagram of the network's pathways, and the remaining pages are an index list of the network's partitions.
He suddenly felt that the entire galaxy suddenly appeared in front of him with a new look, without any warning. The world seemed to be close to each other, everything was tightly embracing each other, and the connection had never been severed. The Emperor's dream suddenly shed a ray of illusory light from the sky, which made his mechanical hands begin to tremble.
He closed the book suddenly and stroked the empty spine to calm the violent beating of his mechanical heart.
“Don’t be so surprised, human,” Avatar shrugged. “Many ancient roads have been blown through, and not so many are truly passable. However, Cordolis is indeed a node. The portal, within a few steps, allows you to instantly appear in many corners of the galaxy...excluding the core of the Human Empire, which is a pity, but this is also..."
"What is this?" Petula? Beau asked urgently, even interrupting the Avatar.
The smile on the Harlequin's mask seemed to widen.
"Map of Inferno," the troupe leader said clearly a word in High Gothic, and then switched back to Eldar, "I heard that you are looking for a map of the Webway, I am not sure about this. Can your Emperor be more satisfied with us, Imperials?"
"Why?" Morse asked calmly, his surprise well concealed.
"For the end of time," the Avatar said, bowing grandly, and the language he used was still Gothic first, then Eldar, "for Lanadan Della.”
(End of this chapter)