Chapter 82 A Very, Very Good Surprise

Waiting without an agreed time is really boring.

After breaking all the witchcraft traps and locks set by his offspring in just 1 microsecond for the 76th time, the psychic advisor of the "Silver Skull" Chapter finally decided to take a walk around here before the "priest" came back.

Anyway, his authority on this ship should be high enough.

Uther Maatra leaned on his staff and walked slowly and alone in the cold and deserted passage of the Destiny Steel.

The outlet of the air conditioner hissed in an invisible place, and the temperature inside the ship was always maintained at a low equilibrium temperature, but considering the environment outside the ship, this temperature was indeed pleasant.

He only needed to wrap his woolen shawl tightly to look like a thin mortal who was a little afraid of the cold but could still endure it.

Perturabo and his companion elves set the odor filtering values ​​on their mothership very strictly. Although he did not show it, Maatra actually liked it very much.

There are not too many disputes, sacrifices, and unpleasant smells of living people here. A faint smell of ozone appears from certain places and then dissipates, bringing a sense of clear and thinness.

If someone does not know the inside story, they may mistakenly guess that this is to create an experience similar to the air on the snowy plateau - indeed, there are many similarities between the two.

Maatra looked at it and thought that this temperature and breath would remind him of the days when he and Perturabo trekked through the snowfields and valleys of Holy Terra to conduct archaeological research, or, later, the time when they fought together in other places.

He could not remember many details. The memory of the scholar he was proud of was damaged to a certain extent in the process of killing himself from the mysticism before, and a nostalgic and sad look floated on his face with a complexion like the best fragrant wood.

But he remembered the glimpse, the fleets of flying machines that filled the sky, the desperate and panicked people moving like ants along the avenue in the cold rain; the face of Ahriman, his once beloved son flashed in the reflection of the fragments of memory, and the yellow and black stripes of the paint, the black basalt fortress, and miraculously he remembered the name of the Iron Warrior, the Breaker; and perhaps the miracle fortress on the towering, ice-capped mountain cliffs, the huge shadow passing over the white reflective snow, what did they call it? The Crow's Nest?

He remembered the giant he saw that day.

His brother's face seemed to be carved in rock, leaping out of the eternal mountains and rivers. His power armor could be seen in the original style of the huge Terminator, but he added many ingenious ideas and powerful weapons to it, and decorated himself with many golden words in ancient languages, which were some language that came to Olympia from the distant past of Terra.

The language wrapped around his brother's armor was not a description of honor poems. Magnus-Maatra stood on the bank of the river of memory, looking down from a third-person perspective, watching these golden, most terrible, darkest, and most vicious words of curse flow past his eyes.

Why did I turn a blind eye to it?

The power of the fourth primarch in the picture far exceeded that of his descendants and warriors in every aspect. In contrast, he was like a moody god holding thunder in mythology or a huge vortex of lightning and thunder on the ocean.

The viewer suddenly felt that the rumors about Perturabo's ability to defeat an entire army with a sudden blow might not be exaggerated.

But he did not fall into the feeling of blindness, stubbornness, and disbelief as he did later, although his power was not concealed at all, as if he knew all the answers.

Maatra saw his brother smile at his past self in the picture of memory, very shallow and unaccustomed, but it was indeed sincere.

"The weather technicians told me that they were very worried that you would be swept away by the superstorm or something else here," Perturabo's voice echoed with a strong and decisive tone.

"I answered them that if something could sweep away my big, red brother, it would not be enough to have a storm that could only destroy an area. They would need something more powerful."

Maatra saw sadly that he also replied with a hint of smile, but he could not remember what he said to Perturabo.

The surface of the river began to become unstable.

The two Primarchs who were like gods descended to the earth came close and hugged each other. The collision of two powerful forces reminded people of the competition of primitive beasts.

They separated slightly, and the last picture was still warm and beautiful: the happy mood brought by family affection flashed in their eyes.

The water mirror of memory dissipated like a damaged player screen. Maatra did not react, but just let his thoughts flow quietly with the rhythm of the stroll.

The images just now were obviously mixed with something else. They were not as coherent and solid as before. Sometimes when watching, there would be obvious random splicing of memory fragments, but as long as you don't use or pursue this power, the trouble to what Maatra is doing now is limited.

In order to achieve a clean and neat "death" of the fifteenth Primarch Magnus in an instant in the mystical sense, so that this instant would sever the close connection he had made with the Supreme Conspirator long ago, these losses now seem worthwhile and completely acceptable.

But the more regrettable loss came from the fact that his psychic connection with all his descendants was also cut off at the same time.

Maatra knew that if the person concerned was not in the same place as the demon prince Magnus and could witness that the entity wrapped in lies had not yet dissipated, then the psychic screams and the sense of broken connection would make it easy for the other intelligent descendants scattered in the galaxy to draw the only possible conclusion: the primarch of the Thousand Sons Legion, the red Magnus, was truly dead.

In other words -

The undisguised footsteps behind him interrupted the psychic consultant's thoughts. He had already recorded the characteristics of this psychic power in his list. He was the person he was waiting for.

At this time, he suddenly realized that he had walked a circle and returned to the place where he started, that is, the door of the library of his naive descendants.

Ah, another example of extremely clever design. Perturabo's talent in constructing mazes and magic cubes is still so amazing no matter how long it takes.

Then Perturabo said that this apprentice would give me a very, very good surprise, which is also very exciting.

The psychic consultant turned slowly with a calm smile.

"Sorry for the wait, Maatra Gu... ask?"

After seeing the appearance of the visitor, the smiling mask on Magnus-Maatra's face was shattered into thousands of pieces like his soul.

The psychic readings here quickly soared to an alarming level.

"Why--it's you--!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The fifteenth Primarch screamed at his brother's face in a panic.

Quack.

Do you like the surprise you see, Magnus?