Chapter 504 Phoenix in the Mirror (1)
The Cadian people are deep here, Fulgrim thought, looking for a way forward in the vague and changing environment.
Colorful arcs of light moved in front of Fulgrim's eyes, attached to the unpredictable material. Their structures are constantly reorganized, complex and psychedelic. Instead of helping, his superhuman senses made everything more confusing. Countless lines and sounds are intertwined, like overlapping phantoms, bringing an unbearable sense of oppression.
Is he still walking in the real world? Stepping on some actual object? Or does every step he takes fall between different realities? Can't be sure.
He looked at his steel arm, silver light flashed, and his eyes stopped for a moment. Was this the arm given to him by Ferus, or was the shadow of Ferus emerging in his heart? Ferus...has he sunk? No, he couldn't believe this.
There were many low shadows on the surrounding ground. He walked past shadow after shadow step by step. These shadows were lying on the ground, as if they were longing for something in the depths. Dazzling purple light attached to those bodies, gradually evolving into a piercing scream, emanating from their shadows...
These sound waves exist both within and outside the range that humans can hear. , seems to prove that Fulgrim is not within the category of human beings. But he didn't care, he didn't want to think so much. He came here for only one purpose. That's taking who he needs to take.
He walked through the long corridor, how dark it was here - the ground pulsed gently and warmly, like living organs, and many decorative rune stands surrounded the path. They were vertical Standing up. Sixty and six. Just standing there, sixty and six. The continuous shelves formed a wave-like arc, sixty-six and six.
Is this part of some kind of ritual? Those unsolved blasphemous runes were carved on the wall, radiating into his brain along with the reverberating roar.
Fulgrim whispered to himself: Where is Ferus? Because he has gone very deep, and one question is enough to clarify his path forward. His heart and will can always point to a direction. He has this belief.
He sensed more shining spots, those fractals of heavy paint intertwined into long hair-like lines, or ripples in the water. He vaguely saw something ahead. But it’s hard to see clearly.
It seemed to be tall, vertical shadows, like the black paint on the back of the mercury in the mirror. Each one is the same height as the Primarch, but has extra limbs or some obvious disability. Some of them are made of flesh and blood, some of them are not. This complex combination of styles reminded him of Ferus frequently.
He was afraid that Ferus was one of them - was he really? Will he turn into such a terrifying shadow? Is it something so twisted that it loses its identity?
No, he didn't believe it. Even if he were to transform, Ferus would not be so ordinary. He was an unusual person from the moment he was born.
In the stories he told him, even if he didn't describe it himself, Fulgrim knew that he was always Medusa's first ray of light. This sometimes becomes a confirmation of Fulgrim's own existence... As good as Ferrus is, he is as good as he is. This was the case before, and now this subtle emotion has gradually changed, but the result is the same.
A mirror - yes, a mirror. It was like he was currently facing mirror-like black shadows, reflecting his own shadow.
... He faintly heard a whisper, the voice seemed to come from those dark shadows, with some kind of ridicule and contempt. "Look at how stupid and imperfect you are...how stupid you are when you look at yourself in the mirror. You can't bear the afterimages of your flaws. Your heart is filled with dust. How dare you deceive yourself..."
The sound was like corrosive venom, slowly seeping into Fulgrim's consciousness. He couldn't help but frown, raised his head and looked around.
“Imperfect?” Fulgrim muttered to himself, and that voice made him feel a cold sense of self-doubt for a moment. He quickly realized that this was the result of the deliberate influence of the source of power here, and tried to put it all behind him... Was he really as powerful as Ferus? Are they really mirrors of each other? Or is he just hiding under the light of Ferus, relying on the other party's strength to cover up his flaws...
He raised his hand, as if he wanted to touch those shadows, but his fingers couldn't. Stopped in mid-air.
No! It was an extremely boring manipulation method. Fulgrim drove away the noise, took back his hand, and swung his sword to shatter the mirror-like shadow he almost touched.
At this point in time, can't he still see through which of his thoughts are his true thoughts, and which things should really worry him? Then his life was in vain, and Ferus was his friend in vain.
He went forward.
The fog gradually took shape, forming a huge pit in the depths, like the reflection of an eye in the sky, a dangerous abyss and rift full of fear. Various huge inhuman reflections still existed around him, and some traces of clothing could be vaguely discerned. Fulgrim began to realize that these things were transformed beings from the natives of Cadia.
The souls and essence of these Heavenly Eye cultists have disappeared under the gaze of the cracks in the sky and the earth. All they have left are these twisted, praying shadows.
And rivers. A river that smells of incense and psychedelics. Surges along the stairs into the deep valley, like blood flowing from a cave.
A sacrifice. The word immediately appeared in Fulgrim's mind.
Fulgrim took a deep breath and continued along this path, sixty and six steps. He counted one staircase, sixty and six, and then the next. Numbers have meaning. It didn't mean enough to stop him. Whatever it was, he knew where he was.
He smiled brightly. Yes, he knew these were not Ferus. He could tell. Ferus was as bright and striking as he was.
He stepped into the deeper and deeper darkness, his goal always the same - to find Ferus and take him away from this chaos.
There is a deepest shadow in the deepest place. The existence of this shadow is larger, more blurry and illusory. No, that's a portal, a portal to the next space. Going deeper, it's not where Cardia's reflection is.
Fulgrim stepped in calmly. The road beneath his feet became smooth again, even resembling the obsidian smooth ground when he came. Here, the flaming sword in his hand turned into a dim candle, almost blown away by the pressure and strong wind.
Sixty-six steps later, he began to feel a faint purple light, falling from an infinitely high light source in the sky, and gradually spreading around until it reflected the surrounding embedded in the wall. There are countless lacquered pictures and exquisite jewelry. All these cold inorganic substances are moving organically and have some kind of activity.
In addition, there are many reflective objects as bright as mirrors. The luster and structure of the metal are constantly changing, and the surrounding walls seem to sometimes come closer and sometimes move away, with elusive rhythms and changes, like a never-ending mirror maze.
And gradually a different sound of wind came from the depths, as cold as Medusa's polar regions, so cold that it gave the illusion of heat - this was like Medusa's volcano again.
The light continued to spread, illuminating a human figure.
Is it humanoid? Maybe. In other words, this is such a huge machine, motionless and stagnant, covered in bright silver mirror-like mercury metallic luster; the skin of its chest turns into hollow tempered glass, revealing the two stars inside like crystal. The silver heart is like a carefully designed clock, made of countless perfect gears.
But its lower limbs are a turbid fusion of flesh and blood, wrapped in purple smoke and gauze-like mist, dragging heavily on the ground. If you look carefully, you will see that it is a complex existence made up of more than a hundred corpses. It is horrifying but exquisitely designed. They are connected to each other without any gaps. It is so technically exquisite and wonderful... but also so twisted and far away from human beings. Very far.
Fugre took a sharp breath and saw his extremely pale face in the mercury on the mirror.
He saw him...he knew he saw him. So much steel attached to him made him no longer like himself. What is that? No... this is not the real Ferus, Ferus is just overlapping with this terrifying machine. He barely remembered what the maid had said: Ferrus resisted all this.
He hasn't really become anything irredeemable. Fulgrim was convinced of this. So where is he? Emperor, his heart is beating so fast.
At first he stood frozen on the spot, unable to move, but this silent thought only lasted less than a second. Fulgrim stepped forward, letting the cold wind blow his white hair.
Then he stretched out his hand, that silver hand, toward the machine that seemed to have not been started.
"Ferrus, are you there?" Fulgrim asked, looking at it unblinkingly and tilting his head slightly.
This thing didn't answer him. Its gorgeous and weird appearance breathed quietly, like a mirror, tilting his head at the same angle toward Fulgrim.
"I'm coming," Fulgrim said softly. "Let me take you away, Ferus. I know you want to leave."
Because I know you that way.
Fulgrim took another step forward. His steel hands penetrated unhindered into the furnace of the steel machine in front of him, as if the glass did not exist, and intuitively grasped a heart - this should be the position of the engine, from the mechanical structure In terms of. Meanwhile, Fulgrim continued to stare at the machine.
The machinery was trembling slightly, the parts trembling in its depths, a heat rising, burning Fulgrim's silver hands.
"Ferrus, are you there?" Fulgrim asked dryly, expecting some sound to come from the communicator in his armor.
Ferrus should not be unresponsive. He believed Ferrus saw him and heard him. After all he called him.
Maybe he just couldn't wake up from this pile of stuff.
Fulgrim carefully took out his silver hand and exchanged the flaming sword into this hand. Then Fulgrim stretched out his other hand, his flesh and blood hand, and penetrated the machine. within the chest.
His hand was immediately scratched by the mercury. An icy hypothermia chased his blood. Fulgrim was unmoved, and the golden and red light was injected into the steel organ of the machine, like a new and fresh energy, gradually filling the heart, calling out to the dormant existence inside the machine.
Fulgrim faintly heard some sounds. He didn't ask Ferrus if he could hear him again - at this point, he suddenly began to worry that the other party wouldn't answer.
The gauze covering the machine also spread towards Fulgrim along the way near them. It seemed to sting a little, but not too much, as his senses were unconsciously dulled. His pain threshold was quietly rising. And he saw that the arm he was transfusing blood into the machine had become translucent, as if the flesh itself had turned into a veil.
After the mechanical heart started beating, Fulgrim still did not hear Ferus' voice. He couldn't wake him up that simply... then, it had to stop.
This force is traveling towards the whole body of the machine. If it continues, what will be awakened is likely to be the lower half of the machine's corpse.
Fulgrim grabbed the mechanical heart with one hand. With one hand, he gently placed the flaming sword on the chest of the machine in front of him. The tip of the sword gradually slid up the chest, searching for that unusual feeling. He knew that if he looked in the right place, Ferus would answer him. He has such trust.
Finally, his sword came to rest near the machine's neck.
Is this here? Fulgrim murmured to himself, recalling his limited knowledge of the occult... Mind, mind?
The head of this machine is a faceless head, with no pattern except for the metal flowing with the luster of mercury. Is Ferrus' mind here? Is his sleeping self residing within this steel head?
Yes, maybe, this is indeed one of the few undecorated parts of the entire machine. Fulgrim decided to trust his heart.
He must be calm.
Even so, for one of those rare moments in his life, Fulgrim heard himself pray. Your Majesty, the Emperor. he heard himself say.
Then, he pinched hard with his hands as transparent as glass, and blood burst out instantly. Every drop of blood was a spark, lighting up the furnace inside the steel, destroying a large number of internal structures, and trying his best to reduce Possible hidden dangers - even if he extremely doubted that this was the transformed body of Ferus. At the same time, he swung the sword in his hand vigorously. There was a clicking sound that almost broke his heart. The machine's head was chopped off by him and fell into his arms.
Fulgrim's heart beat wildly: Did I do the right thing? He couldn't help but ask himself, hugging the faceless head tightly.
The machine in front of him was trembling violently, and part of the twisted limbs of the lower body fell off and scorched in the burning of his flames, turning into a handful of aesthetically pleasing carbon.
But in the end there were still more than sixty-six corpses left. From each of their mouths came a high-pitched scream, a discordant harmony, a chorus of agony. The headless machine gradually began to move. Every gesture he made seemed familiar to Fulgrim. He became more and more convinced that this was the body projected by Ferus in this alien space... Did he do it right? Did he destroy something?
Then, a wave of ripples appeared on the faceless steel head he held in his hand. After breaking away from the contaminated body, some familiar outlines formed in front of Fulgrim.
So his heart settled down. This is what he is looking for. The heart symbolizes existence and the head symbolizes mind. He found Ferrus' mind. And he was waking up again.
The cave began to tremble, and the roar of the crimson river intensified. In front of him, the huge machine that had lost its mind suddenly began to move. The hands transformed into larger claws, and more metal spikes protruded from each bone on the shoulders and chest. They moved rhythmically as if they were active, slowly starting to move from where they were, but still Limited by its uncoordinated stiffness and the damage Fulgrim had done to it, it was unable to react quickly.
Fulgrim continued to hold the flaming sword with his hand that became transparent, held Ferus' head with his steel hand, turned around and found a way to leave.
The road back was completely different from the road he came from. The dazzling light behind him continued to expand, trying to extinguish the flames behind him with his cold breath. The remaining consciousness of his heir's soul suddenly opened up, protecting his back against the incoming wind. The steps became infinitely longer, making it impossible for him to judge how far he had run... The world around him, made up of gears, machinery, transmission belts and steel plates, was moving crazily, making him feel like a bird trapped in a steel cage. The little birds were jumping in vain between the different railings.
Or is he treading water? Because he always felt that he had already seen the hanging metal ornaments around him, and the broken mirrors and pieces of glass under his feet had also been broken by his boots - different from the previous ones that were fragile and fragile, now these various The various jewelry became extremely hard and gradually scratched the bottom of his boots.
The mechanical world is spinning crazily, and the sound of gears biting is deafening. When the first drop of blood from his feet fell on the ground, he heard a sharp and hoarse, complex and changeable compound laughter. It was the hissing of snakes and the screams of foxes, the coughs of the old men and the cheers of the young men. . There is a triumphant joy in this laughter, as well as a whisper with meaning that seems to be identifiable...
...You are all here... Cold iron clank and feathers are like fire, once you enter the abyss, you will never return... …
Is this a sentence? Or is this just another illusion in his mind? Is it a greed trap targeting the two of them?
No matter what, he must leave with Ferrus Manus.
Behind him, something chased from the brilliant rose light that turned into blood. It was not just the light itself, but something tangible, scratching, tearing, and sucking out the thick air around it, as if it Growing in the rosy light, hungry for the true soul and will.
In the blood-stained broken glass under his feet, he saw the flowing metal and the tangled half of the corpse... Yes, the creature whose mind was stolen from him began to chase it. Why did it wake up now? Come?
——Because Ferus no longer suppresses the countless souls fused together.
For some reason, when he thought about this, he couldn't help but laugh. Even though the head of Ferus in his arms hadn't paid attention to him yet, his feet were gradually glowing with translucent light pink as blood oozed out.
Those blazing fire spirits tried to wrap around his ankles, continuing and protecting his existence. Fulgrim comforted them gently, thinking that he would always move on, his flames. It must continue to burn day by day forever. Even if another part of him turns to ashes! His heart is still his own.
"Ferrus," he whispered patiently.
With a scream that broke through the sky, the silver knife slid sideways over his shoulder, bringing with it a gust of cold wind. The obsidian ground covered with sharp objects pulsed like blood vessels, becoming swollen and soft. The sharp knives and flesh-and-blood tentacles were arranged in perfect order, piercing out from many corners of the ground, like embroidery threaded through needles.
Every space seems to be moving dangerously, gears, blades, tentacles and liquids are constantly intertwining and separating, intricate and flawless, as if waiting for a wrong move, machinery and flesh and blood are all Ready to trap him in this endless nightmare at any time.
Alas, Fulgrim sighed, this mess of blasphemy was not worth anything to him. He only cared about how his brother could wake up.
He occasionally turned his steps, as if stepping on the steps of a pas de deux ballet, fighting with the mechanical giant rushing towards him - his translucent hand was a little weak, and there was a trace of purple-red spreading inside. The network cable climbed up along the bones and blood vessels, soaking in his blood.
I'm afraid I won't be able to keep this hand.
After he went out, he guessed that he might take away the title of Iron Hand from Ferus - then he would have to pretend to be disrespectful in front of Ferus.
He adjusted his steps, carefully observed the direction around him, walked between the interconnected corridors, controlled the firelight that covered his body, cleverly saved his energy, and protected Ferus' head. .
Now that Rogal Dorn knows where he is going, he can trust the Master of the Imperial Fists to find him a way out... all he needs to do is persist.
And dancing in the flames.
(End of this chapter)