Chapter 458 Golden Throne
The huge, crazy towering throne stood in front of Magnus.
Like a banyan tree made of countless steel vines, or some kind of giant dragon with cables as its veins and golden steel as its muscles pulsing in the energy vortex, the Golden Throne is firmly entrenched in Terra. The center of the throne room - so huge, it seems to fill the entire throne room, but so small, compared to the entire Terra, compared to the entire vast galaxy it will serve in the future, it is smaller than a speck of dust.
The air was filled with the scent of ozone, intertwined with the bitterness of myrrh, creating a pungent smell that made Magnus' heart curl up in his chest.
Sitting on the throne is the Lord of Humanity who took him to the stargazing tower a month ago.
Only today did Magnus know that what Rogal Dorn, Perturabo, and he had spent more than a hundred years personally helping to build, and what he recognized with infinite pride and joy as the greatest masterpiece of his life, Alongside his beloved homeworld of Prospero, the core of the Webway is the golden cage reserved for the Emperor.
Yes, he played an important role in the erection of this torture device.
And he was actually happy about it.
In Magnus's etheric vision, he saw things beyond the limits of the real universe.
He saw half-dark light immersed in the back of the entire human empire, like a set of black blood vessels, with unexpected tenacity, starting from the solar system and piercing to the edge millions of light-years away. .
In response, the galaxy uses equal pain as the most efficient nourishment to feed back to the dark shadow in the throne.
Shadow, exactly like this, what Magnus saw was a dark shadow, nailed in place by a five-pointed star that exuded pollution and distortion, destruction and despair. His life had already reached its peak. Entering the spiritual border of death.
As for the golden light, if the edge that outlines the black shadow shape can be regarded as actively emitted light, then a ray of golden light does still exist.
"This is what you came to see,"
Malcador said, ever since his staff was lent to Perturabo as a token of Nicaea, the Imperial Chancellor began to re- Walking on legs only. This shouldn't be a problem for him, but his tiredness matched his appearance.
"Magnus, the Emperor is here... There is no other choice. The Tyrant Star may come at any time. And when the end comes, it must be born directly in the cage... This is our only chance."< br>
“But——” Magnus said, slowly calming down the panic in his heart like a fluttering bird, “I——”
Malcador stared at Magnus Nuss, his voice sounded right next to Magnus's ears, his tone hoarse.
"Speak, he can hear you."
"——Okay. We are checking the twelve major nodes of the Webway Tutmons except the Terran node. They are even Scattered in various star fields, so Rogal Dorn, Angron, Perturabo and I each received a quarter of the task to confirm that there were no humans living around each node planet, and there were no aliens or other Traces of species infestation ”
Magnus said that he felt that his voice sounded too dry, with broken sparks rising along with the residue of myrrh. This is a reaction that his fake body in Terra should not have. No, this is the negative effect brought to him by the dark radiation of the Golden Throne, where time accelerates and flows towards the end of destruction.
Inopportunely, Magnus remembered the stasis crossroads Vigberach he had discovered in the Webway, where the situation was completely opposite to that of the Golden Throne - the river of time rolled to Vigbera. He, in the absolute light of the crossroads, is close to eternity, even countercurrent.
“This work is nearly completed,” the Crimson King continued. “There is now one node left in the Holy Grail Expansion, waiting for Perturabo to go to inspect. It is almost complete... However, during the inspection In the process, a question sometimes comes back to me, and I hope to get the answer...and see what I can do for you, father."
The dark fluctuations are like sleeping. Breathing, rising and falling steadily, Magnus had to convince himself that the Emperor was indeed listening, or that the Emperor was still capable of listening.
He took a deep breath, and then continued: "I want to know that setting the Golden Throne in Terra can certainly stabilize the core node of the formation, but how will it be ensured by relying solely on radiation from a single point? Are the remaining twelve nodes indestructible? We can send heavy troops to guard them in the real universe. Father, I can also directly guard any one of them, but they are still relatively fragile..."
Did the Emperor really hear his statement? Magnus expected an answer from the Golden Throne, even an audible sigh or even sarcasm. But he got nothing...
+Accept me. +A hollow sound rang like a bell in the room.
Magnus exhaled the air from his chest, closed his eyes, sat cross-legged on the ground, and let go of his mental defenses.
The cold wind pierced his skin and passed through his chest, like Magnus was a hollow stone tablet.
Suddenly, all his thoughts disappeared, and as the black wind accelerated towards the end of time, he was cut and disintegrated in the powerful impact, until the curtain of light stopped his drifting and reassembled him into a complete individual.
He came back to his senses and saw a golden light curtain that went up to the infinite high point and went down to the extreme bottom, blocking another kind of terrifying darkness.
Just by scanning the darkness behind the thin light curtain, the fear and pain that penetrated the bone marrow swept through Magnus's spirit body. He screamed silently, shouted, and howled, as if Already passed through the light of gold, and his voice penetrated endless time in the darkness...
+Don't look, Magnus. +The voice sounded softly, pulling him back to the other side of the light curtain in an instant.
He returns to the boundary between reality and unreality. There is no image of the Emperor here, only the distant voice of his soul, emanating directly from this fragile veil of light.
Magnus trembled and lowered his head, no longer looking directly at the terrifying danger behind the golden curtain.
"Father."
+I'm glad you accept me as I am. +
"Yes. I must accept it." Magnus whimpered.
Did he really not expect it at all? No, during the long period of time when the Emperor had not appeared, this possibility did exist among the ten thousand speculations he had made.
So he accepted.
"You heard my question..." Magnus said, "I wonder if I'm thinking too much, father."
+Were those architectural drawings that alerted you? +
“I can’t deny it, Lord of Mankind. That night in the conversation at the Star Observation Tower, you made me aware of the theory of being alone, which made me think about the stability of the remaining nodes again. I don’t want any surprises Coming in the future...Father"
+You do think too much because you underestimate the power of the end and death, Magnus. +
The Emperor's answer was more straightforward than ever.
+As long as there is pain and suffering in the galaxy, the Lord of Darkness will be nourished. Pain is salvation, hell is heaven. My vision will follow the brilliance of the star torch to reach all corners of the Milky Way, and I will remain eternally vigilant about the range within the reach of human footprints. And my power knows no bounds. +
+Listen, Magnus, since you have this suspicion, then you can also join the ranks of the Overseers and monitor the entire galaxy with all your attention to ensure that death comes evenly and appropriately. +
“Average... and Moderation?”
+ Correct death is a must for the Lord of Darkness to maintain stability. Once the balance is broken, humankind’s failure will be irreversible. +
Magnus shuddered again. He did not expect that this communication with the Emperor would bring him such a task: this made him clueless, and even gave him a little fear. Both for the mission itself and for the Master of Mankind.
"I understand," he said bitterly, "I will join."
+Besides, you reminded me of something: I want your body to return to Terra to confirm that I am in the process of transformation He never left the throne. In the process of birth, once the Dark King was derailed...+
The Emperor fell into thinking, thoughts warring in his heart, leaving Magnus's heart to fall along the gravity.
+I had another plan. +The Emperor spoke again, just as the tape started playing again. +I had another plan. +
"What is that?" Magnus asked cautiously. The emperor was silent again, for a moment, he said:
+Remus and Constantine know the answer. After all node checks are completed, I will close the Webway Formation. When I am on the back side of the blocked world, I will no longer be in contact with the real universe. If something unexpected happens, Remus and Constantine know the answer. +
"...What accident, father?"
+Anything. +
And the light curtain has pushed him away, throwing him back into the bitter-scented environment of the throne room. He opened his eyes suddenly and found that his legs were numb and the world was still spinning, flashing with dark patches.
An old and strong hand grasped his shoulder.
"Stop screaming, Magnus," Malcador reminded in a low voice, "This is the real universe."
Magnus looked around in horror, the darkness The instinctive panic caused by the light had left him, and he gasped for breath, finally realizing how intense the pain he had just felt was like being penetrated by a heated spike.
"I know, Sealbearer," Magnus said, staggering to his feet from the ground.
——
"Looks like we're going to have an evacuation," Barban Falk said, scanning down from orbit at the nighttime lights of the Last Node planet.
The population statistics of this unnumbered planet are not included in the census of the Imperial Ministry of the Interior. Considering the irreparable shortcomings of the Imperial political system, such omissions are inevitable.
But when it happens on one of Thutmons' thirteen node planets, the shortcoming becomes an absolute trouble. "It's best to keep it clear and clear to avoid potential accidents," was Perturabo's direct order.
This is also the reason why their Primarch Perturabo brought a large camp with him when traveling - in order to deal with unexpected emergencies.
"War Blacksmith," his adjutant came up to him, addressing him by his rank, and reminding him with a frown, "There is no life signal here."
"Huh?" This surprised Fokker. He turned around and looked directly at the warrior beside him while speaking, just to comply with the etiquette attached to the identity of a war blacksmith. "What are your instructions, Lord Perturabo?"
"Wait," the adjutant raised his right forearm and checked the information scrolling on the data board, "Lord Perturabo will personally explore this planet, War Blacksmith."
"Okay, I Orders will be obeyed," said Falk, taking his seat.
——
“Is this a dollhouse?” Morse raised an eyebrow, “A dollhouse for an entire planet?”
Perturabo made no answer, his face serious, not amused by Morse's witticism.
After taking over the responsibilities of Warmaster, he became even more taciturn than before unless necessary.
“The machines here are not intelligent,” he put down the head of a humanoid machine that he had forcibly disassembled to remove the motherboard. "They operate exactly according to the predetermined program and will be automatically destroyed when derailed. I think this is a practical display of the urban conception template. From an urban planning perspective, this is a qualified exhibition hall."
In In front of the Lord of Iron, the bionic skin, action skeleton and nerve cables are arranged in a regular pattern on the ground, and the flowing engine oil exudes a unique aroma. There is some kind of strange cruelty in all this.
"It seems that I can't blame the imperial officials for neglecting their duties and omitting from the statistics a city that is explicitly prohibited from immigration but is home to five million machines." Morse pondered.
Just today, they landed on the ground, chose a very ancient city, and set foot in it.
The streets of the city are extremely neat, and the arrangement of the buildings reflects the characteristics of the restored ancient Terra in their loose spacing.
People walk on the street with light steps, and the intervals between each step are different, but the Primarch can easily see that their movement rhythm conforms to a certain fixed program function, but this set of functions The randomness is relatively good, and it tries its best to imitate the human walking pattern.
They passed through parks and green spaces. Plants composed of nanocomponents dropped leaves from the air on their own. After penetrating into the non-nutritious soil layer, they reorganized along the trunks of the trees. Some morning jogging machines were dressed in various retro costumes, and their identities as doctors, teachers, and other basic members of society could be seen, and they were running slowly around the edge of the green space in the park.
In the street coffee shop, Perturabo noticed from the mouth shape that the two machines intermittently repeated the same conversation five times, with no change each time. They ordered coffee, read newspapers, and talked, all like a carefully choreographed stage play.
"Who is so boring?" Morse murmured, scanning the surrounding environment. The machine passed him by. After a collision, it deviated from the established program of operation. After falling, it did not get up, but lay down. On the ground, the futile walking action is repeated. "Not even a fault correction?"
"Avoiding any intelligent crisis." Perturabo commented, grabbing a machine, groping for two seconds, and accurately destroying its power supply with his bare hands. He stared at the machine in his hand for two seconds, "I want to check it."
"Reasonable decision." Morse said.
"Someone built this place for an unknown purpose." Perturabo replied, carrying his machine, "He designed this city very accurately. If this is not Gutera's entertainment habit, then The function of this place is equivalent to a planet-sized sand table.”
They found an empty seat in a nearby coffee shop, endured the rhythmic sounds of toasting and wiping the table around them, and quickly completed the demolition. untie.
Everything here is easy to make people uncomfortable, but what is more confusing is undoubtedly the builder of this planet - now is a critical moment that determines the fate of the empire, and no one wants an accident to happen through negligence.
"No witchcraft marks, no model or origin labels," Perturabo said simply, "The origin of the manufacturing process is unknown."
"But it's a little too new, don't you think? ? These parts - I don't think they have self-healing functions, but these things are still working well, at least they are not afraid of water getting in. " Morse glanced at the robot cleaning the cups behind. "How to deal with it?"
Perturabo put down the mechanical skull in his hand.
"If destroying this place will not bring irreparable costs, I will cleanse the surface to prevent future troubles." The Iron Lord said coldly, the shadow sweeping across his mountain-like face.
"You were once an architect," Morse sighed. "It may sound unethical to say this, but I have begun to look forward to the day when Horus wakes up..."
His emotion Abrupt interruption. Within the range of his perception, two thousand meters away, three machines were walking side by side.
What is questionable is not whether they exceed the category of mechanical creations, but their image itself.
"Silversmith, No. 11," Morse narrowed his eyes, "and Erda. I suspect I know whose dollhouse this is. Has there been any change in your crystal box?"
Perturabo contacted his iron ring on the ship.
"No, no response." He frowned and pressed his lips downward into an unpleasant arc.
(End of this chapter)