Chapter 478: The Head of Heretics
Batusa Narek clung to the snake-shaped handrail protruding from the wall when the ship was shaken, and frowned as he watched the servitors and crew members during the bombing. Fell to the ground.
Some people stood up, covered their bleeding noses, and quickly rushed to the console, checking the navigation system and subspace engine that were on the verge of going out of control. The parameters of Geller's position dragged out a terrifying and undulating arc. . Some of the indoor cables came loose, whipping dangerously against the walls in a flash of sparks.
“Turn on the plasma engine,” a temporarily promoted supervisor yelled, squinting his eyes and blocking the dripping sweat with his eyelids, “We must temporarily leave the subspace!”
“But—— "Another crew member responded anxiously, the light spot marking the attack dancing in the reflection of his pupils.
"Do as he says." Narek let go of the handle and stepped forward, his two hearts struggling to beat in fatigue. Either they fall apart in the subspace, or they are chased by the legions they once belonged to in the real universe. They must make a choice.
The navigator who was sitting on the floor crawled out from the pile of paper boxes and flying combat manuals. His face was pale and he glanced at the Space Marines hesitantly. Narek was keenly aware of him, or half of his attention the entire time.
"What do you have to say, Navigator?"
"I'm not sure, my lord, I don't think we need to get involved..."
"You Either tell me what you found now, or let your discovery be buried with all of us, you know that we are heading towards the end," Narek reminded in a light tone, "No supplies, no destination. All we have is our own life, and there is nothing worth losing except it.”
The ship began to rise from the subspace, and the colorful stars were shattered amidst the roar of the engine in the real universe. They fell out of the back of the world. The violent jolts made the armored shell of the ship creak, and everyone's thoughts were as tight as a string. , but the next assault of artillery fire was delayed.
In addition to the attentive servitor who was still manipulating the system panel, many people were obviously relieved.
The navigator pulled a broken stool and climbed up, as hard as he had just climbed out of a swirling mental storm, "We are not the only boat here, sir. There are also some people, some The signal floated over, but I am not a professional astropath."
"Should we avoid it?"
"No, my lord, that is not a signal we are familiar with. It is not the Word Bearers. ," he said quickly, "If we have no hatred against them, we can ask for help, sir, we can't continue to fall like this!"
"Not the Word Bearers?" Narek muttered. "What kind of ship?"
"I'm not sure...but-"
"There's a signal, sir!" said another crew member, almost shouting with joy, "That's... they took the initiative to contact us, the flagship of the Fifteenth Legion, Wan Zhang..."
"Tell them that we are being hunted by the Word Bearers, right now." Narek interrupted him , a bad possibility popped into his mind.
If they are all being hunted by the Word Bearers, what about the Fifteenth Legion who are on the same side as Perturabo? There are a hundred doubts telling him that this ship should not be here, if it is already there——
The enemies of the Word Bearers have become my friends.
A message was sent out almost instantly, just as Narek finished speaking. The urgency and solemnity of the former Word Bearer made the crew realize the seriousness of the matter. The signal to declare his identity traveled thousands of miles in the blink of an eye, chasing the footsteps of the last reply sent to the Wan Zhang Ray.
Time seemed to stand still in an instant. The red lightning that suddenly fell from the endless deep space was still in the broken storm. The infinite spreading power was forcibly gathered, leaving only the remaining sadness and anger. Wandering in the aftermath of the power of the Sun of Thousand Dusts, it has yet to completely dissipate.
+Enemies? +There was one voice that spoke these words, or a thousand voices, a thousand lonely questions from the depths of the universe.
Narek took the data pad: "Battusa Narek, I am no longer the Word Bearer."
+...Why? +
+The Word Bearers took Ahriman away...+
+...dead? No, no...+
These words of the soul keep spinning and flipping, like light red water drops, sliding down the glass surface of the universe. Finally, a voice gradually stood out.
+No longer a Word Bearer? +
Narek took a deep breath. He hoped that the words he sent did not sound so empty, at least not as empty as his two hearts.
"The Word Bearers are lost, brothers of the Fifteenth Legion... Or maybe I am lost, and Battusa Narek is a heretic in my Legion. If you are willing to accept a rebellious heretic First of all, please allow me to board your flagship - I want to tell you everything I know, because someone must do it."
——
The Gray Storm on the Planet. The desolate surface swept over it, like shriveled rough corpse cloth, shaking from time to time while trembling. When the Ironblood was close enough to see the outline of Moro's planet, Morse let out a slow breath. Trying to extract some possible memories from the vague past.
No, there is nothing there, as if everything that has ever happened on this planet has not yet arrived for him.
"There is a ship," he said, scanning the icy planet. "Black plating, unmarked. The technology used is ancient and advanced. What can you see, Perturabo?"
The image of the Lord of Iron appeared on the side of the porthole in front of Morse. The image woven by the data flow changed in light and dark, setting off a slightly gloomy iron and stone face.
"I can see the subspace storm stopping here. I can see the planet registered as a forge world being completely destroyed at some point and turned into a ruin of exile." Perturabo did not When he opened his mouth, a passing fully mechanical servant spoke on his behalf.
"Yes...yes. The veil here is not unique, but it is sheltered - long after the planet was destroyed, this remains is still closely guarded."
This is the reason why the Iron-Blooded has still not been able to enter Moro's orbit. A thin non-material network hiding dangers blocks Moro from the intrusion of the vast sea of souls. No one can reach it directly from the subspace channel. Within the atmosphere of Moro; in the real universe, the invisible electric light dancing on the same protective net also hinders the spacecraft from safely entering the interior of the planet.
Behind them, the manic vast ocean roared endlessly, and the thick toxic colors condensed into giant oozing color blocks, slamming against the surface of the network, but only smashed themselves into countless sharp grid lines. On top, only muddy stains of various colors were left.
Morse stared at the dense network that was still operating, with some complicated emotions in his heart. Perturabo noticed this no matter which camera was installed in the Iron Blood. He didn't ask any more questions.
"How did that ship get in?" said Perturabo, and then got the answer himself: "The Emperor's handiwork."
"You guessed it, I guessed it. That was the arrangement before the Lord of Mankind ascended the Golden Throne." Morse replied in a low voice, hesitated for a moment, and then suddenly retreated into the bodyless void state. His will stretched forward and approached the rotating mesh surface. One of the golden threads was instantly pulled out. In an instant, it shrank from a thin line stretching for tens of thousands of miles back to a tiny invisible morpheme...
It returned to Morse's missing arm, like a small button, hanging to the edge of the original form, filling in a very small part of the missing part - even though it is so small that it is difficult to detect, its whereabouts are No doubt.
"...Morse?"
Perturabo's question became distant on the Iron-Blooded. Morse gently slid back into the material body he once made and propped it up again.
"I can't imagine what Nyos has ever done here, but now, I think we can get into Moro." Morse said.
As the landing craft's thrusters gradually approached the ground, the light illuminated the floating embers on the planet's surface: a thick fog of volcanic ash still drifting in the thick atmosphere after fifteen thousand years of stasis. middle. They fell on the flat ground, and the spiritual energy became so dense here that if a soulless person came here, he would probably be drowned by the spiritual energy.
Morse’s hand wrapped in black cloth held up a handful of dust and judged whether there were still old memories in it... No, it was too long ago, and there was almost nothing left. There are still the remnants of destruction, the remaining rusty dust of war machinery, the remnants of some colored plating, and the loud bang of an instantaneous explosion.
This planet was once destroyed by humans, but why?
Then, he turned back and looked at a point in the sky - a small point that coincided with the light of the star.
That's the next missing spell morpheme. "I believe it's over there," he said. "I'm also beginning to be sure that there is indeed a secret that has been buried for a long time. In fact, I think there should be guards here, sent by your father, waiting for the call of duty."
Morse sprinkled the dust in his hands, "I have heard his breathing... Yes, if he must be somewhere, then he must have served the Emperor. A private order. He was born for the Emperor."
"Commander of the Imperial Guard." Perturabo frowned. The absence of the golden-armored leader of the Imperial Army might not be noticed by everyone, but as a warmaster, he would inevitably catch this anomaly. Malcador had told him not to worry, and he accepted the advice of the Imperial Chancellor.
......Is Macado okay now? What if something happens to the Golden Throne? What about the loyal but unpleasant old man?
Perturabo stopped his thoughts, enough, he thought, enough. He probably already knew the answer, and the answer fell on his numb soul, as if it still had a torn blood mark.
Morse said simply: "You are very keen. Yes, Constantine Waldo is one thousand three hundred kilometers away in the shallow underground, and his consciousness is still alive. The distance is not too far. , I will take you there now.”
They walked against the wind, and the vast scale of the earth shortened under their feet, turning into a small gray afterimage. The edge of the canyon rushed towards them, and they climbed down the steep edge, falling against the mountain and then landing on the ground in a circle of rising embers. Several discarded iron pieces fell off the cliff and fell among the ashes. The dust was turbulent in the air current.
The wind and sand returned to their original flow, and the clanging sound of metal boots sounded in the roaring silence. Slowly, a golden outline emerged on the dark edge of the cave not far away, stopping there and watching quietly.
Then he took off his helmet and met the eyes of Morse and Perturabo. There was still dried blood on that face.
"My Lord said that someone will come." Constantine Waldo said, his voice cracked in the wind and sand. "One who needs to wait."
Perturabo took a step forward, looking at the Custodian Commander, identifying the scars hidden in his armor. Details form a clear conclusion: a long close battle has just come to an end, and although Constantine won, he was also seriously injured for a time. No matter what, he stands here quietly, like an immortal monument.
"Now that we are here," said Perturabo in a low voice, "What is the Emperor's plan?"
Morse muttered softly in the dust: "I don't know when he turned into a prophet again."
Waldo looked at them, thinking left traces in his eyes, and after a while, he spoke .
"You are not the ones I am waiting for for the Lord." He said. "He is waiting for a human."
——
Euranius Persson doesn't know what happened to Terra, but it must be among the legions who took him away Unexpected.
But what about the Legion's Primarch? This is a mystery. At least, the worries that could be detected from the mortal servants of the Legion and the few Space Marines who were not good enough at disguise never appeared in the Primarch named Joe, or Alpharius, who was sitting in front of him overlooking him. On the demigod.
Is this one really Alpharius? No, Orr doesn't want to worry about it anymore. He grew tired of the Alpha Legion's tricks so quickly that no magic trick, no matter how subtle, was enough to elicit a smile in the face of real disaster.
"The Lord of Mankind is no longer the man we knew." Alpharius said, "He has changed."
Orr nodded dullly, unsure of the future.
No one in the galaxy remains unchanged. What's more, he has been away for too long, and his past with the Lord of Humanity is as blurry as a cloud of old smoke. They parted ways, but they didn't draw a chasm with hatred, they just let time take them in different directions. But if there is a chance... to meet him again?
He couldn't think of what he wished to say. Maybe he would ask if the omen he believed in at the time, the omen that led to his complete break with Erda, brought him the ending he wanted. Or maybe he'll shrink back before meeting the Lord of Mankind.
Alfaris did not expect his answer.
"I had a premonition of his change, and I know that part of me has paid the price." The Primarch continued, speaking in a cryptic soliloquy, telling what only he knew. . "Our hands have brought disaster, and I believe it cannot be undone."
"What is that?" Orr asked.
Alfaris glanced at him, "Only I know."
Orr shook his head: "You don't know, Primarch."
"Really." Alpharius was noncommittal. He paused for a moment, and Orr took a sip of water in the frozen silence, "Then what are you doing now?"
"Choice."
"I can't help you. I Just an ordinary human being," Orr murmured, feeling the coldness of the hanging cross pressing against his chest.
Alfaris leaned forward, his shadow falling on the table. The shadow of a terrifying giant.
"Are you loyal to the Lord of Mankind?" he asked.
"Of course," Orr sighed, "Of course."
"Do you think being loyal to the Lord of Mankind is always right?"
Orr was confused He raised his eyebrows, did he need to deny this? In front of a general under the lord of mankind?
“That’s right,” he said.
Alpharius leaned his upper body back and then he stood up, taking a step back toward the door.
"Then the Alpha Legion will return to Terra." said the Primarch. "You gave me good advice, Orr."
Orr suddenly felt uneasy. Feeling, he watched the original body leave and leaned back in his seat.
Every day passed as usual, and Alpharius never came to Orperson's room again. Hydra's servants ensure Orr's daily life, even if Orr doesn't feel he needs extra care. When he figured out the rules for running the bathroom faucets and saw those shadows through the curtains, he still accepted the surveillance in silence.
Day after day, he listened to the announcement from the radio - he was sure that this was a toy specially made for him, which made him feel mixed emotions.
Going from the outside of the Sun Star Domain to the inside, they passed one by one planets that revived Orr's memory. Jupiter...Mars...the storms that disrupt subspace routes are coming soon. Is it the Earth's satellite, the moon? He chewed the word. The moon?
"It is expected to enter the planetary orbit of the Throne World Terra tomorrow. Passengers please be prepared..." Today's announcer was replaced by a young man, and his tone was more casual than others, " Hold on to the handrails and fasten the safety magnetic buckles. On Terra, you can see the Imperial Palace on the left and the ruins of the warlords' melee on the right. Maybe it's snowing in Achaemenid this season..." Orr began to feel that something was wrong. , "By analogy, hell I don't know. If you plan to leave this hellish place, please call John Grammaticus. He is about to take you thousands of miles away. Make sure to take all your belongings with you. Eulanius Pesson. I'm outside the door, and someone asked me to come and talk to you."
(End of this chapter)