Aboard the flagship of the World Eaters—the Conqueror—
This savage, battle-hardened Legion had just achieved an important objective. Angron had successfully crushed a power known as the Orethea Technological Alliance. In that campaign, the World Eaters, through a ferocious assault offensive, had seized control of the civilization's capital.
Now the entire civilization and its worlds had fully submitted, and vast quantities of STCs were about to become valuable assets of the Imperium.
The Orethea Technological Alliance had been an independent human technocratic city-state civilization. Their technology was extraordinarily advanced; they possessed STC databases the Mechanicum could only dream of, along with even more standardized template-construction systems.
Because they had repeatedly refused Imperial rule and politely declined the Warmaster's offer, Horus had stopped being polite in return and simply ordered his own Legion and the World Eaters to take the civilization together.
The battle itself had gone smoothly—but governing the aftermath had become a problem, because Angron still had not received the Warmaster's next order.
And to Angron, there was nothing more unbearable than waiting.
Left with no other outlet, he could only hold one bloody gladiatorial bout after another aboard his Gloriana-class warship. Only battle could grant the raging Angron even the slightest trace of relief.
And even that relief grew harder and harder to satisfy as his threshold kept rising. In the end, dueling his own sons was no longer enough. Angron would actively seek out nearby xenos or uncompliant civilizations simply to slaughter them.
With his axes in hand, Angron roared like a beast, whirling through the arena like a storm of blood, carving apart every son foolish enough to charge him. Even the captured prisoners were not spared.
Kill.
Kill kill kill!
Every time his weapons shattered another life, the agony in his spine and brain eased by a fraction—and that sensation intoxicated him.
He wanted more slaughter. More!
"Father, you have a guest."
Khârn stepped into the iron-and-blood arena barehanded.
He was the only living thing still standing in the place. When all others feared the maddened Red Angel, only Khârn dared approach him—and knew how to make sure he would not die for it.
"A… guest?" Angron clutched at his head in pain.
The abrupt question forced him to think, and the moment he did, the Butcher's Nails buried in the back of his skull bit even deeper.
The Nails had originally been an ancient device used by slavers to cultivate the most vicious gladiators. Angron had been captured almost as soon as he landed on that world, and the Nails had been implanted into him in his youth.
Now that relic had become part of him entirely, like an organ of his body. It could neither be removed nor restrained in its effects—not even the Emperor had been able to do anything about it.
Under the influence of the Butcher's Nails, Angron became a machine that knew only slaughter. He still possessed intelligence equal to any of his Primarch brothers, but under the Nails' torment, even the act of trying to think would be violently overturned, reducing him to a beast obsessed only with battle and blood.
"Yes. A guest," Khârn repeated. "The Primarch of the Seventeenth Legion, Lorgar Aurelian of the Word Bearers, has arrived on the bridge. He wishes to see you."
"Lorgar…"
Angron let out a savage bellow.
He brought his axes crashing into the metal cage, hacked wildly at everything in sight, and only after reducing all visible objects to scrap did his pain ease even a little.
"The Warmaster? Why isn't it him?" Angron demanded.
"The command staff of the Warmaster says they are occupied with other matters and cannot issue us a new order for the moment."
Khârn answered honestly. "All war spoils relating to the Orethea Technological Alliance have already been handed over to the Sons of Horus. For now, all we can do is wait for new instructions."
"I know…"
Angron stared at the corpses strewn across the floor and fell silent for a moment.
Then he hefted his blood-smeared axes and strode out of the arena.
That feeling—that his life was nearing its end—was becoming clearer and clearer. Angron had a premonition that his release was coming soon.
But before that happened, there were still some things he had to do.
Those damned slavers. One day he would cut off their heads as well.
When Angron reached the bridge and sensed the peculiar golden psychic aura around Lorgar, his first reaction was that it felt soothing.
His second was disgust.
That psychic power came from his brother, yes—but it also felt far too much like the hated aura of the one slaver Angron despised above all others.
He loathed it.
"Angron, my brother. It has been far too long."
Lorgar looked at the gore-spattered Angron without showing the slightest discomfort and spread his arms as he approached.
A punch exploded forward, powerful enough to pulp an Astartes.
Lorgar, having foreseen the danger, dodged in time and retreated to a safe distance.
"My brother, why?" Lorgar continued radiating goodwill, sounding genuinely puzzled.
Damn it, he thought. I came here in good faith, wanting to speak with him and show him some respect. Why is he so hostile?
He really is nothing more than a rabid hound.
If he and his Legion didn't still have great value, I would never have bothered with him at all.
"I hate the smell on you, damn coward!" Angron snarled.
"The smell…?" Lorgar frowned and considered that for a moment. Then he understood.
As he consciously withdrew the pressure of his psychic power, Angron's murderous hostility eased a little. He no longer glared at Lorgar with the same immediate urge to kill.
But under the Butcher's Nails, he was still drowning in rage.
"What do you want? You'd better actually have a reason."
Angron had no patience for circling around the point. Thinking itself was a burden to him. All he needed was an order: go from this place to the next, and butcher everything in between.
"I heard the thing inside you is worsening—threatening your life. I came because I am trying to save you, my brother."
Lorgar's tone was sincere.
Yes, he intended to use Angron—but as a brother, he also truly believed he ought to save him.
What the Emperor could not do, the Chaos Gods could. Did that not prove that They were more worthy than the Emperor to guide mankind's future?
"You pity me now? You scripture-spouting coward!" Angron roared back. "I don't need your concern! Get back to your own damned territory, weakling!"
Goodwill meant nothing to Angron. To him, pity from kin was only another form of humiliation.
Damn it. You're just like that slaver—another hypocrite.
"Angron, I'm worried about your life!" Lorgar snapped, his face darkening. "I did not come here to quarrel with you."
"Your body is deteriorating more and more every day. I am your brother. I have a duty to save you. And our father—he is the true hypocrite. He saw your condition and did nothing."
"But I am different. I truly want to save you."
"Get out. Don't make me lay hands on you."
Angron tightened his grip on his axe. He was like a powder keg on the brink of detonation, one leap away from hacking Lorgar in half.
"Do you really wish to die like this?" Lorgar asked, staring straight at him.
"That has nothing to do with you, preacher."
"Don't you want to break free of your chains? To look that hypocritical father in the face and tell him no? Brother—I know you. You hunger for freedom. You despise the Great Crusade. You were never meant to bear this."
"No one understands you. But I do. You want freedom—not to be bound to the chariot of the Imperium, forced to do things you hate."
"Our father claims he freed you, yet he commands you like a slaver still."
Lorgar spread his arms again, openly leaving himself vulnerable.
Angron's chest heaved violently. Yet even in that state, he was restraining himself.
"Your life should not end here," Lorgar said softly. "Defy the slaver. For freedom. Tell our father no. That is what you should do."
"And I can help you. I can free you from your pain. I can heal it."
He stepped closer, his voice low and coaxing.
"Come, my brother. Let me save you from our father."
Angron shuddered violently as Lorgar came within reach.
Then he slammed into him with brutal force, knocking him backwards, and flung one of his axes so that it buried itself deep in the deck beside Lorgar.
His voice was like a firestorm.
"You'd better not be trying anything, priest!"
"Of course not. I only want to save you. Nothing more."
Lying on the ground, Lorgar smiled.
Angron had not agreed—but he had not rejected him completely, either.
That meant there was still a chance to persuade this brother of his.
Good.
Now all that remained… was to prepare a sacrifice for one of the powers of the Empyrean.
The Emperor might have regarded Angron as a flawed product.
But the Dark Gods would not.
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 178)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 155)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League ( 126 )
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter110)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter200)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter110)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter230)
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Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 77
From Junkman to Wasteland 66
Weekly Refresh of Overpowered 31
I'm Grinding Proficiency Like 46
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Honkai: Is This Still the Prev 42
Elf: My Starter Pokémon Is Inc 65
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Uma Musume, but My Cheat Power 230
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Multiverse Crossover: The Perf 66
My Cyberpsycho Girlfriend 65
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The Violent Girl Group Is Beat 120
Uma Musume: The Horse Girl Who 67
Uma Musume: From Beginner 135
Becoming a Horse Girl, I Will 85
Uma Musume: I Want All 110
I Can Copy Unique Skills 100
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Uma Musume: Today Is Another Romantic Battlefield 105
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Transmigrated as Sukuna 75
Checking In in Demon Slayer 80
The Reincarnating Trainer of Tracen Academy 85
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The Gacha Merchant Who Started 65
Honkai's Otherworld? Wait—Who Are You People?! 45
Emiya Shirou, Determined to Slay Every Curse and Evil Spirit 45
The Uma Musume Who Became 40
I'm Definitely Not the King of 45
After Maxing Out Every Class 45
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