Chapter 250: Moon of Val

Compared with the large wilderness composed of large areas of dark gravel and fused gears on the surface, there is a very obvious corruption phenomenon inside the Vaal Temple, and the penetration of this subspace power is directly placed on inorganic metal in a rare form. .

Perturabo pulled out two-thirds of the charging core of the mobile machine with his bare hands, which caused the mechanical lizard's high-speed cutting chain saw to gradually stop amid a burst of sparks caused by friction. He immediately followed up with a hand cannon protruding from his palm, shattering most of the unknown metal limbs and torso of this dangerous creation with green rays.

In this way, the mechanical creation twitched and stopped its endless regeneration. A track fell off from its weird appearance and fell to the ground of the slender tunnel, smashing up many broken small parts.

"Have you finished reading?" Perturabo said to the two inhuman creatures of similar height behind him without looking back. He kicked away the remains of the mechanical beast that was pressing on his feet, and cleared the pile of choking beasts. Scrap metal kicked into the garbage pile that blocked half of the tunnel.

These are all the mechanical remains that he destroyed in just ten minutes. At this moment, mechanical creatures are still growing out of the shadows of the rotating maze corridor, attacking the three intruders tirelessly.

Perhaps three ordinary people would be hunted to death by an endless stream of twisted machines in the narrow corridor of the ruins of the Vaal Temple, but the three people present could obviously easily destroy these annoying threats - or, at least, escape from them. For the leader of the clan troupe.

Then, the question becomes, how to find a space among these annoying artifacts that can self-destruct at any time, and read and analyze the long narrative poems inscribed on the walls of the maze.

"Our huge machine is urging, Troupe Leader." Morse knocked on the wall, waking up Avatar, the Eldar Troupe Leader who was immersed in touching the mural "Feeling the Heart of the World." "I believe in the narrative style here. , is exactly what you Laughing God lovers like, a work that is pretentious, ambiguous, flamboyant, and weakens the real meaning.”

"Respected Honor Unicorn," the troupe leader muttered. The bone-white mask was covered with shadows. The dream stone shone on its neck with a milky white halo. If you look closely, you can see that this layer of white light is composed of a variety of colored lights. , "Only you are not suitable to accuse us like this."

On the walls of the tunnel, which is as complex as a maze, the original metallic mural carvings are twisted into deformed shadows full of strong subspace atmosphere. The surfaces of the bodies of the Eldar gods have extremely delicate and even annoying additional decorations.

Additional spiral patterns continue to grow in the blank parts of the mural, and together with the lightning surging on the gears and engines, the original beauty is destroyed by excessive craftsmanship.

At the same time, the shadow was curled up on the edge of the light, ready to move, carrying the sizzling sound of electricity and the hallucination of the forging hammer hitting the anvil, stirring up invisible smoke and echoes in the corridor.

"Okay, I'll go help Perturabo fight the mechanical dog for a while." Morse shrugged, patted the golden shoulder of the Laughing God believer, and turned to leave.

A few seconds later, the shadow of Perturabo's huge body enveloped the slender pied Eldar, and a loud explosion broke out in the passage, and the impact of the airflow blew away the bright yellow belt behind the troupe leader.

A deep sigh came from behind the troupe director's smiling mask: "The stories told on this wall, let us ignore the invalid details and distorted shadows, and look directly at the sad overture that is truly playing in the world. …”

"Var's series of stories, huh?" asked Perturabo.

"Wow," the troupe leader raised his head and looked at the Iron Giant's chin, "Dear friend, your understanding of our culture has really improved as if you were gifted..."

Perturabo fired a hand cannon at the troupe leader's leg. The laser scorched a cluster of clothing fibers and fused the gold and silver anklets.

The troupe leader jumped up and stomped his feet exaggeratedly: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please listen to my most sincere gratitude." These murals faithfully retell the origin of our myth from the perspective of the craftsman god Val, from the time we descended into the mortal world. Beginning with Val's reforging of his final blade, Anaris of the Dawn... we talk as we go, friends supreme."

He tapped a few times on the middle of a crack in the metal wall, and the wall quickly cracked. In a moment, a dark hole was opened, exposing a large, deep open space behind the wall.

"We'll take a shortcut," Avatar said.

The three of them got into the space behind the wall and came to a dark but huge hollow. Without the decoration of Eldar craftsmanship, many yellowed bones are exposed in the deep soil here, and the sound of dripping water can be heard in the corners.

Fortunately, after leaving the tunnel in the ruins of the Vaal Temple, the corrosive influence in the cavity was clearly weakened by one layer.

Now only a few mechanical nano-organisms will be aggregated and born from the soil, waving their cumbersome, sparkling black iron claws, rushing towards the three of them, and then being used by any one of them with any method. way blasted back into the shadows.

"Did these things inspire you?" Morse asked, tapping Perturabo's mechanical palm, "A resuscitation robot that operates automatically?"

"I will not use such an alternative or even heretical technology." Perturabo said slowly, reluctantly moving his glowing green eyes away from the shattered mechanical creation. He couldn't help but wonder in his heart, in the past twenty years, Completely to what extent he has developed the Iron Legion.

The complicated thoughts passed by in a flash, and the Iron Lord forced himself to focus on reality.

Suddenly, a clear tremor swept through the soil beneath their feet, and the continuous vibration extended all the way to the edge of the distant cave, and then returned to silence. Gradually, a hot wind blew slowly from the other end of the cave.

"The furnace has been revived..." Avatar raised his voice, pretending to be a clear female voice, followed by a low and angry male voice, "When will the blade be forged!"

Before Morse gave him a snap of his fingers wrapped with golden runes, Avatar quickly added a much more normal explanation: "The forge in the temple has not stopped running. And according to the records on the murals..."

He paused briefly, and the voice behind the mask became ethereal: "When Val forged his thousandth sword, Cordoris was one of the furnaces."

"Anaris of the Dawn , Val used the last sword to deceive Cain, and then he reforged a new one. "Morse said, "I think according to your myth, it seems to be in Cain's bloody hand?"

"Oh, hahaha," Avatar laughed happily, "Cain! Cain of a thousand and a thousand pieces! The god of war who died in the desire for strife and destruction! To the shrine that the Lord of the Blade will worship and rebuild in the nether city!"

Perturabo walked in front silently. In addition to optical development, the eyes he equipped for himself also had many different functions to capture the original data of imaging. The dark cave was as clear as day in front of him, and every piece of broken steel and free phosphorus was as clear as within half a foot in front of him.

"Is it there?" He pointed in another direction, where the outer wall of the maze showed different colors, and the signals of subspace energy and real universe energy suddenly rose to an extreme value at the corresponding position.

"Very correct, venerable son of the empire. We have found the core." Avatar stopped teasing Perturabo with the incarnation of Vaal. He did not want his chest and abdomen to be pierced by the green laser, leaving a hole that could fit a hand in.

"But... oh." He took a breath.

The energy signal changed its rhythm of fluctuations the moment Perturabo noticed its change. Different resonances were born in many blocks at the same time, condensing into several terrifying energy tentacles, awakening fragile metals in multiple directions and giving them a transcendent and corrupt activity.

The illusion of the subspace quickly intensified, condensing into a luminous phantom visible to the naked eye.

The huge factory called the Temple seemed to have instantly restored the vigorous vitality of the past long night, and the operation of machinery and gears achieved perfect coordination with each other.

The wandering souls of the ancient elf empire once traveled through the tunnel, and the red robes of the bonesingers stroked the still intact metal walls, busy building their ark of salvation under the peaceful gaze of Isha.

Phantoms alternated, and in the vast ocean energy that exuded a fishy smell, the images that were originally normal gradually blended into erroneous defects.

The figures of the Eldar were intertwined, marching together in a distorted image, and the blade light of the chain sword suddenly lit up from time to time, and the dim beams cast by the star darts and the sorcery staff continuously divided the scene, rendering the bone-white spirit bones into a deep and decayed purple.

The amulet on the chest of the troupe leader emitted a warning red light and almost cracked.

He hurriedly took out another specially modified dream stone from the inner pocket of his coat, like a peddler selling souvenirs, hanging all kinds of things on his arms and neck, and barely maintaining the milky white light.

"It noticed us." Morse said in a brisk tone, and his eyes were focused on observing these flickering scenes. This is a precious learning opportunity about how the ancient Eldar built their arks and what mysteries are contained in their technology.

"The High Heavens corrupted an abandoned temple." Perturabo pondered this abnormal event. "An abandoned moon of Vaal."

He didn't think Chaos would focus on corrupting a dead planet that no one had ever set foot on, not to mention that the concentration of warp energy on the surface of a planet that ordinary people could touch was not even enough to really harm an Eldar who had long been destined for death.

There was some unknown connection, involving unfathomable secrets, hidden deep in the temple of Vaal.

The God of Craftsmen, who was far less famous than the other gods in the Eldar mythology, gradually revealed a hint of being far more sad than sacrificing to the fall of the Eldar.

"Corruption?" Avatar repeated the word like a chant, "Corruption? Fall? Oh, Vaal..."

In the growing energy, the holes inside the Vaal Temple began to tremble, the wrong frequency hit the ruins of the dilapidated sanctuary, and the levers and gears began to aggregate.

When the three of them really approached the core of the temple, the behemoth temporarily constructed by mechanical components and subspace energy finally took shape. Its huge limbs and a large number of modified tentacles closely guarded the core of the temple behind it.

This highly sophisticated instrument should have shown extraordinary beauty created by fantastic ideas and genius creativity, but all positive descriptions became difficult to use under the rendering of chaotic energy from the ocean of emotions. The twisted circuits and melted steel merged with each other in the most unreasonable form, forming a steel evil full of electric saws, sharp blades and electromagnetic lightning.

"Who's going?" Perturabo asked, his eyes shifted to the troupe leader who had never drawn his Harlequin Blade all the way.

Avatar consciously drew out the long sword inlaid with silver and sapphires at his waist, and with his left hand, he drew a fancy circle with the hot melt pistol at his fingertips.

The Spirit Race was like a stray dazzling light, taking silent dance steps and cutting into the battlefield at extremely fast speeds.

Its thin long sword is used to cut unprotected pipelines on the surface of the machinery, destroying the injection of subspace energy, causing bursts of dazzling fluorescent light to quickly light up on the huge and heavy machinery.

His pistol was used to fuse the sharp blades and sawtooths that were approaching him, and his little protective floral suit barely protected the troupe leader from being electrocuted inside and out by the flashing arc.

Although every blade was fatal to the fragile Pied Eldar, during his battle, only the bright yellow laces of his coat were actually touched by solid steel.

As the troupe leader Avatar's battle becomes better and better, his dissociation, retreat, acceleration and charge become more and more agile. The huge steel monster was dismantled and destroyed bit by bit under the seemingly useless movement of the Eldar.

The last attack came from Morse. The psychic cannonballs that were not common for him gathered in his palms wrapped in black cloth, and then he swung them out roughly, hitting the steel monster in the middle and being stripped off by the Avatar until it was close to the exposed core torso. .

"It's faster this way, right?" the man in black said.

Avatar bowed deeply to him. Beside him, the steel behemoth that had been penetrated finally collapsed. When it was destroyed, it triggered an explosion with a diameter of three meters. The impact hit Avatar who was still bowing. Slaps away, disappearing briefly into the shadows.

Morse's power blasted through not only the steel behemoth, but also the inner wall of the core of the temple itself. The steel and twisted circuits exploded into a metallic flower that sunk inwards. And within the core, filled with neural currents and acidic steam, a morbid phantom is standing on the edge of a territorial factory, gazing at the country where he exists in the abstract realm.

The various fragments of the craft world being forged on Cordolis have here turned into another more eternal and depraved logical creation, with countless tiny details and crazy innovative creations flashing on the surface, and the pipelines are flashing in the infinite evil. Extended in concepts and theories, it shows an absolute pursuit of technology while abandoning morality and truth.

Roiling steam, strange sparks and ghosts lingering in the electronic circuits, along with countless other strange and subtle evil spirits, surrounded the sickly vision.

Sometimes, the illusion shows the strong and tall back of a craftsman forging a long sword, with pointed ears identifying his identity; sometimes, the illusion suddenly turns into a head-born man with two horns, holding a scepter, and five spikes spread out from his back. A deformed monster in the shape of two wings.

Endless logical symbols and technical fragments flashed on his machine-like body. It is not difficult to imagine how a mortal would turn into the food of chaos amid wailing and screaming at the first moment of his existence.

"Life falls into decay, blood scatters in thousands of places, and the former creator is once again given the most profound omen and curse..."

"What is this!" Perturabo interrupted Avatar's words, staring closely at the phantom that was undoubtedly some kind of subspace creature...or even a demigod.

The moment Perturabo asked the question, the illusion suddenly disappeared, leaving only a place of abandoned and decaying steel, and the Eldar forge that was still operating dully.

In addition, there is something suspended in the air. It seemed to be the steel residue left behind after a sharp sword was corroded, with a purple-blue luster lingering on it, and the phantom of blood dripping continuously, melting into the ground that seemed to be solidified with a layer of waste oil and soot.

Anaris at Dawn. Or rather, fragments of it.

That was the origin of the illusion, or a small window that allowed people to look into the depths of chaos. As the relic most closely related to Vaal in mysticism, it turned into a fragment that revealed Vaal's fate.

"The moon of Vaal will give birth to dragons." Avatar suddenly said, patting the dust on his clothes from the shadows, and returned to the two of them. "The prophecies have long been woven into the established silk rope."

His bone-white mask turned to Perturabo, his smile seemed to be both sad and strange under the moving light and shadow.

"Gamo revealed the mystery to you on the first day. The moon of Vaal buried the afterglow of the dawn, sin gnawed at the remains, the forge of souls blazed, and the great evil was born."

At the end of the troupe leader's words, overlapping calls sounded in the temple, and two different names were hissed out one after another by the influence of countless wandering subspaces, sometimes separated and sometimes overlapping.

"Val..." said the first voice.

"Vastor..." Thousands of voices swirled together.

Note: The content of this chapter is inference and nonsense, just like Szalak = Bealak, it is a guess.