Eden could feel it. The malign will inside the daemon-possessed Angron was slowly receding, and that heart-stopping presence was gone.
"So the Warp parasites have pulled out. They either chickened out, or they're busy dealing with the residue of that holy psychic power…"
That was the inevitable outcome. Because he'd been too cautious, the Chaos Gods couldn't tell whether he could keep force-feeding Them "a load of crap," or even go further and directly detonate the budget edition Golden Throne together with the Emperor's bones to deal Them even more damage.
So withdrawing Their will from Angron and cutting the channel was the minimised-loss option.
It also let Them purge the holy residue inside the Domain in time, so the damage wouldn't keep expanding.
Zzzzt.
The injector nozzles on Eden's mechanised arm had overheated to a glowing red under overload, then snapped off and fell away.
The plunger was wrecked. He wouldn't be using it again anytime soon.
At that moment, the foam-mouthed daemon Angron snapped his eyes open. But there was no intelligence left in them, only frenzy.
The Chaos Gods made one last attempt. As Their will retreated, They dumped the last of Their corrupt power into him.
They hoped this rabid beast would wreak more havoc on the Saviour. If it could damage the Saviour's armament, that would be the best outcome.
It would also keep the Chaos ritual array running, letting it complete the final closure.
Eden met that crazed stare and immediately went on alert.
He knew his odds were extremely good, but he still had to stay cautious, lest he trip in a gutter at the final step.
Besides, this sector-spanning Chaos ritual array was already in its endgame.
"They're gambling," Eden suddenly thought. "They're betting this beast can hold on until the end, long enough for the ritual array to fully spread."
The earlier output of high-intensity holy psychic power had left the mechanical restraints extremely fragile. Daemon Angron tore free with a violent wrench and nearly toppled the armament.
Eden raised his mechanised arm to defend at once. Several void shields flared into being.
The next instant, daemon Angron slammed in like a battering ram. The impact detonated into a savage tremor.
The Warp-corruption of this foundry platform deepened again. Space became even more chaotic, like a world stitched together from mismatched scraps.
Eden wrestled with daemon Angron, and the two of them tumbled down a spiral brass stairway. Beyond the brass steps, the scenery kept shifting and changing.
They were falling into a Chaos pocket-space, skimming past the edges of one unknown region after another.
Boom!
He and daemon Angron crashed onto an unfamiliar plain. It was littered with working furnace-machines and every kind of vehicle wreckage.
He could even see a toppled god-machine Titan.
"An abandoned Chaos factory. Vashtorr's work?"
Eden casually snapped a psychic beacon into place. A fight and a free Chaos factory—he wasn't complaining.
Then daemon Angron came again like a meteor falling from a burning sky, all ferocity and wrath.
Steam billowed.
Two titans swung their fists, snatched up vehicle husks, and smashed them into each other. Their clash annihilated row after row of pistons. Everywhere there were twitching machines and churning muscle.
Living engines screamed. Warp torrents spread.
"This is locked in…"
Eden blocked daemon Angron's assault with practiced ease, immovable as a mountain.
From the exchange just now, he'd already mapped out the beast's strengths and weaknesses, its patterns and timing.
Madness rarely defeats intelligence, especially when the two sides are close in raw power.
In the original timeline, the Lion defeated Angron by relying on intellect. Eden would do the same.
Eden drew a slow breath, forcing himself calm as he waited for daemon Angron's next surge.
In Warp-sight, the beast burned bright and red, packed with heat and radiance, like a living volcano.
Inside its skull, the Butcher's Nails accelerated. The metallic hammering grew more violent, more deranged.
Pity. It wasn't a threat to Eden anymore.
Eden used the metal ruins to blunt daemon Angron's charge. Entire mountains of steel were smashed apart and melted down.
The beast's strikes came faster and faster. Eden waited for exactly that moment.
He faced daemon Angron head-on as it shattered several more metal mountains. Eden clenched his mechanised fist. Golden arcs of electricity spilled out, brighter and brighter.
He had read the motion completely, and he unleashed the move he'd been saving.
"Su-per Gol-den Big Punch!"
Before the massive bone-axe could finish its descent, Eden surged in. His golden mechanical fist ripped upward in a brutal uppercut that slammed straight into Angron's jaw.
The blow launched him into the air. His mandible shattered. Fangs scattered like shrapnel, and he crashed down hard.
Before daemon Angron could rise, Eden seized its ankle and threw the Redemption Armour's psychic engine wide open, driving the power system to its limit.
Holding the beast by one leg, he swung it into the wrecked plain again and again. The overloaded drive made the armour shriek with stressed metal.
Only when the Redemption Armour hit its limit and had to vent heat did Eden finally stop.
He flung daemon Angron into a metal statue, smashing a deep crater into it.
"This one really works.
"I don't care if you're 'chosen by the gods' or some ascended demi-god. I'll hammer you flat all the same."
Eden looked up. Daemon Angron lay sprawled on the ground, and the madness in its eyes had cleared somewhat.
Most likely, he'd been beaten into compliance. Even the Butcher's Nails had slowed from overuse.
Eden didn't hesitate. He stepped in, pinned the fallen primarch's head, and drove a sharp mechanical claw into it. With a vicious tear, he severed the Butcher's Nails and ripped most of them out.
The damage was catastrophic. In agony, Angron lost the bulk of his ability to move.
"This bastard is hard to kill…"
Eden studied him, then grabbed his ankle and smashed him a few more times anyway.
After that, he bound him with a blackstone device and began dragging him outward.
Angron was nearly unkillable. If Eden killed him here, there was a high chance he would simply escape back into the Warp.
In truth, the Imperium had already killed him several times. Every time, he returned, resurrected, to slaughter his way through Imperial space again.
In the Imperium's eyes, Angron was a pure Chaos apocalypse.
Given the circumstances, it was better to drag him back into realspace for proper disposal. There might even be a way to restore his mind.
"A shame. This place is pretty wrecked. Still, what I picked up for free makes it a net gain."
Eden swept his gaze across the Chaos foundry plain one more time.
He rechecked the psychic beacon, then hauled Angron's enormous daemonic body and vanished from the Chaos Domain.
…
Vostroya, Chaos ruin zone.
"Brother Eden still hasn't come out. Have you found his psychic coordinates yet?" the Lion asked, staring at the empty platform with clear worry.
That battle with Angron had reached a critical point. Failure was not an option. If Eden lost, they would have little means to mount an effective counterstrike.
Perturabo's battered Logos armour flickered as his data-assist systems ran at full speed.
He sighed and shook his head.
"The spatial data here is too chaotic. There are at least dozens of gateways into other spaces folded into the area.
"With my current analytical capacity, I need more time to lock onto our brother's psychic beacon."
As the two primarchs waited anxiously, the Nurgle daemons remained tucked inside the ruins.
They were shaken to the core, silently observing everything, and—oddly—maintaining a bizarre harmony with the two primarchs.
For these Greater Daemons, the assignment was simply to hold this position.
As long as the primarchs didn't try to leave, they wouldn't make any extra moves.
In truth, the Nurgle daemons were doing what they did best: lying flat and slacking off.
The Garden of Nurgle had suffered heavy contamination. Better to hide out here than go back and get assigned to "scoop the latrines."
That cursed energy was far too dangerous.
Then the Lord of Iron sensed a fluctuation. He looked surprised for a moment, then smiled.
"I've found our brother. He's moving toward us."
"Brother Eden won?!" The Lion's spirits surged. If Eden was returning, the fight had ended.
According to the records the Lion had, that brother had never lost a war—especially not against any lifeform beneath the Chaos Gods. He was, in practice, unstoppable.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Eden emerged along the remnants of the Caliban forest the Lion had left behind, dragging the barely-living daemon Angron with him.
He returned through a different exit into this zone.
The towering Redemption Armour looked down on all life here, radiating overwhelming might and a dense, tangible threat.
"Brother!"
The Lion and Perturabo were elated to see their primarch-brother return, and the Khan rushed in at top speed.
The Nurgle daemons, meanwhile, cowered behind the ruins, trembling.
They regretted it now. They hadn't expected that detestable cursed existence to return so quickly—and to come straight here.
Now they couldn't even run.
The war-vehicle's blackstone and psychic force fields had already blanketed the area. Even carving open a channel back home would be extremely difficult.
Grandfather above, it's over.
They had seen with their own eyes the Saviour force-feeding the "gods-chosen" that horrifying cursed energy.
Now he had beaten that mighty existence into a near-death state, beyond even the gods' rescue.
If they took the same kind of strike, it would be worse than death—complete annihilation.
A flesh-mountain of a Great Unclean One seemed to think of itself as a little lamb, shrinking into a corner of twisted wreckage, desperate not to draw attention.
This group of Great Unclean Ones now sat in the middle of several primarchs: on one side the Saviour, on the other the Lion, Perturabo, and the Khan.
They huddled there, not daring to move.
Thud. Thud. Thud!
The Saviour's armour marched forward, dragging daemon Angron behind it. With each step closer, the pressure intensified.
The Nurgle daemons grew even more terrified.
At ten-plus metres tall, supported by comparison against that massive armour, they looked like nothing more than little runts—without the slightest room to resist.
"N-no…"
The flesh-mountain daemon trembled. Its meat shook violently, and even the maggots retreated inside. The Nurglings bawled silently, covering their mouths so no whimper could escape.
They tried to wedge themselves deeper into the ruins, burying their bodies under metal scraps to hide their presence.
Clank-clank-clank.
Their bulk squeezing through debris made even louder noise, which drew the primarchs' attention. They froze, terrified to continue.
As Eden passed, he heard a harsh chattering sound.
He turned and saw it was their teeth, rattling with fear.
"Silence," Eden said.
He made no move to attack. He simply issued the order.
The Nurgle daemons crouched in the ruins, terrified to the point of collapse, and yet still instinctively shuffled backward.
Fearing they might make another sound and invite destruction, they stuffed their hands into their mouths. Their bodies still trembled faintly, beyond their control.
Like pitiful Tomcats.
Eden nodded with satisfaction and ignored them. He had no interest in striking.
This was deterrence.
After this battle, his deterrent effect on Chaos daemons had reached a historical peak—approaching even the Emperor himself.
That aura of dread likely wouldn't fade for a long time.
As for why he didn't kill these Nurgle daemons, it was because he could see the mark of a certain cunning Nurgle daemon on them—Barag the Glutton.
By rounding up, they were practically his own troops.
Besides, these Nurgle daemons were all extreme layabouts, obsessed only with simmering soups so toxic they could poison other daemons. Keeping them alive would be more useful than killing them.
What's more, after witnessing the Saviour's might, these daemons would surely go back to the Garden of Nurgle and loudly spread the story of his terror.
They would become an anti-invasion faction within Nurgle's Domain, more inclined to wage war on other daemons instead.
That would make Nurgle's daemons even more resistant to invading the galaxy.
"Sometimes," Eden thought, "the opposition and the surrender faction do more damage to an organisation from within than the enemy ever could…"
Especially now, with the Lord of Decay heavily wounded and his control over the Garden weakened. Changes in daemon behaviour could very well rebound and influence their god in turn.
Just as human faith could influence the Holy Sun.
The Chaos Gods were not omniscient or omnipotent. Put bluntly, They were also prisoners of the Warp—just a little freer than the Emperor.
Boom.
Eden slammed daemon Angron onto the ruins. The thunderous impact made the Nurgle daemons flinch again.
Eden stared at the fallen primarch, hesitating over what to do. Kill him, or imprison him first and attempt to bring him back?
He had already asked the Emperor. The old man had tossed the question back, saying he could not decide this matter in place of the Emperor of the Imperium.
Now it fell to Eden, the Saviour, to choose on humanity's behalf.
"Brothers, what should we do?" Eden asked, lowering his gaze toward his primarch-brothers. Their bodies only reached about the armour's lower leg.
He still wanted to consult them.
Perturabo's view was that if they could completely purge Chaos and the Butcher's Nails, they could consider letting their fallen brother live.
That would benefit the Imperium. It would mean one more supreme weapon on their side.
This World Eater was one of the very strongest among the primarchs—truly the former champion of single combat.
Of course, the Lord of Iron held that thought partly because he himself was also a fallen primarch. If Angron died, it was hard not to feel a rabbit's sorrow at the fox's fate.
The Lion and the Khan leaned toward ending the fallen traitor's life. Angron had committed too much slaughter within Imperial space. Too many warriors had died because of him.
Unforgivable.
They also didn't believe this mad brother could be restored. Keeping him would be a threat.
In the beginning, because of the Butcher's Nails, Angron had never been welcomed by the Emperor or the other primarchs, never truly recognised.
The other primarchs became rulers of their homeworlds through strength, charisma, or intellect.
Angron, brain-damaged and tormented by the Nails, remained a slave. His rebellion failed completely.
His comrades—his fellow slaves, his brothers and sisters—were executed by the Emperor as a condition of taking the world.
He had almost no foundation left.
Even afterward, under his influence, the World Eaters Legion itself became deranged, turning into butchers feared across the galaxy.
After the primarch-brothers gave their views, they looked back to Eden.
Eden knew they were waiting for his decision.
They could offer counsel, but the one who would bear the responsibility was him—the Emperor of the Imperium.
"This is hard…"
Eden turned the Redemption Armour to face daemon Angron. Inside, he wavered.
From a purely rational standpoint, reclaiming Angron would benefit the Imperium. But the emotions of Imperial citizens and warriors also mattered.
He watched the weakened fallen primarch, this horror-beast, and could feel him recovering.
He had to decide quickly.
"F… father…"
Suddenly, Eden heard Angron's slurred voice and froze in surprise.
The other primarchs looked over as well, equally startled.
After all, Angron was one of the primarchs who hated the Emperor most.
When he was lucid, that mad World Eater had once explained why he hated the Emperor:
The Emperor kept that tyrant Kor Phaeron. Russ kept his kin and friends. The Lion kept Luther.
Every brother's family—brothers, foster fathers—had been saved and allowed to join the Imperium's great cause.
But not him. Not Angron.
The Emperor's golden warriors and Titan Legions had not come to aid him and his army.
They had not saved his poor brothers and sisters the way the Lion's people had been saved.
Angron received no mercy. He was an oathbreaker, a traitor, someone who had abandoned the brothers and sisters who had sworn to live and die together.
"Why? Is it because I was a slave?
"Before, I was the Nucerian nobles' slave. Now, I am Your slave.
"No. I am not a slave. I should have died in that rebellion as a free man, together with my brothers and sisters!"
Angron had accused the Emperor like this, and he had never received an answer.
All he received was the Emperor's long silence—and a new target.
That father had ordered him to conquer a hard alien world and exterminate every xenos upon it.
Hearing Angron's hoarse voice, Eden stepped closer, wanting to hear what he was trying to say.
At that moment, Angron was struggling against the Butcher's Nails. A thread of clarity returned to his madness.
Though his vision was blurred, he felt the Emperor's presence.
His voice broke, almost pleading.
"…I beg Your mercy. Kill me, Father… let me be released… completely…"
Angron, once a slave, finally dared to speak his deepest truth to the Emperor, yearning for eternal freedom.
Eden and the others fell silent.
Within the Warp, the Holy Sun rippled outward in ring after ring.
The Master of Mankind's emotions were complex—guilt, perhaps, or regret.
"Angron…
"Once a gladiator slave, leader of Nuceria's rebellion. From this moment on, you are free."
Eden looked at Angron and spoke softly.
He raised a psychic barrier, then lifted his mechanised arm and aimed at Angron's head.
Bang!
A blackstone explosive round punched into the fallen primarch's skull, shredding brain and Butcher's Nails together.
Then a fierce torrent of holy psychic power surged down the arm, burning through his Chaos body, his soul, his life itself.
It was agony beyond measure, punishment for his sins.
In his final moment, Angron finally saw clearly who stood before him: the Saviour, the Emperor of the Imperium.
He gave a grateful smile, then closed his eyes in acceptance.
He had finally shed the madness of the Butcher's Nails and the corruption of Chaos.
He felt as if he had returned to that battlefield long ago, standing with his slave-brothers and sisters, resisting the nobles' chains.
It was the scent of freedom.
That slave of Nuceria had reached his final release…
(End of Chapter)
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