The massacre began with the first drop of blood from the butcher's hand.
The drop of blood fell with him.
Amidst the grand cheers, the guest from outer space leaped off the platform, drawing an arc.
His figure slammed heavily to the ground, splashing up waves of red sand.
The nails roared as Angron looked at the uninvited guest, and blood flowed as he pulled out a twitching laugh.
"What are you going to do, slave master?"
However, his opponent ignored his taunts—
Kahn smashed the chainsaw axe to the ground, holding the handle with one hand.
"Bang!"
He knelt down.
The sleek power armor smashed into the mud, splattering blood.
On the viewing platform, the cheers suddenly stopped, and people looked at this in disbelief, something they could not understand.
Quiet, absolutely quiet.
"Sorry we're late."
"Father."
Kahn said softly, his blood rushing, his heart beating violently, and his soul throbbing.
Even though he was as still as a corpse now.
Angron froze, his tall nose twitching unnaturally. He seemed to be trying hard to understand the current situation, but the buzzing of the nails disrupted his thoughts.
However, the inexplicable throbbing, the bond from genes and souls, the huge sadness and anger from across from him, pulled at Angron's last bit of sanity.
The Primarch spoke, his voice like the sharp wind whistling over the mountains.
"I'll give you a chance, what are you?"
Kahn felt himself boiling, suffocating, and convulsing.
Finally, he slowly opened his mouth and said the words that every war dog has ever dreamed of.
"We are the dogs of war that bring you glory."
Without glory, he bowed his head heavily, like a sinner.
Bitterness bloomed in his mouth,
He was the lucky one with the war dog, but—
There is no glory.
Angron forced out a smile that was uglier than crying. His face, inlaid with butcher's nails, was that of a broken demigod.
"Then help me kill them."
In response he was greeted by the roar of Kahn's chainsaw axe activating.
On the high stands, the pigs, knowing that things were not going well but still unable to accept reality, were speaking.
"What is this, sir?"
What responded to them was the sound of heads falling to the ground.
The massacre began.
No one knew how long the massacre lasted, as the angry butcher forgot something as unimportant as time.
Thousands of airdrop pods roared and tore through the blood-red sky. Light spears and macro cannons ignited the sky. The air was shaking and bleeding.
The battle axe spun, blood splattered, angry roars and whimpers occurred, and red covered everything.
Angron was like a god of war, running wildly among thousands of enemy troops. His powerful muscles carved out the body of an angry god, and his rough leather cloth revealed his identity as a slave. He chopped with a huge battle axe, and his life was spent.
Countless war dogs were running wildly. They rushed out of the airdrop pods, holding weapons, slaughtering and joining their father.
The towering figures of the Dreadnoughts were interspersed among the torrent of war dogs, and the melta and heavy bolters were the rare long-range weapons in this massacre.
Towering cities were burning, magnificent banners were torn to pieces, heads were chopped off at will, and mad war dogs howled and rushed towards their enemies.
Discipline is obviously no longer necessary at this moment.
Under the huge gap in strength, they are like strong winds, they are like tsunamis, they easily crush everything in front of them! They easily devour everything that exists!
City after city was captured, head after head was chopped off!
The iron cages holding the slaves were torn open and were swept up in the killing frenzy.
Blood and carnage pursued them.
The ground was covered with blood.
The raging fire gradually died down, smoke drifted across the sky, the broken flag hung its head, and the corpse with its eyes open was stuck on the flagpole.
The last large group of survivors fled to a cave in the suburbs. There were both men and women among them, but most of them were old and weak.
They were all poor people, or farmers outside the city.
They have survived to this day thanks to their familiarity with the wilderness.
The roar of axes arrived, and Kahn, who was at the forefront, raised his weapon skillfully—
"That's enough."
The battle axe raised above his head stopped.
"That's enough, I say. That's enough."
The hoarse and deep voice of the Primarch echoed in the cave, and to the common people, it was like the sound of nature.
Even if the nails are still ringing.
Kahn didn't understand, but he stopped his behavior.
The ragged mortals in front of him were trembling.
Kahn turned around, as if waking up from a dream.
Angron's tall figure was lost in the bright light at the entrance of the cave, leaving only a silhouette of him.
"Yes, father."
He responded in a low voice.
So he turned and followed his primarch, leaving a bloody puddle in the soft earth with every step.
They left the small, dark cave. Black smoke was floating in the blood-red sky. As far as the eye could see, the ground was covered with blood and skulls. The angry war dogs were still searching for the last survivors in the ruins of the city.
Angron stood on the high slope, looking at all this, all this that had appeared in his dreams countless times.
Slave owners were beheaded, tyrants were overthrown, and the ignorant lackeys of the monarchs paid their price.
but
His eyes were dark, those slaves hiding in fear, those poor people fleeing in panic.
The words of his father, Oenomamus, echoed in his mind, which had regained its sense of reason.
"Those people are not monsters. Don't take your anger out on them. There are many other people who are truly like monsters. They are the ones you should be angry at."
Some lives should not be sacrificed.
His anger is reserved only for monsters.
Angron raised his hands to the floor, then let go.
"Bang!"
The battle axe in his hand smashed into the hard rock, leaving a permanent mark.
He opened his hands and the enemy's blood flowed down his arms.
He looked at these warriors who claimed to be his descendants, and he looked at these warriors who pledged their allegiance to him without hesitation.
“That’s enough!”
Angron shouted,
“That’s enough!!!”
Those people stopped and looked at all this as if they had just woken up from a dream.
The rushing torrent suddenly stopped, and they slowly converged from all directions.
Countless men in white armor emerged from the red and black ruins. Their armor was smeared with pits, dust, and blood. They walked silently towards their father.
The battles in various places had ended long ago, and most of the war dogs had been staying close to their primarchs in previous wars. Now, except for those slow-running dreadnoughts, most of the war dogs were here.
Following the flow of water, the last to arrive was a special team.
It was a team led by Legion Commander Rock, consisting of technical sergeants and pharmacists.
In the War Dogs, those brothers who are unwilling to slaughter will choose to become pharmacists or technical sergeants.
In the center of the team are the brothers and sisters from the Angron Arena.
After realizing that the arrival of the war dogs was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Angron's brothers and sisters decisively asked Angron to take the war dogs to fight.
"Leave us alone, Angron, and kill the slavers."
"Angron, we know you are different from us, but they are very much like you."
"Angron, go and kill them. We can't catch up with you, but we will chase them."
"Kill the slavers before they know what's happening, Angron. Don't let them get away."
At that time, Angron made a second request to the War Dog.
"Help me. Please let them join this battle as well."
He wanted to protect them, but he also wanted to fight with them.
But the gap in strength separated them.
Angron, carrying the expectations of his brothers and sisters, left and rushed to another more brutal battlefield.
He hoped that they were all alive, but he also didn't want them to be protected cowards.
The nail cut through his hesitation, and amid the anticipation of his brothers and sisters, he turned to seek the kill.
But they are all standing here now.
His brothers and sisters were all there, some were frightened, some were extremely excited.
Everything that was happening now was something that had never appeared in their wildest dreams.
Angron looked at them. They were all there, even some other unfamiliar faces, surely family members of his siblings, or others.
Then he looked at the warriors who were protecting them, and the strange devices were arranged on their armor.
He memorized them silently.
Angron moved his gaze to scan the war dogs that fell from the sky.
From the fragments of words spoken by the warhounds during previous battles, Angron had pieced together the stories of these warriors, as well as his own origins.
Were they slave owners
But slave owners will not fight with slaves.
Are they slaves
But slaves would not have such fine equipment.
No, neither.
They are weapons.
A crazy and bloodthirsty war machine that can devour an entire world.
But now, the power of the weapon was given to him, and the hound voluntarily handed over the collar.
Angron looked around at it all, as if still in a dream.
The first heir to kneel awakened him.
Kahn got down on one knee.
Like a command, the sound of power armor hitting the ground was heard everywhere, and blood scabs mixed with soil were thrown into the air.
The sunlight shines down, and the armor sparkles.
His sister Crest in the arena looked at him, gave him a sly and encouraging smile, and knelt down with the giants.
The brothers and sisters knelt.
Silence. He was now the only one standing. Angron spoke slowly.
He is the son of the mountain, his voice is the falling of the rocks,
"I don't know where you come from, I don't know what your allegiance is."
"But you followed me to capture Nuthrea and cut off the heads of the slave owners,"
“You showed me your true heart.”
"If you still decide to follow me, Angron will not let you down!"
Angron took a deep breath and shouted, his voice breaking through the sky.
"In Nuserria's history, those invincible armies were called Devourers, and they swallowed up one city after another."
"But you, you!"
"You are so powerful that you can devour this world!"
"You are my battle axes that cut down the slave owners, you are my war machines that devour all the worlds!"
"You are World Eaters!"
"You are the World Eaters!!!"
The Twelfth Legion, the World Eaters.
Since then established.
"I am guilty."
In the wreckage of the first arena, two figures hid in the shadows of the viewing platform.
The captain of the 8th Company, Kahn, lowered his head absent-mindedly, his eyes wandering.
"You were the first to discover the Primarch's father. You did the best you could."
Legion Commander Rock folded his arms and stood straight, but he looked exhausted.
“We have done our best.”
He murmured.
But no one spoke.
The War Dog's previous expectations now acted like a sharp and vicious dagger, stabbing the World Eater.
They are too proud, they are too vain.
arrogant.
The return of the Primarch was a slap in the face.
“I used to look down on it”
"Shh, Kahn, don't say it."
Rock looked at him with a dark look in his eyes.
“We are well aware of this.”
“I was standing on that high platform, looking down at him.”
This will become his eternal nightmare.
Rock patted him.
“There’s nothing any of us can do about it.”
"The most urgent task is to get our Primarch back to health."
"I have contacted the Empire—"
The sound of the gladiatorial horn interrupted the conversation between the two.
They looked at each other, walked out of the darkness and onto the bright arena.
There, led by Angron, countless World Eaters stood upon the red sand.
Today, they will carve their first triumphal rope.
The Rope of Triumph, a Nuthrean tradition.
Kahn stood between the warriors.
They took off their armor, revealing scars all over their strong upper bodies.
Angron was in the front, a snaking red line running up his spine from his tailbone.
Every extension of the red line is a successful battle and a glory worth remembering.
The Primarch stabbed the front end of the red line with his dagger without hesitation, and scarlet blood dripped.
Following their father's lead, the World Eaters also slashed their skin with their blades, digging deep into the underlying black carapace.
Angron scooped up handfuls of red sand and poured it into the wound, the coarse sand embedding itself in his flesh.
In order to remember the eternal glory, Angron reached out his hand, reached into the freshly cut wound and tore it, preventing the wound from healing quickly.
Blood dripped down his fingers.
Blood dripped down their fingers.
Kahn used his fingers to support his wound. His fingertips touched the slippery black shell and the pain burned like a flame.
He took a deep breath, but did not pick up the fiery red sand.
He scooped up the dark black sand.
Black sand symbolizes shame and failure.
Shame will be the beginning of the World Eaters.
The darkness climbed up, numbing his painful heart.
The vision is blurred, and as far as the eye can see, black and red are mixed.
Angron was delighted that he had gained another group of new brothers who followed him and carved the red string of glory.
But what he didn't know was that not everyone among the World Devourers chose the Red Sand.
The black lines meander.
[Emperor Fantasy]
future.
"Report to my lord, the 12th Legion has found their Primarch."
With the words of the messenger, Angron's message was transmitted.
The Emperor glanced at it casually.
"oh."
"Notify the 12th Legion. I need to schedule an operation for No. 12."
The battle report from the front line came again, and the emperor's mind was distracted for only a moment, and then he had no time to care about it anymore.
Although number twelve is damaged, it is still usable.
Wonderful Little Theater:
"Why don't you stop them, Lao Ba?"
The seventh brother muttered to himself and pushed the eighth brother.
"His anchor is no longer here."
Lao Ba laughed loudly.
"Besides, I don't care about these things. As long as there are heads and blood, it's enough!"
"Don't look at a gas can, man, I like them all!"
Old Seven had a gloomy expression and muttered something about fate, perseverance, kindness, etc. that no one could understand.
[Extra story has been released]
Well... the sticking point here is the Emperor's attitude. In the original novel, the Emperor's attitude towards Angron was extremely cold, which gave rise to the saying that "the Emperor was intentionally abandoning the Primarch he disliked."
But in the latest book, the Emperor himself values the Primarchs and hopes that everyone will retire happily in the end. The image of a sentimental and autistic person is completely inconsistent with the biography of Angron.
In this book, regarding Angron, the Emperor's image will be more in line with the biography of Angron.
The author will make a transition for the other emperor parts.
(End of this chapter)