Chapter 176 168. Demigod in charge of machinery.
You can always believe in steel and gears. It is they who have structured the history of mankind.
The pursuit of technology and truth has allowed mammals like humans to embark on an expedition into the vast sea of stars. Although the bottom of the hive city will never understand the perfect products of technology and industry, their lives so far have been completely like those Built of steel and gears, whether it is the dirty machine spitting out lumps of protein in front of us, or at the end of the long river of time, when the first steam engine coughed out steam.
Therefore, machinery is perfect. Without machinery, humans, carbon-based creatures composed of flesh and blood, would achieve nothing.
The steel formed the skeleton, and the gears filled the internal organs. Perturabo looked at the machinery in front of him and remembered the figures of those undead warriors.
If they were stronger individually, they would be the perfect warriors in Perturabo's mind.
Human beings, flesh and blood, are too fragile.
Even the most powerful Tridents will have problems on a continuous high-pressure battlefield. They will become unstable, irritable, and vulnerable.
Perturabo needs strong warriors who will not back down or weaken.
The sound of tightening screws sounded boringly, but Perturabo felt comfortable with it. This was a rare moment of calm for him, which allowed him to temporarily hide everything in the reflection of metal, from the emperor's intentional ignorance, from the brotherhood. The sneer in the room, the gaze from that big crack.
They are always watching him, but Perturabo knows that only he can see that blasphemous and evil and absurd crack, and no other brothers will see it. They will only pretend to comfort him not to think too much.
Like now, it was watching him, giving Perturabo a constant, unbearable pressure, the spikes slicing slowly but surely across the glass.
Perturabo devoted himself wholeheartedly to research and development. He originally just wanted to construct his warriors according to reasonable engineering and mechanics, but the figures of the Necrons appeared in his mind from time to time, interfering with his original ideas. .
Perturabo put down the laser and stared at his half-finished product -
he didn't know how to continue.
This is rare, or, for Perturabo, this should not happen.
Ever since he was a child, standing alone on the top of the mountain, staring at the source of fear, and fear staring at Perturabo with its eyes, Perturabo has lost his "ignorance".
He knows everything, he knows it at a glance, knowledge is air to him, he breathes it, nothing more.
But now, he won't.
Perturabo knew that his thoughts had slipped to a very dangerous cliff. Of course he knew what he was thinking. The figures of those alien races were still flashing. Although they were not powerful, some of the qualities they possessed still possessed them. Deeply, deeply fascinated Perturabo.
But he couldn't do it anymore, his knowledge was stuck, and the mathematical models he had turned pale. What Perturabo didn't know was that with the technology developed by the Necrons with the help of the Star God, even he would have The incomprehensible part.
"Perhaps I need a little innovation...?"
Innovation, this word struck Perturabo's soul like thunder. This word is his opposite, the ghost that he can never touch. He who knows everything has been deprived of him. The power to innovate.
Perturabo shuddered, and he suddenly realized that he might have regained control of a human emotion, so the original body quickly buried his head, fearing that he would miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
But after all, he had never experienced innovation in his life before, and Perturabo's first attempt would definitely end in failure.
I just wonder if Perturabo, who pursues success, will try a second time after facing the first failure. This behavior seems to be somewhat insulting to this irritable original body.
But Perturabo didn't know this at the moment. He was addicted to his own attempts, and for the first time he managed to ignore everything that made him unhappy.
So he failed to notice the look cast from the Eye of Fear.
The gears are still turning.
The steel wilderness is growing, the flames in the furnace are roaring, and its war machine has been running endlessly for thousands of years.
It sits on its throne.
Time is like the ore pouring out of the riot mining machine. It is complicated and disorganized. Most of them are useless stones, but some contain the luster of gold.
It's powerful, but it's not the most powerful.
Vashtor wants to become a god.
In this cold and cruel world, that means being careful.
Vashtor carefully concealed himself, trying not to expose himself in the long river of time. Only at the necessary moment could
a flash of time attract its attention.
Innovation, machinery, and the tiny black holes it can't reach.
It narrowed its eyes dangerously.
Vashtor is an inventor, a scientist, a craftsman, and a caster. It is the roar when all machinery is running, and it is the flash of inspiration when all scientific madmen experiment.
It has no morality, logic or order that makes it up.
No one can say how many souls of those bold and innovative who did not follow the teachings of the Mechanicus provided Vash'Tor with power.
Innovation and whimsical ideas may fall into Tzeentch's trap, but the All-Changing Demon King prefers philosophers who think humanistically, and does not like these seemingly rigid craftsmen who follow the laws of physics.
Vashtor welcomed them.
But not all craftsmen and sages will give Vashtor power. Their belief in the Mechanicus is strong enough to prevent the Lord of the Forge from getting involved.
Maybe this is why the Mechanicus is a dull, stubborn, and disgusting religion that no mortal can understand and still continue to exist.
The incense of engine oil rose slowly, the red cloth machine servants chanted eulogies, the gears rotated, the machinery roared, and in the Mechanical Holy Court, the statue of the God of All Machines was looking at His believers without any expression.
The cooperation agreement between the Forge World of Graai and the Death Guard of the Fourteenth Legion came into effect here. The servo skeleton clad in red robes and gold threads slowly descended, and the words carried by the sacred parchment were full of power.
The contract was written in gold in three copies by the sages who are most familiar with the doctrine. The Death Guard and Grae will each hold one copy, and the last copy will be under the escort of the Death Guard and Grae. Send it to Malcador, the regent of Terra, and the empire will approve and document this cooperation.
The cooperation ceremony was successfully concluded. Even the mechanical mages were willing to hold a "small" celebration afterwards. Hymns poured out like catharsis. Mortarion couldn't stand these noisy scenes. He made excuses in advance and retreated, leaving Hades to continue to be responsible for the human contact with Graier.
"Praise the Ohm Messiah!"
Hades stopped the third caster who flew toward him without changing his expression, and then put the fanatical guy on the ground, and the great sage chatting with him next to him The man smiled apologetically at him, and then asked the servitor to pull the unconscious forger down.
Fortunately, the great sage he was talking to was a normal person,
Hades thought numbly.
What Hades didn't know was that although the sage was arguing that Hades was not a god, this did not prevent him from editing the video of the close chat with Hades, and then returned to Graea University. Sell special deals.
In the midst of the mechanical jungle, the servitors sang the praises of the majesty of the mechanical body.
"Praise the great and sacred machine!"
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(End of this chapter)