Chapter 484 Shell
Among them, no one would accept a gift from the Emperor, the real, former Emperor, at least Ctesias believed so.
He is not a person who speaks loudly, which does not really touch a part of his soul, but he does not deny that he has some unique views on things, such as Azak Ahriman or Amon.
These darlings favored by the primarch Magnus all have unusual persistence in many things. That kind of enthusiasm can replace blood pumping out in their hearts, just like Ahriman falling from the force of force. Among the thousands of warriors, the boy was floating within one meter in front of him. When he looked down at him, his face was still proud and a little cold.
Unfortunately, this characteristic is not unique in the Fifteenth Legion.
"We will not accept your gift," Ahriman said, as the runes surrounding him gradually lifted him up from the time gap at the edge of the crossroads.
They did not really reach the final moment of stagnation. It was a one-way line that never returned. They, the Templar Lecturers, and the Ray, plus Narek and his crew, just stopped on the edge of the cliff where they fell into the cessation of time, precariously listening to the torrent of shadows of the past flowing from them. The feet fell into the endless deep pool and shattered into fragments like stars.
And the boy's shadow floats in the empty air.
+Why? +The boy asked calmly, without needing to speak. +One Astartes can afford to speak for me. +
Why? Ctesias thought, as if he could hear Ahriman's voice ringing in his ears, carrying the remaining pride and anger in his stubborn but broken soul, as well as the thinking responsibilities he must bear as the chief think tank.
Ahriman's consciousness echoed with the embers of Prospero, and as soon as those flying smoke and dust did not set, Ahriman would never look directly at the Golden Throne. But how on earth will he explain it to the Lord of Mankind? In some moments, he must hate the Lord of Mankind and himself at the same time. That complex hatred will briefly overshadow the hatred for the Dark Lord, and then quickly fall into self-controlled silence.
Ahriman stood quietly. After a while he spoke, his voice low.
"We are about to return to Prospero, to raise our city from the ashes and recover all that we have lost. Your mission cannot provide us with what we will seek throughout our days... In repaying Tiz Before Ka's nurturing kindness to us, regarding the repayment we owe or receive from humanity, forgive us, we can't focus on filling that hole
"Amon will be willing to lead his warriors to continue to truly serve the Empire. Fighting against their masters, and probably many of us here do too - but not all of them. "
Not far away, Battusa Narek's eyes were a little wide. He looked at Ahriman's terrible courage in amazement. Among the Word Bearers, he rebutted his superiors. It will not appear in the scope of thinking at all-not even Aurelion, who claims to serve humans as equals with them
Soon, he was called upon.
“But here is a man who will be willing to accept your orders, obey your wishes, appear where you need, and do what you need. Because he has no other purpose.” Ali Man said, turning his face sideways and casting a glance at Narek. "He would have received the honor if he had not refused."
"How could I refuse?" Narek said, his expression an equal mixture of surprise and disappointment, and he stepped forward Come, walk through hundreds of red-robed warriors, reach Ahriman, and face the boy with him.
"I am willing to obey all your orders, just as we have always done," Narek sighed, "just as we have always been supposed to do. I swear in your presence... and O Compared with Rilian, I am so lucky to be able to listen directly to the holy words that he cannot hear."
The boy looked at him.
+You swore an oath to me to pay for Aurelion? +
"No, my lord, it is impossible. Lorgar Aurelion is not worthy of me doing anything for him. I make my choice for my fate and my sanity, and for the fate of mankind."
Batusa Narek knelt down on one knee and pressed the power sword in his hand into the void. The words flowed out of his mouth skillfully, but they also carried a different kind of true emotion - restrained and bitter, rare for those with words.
The traitor of the Word Bearers trembled slightly and said word by word: "I hope that my Lord will be glorified at the end of time, and that your loved ones will be safe on earth. I praise you for your glory, Thank you, may you listen to our prayers, forgive the sins of the world, and have mercy on all people, because you are the supreme good and the only source, and everyone in the world should share the blessings you give. Pour fire upon me, and I will walk in trouble, for I believe in the good things you have prepared for us, beyond the greediest imagination.”
Ctesias suddenly realized that Batusa. What Narek was reading was the teachings of Mulistan, which was also a short sutra written by their first leader.
The boy came down barefoot from the air, holding the skull in one hand and a shell picked up from the river in his other open hand.
+Open your mouth. +
Narek raised his head and obeyed the boy's command.
The boy placed the shell in his hand under the former Word Bearer's tongue like a coin.
The shell phantom composed of light and time disappeared the moment he took off his hand, and Narek was instantly knocked down, covering his mouth and kneeling on the ground, with a painful huffing sound coming from his throat. It was as if he had just been immersed in a thick swamp or long river made of mud and sand. He struggled for a long time on the edge of suffocation and death before being rescued. At this time, he was gasping for air on the bank of the long river.
The boy smiled slightly, and the shadow of the wheat field behind him gradually faded, and he himself turned around and returned to his original dream.
There seemed to be a silvery light guarding him like wings, taking the boy with him into the eternal intersection between here and there, which did not exist in this world.
Those light and elegant colors gradually erased and faded from the edges of the crossroads, leaving only the red-gold runes of the Webway itself and the endless cold pure white.
"The Emperor has left?" Ctesias muttered, watching the boy's last back.
He turned to Ahriman and asked him remotely: +Are you satisfied, Azhak? +
+ Return to the ship, Ctesias. We're going to set off again. Take Bartusa with you... + Ahriman said briefly, dodging his question.
“No,” Narek said. His face still showed the daze of severe pain. He stretched out his hand, as if he was grabbing something in the void to push himself up. Ctesias realized that the Traitor Word Bearers had heard the voices of the Suns of Dust. +So, where are you going? + Ahriman asked calmly, perhaps without much expression until he died of complete brokenness.
“Listen to the enlightenment of the stars,” Narek said softly to the empty world, “I have a guide to goodness, Azhak Ahriman. Leave the ship I brought with me, Legion 15, I will not go with you to Prospero"
+Only your ship? + Ahriman confirmed once, then nodded, + Go ahead, Battusa Narek. +
Narek seemed to have come back to his senses, the erratic expression quickly faded away, and his own face returned.
"And my crew," he said half-complainingly, nodding back to Ahriman, "I can't sail an entire ship by myself during the storm season, even with the Emperor's blessing. That's too much. Also, since you want to go back to Prospero, just follow the webway - forget it, I'll draw a diagram for you. Who brought the draft paper?"
——
The coiled energy vortex suddenly spread outward after a sudden contraction, swinging like ripples in the real universe, briefly revealing the blank road wrapped in it.
The Wan Zhang Ray drew a sparkling trajectory in the tide of reality, and was facing a fleet gathered in front of it - there may be hundreds of imperial warships, varying in size, some as thin as mosquitoes and flies , and some fell haphazardly over Prospero like scattered empty pea shells.
The silence in the vacuum was torn apart by the vast reverberations aroused by the noisy human voices and emotions that remained in the fleet. Ctesias could hear those terrible war cries, reverberating and spreading from every point in time, overlapping with the following moments again and again. , until the roar and screams that remain in this moment of "this time" are so intense that they cannot be added.
If he got closer, Ctesias could predict the confrontation between those naval guns and the defensive rails, as well as the explosive sparks.
His heart trembled a little, facing all this challenged the upper limit of what he could accept. Even if he prides himself on being a person who is not easily irritated... maybe he is right. He has heard some companions whispering painful curses near them, staring directly in the direction of Big Tizka, until Tears welled up in their eyes.
Some fragments of names flashed through Ctesias's mind. He couldn't help but capture the strokes and syllables of the real names that appeared within his perception, trying to write down his thoughts on Prospero one by one. The names of those who inflicted the atrocities, record all the punishments meted out to the Prosperos by the Luna Wolves, and the executioners who were on the opposite side of their hatred.
Maybe they came back too late - no, they came as fast as they could. The webway route obtained from the boy is shorter than any other route...
Ahriman did not miss a single choice that would have brought them back faster, or if he did, and he had another choice, then who could blame Azak except the wronged souls of the City of Light? ·Ahriman?
In the Fifteenth Legion, there is no one with a higher status than Azak Ahriman. Only his own conscience can kill him, and that is indeed an effective weapon.
+Do not consider them our enemies,+ Ahriman whispered, like the tap of a wind chime upon Ctesias's mind.
He is right, Ctesias thought, but it is not easy to do. In this short period of time, more than three hundred names have fallen on Ctesias's mind, hanging on him in the form of a hook.
Something like a dreamcatcher, he thought, a hook with a string of names... He ran his hand over the names... some of them belonging to the Luna Wolves, some of them native to Prospero He even knew many of the people... and some of them brought him a lot of surprise.
Iron Warriors? This surprised Ctesias, and other Thousand Dust Sun scholars with their own strengths also came to the same conclusion and exchanged glances with each other.
Azhak Ahriman closed his light blue eyes. For some reason, it seemed that this did not surprise him.
His power extends in the warp, and the black crow captures every moment carried by the flow of the vast ocean, combining them into images of reality, Prospero's reality.
As they expected, many scenes had been destroyed. The damage to the pyramid and the dimming of its glory made them heartbroken, but the scene on the ground was still beyond their expectation: the battle was still continuing, and this attack The duration was far longer than Prospero himself could endure.
Right there, on their ground, the unique colors of the Iron Warriors are filling the vacancies in every battlefield in the City of Light without hesitation, against the terrifying background of the hanging black sun, and the shadow moon. The Gray Wolf fights tirelessly to protect the land of Tizca.
They are about... there are still about 20,000 people. The temporary defenses after the city was broken have become extremely strong. Force field shields and physical fortresses are scattered all over the devastated Tizka. Although they have destroyed everything that once existed here. The beautiful scenery makes up another kind of scenery, a kind of cruel scenery that the Suns of Thousand Dusts can't think of anything better than this.
This means that they still have something to protect, and there are many remnants that have not been completely destroyed. This means that Tizca's civilization has not yet been destroyed, even if it is on the verge of shattering. It meant... that they had friends to rely on, and it meant that the Iron Warriors had kept their word, maybe even a little too much. What kind of gratitude can express their feelings...
The mixed emotions in the air are filled with deep shame, despair and regret, but there is also hope: there are still many people who have not been killed. , right in their homes.
The scene where Ahriman gazes at Prospero, seems to have fallen into a kind of deathly tranquil thought. His expression was hidden beneath the blank helmet, and his mind was surging silently.
They held their breath, eagerly waiting for their chief to make the next decision.
Ctesias could hear the gentle clash of the jackal's swords.
+Get ready to drop anchor,+Azhak Ahriman said, stretching out a hand forward, a blazing red fire burning in his left hand, and a circle of silk wrapped around the staff in his right hand Satin-like energy fluctuations.
The souls closely connected to the Thousand Dust Sun let out a silent roar under his guidance, and the roar swept into majestic power, instantly igniting the pearl-white Moon Wolf battleships.
(End of this chapter)