Chapter 82 A very, very good surprise
Waiting without an agreed time is indeed boring.
After breaking all the witchcraft traps and locks set by his descendants in only 1 microsecond for the 76th time, the psionic advisor of the "Silver Skull" Chapter finally decided to Let's take a look around here before the "pastor" comes back.
Anyway, his authority on this ship should be high enough.
Uther Maatra leaned on his staff and slowly walked alone in the deserted passage of the Destiny Steel.
The outlet of the air conditioner was working hissingly out of sight. The temperature inside the ship was always maintained at a low equilibrium temperature, but considering the environment outside the ship, this temperature was indeed considered pleasant.
He only needs to wrap his woolen shawl tightly to look like a thin mortal who is a little afraid of the cold but can bear it.
Perturabo and his companion elves set the scent filtering values on their mothership very strictly, and although he did not show it, Maatra actually liked it very much.
There are no too many disputes, sacrifices, or unpleasant smell of living people here. A faint smell of ozone appears from certain places and then dissipates, bringing a sense of transparency and thinness.
If you don’t know the inside story, you may mistakenly guess that this is to create an experience similar to the air on the snow-capped mountain plateau - indeed, there are many similarities between the two.
Maatra glanced at it and thought, this kind of temperature and breath would remind him of the days when he and Perturabo were trekking for archeology in the snowfields and valleys of Holy Terra, or, later, they were together in other places. The time of local fighting.
He couldn't remember many details. After all, the memory of the scholar he was proud of had been damaged to a certain extent in the process of killing him from the occult. A nostalgic and sad look appeared on his face with a complexion as good as fragrant wood.
But he still remembered that glimpse, the fleet of aircraft that filled the sky, the ant-like people moving in despair and panic along the road in the cold rain; the face of Ahriman, the son he once loved Flashing through the reflection of the memory fragments, there were also yellow and black striped paintings and black basalt fortresses. Miraculously, he still remembered the name of the steel warrior, City Breaker; perhaps there was also the towering, What do they call that miraculous fortress on the ice-covered mountain cliffs, its massive shadow flitting across the white reflective snow? Crow's nest?
He remembered the giant he saw that day again.
His brother's face seemed carved out of rock, leaping out of eternal mountains and rivers. His power armor bore a resemblance to the original form of the gigantic Terminator, but he embellished it with many ingenuities and powerful weapons, and adorned himself with many golden texts in ancient languages from the distant past of Terra. , a language that spread to Olympia.
These words wrapped around his brother's armor are not descriptions of honorary poems. Magnus-Matra stood on the bank of the river of memory, looking down from a third-person perspective, looking at these golden, The most terrifying, darkest, and most vicious words recording curses flowed past his eyes.
Why did I turn a blind eye at that time?
The power of the Fourth Primarch in the picture at all levels far exceeds that of his descendants and warriors. In comparison, he is like a moody god holding thunder and lightning in mythology or the lightning and thunder on the ocean. huge swirling storm.
The viewer suddenly felt that the rumors about Perturabo being able to defeat the entire army in one sudden blow might not be exaggerated.
But he did not fall into the feeling of blindness, stubbornness, and disbelief in everything as he did later, although his power was undisguised, as if he knew the answers to everything.
Maatra saw his brother smiling at his former self in the memory picture. It was shallow and unaccustomed, but it was indeed sincere.
"The meteorological technical officer told me that he is very worried that you will be swept away by the super storm or something here," Perturabo's voice had a strong echo and a decisive drop. .
"My answer to them was that if anything could sweep my big, red brother away, it wouldn't be enough to have a storm that could only destroy an area, they would have to get something Something more powerful will do.”
Maatra saw his own reply with a smile sadly, but he couldn’t remember what he said to Perturabo.
The water level of the river began to become unstable. The two god-like Primarchs approached and embraced each other, the collision of two powerful forces reminiscent of primal bestial competition.
They separated slightly, but the final scene was still warm and beautiful: the happy mood brought by family affection flashed in their eyes.
The water mirror of memory dissipated like a damaged player screen. Maatra did not react, but quietly let her thoughts flow with the rhythm of her stroll.
The pictures just now are obviously mixed with some other things. They are not as coherent and solid as the original ones. Sometimes when watching, there will be obvious random splicing of memory fragments, but as long as you don't use it or don't deliberately pursue this aspect, The power of Maatra is limited to what she is going to do now.
In order to achieve the complete "death" of the fifteenth Primarch Magnus in a mystical sense in one moment, so that this moment can cut off his relationship with the supreme conspirator a long time ago. Due to the close connection formed by transactions, these losses now seem to be worthwhile and completely acceptable.
But the more regrettable loss came from the fact that the spiritual link between him and all his descendants was cut off at the same time.
Maatra knew that if the person involved was not in the same place with the demon prince Magnus and could witness that the entity wrapped in lies had not dissipated, then that level of psychic screams and The sense of a broken link would cause him to scatter across the galaxy, and the other intelligent Scions could easily come to the only possible conclusion: that the Primarch of the Thousand Sons Legion, Magnus the Red, was truly dead.
In other words——
The undisguised footsteps behind him interrupted the psychic consultant's thoughts. He had already recorded the characteristics of this psychic power in his list. People who are waiting.
At this moment, he suddenly realized that he had walked exactly in a circle and returned to the place where he started, which was the door of his innocent son's library.
Ah, another example of extremely ingenious design. Perturabo's talent in constructing mazes and Rubik's Cube designs is still so amazing no matter how long it takes.
Then Perturabo said that this apprentice will give me a very, very great surprise, which is very exciting.
The psychic consultant turned around slowly with a calm smile.
“I’ve been waiting for a long time, Maatra, please...ask?”
Magnus——The smile on Maatra’s face after seeing the appearance of the person clearly The mask was now shattered into a thousand pieces like his soul.
The psychic readings here quickly spiked to a level that set off alarms.
"How--it's you--!!!!!!!!!!!!"
The Fifteenth Primarch screamed out of control in his brother's face.
Gua.
Like the surprise you see Magnus?
(End of this chapter)