Chapter 462 Silver Bullet
"You still let it be born." No. 11 said, "Even you didn't stop it. It's already a matter of time before it tears the world apart. By then you The galaxy will turn to dust, and everything you care about will be doomed."
"Or maybe it will be limited, and the time it will take to tear the world apart will be after the world destroys itself." Beau took a step forward. "Now that you're here, you can't come here without reason."
"Now do you want me to be your helper? As an enemy? As a brother? Or as an iron chain that jointly limits the Tyrant Planet?" No. 11 turned his head and glanced at the planet he was on, "I didn't expect you would call me here, but this is a good place, and it will be even better after Erda leaves. The twelve great people in the Silent Realm One of the Rune Ends..."
"Tell me what role you can play in preventing its wrong birth. Now is not the time for puzzles. Yes, it will come, but this end is not yet closed. . Before it completely leaves the throne, I think you should seal this place with us and ensure that the formation is properly closed."
"The formation cannot be closed."
"The time has come. It sounds like you know something about this formation. No matter what Erda wants to do to the Emperor, from now on Tyrant Star will be here Tutmons is sleeping in his cage. You either help or leave, or you are forced to leave."
"The formation cannot be closed, because it is too late, it has already stood up. In our real universe, outside the sentries and walls that you are vigilant about. Otherwise, why do we all feel something? Why is the blood in our souls gurgling out of the gap? Or go and take a look at your Terra? , your father must have left the bondage, maybe he is still fighting against the darkness, maybe he is powerless.”
“You——”
+He is right. + said Morse, returning from his trance, still silent, as if his faculty of speech had been overtaken by the rising silence of the night.
+ What he said is right, the Emperor... There is a missing corner of the node. The Emperor never gives up, but a crack appears in the Golden Throne - no, the balance still exists, but it is on the verge of destruction. +
Morse's psychic voice oscillated in the silent city. Perturabo looked back at him, and he saw Morse's face blurred under the cover of golden runes. , or the craftsman is actively covering his expression.
+...Yes, if the rift in the throne continues to spread, even if the rift in the throne cannot be repaired, all nodes must be overthrown for the Emperor's second plan. +
+I'll tell you the part of his original plan that I know about, and let me figure out how to say it...+
"What are you talking about? I'm right, Isn’t it?”
No. 11 asked softly, noticing inquiringly the tacit understanding between Perturabo and Morse, and an expression that seemed to be a smile slipped across his unclear face.
"Perhaps," said Perturabo.
"So, what do you need me to do for you?" No. 11 asked curiously, "I heard that in this case, you can offer a bouquet of flowers? Sing a lament? Or recite a litany? ?"
"What do you mean?"
"A gift for you."
"No need."
"No, it is necessary. You know that I no longer have the ability to sacrifice for his plan, Four."
No. 11 said, walking towards him , spreading his hands to show that he is unarmed, even though this has no additional meaning for a psychic master other than to show attitude.
"No. 4, you said that the Emperor has told you everything, then you also know that as a node, our essence is as important as our body. Here, you are the only one who can serve as a complete node..."
Number 11 said, along with his words, his right hand pulled out a bouquet of transparent crystal flowers from the air, glowing with the dark purple-blue light of dusk under the gray sky, and attached A few floating red candles.
"So, are you going to die for him?" Eleven asked curiously, his voice softer than the thick clouds surrounding the nameless planet, "Right here? Who will help you, the people around you? "
"That time has not yet come, Eleven, if you are willing to go and mend the rift."
Morse walked to Perturabo and stood with his arms folded. Certainly. The glow of the runes surrounding him was restrained, sinking behind the pale waxy skin.
"The Emperor's will restrained the collapse of the throne at the last moment. Now he needs someone to counteract the dark forces he cannot control, and then Malcador can help him return to the Golden Throne."
"Well...have you begun to resist your mission? This is not consistent with the righteous words you once said."
"The plans we know are not the same strategy, No. 11. Plans are mankind's armor against fate. After putting on the first set of armor, why can't the master of mankind find a second set of heavy armor? This is his current plan. , as long as he can still control himself, his descendants will still be his descendants, not tools and containers for the mission."
No. 11 lowered his eyes.
"Am I his heir? He doesn't think so, does he? No, it's not necessary. You don't need to pretend that I am so that I can help you. I don't need to ask questions either. I was born and bred for this, and there is no other place for me to go, Perturabo, but until then—"
"Stop, you're fighting. What riddle?" Perturabo said, glaring at Eleven and then Morse, "What was the Emperor's original plan? I don't want you to talk about this in vain, but I know nothing about your riddle. I know. Of all the people here, I am——"
"The Warmaster?"
"His son?"
The two psychics said in turn, and then looked at each other.
Perturabo followed closely, "What is dying for the Emperor? What is the first plan the Emperor abandoned?"
Number Eleven looked at him, he Looking a little shaky, his smile widened into a sarcastic gasp, "So you don't know. I thought you, all of you brothers, knew what the Emperor was thinking, and I thought everyone You would rather meet your mission and die for your father - truly obey your orders and commit suicide. It turns out that I was just mistaken..."
Morse's voice gradually overshadowed No. 11's. Whispering.
"It was written in that letter, Perturabo. It was that letter that I shared with you and Magnus at your hospital bed. You know, I didn't read it in its entirety. I was I don’t think it’s necessary to use that paragraph... Emperor, your throne is high!”
He paused for a moment, recalling the horror and anger he felt when he read the secret letter, and listed them all. Press down.
“The answer is simple, Perturabo, you were not created as heirs, nor were you created as a father longing for twenty children.
“ It is not difficult for us to imagine that as the lord of mankind, his first consideration is how to properly utilize power to seek long-term benefits for mankind - rather than having some self-righteous martyr plot and putting aside unnecessary self-sacrifice. in the first place. "
"Messiah once is enough..." Number Eleven said softly.
"What's more, the Lord of Mankind now clearly regards saints as the enemy of the empire's stability, scorns the mission of depriving mankind of the right to choose through the preset only path, and believes that submerging individual responsibility and freedom under the light of the sublime cross is ancient Terra. The legacy of the family should be eliminated together with the last church?
“Yes, when a normal human being makes a plan, how can the best option be to die first to respect him? How high is his moral pursuit before he hopes to make a huge sacrifice to preserve his eternal reputation? What's more, he is an emperor? ”
Morse said, switching to psychic communication of tens of thousands of words, allowing the thoughts and emotions of the three inhuman beings to directly collide at high speed.
+The Emperor’s original plan was simple. : Thirteen containers are used as blockade points, which are enough to lock the power of the Dark King within a certain range. Four containers are used as conduits to channel the power of the dark gods into it. In the end, there is only one heir left to help him succeed. In addition, he decided that year. Leave two spares in case of emergencies
+In order to adapt to the power of subspace, the cores of these containers also need to be obtained from subspace, and the outer shells must be made of materials from the real universe. The vessel itself is corrupted by the warp. In order to lead the Space Marines, the vessel needs to possess superhuman appearance and trustworthiness +
"Primarch..." Perturabo said, "The meaning of our birth-"
"Tools. Weapons. Containers." Number Eleven answered skillfully, as if he had been taught thousands of times That way.
+Yes. His creations, His tools, His artificial beings.
+No one knows how he accomplished his work of binding the energy of the Warp, nor where he obtained the means to create the Primarch. All in all, after the Great Crusade, seventeen of you should have returned to your original responsibilities, becoming the spokes that maintain the Sea and Heavenly Wheel of Souls, or the cornerstone of the human empire. +
“...one person per node?”
"And our essences will be connected to each other, Four. Until then, our consciousness will die, so that the container can remain pure and stable."
+I guess Erda can't accept this, right? ? +
“She is scared.” whispered No. 11, “she said that his ambition blinded his morality, and the false prophecies deceived his reason... But, you said that there is another Plan...the second plan that should have succeeded? He still hung himself on the cross, ah, just like Erda said..."
+He did overturn his own decision. cross? If you must describe it this way, you don't mind using it to prove the limited knowledge in your mind. +
+At some point, he realized that each of his sons had a name,+Morse's mood swings paused for a moment and he revised his words.
+At least most of the Primarchs have names. So, at a certain moment, he realized that he could not kill the seventeen heirs who trusted him and looked forward to him. At a certain moment, he realized that he had given the tool emotions, expectations and wishes, which had an influence beyond power and control; at a certain moment, he realized that he had become the core of identity and belonging, and was included in a larger In the community system, it is impossible to escape. In addition, at a certain point, he discovered that the second construction of the Webway could greatly alleviate the pressure of controlling the Dark Lord alone.
+At some point - the Emperor regretted it. +
Morse looked at Perturabo with a complicated expression, recalling the countless invisible turning moments.
Is it the moment when the Emperor witnessed the green skin's repairing effect on the Webway?
Is this the moment when Perturabo met the Emperor decades ago at the Pharos Lighthouse?
Is it the moment when the Emperor plays Fath and mentions Moro to him?
Is this the moment when he steps onto the stage at Olympia as St. George and says bluntly that the past is past?
Or was it the moment when Primarch No. 2 was brought into the City of God that should not have been born at that time?
Or was it the time in the Terra Palace in 963 when he discussed the unknown bet of becoming a god with Morse in the snow?
He said: Plans will always go wrong. So we have to fill the possible void created by planned failure. This goes on and on until the end point is reached where manpower is exhausted.
He said: At the beginning of the plan, they were not sons. arms. tool. weapon. Only not an heir, until the plan changed.
He said: The thoughts I have for you are thoughts of peace, to give you a future and hope.
He said: All of us are tools, weapons, containers, fruits. And humans are never satisfied.
"So Erda's hated plan has changed," Eleven said with a half-smile, "He weakened the twelve branches of the Silent Realm, right? All control was handed over to The Throne of Terra, and the restrictions on extracting the power of the warp in the hope of positive and negative annihilation are also lifted... Then, when darkness descends on the mortal world, there will no longer be a snare to restrict it.
"Yes. , what else can we do now? Think about it, if your father is as cruel as Erda said, how much better human life would be——"
"No," said Perturabo, "—no."
"Am I wrong, Four? Did I say something wrong?"
"Your logic is correct. "But the destruction of the plan cannot be attributed to the emperor's decision-making, not to mention that there is still room for redemption."
Perturabo said, his thoughts were running endlessly, constantly taking more factors into consideration. .
Whether the Emperor once regarded them as pure tools and containers is no longer important. They have already built enough emotional links. He really learned about the anger and sadness when he truly learned of the Emperor's original plan - if that Disturbing his calm mood, the painful fire burning in his throat was the words of sadness, an emotion that had been forgotten and refused to be acknowledged by him.
This alternative plan is just an echo of the distant past. At most, it is a proof of the change in the Emperor's heart. Those imprisoned in the past are pathetic, but the consequences they caused make the hateful override them - the old enemy Blade, He The slumber of Russ Luperkar, the false crowning of the Warmaster—the last was the starting point of Lorgar Aurelion's misstep. The shadow of the snake loomed behind it.
Perturabo's chest trembled, and his tone changed to a low growl: "The Emperor's plan can still be undone, as long as the excessive power at this time is restrained and the throne is repaired!"< br>
Number Eleven stared at Perturabo, his face fluctuating like mercury, and the shadow of the crystal snake flashed across his fictional body. The bouquet fell from his hand and was replaced by a classical revolver.
He fired faster than the fastest gunners among mortals and even the Astartes, and faster than the Primarch Perturabo, who was not at the forefront in close combat, but still Can't keep up with the never-ending protection of bronze inscriptions.
Under the flickering light, Perturabo suddenly grabbed No. 11's hand, and the gun fell from his hand. No. 11's body instantly dissipated, and then reappeared a little further away, with a face on his face. Still a faint smile.
The fallen gun was instantly picked up by Perturabo, and a bullet with spiritual fire was ready to be fired, hitting the left shoulder of No. 11 - its snake body hovering in the sky, faintly visible, suddenly trembled, and a cluster of The tiny flames exploded and died, taking with them several bright scales. "You're going to stop me, Perturabo," hissed Eleven, "I told you you were going to stop me."
"How to stop you? Kill you "Perturabo shouted, his voice piercing the gray and black streets. He looked directly at the silhouette of the giant snake. He raised his hand holding the gun, and the gun barrel transformed into a heavy hand cannon woven with runes. Just when he asked During the process, the sound of cannons was already rumbling. He would rather talk to the giant snake after shooting it down, and Morse would help him complete this psychic battle.
"A good offer, Perturabo."
The giant snake lingered in the sky in pain, its movements slowed down, and in the eyes of the intact Primarch, it was almost silent. It was motionless, but the stability of its voice was not affected at all by the pain caused by those scales burning with golden flames, and it remained as calm as ever.
"If you kill my will, then I may be at your disposal, Perturabo. I don't like the reason for my creation."
Golden flames on its massive snake body An inescapable giant web of flames was cut, and a fragmented burning smell blew from the high altitude wind, as if it were volcanic ash falling from the sky, blowing down forcefully from above.
Perturabo's hand cannon chased the body of the giant snake. His arms were raised high and he fired the cannon continuously, as if this had become some kind of eternal fixed ritual that must be repeated continuously. In a circle surrounded by snake bones.
“Come down!” He yelled, and the reason of the material universe told him that this would make his voice louder, or perhaps his turbulent thoughts were finding a way out on their own, making him unable to help shouting, “Come down!”< br>
The giant snake seemed to have descended a little. Its skin cracked continuously, and the unhealed silver blood divided the world like threads, shredding the endless dark space.
"Really? Really? Then hurry up, Perturabo." Wherever the silver blood passed, the vegetation, soil and rocks made of nanoparticles were all scattered, and the mechanical dummies on the planet's ground melted and collapsed one by one. "Then burn my skin and chop off my head," it said. "Then let me die for your tyrant. Oh, this is always the same thing as dying for Erda," it said. The hissing chuckle was even naughty, "Kill my heart, smear your blasters with my essence, and then hit your Terra," it said, "quickly."
"Get down!"
"I might as well leave, Perturabo, I might as well leave like this..."
"Wait!"
"But will I leave? Will I? My destiny is not in my hands. I have no hands. How can a snake get hands——"
The Iron Lord's hand cannon blasted out multiple anchor points involving the golden wire snare in the void, like a giant harpoon for hunting sea fish, dragging the giant snake down to the ground. The giant snake struggled uselessly, futilely, and even casually in its web for a few times, and more silver blood spilled out onto the ground, further destroying the sandbox city.
When the snake's body fell, a huge echo trembled and reverberated in the infinite sea of souls. Perturabo's etheric vision went dark for a while, and the accumulated residual light of the afterimage flashed a large number of spots, scattering like fireflies in front of his eyes. open.
The final crash exploded in his ears, shattering all the dull barriers and obstacles. Under the shocking air waves of the supreme ocean, the Lord of Iron fell backwards - no, the whole The world tilted upward, gravity shifting wildly for a brief period of time. He clung to the edge of the falling building, panting to resist the turmoil and chaos in the soul realm.
Then, a face suddenly appeared near him. The slightly darker-skinned face looked at him quietly, faded by blood loss. He glanced at him twice, then moved his eyes to the hand cannon made of a bunch of gold inscriptions, then raised his head again, breathing short and weakly.
His eyes were open and unblinking. There was neither joy nor sadness in them. Some of them were still just an expression that might be a smile but could not be called an expression. That was all he had, Perturabo suddenly realized.
"Do you want me to fulfill my mission?" he said. What was the emotion in his eyes? Not fear, nor surprise, or expectation. no.
Hate, Perturabo read this rare emotion, hatred, there was no doubt about it, it was blazing and gloomy hatred.
Perturabo turned his head and looked at him. The building he was holding was continuing to collapse. Some debris peeled off into the dark void below. Some of them may have been beams of wood or iron railings. , silently.
"I want it." Perturabo replied decisively, "I want you to prevent the real arrival of the Tyrant Star."
No. 11 took a breath and continued to open his eyes. Twitching slightly like an incapacitated wind-up doll. Then he began to gasp softly, filling his heart and lungs with flying embers and the dregs of the shattered crystal.
He seemed to want to say something, but his words seemed to have been burned dry by the golden flames, or he was in a silent room with a complete vacuum. He could only stay in that unknown place and wait for himself to die from the exhaustion of air. At that time, he would fall backwards, his fragile bones hitting the ground and breaking, and his blood would gush out from his wide-open mouth and broken spine, filling the entire dark space of nothingness.
"Really?" he asked.
“Yes.”
“In whose name?”
“Perturabo.”
"For who gave you the mission?"
"Myself."
"Because the Emperor did not give you the order?"
"More than that. I do it for me. responsible for the decision.”
“Then you want me to fulfill my mission?”
"Yes, No. 11."
No. 11 continued to look at him. He no longer smiled. His lips twisted into a dead and cold expression, which was finally the same as the previous dark hatred in his eyes. unified. But his eyes abnormally showed a real smile, as if the world in front of him finally ushered in a dawn, and that dawn was actually the last moment of dusk before sunset.
He stared at Perturabo and asked no more questions.
Then, his face disappeared, replaced by a spring of silver blood. The spring warmly covered Perturabo's body, especially the pair of hand cannons he carried.
The body of the giant snake also transformed silently, evolving into a huge cavity, directly connected to a certain end point inside the planet. The silver blood is still seeping out, spreading through the countless cracks on the snake's body that will never heal, maintaining this temporary passage, blocking out the subspace creatures who are roaring and shouting excitedly, scratching and tearing harshly. The sound of cracking and gnawing is endless, and it is as impenetrable as a layer of water.
Just at the other end of the passage, the endless darkness surged cruelly and violently, tearing the golden shell into pieces, like a gauze with holes.
This is undoubtedly not a real substance, but a sublime reflection of some kind of non-material realm. With the fury of corroding the world, it is spinning and crashing crazily in a cage that is on the verge of being broken, and may explode further at any time—— Yes, it has taken its first step, and the blockade that vaguely wraps around it is nothing more than a fragile rope like hair, unable to resist the rumbling and violent black beast that straightens the reins.
Perturabo did not blink, glaring into the darkness on the other side of the passage.
He raised his hand cannon and blasted out a cannon. The silver blood attached to the cannonball emitted an incredible pure flash, like the new snow falling on the dust, or the mercury covering the earth. It was quick and clean, seemingly slow and Stagnant, yet as fast as a shuttle, unbound by any force, penetrating space and time until it reaches its destiny's end.
Did Perturabo hear anything? Some imperceptible, phantom-like pause and void? A silent question or answer? Some formless gasp and final hate or smile?
Silver light and darkness cancel each other out in violent collisions, erasing each other, constantly invading and canceling each other out, eroding each other like tides and sand in the pull and flow, and gradually transforming into violent ravages.
The crystal clear energy within the giant snake's torso surged up, limiting all the overflowing wind and waves within this timeless attack, until some deep-seated things began to collapse and disappear, and the darkness was roared by silver light. After biting through, the dissipated majestic energy gradually became transparent during the struggle, dancing, flapping and roaring, but still weakening layer by layer.
The original golden light suddenly brightened, and was reconstructed again with a strong will, pulling the darkness backwards, blocking it within the golden wall that began to repair itself.
The glow of two-color gold and silver seems to meet in an instant, like a distant, perhaps wishful meeting.
But after that, the brilliance of mercury began to disintegrate itself, and in a few moments, it completely, silently, and flew away without leaving a trace. It's like it never existed.
Perturabo put down his raised hand, breaking away from the battle in the spiritual universe, and the invisible battlefield moved away from him.
He lay there, staring at the sky, where ashes were still falling.
"His birth is once again on hold," Mors said, sitting next to Perturabo. "The throne needs to be repaired. The Emperor's veil cannot be breached a second time, or we will be Nothing can be done."
Perturabo's silence was longer than usual.
Then he spoke: "What if it is destroyed a second time? Do I need to kill seventeen more brothers?"
"That has no effect. Tutmons's nodes have all been blocked, and a new node container cannot be added. The Emperor-" Morse paused, "has given up the option of killing you."
"And what if the throne is overwhelmed a second time?" Perturabo repeated stubbornly. "What if? The Emperor has given you the answer, Morse, in his secret message. The Lord of Mankind will not give a completely outdated plan!"
He raised his upper body and raised his lower lips. Pressing hard, his face tense, he had a thousand questions waiting to be asked, all of which translated into an uncontrollable commanding emotion in his tone.
Morse looked at him deeply, "Magnus already knows the answer, Perturabo. He has deduced everything he needs on his own. Everything we need."
"What about Moro?" asked Perturabo.
"What's wrong with Moro?"
"Eleven said it," said Perturabo. "No, the word just echoed in his consciousness, included among many other words. Mother, Father, empire, throne, flower, snake, pain, hatred, chip... There are ten thousand words flowing in his blood, among which thirty words are the most frequent, and only one of them puzzles me. "< br>
He looked at Morse: "What is Moroch?"
——
"The Word Bearers cannot return to Terra," Magnus said from the stack of books He grabbed the sound array button and shouted to Rogge Dorn. The left side of his face was covered with blood, "Rogge, no matter what reason you use, stop Aurelion! The Pilgrim cannot compete with the Emperor. Emperor’s meeting, the Lost Son’s blocking ability is limited”
"...What?" Roger Dorn said.
"It's Tarot - never mind it, trust me Rogue, you know what's going on with the Word Bearers now. They're going to make things worse for the Emperor, although I'm not sure yet in which direction... ...Go and intercept them, please!"
"...Okay." Roger Dorn replied, "But I need further explanation, and I look forward to your answer. "
The Crimson King threw away the sound array button and covered his face with his hands. His mind was screaming loudly, and this had been going on for a while. His pain deepened every time he figured out the position of a new rune on Tutmons' ring.
Is it necessary? No, or he should say, even if this is the case, is there still a chance?
In addition, there are still some loopholes in his tarot divination, some layers of fog - he hates this set of mysterious tricks, but now he has to take them out and apply them. He was good at them, as good as Mortarion, that was undeniable.
He has deduced a small fragment of it, that is, the Emperor received the prophetic enlightenment in Moroch, but who brought the enlightenment is still unknown.
He also saw that there was still something watching around the throne: it was a snake, but the Lost Son had clearly met the lightning tower representing Perturabo - yes, Perturabo's The card transformed into a lightning tower, and Magnus couldn't yet figure out what it meant.
What else can he do?
(End of this chapter)