Chapter 96 Communication
"...So I ordered to rush to Prospero from the real universe. Perturabo said, his well-hidden eagerness showing in his fingers clasped on the table. "The message from the solar system said that you never arrived Tyra, what happened? "
"I was collecting my travel experiences on a day trip to the Realm of the Chaos Gods," Morse said. "Apparently I came back safe and sound again."
"you win?"
"Actually, it gave up on this ruse, but we still have to wrap up and start thinking about what Tzeentch was doing during this time - in short, you made a very wise decision."
"You mean I chose to leave the real universe?" Perturabo thought of Magnus's cry about how disgusting the subspace was.
While his knowledge of this told him that Magnus was overreaching, it did give him some additional warnings about the importance of keeping the fleet clean.
"Not only that, if you hadn't escaped from Prospero, I might have to go back to that maze again." Morse's fingers crossed the surface of the fleet's voyage record document, and the turning paper made a rustling sound, "Although it does not affect Your true nature, but who knows what kind of transformation that part of you will undergo after falling into the maze, right?"
"Their choice to act like this actually has something to do with me?" Perturabo said incomprehensibly. "But I'm sure all the scholars will be surprised to see me."
“Actually, a more accurate description is that their threads of fate intersect with yours additionally due to interference.
Perturabo nodded silently.
After losing Prospero's body and receiving a less than optimistic reply from Terra, he finds himself in the dark about both his brother and Morse's situation.
Having made the decision to continue accelerating, all Perturabo could do was maintain a steely composure in front of his heirs.
Mors sensed Perturabo's worry. He left the table and came to the window of the office. There is no form of Prospero visible within the visual distance, only the deep and cold dark universe and the bright spots left by the sparse stars.
The clear awareness that you are in a sea of stars will bring different sensory experiences to different people. A conqueror will be excited, a scholar will be full of exploration, and for Morse, he can taste a sense of calmness, even if this calmness is just a thin illusion covering the turbulent eddies.
"You can keep a window on your Iron Blood in the future." Morse tapped the window with his knuckles, "Just in your office. It will help your mental health."
"I will," Perturabo agreed.
"Okay," Morse said. "How long until the fleet reaches Prospero?"
"Nine days... no, less than nine days." Perturabo calculated, taking back the time he blurted out for no apparent reason, "We can arrive within a week."
"Then let's pray together that Prospero can live for more than a week." Morse replied, "If I am not mistaken, according to the characteristics of the Lord of Change, the person who has hurt you is almost dead now.
Perturabo didn't know whether to start his rebuttal by saying that those people were incapable of harming him, or first be surprised by Morse's rare and almost cursed tone.
"Maybe," he said at last.
Mors turned to look at Perturabo, and for a moment he imagined the possibility that he might not have landed in Olympia on the old night.
In the library at the center of the Labyrinth of Tzeentch, he saw too many branches of the universe. Whether it is true or false does not matter, but if the prophecy is only regarded as a kind of intelligence - credible, uncredible, partially credible, wartime Isn't intelligence just such a thing - then he did realize a lot of new content.
Perhaps one day he would share what he saw with Perturabo, but not now.
"I'm going to Prospero," Mors said, "to see where Magnus has single-handedly directed the situation on that planet."
"The Iron Warriors will arrive soon." Perturabo said firmly.
——
"I haven't seen you." Morse patted the black robe, confirming with satisfaction that his body did not have excessively weird creases on his face or neck due to long-term folding.
He dropped the small cloth bag that had just jumped out of it and was originally hanging on the wall, and looked at the mortal appearance in front of him that was gray with fatigue. This psyker looked like faded parchment that had been exposed to the sun for too long, haggard. And weak.
"But I guess you're Amon," Morse said.
He received no response. The master of Magnus named Amon was currently in an almost completely still state, just like everything around him, as stagnant as a wax statue.
Morse looked at the cloth bag he just threw. The first moment the thing left his hand, it fell into an extremely slow flow of time like other objects, stagnating in the air, as if it was held out by an invisible bracket. Strange form.
Morse reached out and touched the traces of the ether, reading Magnus's handwriting in a familiar style. This Primarch paused time in Tizca, making the flow of time here different from the outside.
He found several calculations made by the hermit in the pile of papers on Amon's platform, regarding his interpretation of the prophecies, and his advice to the Tizka people in recent days that it would be best to have a basement in their homes to avoid crises.
It seems that he also convinced Perturabo to give him the cloth bag for safekeeping. Morse didn't know how Perturabo explained the contents of the bag to Amon.
He returned to the ground along the stairs and saw the astonishing army of soul-eating bees at a glance; outside the city wall, due to the different speed of time flow, there were dense soul-eating bees swarming from all directions and blocking the border of the domain.
Even more eye-catching was the twisted pyramid that looked like a huge background board, with silver-white sharp corners extending from each material connection on the surface of the pyramid, blending with the purple-blue wriggling halo in the sky above.
At the top of the golden tower, a dim golden light ball struggled to contain the spread of purple-blue light, like a shaky sunset, struggling in the changing clouds.
He set off for the pyramid, burning all the subspace beasts that invaded the physical universe along the way.
Before the light ball on the top of the pyramid was about to completely dim, the red giant rushed back from the other end of the city, his feet bare, his chest heaving violently, his body covered with dirty and sticky venom from slaughtering the soul-eating bees, his messy red hair had half-burned marks, the excessive exploitation of spiritual energy left deep pain in his soul, his hands were flowing with his own blood.
Magnus's embarrassment exceeded Morse's imagination, but his pair of painful multi-colored eyes were fixed in the golden and red colors that were as blazing as a living fire, and would never go out even if covered in dust.
Morse waved to him, and Magnus, who was running between the golden tower and the city, noticed him.
The Primarch rushed to his side immediately and asked without delay: "How is Perturabo?"
"He's fine." Morse said, and a string of golden runes flashed on his left hand. "I'm driving a boat to you, fearing that something might happen to you."
When he said this, he sensed the position of the other body, from which he learned that Perturabo had approached Prospero's orbit.
This is one of the possible consequences of an unskilled psychic trying to forcibly change the speed of time in a region. In just a few minutes, several days have passed in the outside world. Fortunately, in this incident, this side effect is a good thing.
A look of shock flashed across Magnus' face. His overloaded spirit even made him unable to feel relieved. He just stood there, trembling all over.
"Magnus, let's go to the pyramid. I'll teach you how to deal with the energy furnace." Morse woke him up.
"Whether it is psychic or physical means, forcibly destroying the furnace will cause a subspace crack." There was a question hidden in Magnus' statement.
"Yes, I will use spells." Morse answered Magnus' question, "I hope you are also talented in this area."