Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Compared to the long and narrow corridor, this laboratory-like space is more spacious, but also darker.

Fluorescent strips were embedded in the wall about ten inches from the floor of the room, illuminating the smooth obsidian floor and the almost invisible gaps in the wall.

There are several scattered glass jars in the room that are urgently stored here. There are twitching young human body parts floating in the jars. A large number of cables start from the neck and pass through the spine to extract stem cells and other human components needed by the black judge.

The next moment Perturabo saw clearly what was going on inside, artillery fire came from a remote angle. In order to avoid the ubiquitous glass tubes in the room, the new round of attacks hardly poses an effective threat to them.

This made Perturabo feel particularly ridiculous. Could the madness of heretics still make them stupid?

Without any communication, he and Horus rushed forward separately.

The Wolf God's huge claws smashed the glass jar to pieces with ease, pulling out the half-dead people inside and giving them an end. The thick life-sustaining liquid and broken glass shards were scattered all over the ground, but the blood did not flow very well.

When some sticky liquid splashed onto the wolf skin worn by Horus, the expression of the Wolf Shepherd remained unchanged, but the swings of his claws and hammer were obviously more powerful. The spikes on the hammer repeatedly cut into the obsidian ground. It opened a deep crack, almost wanting to make the lifeless house tremble and tremble together.

"You don't want to recycle this biotechnology, do you, my brother?"

"No, they are too stupid!" replied Perturabo.

Horus's hammer swung even more vigorously.

Perturabo made way to the side, and more soldiers of the Fourth Legion poured into the room. A group of iron-gray power armor Astartes about the height of the original body's chest were destroyed like a torrent at Perturabo's signal. All the furnishings in the room were removed, the cables were pulled out, the walls were cracked, and all hidden energy pipes and machine gun ports were removed.

After the cleaning work was completed, the soldiers stood still and stood still, approaching their original bodies in an orderly manner, holding their weapons in hand, waiting for the next instructions from the young original bodies.

Horus broke the last glass jar in his half of the house and nodded to Perturabo. The Legion moved on.

They have penetrated into key areas of the ship, increasing the number of static defense systems, and reducing the number of biochemical slaves that can cause damage to experiments and life support facilities.

If other primarchs were replaced, such as Horus alone, they would probably only rely on the Astartes' own reflexes and armor protection to break through these high-tech defenses originating from ancient times.

But Perturabo found that calculating all the doubts here was almost a matter of course and easy for him, without thinking.

His superhuman wisdom accurately identifies the layout patterns and vulnerabilities of the Black Judge among infinite complex situations, and every attack accurately achieves the best effect that ammunition and blades can achieve.

At the first moment of seeing the image, Perturabo was able to construct a complete and detailed corresponding model, and at the second moment he calculated the energy core hubs hidden everywhere. At the third moment, he commanded the legions to attack. time.

Unlike the mortals of Lokos before, these steel-clad warriors were like extensions of his arms and mind, strictly executing his every command. In the process of commanding this army that was interconnected and efficient like gears, Perturabo discovered an exhilarating experience that he had never experienced before.

"Like my hammer," Perturabo murmured, his words hidden within his helmet, "War is also a forging."

War blacksmith. Such a word popped up in the busy corner of his brain.

After entering the ship, the hum of machinery became louder. In the last dark room, Horus stepped on the ground suddenly, like a strong wind, and in an instant he caught a cyborg creature that was about to escape - Perturabo would never call them human.

The speed at which the Shepherd God smashed through the mechanical shells and pulled out these twisted creatures from the ancient era from the life-sustaining liquid was almost synchronized with the speed at which the Fourth Legion swept the battlefield with firepower and sharp blades. A large number of mechanical bodies that were almost integrated with flesh and blood were beaten. Rotten to the ground.

Compared with the mechanical defenses and biochemical slaves outside, the bodies of these creatures are fragile to the point of being vulnerable. They live in a dim environment and rot in rusty shells.

Perturabo pulled out a slippery creature that was twisted to the point of being irresistibly twisted from a mechanical body with severed appendages brought to him by the Astartes, held it in his gauntlets and raised it, observing it indifferently. Painful convulsions after withdrawal from vitamins.

"Can you speak?" he asked.

The creature whimpered in disappointment. Perturabo threw it, and it was torn apart by countless bolts in the air. Every warrior of the Fourth Legion was eager to place a shot on the target sent by the Primarch.

Horus stepped on the debris and walked to Perturabo. The Astartes around him made room for the tall primarch. Perturabo asked them to collect data, clean the battlefield, and count the hidden materials themselves, waiting for him to review and sort them out later.

"It smells bad here," Horus said, the remnants of the battle still lingering on him. He propped the hammer on the ground.

"I'm wearing a helmet." Perturabo replied. The air filtration system of this huge armor of unknown origin was very good, and he decided to take the armor away for study.

Horus smiled and glanced proudly at the broken cables around him and the damaged energy weapons that were waiting to be analyzed. "I'm impressed with your command style, brother."

"Then how did you lead your legion?"

"Oh, you're half a king and lord of an entire army, but I used to be a gangster. Thanks to my father, he was willing to hand over an entire army to a punk he picked up from a small planet."

The Shepherd God paused: "But I still had hair at that time."

Perturabo was kicked out of his serious thinking state by Horus's last words.

"Horus, are your legions also this iron-gray color?" he asked.

"Well, they look whiter." Horus swallowed the adjective "pearl white". He couldn't forget the mysterious hint that Morse mentioned before. Maybe when he was truly mentally prepared, he would ask the Emperor.

"You should be able to paint them any color you like, too."

"Uniform color matching style?" Perturabo fell into thinking and began to formulate plans, imagining which color would be better for his iron shells.

At the same time, he couldn't help but imagine how to match the available weapons he saw along the way into the hands of the Astartes.

Alien weapons? No, that's called orthodox human technology from the dark ages.

“I’ll do concept drawings.”

After Perturabo decided to paint the picture with lust, he asked Mors to accompany him to choose. After all, the artistic level of the craftsman cannot be denied. Just think about the level of the last sculpture he decided to give to him...

Wait a minute, that sculpture—

Perturabo opened his eyes wide, and the divine temperament of the faceless sculpture immediately overlapped with that of a certain golden figure he had seen recently.

He took a breath, startled by a deep and indelible curiosity about who Morse really was.

Perturabo shook his head and decided to ask Morse about the statue when he went back.

Morse's recent abnormal emotional state seemed to hint at many secrets, and he might be able to dig some holes in Morse's ever-impeccable emotional shell just like he penetrated the ship's defense line.