"It's best not to linger here, we're already late."
Those courtyards and balconies were crowded with people, fat priests shuttled between the altars, accompanied by groups of assistants, and the people who were about to be sacrificed squirmed in the sacks.
Wizards walked among them, some of them were Unbreakables, twisting the whips in their hands tightly. The huge deformed creatures had their limbs stretched out and their abdomens were swollen. They staggered up the twisted stairwell, roaring and gasping.
Within the palace there is a palace.
In some places, astrologers refer to swinging galaxies and tilt their charts toward slits in thick glass windows.
In other places, alchemists toiled over bubbling racks of instruments, or even more, surgeons whetted their blades on whetstones before turning to trembling figures strapped to tables.
Seven-eyed occultists scrawled on stone tablets, their quills soaked in pools of living blood, demonologists tied screaming beings to horse chestnuts, the air filled with its filth And with a bang, the butchers, wearing bloody aprons, walked out of the large cafeteria with their heads held high. The pharmacists were heavily pressed by the many fallen phage glass bottles and struggled.
It's noisy, lively and unorganized here.
Every piece of meat was pimpled and yellow, and every piece of stomach was flabby and showed signs of burning.
Steam surges in the brass incense burner, and green flames burst from holes carved into the walls of pulsating flesh.
Buried deep underground and high on crumbling spires, these chambers are filled with life, death, and many things in between.
The two of them did not stop to observe these wonderful things, they continued walking inside.
Slowly, the life forms gradually dwindled, and they entered an area lit only by thin candles, where the stones were damp and covered with a smooth coating of seaweed.
The hustle and bustle gradually disappeared, and soon, only the Unbreakables like them could be seen, silent and depressed, immersed in their own affairs in the most lifeless place in the Plague City.
"They are still as energetic as before."
Engarta couldn't help but comment.
"Vox has always managed things in a very orderly manner."
"You listen to him, don't you?"
"certainly."
Now they arrived at a dangerous place, passing under crumbling gates and arriving at an abyss connected by a rotten ropeway.
There were many shafts there, from which circles of unnatural steam emerged.
They could hear machines rumbling in the distance, and low screams - everything echoed here in an uncanny way, as if there was a wall that shouldn't be there, or was invisible. Room.
Finally, they reached the inner gate.
This door is modeled after that of Malcador the Markbearer, though larger, but these ancient Terran designs have been distorted by inelegant divine tastes.
Two Deathshrouds stood guard on either side, motionless and almost invisible in the repulsive darkness.
They said nothing, but as soon as the knell-bringer approached, the door opened.
"You wait here."
The order only allowed him to enter, so Engalta could only ask his followers to wait outside.
"clear."
Soon, he entered the inner hall.
He had only been here once before, and many people in the Legion, even some of the highest ranking people, had never made it this far.
No one else is allowed in unless the Primarch himself speaks, and these words have always been rare.
It's cold here, hoarfrost hangs from the far ceiling, ice forms on the floor, the dark columns glow faintly, and swarms of flies crawl instead of buzzing on the dark vaults.
Engalta walked through the long nave, which was designed in the Imperial Gothic style - solemn, solid, and heavy, so his footsteps kept echoing between the tall columns, which was eerie.
There is a throne at the end of the nave, shrouded in shadows. Above the throne are spears with low-hanging war flags hung on the arches. Each one is engraved with the name of a certain world.
.
Many scrolls lay scattered on the stone floor, covered in frost, with words in a mixture of human and alien languages.
The throne had a high, grooved backrest, with a pile of tattered skulls on top, covered in a thick spider web, with a swollen spider squatting in the center of the web.
The size of this throne is far beyond ordinary imagination.
Engalta stopped, it was almost dark here, all the light and heat had been sucked away from this place, sucked away by an empty heart.
There was a musty smell in the air, like a prison.
"Welcome, Engalta."
The owner of the throne made a low voice.
N'Galtar has experienced many things during his long service. He is not easily intimidated, but seeing Mortarion is an exception.
The Primarch was always a striking figure - thin, gaunt, and foreboding, even as a child, but since he was swallowed up by the Dark God, the last restraints have been lifted.
He is now a giant, an extremely large corpse, the armor has been reforged and plated with demon alloy, the gray muscles have shrunk further, clinging to the oversized bones, spines and pores have grown on the back, and muscles are piled on the shoulders.
, used to support the dilapidated wings draped behind rags.
As he breathed, yellow-green steam spurted out from an ancient and worn-out rebreather. Engalta saw his sunken chest rising and falling under the corroded armor. Under the worn-out hood, a pair of dim eyes peered through.
The shadow looked out, its pale gauntlet pressed against the armrest of the throne.
Ngarta immediately bowed his head.
"It's really nice to see you again, Master."
Mortarion stared at him. It was always difficult to know what those eyes were looking at. Engaltar knew the price of becoming a demon. He understood that despite the great power of the original body, he was now almost alone.
Can vaguely perceive the real universe and barely hold on, just like everyone who made this deal.
Given enough time, most enchanters would turn into howling idiots, but this was a Primarch, one of the sons of the Lord of Mankind, and his indomitable spirit remained even as they compromised with the daemons.
It still won't be lost.
"I didn't see this coming..."
The primarch's voice was like the iron bars of a tomb being lazily opened.
"I did not foresee that my loving father would be so angry."
Engarta remained silent.
"Isa, the goddess of life of the Eldar, is the most cherished treasure of the loving father. It does not allow any flaws in her."
He chuckled, which made his neck jiggle and the horrible gadgets on his armor rattle.
"We never knew about this, but now it is no longer a secret. The last fragment of Isa's soul is in the world."
He coughed for a while, his whole body trembling, stirring up the dust on the ground.
N'Galtar was not sure if these words were addressed to him. The Primarch always liked to talk to himself loudly, and the isolation from the world here for centuries had made him even more solipsistic.
"I have resigned myself to my fate. I look here and there, but most of the time I stare into the abyss... This is the choice I made, to abandon this boring little game and leave those old worlds and
Leave war to mortals and engage in the truly great game."
His eyes focused briefly, and he seemed to finally see Engalta for the first time.
"So, what good news do you bring."
"Master, after a period of reconnaissance and seeking the assistance of the Red Pirates, we finally determined that the Eldar's ark world Uthvi had briefly appeared in the Armageddon galaxy. This is consistent with the time when our loving father burst into anger.
We are convinced that the Daughter of Isa is on the craft world of Uthvi."
Mortarion looked confused for a moment, then recovered.
"Ah, yes, Hajime Doton."
He leaned forward on the throne, and this slight movement caused streaks of dust to fall from the roof.
"Those horny ladies' forbidden beasts have been hiding in the webway for tens of thousands of years. Why did they show up at Armageddon?"
"Not long ago, the greenskins invaded there again, and it seems to be related to it."
"This won't happen to me."
"Green skin, yes, green skin..."
Mortarion gasped, and a long inhalation sound came from the filter of the ventilator.
"That place has unique significance to the greenskins. They will not give up there, but what does this have to do with the Eldar... Ha, it's ridiculous."
"Sir, what should we do next?"
"This is your business."
Mortarion waved his hand, as if to drive away something disturbing.
"Such a glorious task has fallen on your shoulders. No matter what you need, just go to others. They will give you everything, and I... still have to wait."
Ngarta tried to understand what he was saying, but failed.
"Sorry, my master, I don't understand."
"No need to understand, just do it."
Engalta thought for a while, and finally slowly exited the hall, leaving only the decaying giant still breathing slowly on the throne——