The skies of Terra split open, and crimson fissures appeared across the firmament.
The earth was shattered, with chasms like the abyss tearing through once-prosperous cities.
Gales raged, as if ten thousand dead souls were roaring and screaming.
Blood-like raindrops crashed onto the ground, quickly merging into the crimson rivers of the earth.
Armies of daemons let out howls.
Eighty-eight servants of the Blood God simultaneously roared skyward, forged from the oldest fears of all living things.
They were the embodiment of battle rage, the personification of bloodlust, titans representing tyranny and destruction in myths.
When they stood on the earth, the horizon trembled.
When they flapped their blood-red bat wings, the burning flames intensified.
Lightning and black flames encircled them, and violent aetheric psyker energy spun rapidly around them.
However, the most terrifying thing was not these.
What terrified the world most was the return of the Betrayer's Son—Angron.
The earth was shaking, and the sky was weeping.
A dreadful phantom stepped from the blood rain into reality, setting foot on the sacred soil of Terra.
He had arrived.
The Red Sand King, the Crimson Angel, the Slave of Nuceria, the Gladiator King, the Blood prince, the Broken One, the Will of War and Fire, the former Traitor, the Eternal Cursed One.
He had returned.
Just as he had ten thousand years ago.
He was once again attempting to invade his father's palace.
This time, his power was even greater, and even more brutal.
Flames burned on his strong, powerful body, and his crimson eyes revealed endless rage and battle intent.
Towering hatred transformed into boundless fury, burning fiercely on his body and in the surrounding area, isolating a special zone exclusively for him.
Angron had come.
He came for revenge, for past grievances, and to end the Emperor's reign.
Within the daemon's body, the soul of the former Nucerian slave still roared.
That was Angron's last glory.
Shattered, a ghost of past echoes drove this body of infinite power to deliver the final blow of vengeance.
After which, Angron would completely become a slave of the Blood God.
As Angron's eyes gazed towards the Imperial Palace, the deepest flames of his rage erupted.
Those flames of rage stemmed from his failure to die as he wished in the final battle.
Of course, not the battle on Terra led by Horus.
But the battle on Nuceria where he and his last brothers and sisters confronted those despicable nobles.
In Angron's heart, he never considered those Primarchs his brothers.
Nor did he ever consider the legionaries he led his sons.
His only brothers were the gladiators who died on Nuceria.
Shattered memories continued to torment Angron.
Even after his daemon ascension, they replayed incessantly.
Those spectral memories surfaced in his mind, recounting past sins.
He had abandoned those brothers and sisters, fleeing in disgrace.
Though not of his own free will, he had indeed fled.
He was a coward, a coward who abandoned the path to freedom, a coward forced to submit to a tyrant.
Angron looked up at the Lion's Gate, his battle-axe burning with black flames, and he bared his teeth in a savage grin.
He let out a roar to the sky.
Countless daemons also shrieked.
Then, they surged towards the Lion's Gate, and war erupted.
Before the Primarchs had taken their places.
When Horus had just been found by the Emperor and was being mentored by his side.
On the edge of the galaxy, there was a world called Nuceria.
A planet that retained most of the Dark Age technology but practiced slavery.
The nobles held all power, and the lower classes became their playthings.
Their privileged lives bred unimaginable forms of entertainment.
Life-and-death gladiatorial combat was their favorite pastime.
And in a cataclysmic explosion, they acquired a new toy.
On this day, the gladiatorial arena was packed with guests, countless dignitaries enjoying the bloody combat that thrilled them, immersed and unable to extricate themselves.
One hundred slaves were placed in cages.
Periodically, the acid within the cages would rise.
The gladiatorial platform was tiered, and only through life-and-death struggle could one ascend and find a way to live.
If no victor was determined within the allotted time, both struggling slaves would die.
In the arena, a child no more than ten years old stood out.
He held a weapon, his face sorrowful as he looked at the slaves trapped in the cages like himself.
The boy's physique was exceptionally strong; even at such a young age, he already displayed an extraordinary quality.
His face showed empathy for the pain and fear of the other slaves.
The boy had been found by other slaves outside.
The slaves discovered the boy among a pile of xenos corpses.
The nobles regarded him as a gladiator with immense potential and sent him directly into the arena.
No one knew he possessed a special ability: he could perceive and absorb the pain of others.
The boy could feel the fear of the slaves present; he looked blankly at the powerful figures on the high platform.
His young mind simply couldn't comprehend why those elegantly dressed people would find joy in the self-slaughter of their own kind.
Why wouldn't they empathize and sympathize with the despair and suffering of another tormented soul? Why use such cruel methods to torture their own kind?
To derive satisfying pleasure from the screams of others.
What a twisted ideology and world this was!
To survive, the boy was forced to kill every slave he fought against.
But he used his special ability to ensure that each death was as painless as possible.
In the cruel and ruthless gladiatorial arena, such an act was undoubtedly a kindness.
"You deserve to live more than I do, child. You are a good person. But to live is often the greatest torment for a good person. In this world, good people never have good outcomes." As the last slave fell, he smiled, tinged with a hint of regret.
He could foresee the terrible future that awaited this strong and compassionate child.
The vile ascend to the halls, while the kind are doomed forever.
This child was a good person, but he should not have appeared in this era, nor should he have come to this world.
Under the watchful eyes of all, the child achieved ultimate victory.
The boy received the name given to him by the slave masters—Angron.
With his powerful physique, Angron became the undefeated gladiator of Nuceria's arena.
The nobles cheered for his combat.
But they wanted more; they wanted this invincible gladiator to become even more cruel, more brutal, and even more unconquerable.
To that end, they arranged a deathmatch between Angron and his adoptive father.
Angron threw down his weapon in the arena, roaring at the countless nobles.
"Even if you kill me, you will not make me submit, and you should not even dream of making me harm him."
To resist the oppression of the Nucerian nobles, Angron charged at the guards, carving a bloody path, attempting to escape with his adoptive father.
However, the High Knights of Nuceria possessed Dark Age technology.
Fighting alone, Angron did not succeed in escaping.
He was brought back by the noble's army.
The nobles were very displeased with their toy's rebellion, so they implanted an ancient device in him that allowed him to derive pleasure only from rage; any other sensation would only cause him pain.
Aside from fighting and rage, anything Angron did or thought would cause him pain.
This device was the Butcher's Nails.
A malevolent device from the Dark Age.
They sent a rampaging Angron back to the arena, to be with his adoptive father.
The uncontrolled Angron killed his adoptive father, tearing his body into countless pieces.
The nobles on the high platform let out endless cheers.
Cheering for the bloody combat.
Cheering that no one could escape their control.
After their excitement, the nobles left the arena.
A lucid Angron, in the arena, cradled the remains of his adoptive father and let out a brutal roar that lasted for days.
After that day, the boy who could perceive the pain of others and absorb their negative emotions died.
Only Angron, enslaved by the Butcher's Nails, survived.
Angron, having lost his loved ones, hated everything about Nuceria. He swore he would never again be a toy to please the nobles.
He gathered the gladiators willing to die with him, launched an uprising in the dead of night, and severely wounded the nobles of Nuceria.
Killing those nobles who cheered for bloody combat.
However, the ruling class' counterattack was equally fierce.
Angron's forces were forced to flee into the Desh'ian Mountains of Nuceria.
Those were extremely difficult days.
Yet, they were also the most beautiful and happiest days Angron ever knew.
It was his time as a free man, fighting alongside his brothers and sisters.
Without food, he let the gladiators drink his blood.
Without supplies, they huddled together for warmth.
Every gladiator was Angron's brother, his sister, his comrade.
They were willing to die for Angron, and Angron was willing to die for them.
Even under the torment of the Butcher's Nails, Angron struggled to maintain his humanity.
He would never allow that hateful implant to take away his last shred of self.
The Butcher's Nails twisted Angron with pain, yet he still struggled to offer his companions a final smile.
On the last night of the decisive battle, he and many gladiators swore an oath.
They would fight to the death, in the name of freedom.
In the cold, snowy night, his companions huddled around Angron, like a true family, true brothers and sisters.
He took out his only blanket and covered his companions' bodies.
The Butcher's Nails cursed his weakness, tormenting him with pain.
But Angron resisted the Butcher's Nails; even if those soft emotions caused him pain, he would not hesitate.
Those malicious implants had taken everything from him, but Angron would not let them take his most important brotherhood.
Never.
They would run towards death as free men.
In the torment of regret, pain, and memories.
Angron, standing once again on the soil of Terra, roared, an endless inferno of rage engulfing his sanity.
Those things were the echoes of his past.
They were the remnants of the Angron who cared for other gladiators, who strove to keep them alive.
They were the last traces left by the little boy who could absorb others' pain and empathize with them.
A large part of Angron's rage stemmed from his inability to ever forgive his own betrayal and cowardice.
Angron should have died with his brothers on Nuceria, not become the Primarch of the War Hounds Legion, and certainly not a slave of the Blood God.
He should have resolutely struck at the Emperor then, even if the Emperor would tear him apart for it, he would not have hesitated.
That time, he was a coward.
It created his own sorrow.
And it created the sorrow of Khârn, and countless World Eaters.
Angron would never forget that day.
Nor would he forget what the Emperor took from him.
In that final decisive battle.
Angron and his many gladiator brothers charged against a legion a hundred times their size.
He knew that if he continued to fight, he would die in that battle.
But he had never felt the slightest fear.
He would die as a free man, alongside his brothers and sisters.
To fall in endless combat, to punctuate a winding, tragic, yet unregretted experience with an ending of freedom.
And the Emperor stripped him of that right.
Angron was forcibly taken away, and the nobles of Nuceria transformed into loyal servants of the Imperium.
The desperate struggle for freedom was easily portrayed as a small war of slaves rebelling against their masters.
Angron despaired because of this.
He never asked for life, yet he came into this world due to a tyrant's delusion.
He never promised to journey to the stars, yet he was forced to leave his comrades due to a tyrant's selfishness.
He was never a hero, nor a traitor.
He was just a ghost.
A pathetic ghost.
A ghost who craved freedom, only to be forever enslaved by tyrants and gods.
The real Angron had long since died.
He died on Nuceria.
When he dared not resist the Emperor and was forced to take over the War Hounds Legion, Angron was already dead.
Angron, without a free soul, was nothing more than a pathetic slave.
Whether it was the Emperor or the Blood God, there was no difference.
Angron knew he was just a slave.
He came for revenge, and to completely sever the past.
After today, the ghost of Nuceria would also utterly die, leaving only the eternal slave—Angron, the Lord of Slaughter.
He stood before the greater daemons, and countless daemon armies shrieked at his arrival.
All of Terra trembled, quivering at the return of the Betrayer's Son.
Countless mortals wept, howled, praying in despair, crying out in desperation.
The end had come.
No one could deny it.
Valerian leaped from his fighter jet, standing on the city walls, watching Angron and the greater daemons.
They formed a torrent, sweeping towards the Lion's Gate.
Valerian gripped his halberd, ordering all soldiers to hold their positions, to prevent these blasphemous entities from entering the Emperor's sacred abode.
But he overestimated the defenses of the Lion's Gate.
Due to the High Lords' foolishness, many troops had been withdrawn from the Lion's Gate, and combined with the attrition over time, the defending forces were stretched thin.
Eighty-eight Bloodthirsters and one daemon Primarch, along with countless daemon armies.
With such a massive force, the sparsely defended Lion's Gate was utterly unable to resist.
Within an hour, the Lion's Gate fell, and countless daemons surged into the Imperial Outer Palace.
In this crisis, Valerian did his utmost.
The automated gun arrays covering the walls of the Lion's Gate opened fire immediately.
Gunships, Titans, and countless instruments of war carrying the wrath of humanity provided support.
In an instant, they unleashed tightly interwoven walls of fire.
Swathes of daemons fell under the sweeping torrent of insane firepower.
But more daemons surged forward.
They climbed the walls or flew towards the Imperial Palace using their wings.
The defenses of the Lion's Gate were riddled with holes due to troop shortages.
Even with reacting Custodes arriving in time to assist the Grey Knights in defense, the situation was not optimistic.
The daemon offensive was too powerful.
Even some Silent Sisters stationed in the Inner Palace were redeployed.
These nulls were exceptionally effective against warp daemons.
But none of this could prevent the final fate.
After ten thousand years, the Lion's Gate was once again breached by daemons and traitors led by Angron.
Defense towers collapsed under the siege of the soulless.
The massive bronze mechanical gate shattered under Angron's axe.
daemons poured into the Outer Palace through the breaches in the walls.
Standing at the forefront, the traitor Angron roared towards the sky.
His roar was loud enough to be heard clearly for hundreds of miles around.
Valerian leaped from his gunship and immediately plunged into the battle.
The tide of daemons was endless, stretching as far as the eye could see without end.
This was the first time Valerian had faced such an immense number of daemons.
He could feel a hint of the ferocity of the Webway War from years past.
Silent Sisters stood beside him, using their null fields to suppress the daemons.
The Grey Knights had also activated their weapons, fighting within the maddened daemon tide.
Relying on his keen combat intuition and the instinct honed by years of training, Valerian wielded his weapon amidst the siege of countless daemons.
Chop, uppercut, the moves were simple and effective.
The monsters rushing towards him were all slain by his impenetrable offense.
The Silent Sisters cooperating with him were perfectly in sync.
This was the Emperor's design.
In that era of hope, the Silent Sisters, like the Custodes, enjoyed special treatment.
The power of the Great Sister was comparable to that of the captain-General of the Custodes, a trusted right-hand of the Emperor.
But as time passed, they had disappeared from mainstream history.
The High Lords did not like them.
Their soulless nature made people feel very uncomfortable.
The Silent Sisters could only scatter throughout the galaxy, undertaking the task of fighting daemons and cultists alone.
It wasn't until recently that they returned to Terra.
Valerian heard that there were more Silent Sisters near the Primarch.
The Primarch was helping them restore their former identity and status, making them one of the empire's most powerful forces against the warp.
Walls collapsed, the Lion's Gate fell.
captain-General Valerian urgently redeployed Custodes from other areas, sending them into the fight.
Even Dreadnoughts that had slept for a thousand years were brought forth.
Sleeping within them were the shattered remnants of Custodes, scarred by trauma but still willing to serve the Emperor.
They roared through the Dreadnoughts' vox-casters, their massive autocannons spewed fire, and their chainswords spun at high speed, cutting down every monster that dared to stand in their way.
Millions of mortal soldiers used their flesh and blood to block the frenzied enemy, preventing them from advancing further towards the Imperial Palace.
They were composed of soulless beings from the warp and already maddened rioters, their scale absolutely no less grand than the siege of millennia past.
The torrent formed by the enemy forces was uneven, sweeping forward, each monster appearing unique, the physical embodiment of the various bizarre nightmares from mortal dreams.
These twisted and mutated rioters mingled with the daemon ranks, occasionally letting out piercing screams that often contained both madness and the excitement of welcoming apocalyptic destruction.
The vast battlefield of the Outer Palace echoed with the clang of swords and the heatwaves that could incinerate everything.
Valerian was immersed in the slaughter, disregarding his aching muscles and bones.
The Custodes absolutely could not fail again.
They absolutely could not let daemons step into the Inner Palace.
"Reload," Valerian threw his war-axe to his servo-skull and grabbed his backup weapon.
He turned, crouched, then thrust upwards, disemboweling a daemon that lunged at him.
He fought desperately, just like the other loyalists, wanting to drive out the daemons, at least to retake the Lion's Gate.
Bodies were already piled up around him, emitting a stench that was almost toxic.
Unfortunately, the daemons were endless, and the rioters were also endless.
The enemy repeatedly threw themselves at the defensive fire lines constructed by the loyalists.
The greater daemons of Khorne, dripping with blood, burning with black fire, and fused with the Blood God, destroyed all defenses with overwhelming force.
Towers collapsed before them, tanks were tossed and destroyed like toys, and walls were reduced to rubble by their tremors and impacts.
Nothing could stop them.
The mortal soldiers who tried to flee from them either turned into torches or were hacked to pieces by their axes.
Were we going to fail again?
Fail to protect our liege, just like ten thousand years ago?
A terrifying thought surfaced in Valerian's mind.
Those greater daemons were wreaking havoc, and nothing seemed able to stop them.
"Kill!" Valerian suppressed the unease in his heart and charged towards one of the greater daemons.
The Grey Knights and Silent Sisters beside him followed closely.
It was truly enormous, more massive than any enemy Valerian had ever seen, no different from a Titan.
Valerian had also personally witnessed this monster tearing apart the Titans stationed within the Imperial Palace.
Thinking of this, Valerian grew even more dissatisfied with the High Lords, even harboring a desire to kill them.
The Fire Wasps and Sunspears Titan Legions, originally responsible for guarding the Imperial Palace, had been sent to the Beta-Garmon system by those damnable High Lords.
Now, only some medium and small-sized Titans remained to guard the Palace.
There were no Imperator-class or Apocalypse-class.
This foolish action had led to a drastic drop in the Palace's defenses.
After this matter subsided, Valerian swore he would suggest to the captain-General that those individuals pay a heavy price.
They had strayed from His vision.
Neglecting Terra's defenses for the sake of power.
Such actions were unforgivable and must be paid for.
The Khornate greater daemon roared, sinking into the concrete with each step, leaving a blasphemous, black-fire-burning imprint on the ground.
Its strength was no less than that of a machine-built Titan, its strong and powerful body containing the surging power of a volcano.
Its axe alone was the size of a heavy tank chassis, looking incredibly heavy, impossible for a mortal to withstand a single blow.
As the axe blade whistled through the air, it left a trail of fire in its wake.
The greater daemon folded its pair of bone-spurred bat wings and free-fell from a height of hundreds of meters.
As it moved, the ground groaned under the unbearable weight.
It stepped onto a platform, its heavily muscled arms holding a burning battle axe.
It looked at Valerian and the others charging towards it and let out a challenging roar.
The roar was deafening, even stirring up a gust of wind.
Some lower-ranking daemons lost control because of it, colliding with their comrades.
Mortal soldiers still nearby screamed in pain from his roar.
Violent aether surrounded it, its eyes filled with malice.
The Silent Sisters and Grey Knights surrounding Valerian drew their weapons.
The null field automatically spread, covering the greater daemon.
But it didn't care. Even relying on its physical body, it was confident it could kill these foolish ants.
Valerian was the first to charge, his speed always the fastest.
"Slave of the Corpse God," the greater daemon roared.
"Get back, puppet of the Blood God," Valerian replied, weapon in hand.
He could feel the corrupting aura emanating from these fragments of Khorne.
It was like a furnace, seething with boiling and uncontrollable rage.
Valerian had built up enough momentum for his charge in this short distance.
He gripped his war-axe tightly, and at a suitable distance, leaped up and fiercely chopped down towards the daemon.
The Grey Knights and Silent Sisters followed without hesitation, leaping up the steps behind him.
Weapons in hand, ready to strike, they shouted words of condemnation and inner resolve, attacking the daemon together.
Bolters roared, swords sliced through the air.
Using the momentum of his jump and the force of his descent, Valerian's war-axe slammed heavily into the Khornate greater daemon's massive axe.
Warp-forged iron imbued with infernal power clashed against Imperial adamantium.
A visible shockwave erupted from the tremendous impact.
Valerian's body was directly thrown back by the shockwave, and the Khornate greater daemon also staggered back several steps.
The Grey Knights and Silent Sisters took the opportunity to attack other parts of the daemon.
One Grey Knight swung a power hammer at the daemon's knee guard, another shouted the Emperor's name and cleaved towards its head, while other Grey Knights stabbed and slashed with their swords, then repeatedly fired blessed bolter rounds into the wounds.
The Silent Sisters were also mixed in with the Grey Knights, their special abilities stripping away the daemon's warp power, forcing it to fight according to mortal rules.
The greater daemon roared, swinging its strong and powerful arms with its battle axe, cutting a Grey Knight in half at the waist, his severed limbs burning in black fire.
A Silent Sister was knocked off the platform by its savage charge, its battle axe killing another sister and covering the platform's surface with burning flames.
Valerian got up, his hand bleeding at the base of his thumb, a wave of soreness shooting up his arm.
He suppressed the physical pain and charged even faster, leaping up again, and chopping down.
They were fragments of Khorne, fueled by the eternal rage dissolved in blood, and driven by the core of never-ending slaughter.
Even the weapons of the Grey Knights could only inflict pitifully little damage upon them.
And their attacks were utterly lethal to the loyalists of the Imperium.
Regardless of the model of Terminator armor or the golden armor of the Custodes, before the Khornate greater daemons, they were as fragile as paper.
However, Valerian did not hesitate for a moment, he charged straight forward again.
Knowing it was certain death, yet still charging forward without hesitation.
Only through such means could there be a glimmer of hope for victory.
Valerian's war-axe pierced the daemon's body, the spearhead glowing with the blue arc of a power field, burying itself entirely within the enemy's flesh.
A painful roar erupted, the daemon enraged at being severely wounded by an ant.
Valerian let out a roar, shouting the slogan of dying for the Emperor, twisting the war-axe in his hand, then violently pulling it out.
The daemon's burning blood gushed out immediately after.
The Grey Knights launched another combined attack, joining together, attacking the daemon's joints, heart, and other vital areas, further increasing their gains.
The injuries made the greater daemon even more frenzied, and with its roar, lower-ranking daemons also gathered, surrounding the platform.
One Grey Knight was overwhelmed, torn apart by the endless daemons in a roar of despair.
This forced Valerian and the others to divert some personnel to prevent the lower-ranking daemons from disrupting their plan.
This made the operation against a greater daemon even more difficult.
Valerian endured the physical pain, ignoring the pained groans of his armor, he charged forward again, thrusting his war-axe at the opponent's thigh, and with the help of the power field, carved out another deep wound.
The leading Grey Knight, wielding a warhammer, slammed it into the Great daemon's face, breaking off one of its horns burning with black fire and causing its massive head to turn.
The Great daemon roared in fury, swinging a punch that struck a Grey Knight.
A grating sound came from the heavy, iron-grey clad body.
The Grey Knight's bones and armor were shattered by the terrifying brute force.
Then, the monster turned its head to look at Valerian, its eyes burning with terrible rage.
The battle axe in its hand slashed violently towards the Custodian.
Valerian tried his best to block the blow, but he was still sent flying.
His armor shrieked with piercing alarms, indicating multiple points of damage, and his bones fractured under the impact.
The Emperor had given the Custodians sufficiently powerful genetic modifications, otherwise Valerian's body would have burst apart under the Great daemon's blow, becoming countless scattered remnants.
The Great daemon charged towards the Custodian, knowing that the greatest threat was this slave of the Corpse Emperor.
They had been granted bodies and strength to fight the warp.
Only by killing him could victory be achieved.
However, the Grey Knights and Silent Sisters did not let it have its way; one Silent Sister used all her might, wielding a greatsword to slash at its knee.
The crackling greatsword cut into the daemon's blood-red muscle, severing the greyish-white tendons.
The Great daemon let out a roar of despair. Such a wound was not considered serious in the warp.
But this was the material universe, where everything must follow the laws of reality.
With its joint destroyed, the Great daemon failed to deliver a final blow to Valerian.
It lost its balance and fell.
Ignoring the bone fragments and shattered armor remaining in his body, Valerian used the war glaive in his hand to thrust at its throat.
His powerful regenerative ability reconnected his bones and flesh, only to be destroyed again by his reckless counter-attack.
The war glaive, shining with the light of a disintegration field, fully plunged into the daemon's body, leaving only the end of the haft visible.
The other Grey Knights and Silent Sisters all attacked together.
They smashed every tendon and joint of the opponent, ensuring it could no longer stand up.
Only when the Khornate Great daemon was completely still did Valerian pull out his war glaive, using it to support himself and stand precariously on the battlefield.
He looked around and saw the heavily damaged loyalist forces.
This was just a small, Pyrrhic victory; to kill one Great daemon, the ranks of the Grey Knights and Silent Sisters were shattered, each one wounded.
Even he himself was in such a state.
His injuries were so severe that he would require professional medical treatment, otherwise the remaining bone fragments and severed tendons would leave him crippled.
However, the current war situation made it impossible for him to even dream of leaving the battlefield.
The daemons had gained a complete advantage, and he had to continue fighting to protect the Palace.
Not every squad achieved victory; many teams composed of Custodians, Grey Knights, and Silent Sisters failed, torn apart by Great daemons.
Meanwhile, on the other side, the Custodian-General and the most elite Grey Knights and Silent Sisters were fighting Angron.
Their situation was equally grim.
Custodian-General Valerian was the strongest and most intelligent representative among the Custodians.
Valerian admitted this.
In terms of strategy and wisdom, he was no match for Valerian.
However, at this moment, Valerian was already covered in wounds.
His golden armor was shattered, and he was struggling to hold on under Angron's furious assault, before being struck down and crashing into the burning wreckage of a tank in the distance.
Those Grey Knights and Silent Sisters were powerless to stop the rampaging daemon Primarch, being harvested and slaughtered at will.
The Custodians fought together, but were also at a disadvantage.
Their front line was slowly collapsing.
Once Valerian fell in battle, the remaining Imperial forces would be forced to retreat towards the Eternity Gate.
That was the place the traitors had reached ten thousand years ago.
Valerian wanted to go and support the battlefield where Valerian was.
But he took two steps and collapsed. The others had to take him with them to break through, hand him over to a Medicae Servitor, and put him on a dropship retreating to the rear.
Custodian-General Valerian, fighting Angron, had fallen into despair.
The power of the daemon Primarch was beyond imagination.
The Primarchs were once His most outstanding creations, and now they were empowered by the Chaos Gods.
With every block, the Custodian-General could feel his internal organs shifting, and sweet blood constantly surged up his throat.
Another blow, and Valerian felt his arm snap under the immense impact, his limb flying limply to the side.
This time, he had no strength left to stand up.
His armor was shattered, and many of his bones were broken.
He couldn't even crawl.
"Eternity!" Angron roared.
He strode towards the Palace, swinging his blood axe burning with black fire, cutting the charging Grey Knight directly in half.
The Silent Sisters were even more fragile before him, easily destroyed.
Even the assembled Custodians could not stop the advance of the daemon Primarch, only becoming souls claimed by his axe.
The Khornate Great daemon and Angron converged once again.
No force could now stop them from entering the Palace.
Everyone was crying out in terror.
All hope was lost.
Everything would be destroyed.
Some commanders standing on the high walls almost fainted; was the empire that had stood for ten thousand years finally going to end today?
Heading towards destruction at the hands of a traitorous daemon Primarch.
At this moment.
A melodic, grand holy hymn suddenly echoed across the battlefield of Terra.
It was so pure, so sacred, guiding the souls suffering and lost in the whispers.
Illuminating a land of light in the endless darkness.
The echo of the hymn announced the arrival of something.
Announcing the end of some things.
The daemons shrieked; they disliked such sounds.
Just as humans disliked those eerie whispers.
Angron stopped, looking towards the burning sky with a sense of foreboding.
The sound came from there; a ship emitting golden light was parked in Terra's low orbit in the void.
The Emperor's power, channeled through countless believers and the Astronomican, suppressed the Blood God's domain.
The burning blood-red sky was pierced by sacred golden light.
Like shattered darkness, light drilled out from the cracks, replacing the original color.
Under the gaze of a world steeped in despair, in the sky burning with the fires of despair and filled with blood-colored clouds, beams of light emerged, resplendent and brilliant, flashing with electrical arcs, representing purity and holiness.
Those light beams were majestic and spectacular, as if connecting heaven and earth.
They were the symbol of human wrath, the great power of human technology.
The moment the light beams landed, they unleashed a violent gust of air, sweeping away all nearby daemons and cultists.
"For Guilliman, for the Holy Emperor!"
Deafening battle cries, enough to shake the entire world, rang out.
The primaris space marines, who had long been ready and sharpened their blades, streamed out.
They formed battle formations, like ancient warriors, emerging from the light beams.
Sweeping away everything, like an iron fist smashing all obstructing clay figures.
The survivors who had not yet lost themselves, hiding in the shadows and trembling, could not find any words to describe this scene.
It was like in ancient myths, compassionate gods sent their angels, descending from the sky to sweep away all evil.
They shed tears of excitement, watching in awe as those powerful warriors cut down any enemy who dared to attack them.
And on the battlefield of the Outer Palace, many loyalists still struggling to resist the daemons were also deeply shaken.
Seeing the light beams descending from the sky, seeing the warriors emerging from the light beams.
These warriors were taller, stronger, and their weapons more advanced than the Space Marines of old.
They were overwhelming, they destroyed everything.
They were invincible.
The daemons shrieked in pain, turning to dust under the ferocious firepower of the reinforcements.
The cultists died weeping.
Any resistance was meaningless.
Only death awaited the enemies of the empire.
Only death.
Behind the primaris space marines were vast regiments of the Astra Militarum, tank formations, and Knight Titans.
They also emerged from the light beams, full of mystery.
At this moment, a whistling sound came.
The clouds in the crimson sky were cut open, and dense, swarm-like fighter jets swept through.
They began round after round of saturation bombing on the ground.
The soldiers wore exoskeleton armor equipped with automatic laser guns and artillery, their speed of advance and firepower intensity were unmatched by the regiments on Terra.
The difference between the two was like one being in the flintlock era and the other in the information age, completely different concepts.
The tank designs were even more insane; they completely abandoned treads, using anti-gravity suspension propulsion, making them faster and their firepower fiercer.
The Knight Titans gathered into phalanxes, like ancient cavalry formations, charging with energy shields raised, tearing through all enemies with power lances and autocannons.
Valerian, helped to his feet, was no less astonished than the mortal soldiers beside him; he could not imagine what kind of army this was.
And when did the empire acquire such an army??
Angron roared up at the sky, bellowing at the reversal of the battle.
"Long time no see, Angron. I didn't expect you to be as volatile as ever."
A clear voice rang out, incredibly penetrating, every person on the battlefield could hear it distinctly.
In the light beam, a figure from myth appeared.
He wore azure power armor inlaid with golden double-headed eagles, and his physique was much taller than the modified Space Marines, like a giant.
Loyal guards surrounded him, holding the banners of Ultramar tightly.
The banners flapped in the wind, making them clear for everyone to see.
Everyone held their breath the moment they saw that face.
So perfect, so sacred.
Those who had suffered greatly had already secretly sworn in that instant that they would offer eternal loyalty to this person.
Only when the stars shattered, only when all things were destroyed, could this oath be rendered void.
His arrival was the beginning of hope.
His arrival was the symbol of victory.
"Guilliman," Angron roared.
"I'm glad you still remember my name. Angron come, kneel before me," Guilliman said, standing in front of the Honor Guard, looking at the completely twisted, daemon-form Angron, a smile on his face.
So confident, even in the face of countless daemons and traitor primarchs, he was so calm and collected, as if he didn't take them seriously.
Everyone felt the oppressive battlefield instantly lighten; they no longer felt hopeless.
Victory for humanity, for the empire, would surely come.
His arrival meant that everything was already settled.
"Kneel before you?" Angron's eyes burned with rage, gripping his battle axe even tighter.
"Yes, I am the Lord of Ultramar, the Regent of the Imperium of Man, the highest authority in the empire, the executor of the Emperor's will. For the sake of our brotherhood, kneeling before me is the only way for your soul to find rest," Guilliman said.
"Your arrogance is no different from His, Guilliman," Angron said.
"This is me giving you a chance. If you refuse, I can break your legs and then make you kneel."
Guilliman activated the Blade of the Emperor in his hand, and golden flames surged up.
Seeing that sword revealed on the battlefield, countless Imperial loyalists let out excited cheers.
Valerian's face was also shocked, and many Custodians gathered around him.
After a moment's thought, Valerian knew that Guilliman's arrival was His will, otherwise Guilliman would never have been able to activate the Blade of the Emperor.
"Support the Lord Commander of the Imperium, the Ten Thousand will fight for him," Valerian said.
The numerous Custodians stepped forward, forming battle arrays, and amidst ancient and sacred hymns, raised their weapons and charged the daemons once more.
A greater daemon of Khorne charged towards Guilliman, intending to claim the head of a Primarch for its master.
Its massive body stomped on the concrete ground, each step shaking the surroundings and leaving behind burning hoof prints.
Its battle axe burned with black flames, gripped tightly in a thick, bony-spurred hand bound with chains.
Under the gaze of mortals and daemons alike, it swung at a Primarch.
"Die, son of the Corpse Emperor!" the greater daemon roared.
"That is an insult, soulless one," Guilliman said indifferently, raising the Blade of the Emperor in his hand, golden light enveloping him.
Light shone in the Primarch's eyes, a blend of gold and blue.
daemons shrieked and fled the area around him.
The greater daemon showed a rare expression of terror, suddenly realizing how reckless its action had been.
The power of the Lord Commander and the power of the Emperor simultaneously resided within Guilliman's body.
Ordinary daemons were utterly incapable of opposing him.
No one could clearly see Guilliman's movement.
It was just one sword stroke.
The greater daemon let out a series of mournful screams in the light, then turned to dust.
All the Grey Knights, mortals, Sisters of Silence, and Custodians who had just endured the bloody battle fell silent.
With just one sword stroke, he had directly slain the greater daemon that they, with all their might, could not kill.
What kind of power was this?
What kind of might was this?
This was no less than the Emperor's return.
The other greater daemons sensed an aura on Guilliman similar to that of their own masters.
Not as powerful, but filled with endless potential.
A potential god.
A god walking in the material universe.
"Angron, it's your turn now," Guilliman said, turning to Angron with a calm tone.
"Guilliman." Angron gritted his teeth, shaking his head to drive out those weak thoughts.
He gripped his battle axe tightly, roared, and then charged at Guilliman.
"Attacking me is not a wise choice," Guilliman also stepped forward and charged. "Do you think I am a slave master? Angron, does attacking me satisfy your fragile heart?"
The battle between the two stirred up violent currents of air and psyker waves.
Ordinary people had no way of intervening in such a battle.
Even getting close was difficult, extremely strenuous, and they would be torn apart by the turbulent currents.
"You are just a slave too, Guilliman, that has never changed," Angron roared, swinging his battle axe, just as he had in the battle ten thousand years ago.
"Angron, everyone is a slave," Guilliman did not directly slay Angron as he had the greater daemon, but easily blocked his strike and countered unhurriedly, "No one's destiny is independent; we are connected to others. Whether openly or secretly, we must accept servitude. What is the difference between a born mission and a slave's contract?"
"We cannot choose our destiny, only our attitude towards it. You chose to yield, didn't you? Cowardly and incompetent. You once knelt before the Emperor, now you kneel before the Blood God, and perhaps in the future, you will kneel before me.
Your destiny is to kneel, always kneeling, forever lacking the courage to resist fate. You are no match for the gladiators who died on Nuceria; they knew they were weaker than you, and they knew resisting the nobles would mean death, yet they were never afraid."
"And you look strong, yet you are afraid; you were afraid of being killed by your father, so you took over the War Hounds Legion, shaping them into slaves to please your father.
You didn't even dare to resist, only following behind Horus did you dare to raise the butcher's knife against your father."
The Guilliman of today was more eloquent and sharper than the Guilliman of ten thousand years ago; he directly mocked Angron about the things that caused him the most pain and concern.
"Shut up, Guilliman!" Angron roared.
His battle axe's cleave was easily blocked by Guilliman, which made him even more furious.
"Why tell me to shut up? Instead of refuting me, is it because what I'm saying is true? Admit it, Angron, your tragedy stems from your cowardice. You betrayed your father, yet you still don't dare to pursue true freedom, only hiding behind another slave master, pretending to be strong."
Guilliman easily handled Angron's attacks.
"Aren't you the same?" Angron howled.
"I am the highest authority in the Imperium; Father is gone, he can never speak from the Golden Throne again. The Imperium built with the Primarchs' blood and sweat has become mine for the taking; no one can challenge my position." Guilliman's words carried a relaxed humor; he seemed not to take the battle seriously, merely using it as an opportunity for casual conversation.
"Perhaps my destiny was once controlled by others, but not anymore. I am free; there are many ways to resist, and I chose to resist, while you chose cowardly submission, so I succeeded and gained freedom, while you continue your life as a slave."
Guilliman had many ways to expel Angron without physical contact.
But that would be meaningless.
For the Imperium to develop steadily, they needed to give the daemons of the warp something to occupy themselves with.
Angron was clearly a very good trigger point.
"Do you know where the souls of your gladiator friends are?" Guilliman asked while blocking Angron's attacks.
Angron did not reply; he merely attacked frantically, trying to hack Guilliman to death.
But no matter how he attacked, Guilliman was at ease, utterly relaxed.
"They are suffering torment in the warp; without the blessing of faith, they cannot enter the Emperor's realm, and the gods despise them." Guilliman whispered, like a daemon's seductive murmur, "Did Lorgar tell you what the conditions for your ascension were? What did you have to pay?"
"Shut up!" Angron roared in fury.
Guilliman remained unmoved, a more radiant smile appearing on his face.
"It was the souls of your companions. Lorgar's ritual sacrificed the souls of your companions and all life on the planet Nuceria. Their souls were chewed into dross by the god you worship, then discarded, falling into Lorgar's hands to become new daemon slaves.
Tsk tsk, Lorgar was really good to you, making you a slave and then making those souls who died for free will slaves again, just so you wouldn't be lonely."
"No!" The flames on Angron's body flared again, and he hacked at Guilliman like a madman.
The battle axe and the Blade of the Emperor clashed, each impact creating a tremendous sound, sending shockwaves rolling and throwing nearby people away.
Where the two fought
"Your companions must be very grateful to you; you led them to their deaths, and then led them to become slaves. You became a slave of the Blood God, and they became slaves of Lorgar.
Ah, the great and free gladiators, forever enslaved slaves. They really made a good friend, didn't they? Angron, you are forever a coward; you dare not say you resist your father, nor do you dare resist the Blood God.
Look how fierce you are now, it even makes me a little afraid; are you trying to please Khorne? Just like you pleased your father back then, you really haven't changed at all."
"Father would have given you a reward, and let me guess, the Blood God will likely give you one too? A commendation, or a crown? It's truly pathetic, Angron; look, Father fooled you, Horus fooled you, Lorgar fooled you, and the Blood God is also fooling you, yet you don't even have the courage to resist."
"But that's normal; after all, not everyone is as excellent and rebellious as I am. With great power in hand, ruling Terra, the new savior of humanity, characters like you will no longer be qualified to speak with me; only your master will be able to converse with me. We are both Primarchs, so why am I so outstanding while you are so pathetic??"
Guilliman spoke slowly and unhurriedly, then seized an opening, using an elbow strike to push Angron back, knocking out a few of his teeth.
Angron went completely mad; Guilliman's words struck at his heart, yet he was no match for his opponent, being constantly suppressed.
"The game is over, Angron; you have to kneel before me."
Guilliman swept Angron away with a single sword stroke; his speed was so fast that only afterimages could be seen.
Under the blessing of the Lord Commander's power, Angron was no match for him at all.
Guilliman discarded the Blade of the Emperor, grabbed the Butcher's Nails at the back of Angron's head as if grabbing hair, and yanked hard, forcing him to tilt his head back.
He smashed a fist into Angron's face, sending his teeth flying out with blood.
Then, another punch.
The action was incredibly simple, yet it shocked countless daemons and survivors.
The powerful, unstoppable Angron was directly pinned down and beaten by the Lord Commander of the Imperium.
The shock this caused them was far greater than Guilliman cleaving a greater daemon in half with the Blade of the Emperor.
After delivering several consecutive punches, Angron was already unrecognizable.
Guilliman shattered his bones and twisted his tendons.
Rendering him incapable of further resistance.
Then Guilliman grabbed his bat-like wings, and with a sudden forceful pull from both hands, tore them off his body amidst Angron's screams of agony.
Burning hot blood spurted out.
Guilliman lifted the heavily wounded Angron high.
In the center of the battlefield, everyone could see clearly.
Angron, stripped of his ability to resist, his limbs hanging limply, could only let out roars of helpless fury.
"Angron, remember this day. I will not kill you, but you will forever bear this shame. You are a coward, a coward who dares not resist anyone; you only dare to display your might against the weak.
You are merely a waste of space undeserving of a spine, because your weakness is sickening."
Having said that, Guilliman violently slammed Angron onto his knee; the sound of the daemon Primarch's spine breaking echoed across the entire battlefield.
Daemons and mortals alike were shocked by this scene.
The roaring monsters also fell silent, like cicadas in winter.
Guilliman threw the limp and powerless Angron onto the ground.
"You are no longer worthy to fight me, Angron. I do not like to engage with slaves; this is the last time, as punishment and humiliation for your past mistakes. Go back to your master, and follow behind it to confront me. A domesticated dog only barks fiercely when its master is nearby."
Guilliman's foot was on Angron's head as he surveyed the daemons and rabble.
"By the name of the Lord Commander of the Imperium, I order you to kill every one of these monsters who have invaded my father's halls!"