Chapter 370 The End of the Road
“I am here, Master.”
Ottavia’s voice sounded as tired as Talos looked.
"I'm here..."
She said into the loudspeaker of the conference hall:
"So are the Eldar."
"Prepare the ship to warp again."
"I can't take it anymore."
Her voice had a cry to it.
"Master, I can't, I'm sorry, I can't..."
"They will come to us in twenty minutes at most. You have to get us away."
"I'm sorry, I can't."
"You have said this for more than a month Weeks."
"Taros, please listen to me, if this continues, the subspace will kill me. One jump, or two, it doesn't matter... you are killing. Me. "
The prophet stood up from the command throne and walked to the railing of the podium, leaning down and looking at the orderly bridge below.
The holographic display flashed with a ghostly warning of the threat: six Eldar warships in total, their sails lost in the twisting mist.
“Ottavia.”
His voice softened.
"They can't chase us forever. I need you to give me a little more help... please."
Ottavia did not answer, but after a few seconds, the spacecraft itself gave Got the answer.
The decks began to tremble as the warp engines began to build up power, turning one reality into another.
“Do you remember.”
Her voice echoed across the command deck.
“The first time I took control of the Blood Covenant?”
There was a strange duality in her tone, as if she was combined with the machine soul of the ship. This kind of The unhealthy unity gave Talos goosebumps all over his body.
"I remember, you said you could kill us all because we were heretics."
"I was angry and scared."
He heard her take a breath .
"Everyone, prepare to enter the sea of souls."
"Thank you, Octavia, I will remember your contribution this time, and I will repay you when the time comes. .”
"You shouldn't thank slaves."
She replied, her resonant voice echoing through the hall.
"And this hasn't worked yet. Save your thanks until we can survive. Will we run away or hide this time?"
"Neither."< br>
As soon as Talos spoke,
Every eye on the bridge was turned toward him, and those Legionnaires still on the command deck watched most enthusiastically.
“We won’t run away.”
Taros said to Octavia calmly, knowing that everyone was looking at him.
"We won't hide anymore, we have to take a stand."
Talos passed the coordinates through the keyboard on the arm of his throne.
"Take us to the Nessen system."
"Throne!"
Ottavia cursed, which made half the crew on the bridge frown at the imperial curse.
“Are you sure?”
“We have no fuel to dance with them, and we cannot break their blockade. If we are driven together like prey, then I will at least choose Where to fight back.”
Selion returned to the throne and asked teasingly:
"Then the question is, what if they are waiting for us there?"
Talos looked at his brothers for a long time.
"What do you want me to say, Selion? We will continue as we have always done, we will kill them, or they will kill us."
The curse floats in the warp, Talos left the bridge and walked to meet the soul he had every reason to see, but had no desire to see again.
Sword in hand, he walked down the winding corridor, his thoughts dark—and his choices even darker.
He was going to do something he should have done a long time ago. As he stood before them, the doors to the Hall of Reflections rumbled open, and while the servants were still going about their business, the humble Mechanicus turned to watch him enter.
“Soul Hunter.”
A mechanical priest in a robe greeted respectfully:
"My name is Talos."
The prophet answered as he walked past him.
"Please use it correctly."
Suddenly, he felt a hand grab his shoulder pad, and turned to face the person who dared to touch him.
This faux pas is unlike any Tech-Priest's.
"Talos."
The heretic Dietrian of the Mechanicus said, straightening and tilting the skull mask that served as his face.
"Although your appearance did not violate any code of conduct, it was unexpected, and the result of our last conversation was that you will be summoned if there is any change in that thing."
That thing...
Talos didn't like the wording of the Mechanicus.
"I know our agreement, Dietrian."
"But you came here armed, and the sword drawn in this sacred place has only one outcome in dealing with your actions. Significant possibility."
"What is that?"
"You are here to destroy the coffin and kill the Macharion inside."
"Guess. Well done.”
Talos turned and entered the chamber attached to him, where the ornate coffin of the War Philosopher lay.
“Wait——!”
Talos stopped, but not because of Dietrian’s order, but because of his own shock, which made him stunned, but the sword remained Clenched in an open fist.
He saw the sight before him: Ornate sarcophagi chained together in the ceramic shell of a Contemptor Dreadnought, the blue halo of stasis still moving around the limbs of the war machine —Lock them there—at every turn.
“Why are you doing this?”
Talos didn't look away.
"I didn't tell you to turn him into a Dreadnought."
Dietrian hesitated before speaking.
"The resurrection ritual requires that the subject be placed within a sacred casing."
Talos didn't know what to say, he wanted to object, but he knew nothing would impress Di Trian, and let him see anything meaningful.
And he was even more surprised when he saw another figure already in the room.
The man sat with his back against the wall, lazily holding the trigger of the chain axe, listening to the whine of the blade.
"Hi, brother, good afternoon."
The other Night Lord greeted him softly.
"Usus? What wind brought you here."
Ursus shrugged.
"I often come here to see him. I think he should come back to us. We need him, but he doesn't want to be needed."
Taros stared at Ursus for a long time , and then issued instructions to Dietrian in a low and slow voice.
"Activate the communication speaker."
"My lord, I——"
"Activate the speakers or I'll kill you."
"As you command."
Dietrian trotted all the way on his thin legs, clicking his way to the main console , followed by unhealthy friction sounds from several levers.
Hmph, hum hum, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
In an instant, the room was filled with breathless, animalistic and exhausted screams.
Somehow the voice sounded like an old man's—full of old, tired frailty.
Taros closed his eyes for a moment, but his helmet still stared ahead, as ruthless as ever.
“That’s enough.”
The prophet whispered.
“I want to end this for him.”
(End of this chapter)