Angron had a dream.
For the first time in centuries—since the Butcher's Nails had been driven into his skull—he was dreaming. In the past, the moment he closed his eyes, the pain in his head would become unbearable.
And because of that, the things he dreamed of had never been good.
In the dream, he was bound in strange chains, like a dog, reduced to the plaything of a giant red figure. Whatever that giant commanded, he had to obey.
His body no longer listened to him. His soul, his thoughts—everything had been seized and controlled by that giant.
Even though he was still conscious, that helplessness, that utter inability to resist, left him unable even to control his anger.
Little by little, Angron gave up struggling. He became the giant's puppet, forced to do things he found utterly abhorrent.
Enslaved. Turned into an eternal slave.
Just like his ridiculous life.
Clang.
The sound of something heavy striking a shackle reached his ears.
He listened to it, and gradually woke up. When he opened his eyes, he saw a crimson moon hanging overhead.
Bruce was there, gripping an axe and hacking at the chains again and again. Blow after blow crashed down, until at last, with a clear metallic snap, the chain broke. Bruce dropped into a sitting position, breathing hard.
Nearby, a campfire crackled. Firewood and dried grass burned steadily, bringing a little warmth to the cold night.
"Angron, I won," Bruce said, drawing in a deep breath as soon as he saw Angron wake.
It had cost him a lot of time, but he had managed to drag Angron out of Desh'ya. Whatever the process, he had done it.
Angron tried to move his hands, only to find that not a single muscle in his body obeyed him. They felt like stagnant water—dead, inert, and at the same time filled with a deep, aching soreness.
The neurotoxin from Nuceria had not yet worn off. Even with a primarch's regenerative power, it would still take time to fully purge itself.
"So. You're free too. The thirty-one-hour wager is over. You can do whatever you want now." Bruce sounded exhausted. He shifted from sitting to lying flat on the ground.
Breaking out of the city had not been easy. If not for how absurdly tough his armor was—and for his constant use of the Transformation Drink to borrow Curze's power—he might really have died there.
Hundreds of Khorne-blessed high riders charging at him all at once, while he was carrying a whole person on his back—being able to escape at all had only been possible because Magnus's psychic bombardment had hit hard enough to create an opening.
Otherwise… the outcome would have been hard to say.
"Ka… Khârn…" Angron tried to reach the fleet in orbit, to contact the son he trusted most.
But the signal was fragmented, breaking up constantly. All he could tell was that the Conqueror had received his transmission; establishing any real communication was impossible.
Damn it. What kind of interference was this?
As he became more awake, Angron's fury returned.
He wanted nothing more than to have his Legion flatten all of Nuceria from orbit. If he did not slaughter every last one of those damned slavers, the hatred in his heart would never be soothed.
"Don't bother. It's useless," Bruce said heavily. "The whole planet's been locked down by some sort of Warp energy. We're on our own."
When they had broken out, Bruce had also tried calling for reinforcements, but it had been impossible. Worse, he had learned several pieces of bad news: every task he had assigned to Alfred had failed.
Without exception.
The eight temples dedicated to Khorne were guarded by monsters. Even with the combined fleets committing significant manpower, they could not take even a single one.
Krulu, acting as field commander, had attempted orbital bombardment, but the attacks had all been twisted aside by Warp interference.
That was proof enough that Khorne had stepped in and laid down rules.
Unless those temples were taken through close-quarters battle, they could not be destroyed. But if you did that, you were falling straight into the trap.
Battle would strengthen the high riders of this world, making them even more powerful. And as the attackers, fighting on hostile ground, you would simply get beaten down harder.
No wonder the Emperor had snatched Angron away and fled the planet immediately afterward. If he had actually committed all his forces to the surface back then, he might well have ended up enslaved too, waiting for Malcador to rescue him.
"You have a solution, don't you?" Angron asked quietly.
"I do. I've already got people working on the temples. Since brute force doesn't work, then we use psychic means. Let the Warp fight the Warp."
By Bruce's estimate, Magnus had already found a method. Once her ritual was complete, they would be able to bypass Khorne's blessing and strike directly at the root of the problem.
Besides that, Bruce had prepared another contingency plan.
Exterminatus.
He even already had the justification ready.
Nuceria was conducting dangerously advanced Warp-related activities. Most of its population had become corrupted. On top of that, they had dared to attack the Warmaster's envoy and Primarch Angron, and had violated the Imperial Truth.
With those charges in place, there would be no flaw in the legal or political basis for the Imperium to order extermination. After all, they had violated the Imperial Truth first.
The fault was theirs.
It would also serve as a warning: anyone who dared defy the Imperial Truth would be met with iron-fisted punishment.
Angron let out a low, bitter laugh.
"And after that? After all this is done, what do you want from me?"
Bruce rolled onto his side. "Can we not do this now? I just dragged you out of that city at the cost of my life. Could you at least give me some time to recover?"
Oh, sure, here it came again.
If the question was whether he could physically recover, then yes—he'd be fine. But it would still hurt like hell.
A normal person, after taking that many beatings, would probably need emergency surgery and be lying in a hospital bed.
But Bruce? He already had the life of a warrior, so even if he didn't want it, he had no choice but to keep pushing through.
Angron fell silent for a moment, then said, "You owe me no kindness."
"What I want from you? Nothing. Everything I did, I did because I wanted to," Bruce answered honestly. "My father was tormented by psychic visions. She went mad."
"But I proved, in my own way, that the things she foresaw could be changed."
"And the same is true for you, Angron."
"Why?!" Angron suddenly looked up and roared. "I'm not your father! I'm Angron! The primarch my blood-brothers, and that slave-master, all despised the most!"
"Are you helping me just to satisfy your ridiculous pity?"
"If that's it, then congratulations—you've succeeded. I lost to you. I begged you. And now I'm lying here like a lump of useless meat, unable to move."
Bruce, who had been lying flat, slowly sat up.
"At first, it was because stopping you was useful to us. You and your Legion cannot rebel."
"More importantly…" He paused. "You cannot fall. I cannot allow Chaos to gain the strength of a primarch."
"Chaos?!" The unfamiliar word made Angron's eyes narrow.
"Lorgar—the pious bastard—has betrayed humanity, and betrayed the Imperium. And now he wants to drag you down with him. What I'm doing is stopping that."
"But I know you're not someone who can just be reasoned with. That's why I ended up doing all these things that probably look idiotic to you."
Bruce shrugged.
"Whether it was selfishness, strategy, or something else, that was my starting point. How you choose to interpret it is your business."
Angron let out a cold laugh.
"You're just as ridiculous as Lorgar. Though… at least you're a little better."
"Bruce Wayne, I…"
He stopped, then finished in a much quieter voice.
"I don't have long left."
He turned his head toward the crimson moon.
"I can feel it. The Nails that have tormented me for centuries are slowly stripping away what little reason and life I have left. A few more years, and I'll die."
A primarch was one of the most powerful forms of life in the galaxy, second only to the Master of Mankind. So even a broken primarch like Angron knew exactly how close he was to death.
Bruce knew it too. That was why he showed no surprise when he heard it.
"Which is why I can't let your soul fall into the hands of Chaos. I have a contingency plan. In the worst case…" Bruce looked at him directly. "I kill you."
"That way, this duel ends with two losers."
"Kill me? With you?" Angron burst into harsh laughter. "What a joke!"
"This is the worst-case plan," Bruce said irritably. "And as it happens, I really do have the chance right now. You can't move. If I drove the weapons my father gave me through your brain and heart, you'd die."
As he said it, Bruce raised his claws, hands trembling, then slowly lowered them again.
Angron went quiet.
After a long moment, he said flatly, "Then do it."
"Death would be a release for me. But only if you'll promise me one thing."
"My life is yours… if you can do that."
Bruce blinked. "What?"
Seriously?
I'm talking about a worst-case contingency, and you're already making peace with dying? What the hell is wrong with you?
"Free them," Angron said. "Finish the work we failed to finish. Give them freedom. If you can do that, then take my life."
"Hold on, hold on. Could you maybe stop assuming you're definitely going to die? What if there's another way?" Bruce said, exasperated.
Damn it. So after everything I've done—putting up with all his nonsense, catering to every dark impulse he had—it still comes down to me having to kill him?
That's not how this was supposed to go.
Wasn't he supposed to decide I was reliable, then take my side completely, then become Loyalist Angron, the Emperor's warhound reborn?
Why is his first instinct always just death?
"Bruce, I know my own body better than anyone," Angron said. "If it weren't for the tools you gave me, I'd already be a complete madman."
"From the moment I returned to this world, I could feel it. A voice was calling to me, luring me, trying to make me fall—trying to turn me into a machine made only for war and slaughter."
"I don't want to become that."
"So… please."
"Then what if I can save you? The Emperor may not be able to deal with the Butcher's Nails, but I can! I know someone who's got more tricks than you can imagine!" Bruce cut in hurriedly.
There were times when he really could not understand how Angron's brain worked. Every time it was either the most extreme option or an even worse one.
For someone who was supposed to be a tragic hero, he was acting like a high-maintenance disaster. Explosive, unpredictable, irrational to the core.
It was unbelievable.
"That's enough, Bruce. Two hundred years ago, I died." Angron's voice was calm now, almost too calm. "I died on those mountains. I died on the last battlefield beside my comrades."
"If I can die here, then I will be content. This was always supposed to be my ending."
"So… please."
Bruce fell silent.
But reason told him the same thing it had before: killing Angron now would yield the best outcome.
A dead Angron was good news for the current Loyalists, and even better news for the future Imperium. His soul would not fall into Khorne's grasp. His godhood would never be realized.
And Magnus was close by. She could intervene at any moment—if necessary, even bring the Emperor himself into this.
Just as Bruce was wrestling with that, a burst of laughter rang out through the trees.
"Bravo, bravo, bravo…"
Applause followed.
Several tall figures emerged from the forest.
They wore crimson power armor, their helms and plates covered in script. Their insignia made it unmistakable who they were: Word Bearers. The eight-pointed star of Chaos, the open book, the daemon's head wreathed in flame—all of it marked them clearly.
And then a familiar figure stepped into the light.
His head was covered in gold scripture, his armor gray rather than red.
Lorgar smiled.
"How weak those words sound, my brother. They do not suit you."
"Lorgar?!" Angron's face twisted with fury the instant he saw him. "What are you doing here?!"
From the look on his face, it was obviously nothing good.
"I was always here, Angron, my brother," Lorgar said mildly. "I was only delayed by a few trivial matters."
"And after completing the sacrifice, I came to find you at once."
"Damn you, preacher! Coward!" Angron snarled immediately.
At once he understood that the temples Bruce had spoken of had been Lorgar's doing.
Which meant that if not for this bastard's interference, he might really have won.
It was all because of him.
He was the root of it all.
"Oh, don't be like that…" Lorgar said, sounding almost hurt. "I only wanted you to witness the greatness of the gods of Chaos."
"You saw those riders, did you not? Their power came from the blessing of the gods. That is why they fought with such terrifying might."
"Seeing strength like that… does it not stir something in you?"
"If your Legion possessed such power—every one of them—then the World Eaters would become unstoppable. At that point, opposing our father, opposing the Imperium itself, would no longer be impossible."
"Well? My brother? Do you desire that strength?"
Angron answered only with a look of pure hatred.
If his eyes could have torn Lorgar apart, the Word Bearer primarch would already have died a hundred times over.
"I promised you," Lorgar pressed on, "that if you came back to Nuceria, I would find a way to heal what's in your head. And I did."
"As long as you accept this power—as long as you let the gods bless you—then the Nails in your skull can be healed. And you can live."
"What a wonderful thing! Because of me, you can both live and gain power. Isn't that marvelous?"
Angron still did not move. He simply kept staring at him with a contempt so profound that even Lorgar began to look irritated.
Damn it.
I bent the knee to dark gods for your sake, and this is how you answer me?
"Can I say something?" Bruce suddenly raised a hand.
"This is no place for your voice!" Lorgar snapped.
Fury already burning in him, Lorgar lashed out with a blast of psychic force.
But the attack struck a burst of golden light and shattered harmlessly.
For a moment Lorgar froze.
Then came rage.
And jealousy.
Why?
Why should the power of the Father manifest on an Astartes like you?
Bruce looked back at him. "You two brothers can handle your own family drama. As for me, I'd really like to leave now. Is that allowed?"
"Leave? You think you can escape?" Lorgar's eyes turned cold. "You, too, will become an offering to the gods."
Bruce sighed. "Me too, huh?"
He rolled his shoulders.
"Well then… if that's how it is, I guess there's no helping it."
At this point, there was only one thing left to do.
Fight.
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
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Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 165)
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TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter110)
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I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter250)
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Elf: My Starter Pokémon Is Inc 65
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Uma Musume, but My Cheat Power 248
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Multiverse Crossover: The Perf 66
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The Violent Girl Group Is Beat 125
Uma Musume: The Horse Girl Who 67
Uma Musume: From Beginner 145
Becoming a Horse Girl, I Will 85
Uma Musume: I Want All 120
I Can Copy Unique Skills 115
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Uma Musume: Today Is Another Romantic Battlefield 105
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Checking In in Demon Slayer 85
The Reincarnating Trainer of Tracen Academy 100
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Tanya Starts from Re:Zero 80
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The Gacha Merchant Who Started 80
Honkai's Otherworld? Wait—Who Are You People?! 80
Emiya Shirou, Determined to Slay Every Curse and Evil Spirit 57
The Uma Musume Who Became 55
I'm Definitely Not the King of 60
After Maxing Out Every Class 45
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I, the Elden Sword Saint 27
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No One Knows Pokémon Better 18
I, Sakazuki, Won't Go Down Tha 20
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