Chapter 333: The Fearless, Cunning Brother
Before ever meeting the Twelve Legion, Hades had often wondered what Angron would truly be like.
He had imagined seeing a half-mad berserker—a butcher, a Primarch driven insane by the Nails buried in his skull.
If things went even worse, Hades had steeled himself for the possibility of facing Daemon Angron.
After all, aside from revealing Angron's location to the World Eaters ahead of time, Hades had done nothing else along this line of fate.
But when he blew open that door, Hades realized he had been wrong.
What he saw was a tragedy.
And he would end that suffering with his own hands.
. . .
Boom!
The explosion roared. The heavy door burst apart, and a wave of blood-soaked heat crashed against him—along with a surge of deafening fury.
Hades narrowed his eyes. With one hand, he sharply stopped Mago, who was about to charge through the doorway the instant it blew. Darkness immediately filled the hall.
Still, with the World Eaters beside him, Hades kept the Black Domain at only a restrained level—just enough to suppress the chaos within.
When his sight adjusted and he finally saw what lay inside, his expression darkened.
"Lork! Lork!! Wake up!!!"
The beast was screaming in agony, pinning a daemon against the wall with his axe. Spit and blood sprayed across the creature's face as Angron bellowed in desperation.
The Primarch trembled violently; the Nails in his skull thrummed like hornets.
The daemon caught in his grip weakly beat its tattered wings.
"Kill…"
A faint, broken voice came from the helmet pierced through by massive goat-like horns.
"Kill me… Father."
The next instant, Angron's anguished roar nearly tore through everyone's ears.
Hades could feel the World Eaters around him buckling under the psychic weight—the Primarch's grief spreading through his sons like a physical force.
After confirming there were no physical traps in the hall, Hades abandoned all caution. He charged forward at full speed, narrowing the Black Domain.
"Angron!"
He shouted.
"Angron, reinforcements are here!"
The sudden tightening of the Black Domain made the Primarch shudder violently.
Angron turned—his pupils reflected Hades, and behind him, the blue-and-white-armored figures of the World Eaters.
The Lord of Red Sands laughed, choking on blood as it frothed from his mouth. His face twisted with unbearable pain.
"Here? You've come? Ha… ha! Too late! TOO LATE!"
Angron's laughter turned to a weeping howl. His massive frame began to sway, his grip on Lork weakening.
The Lord of the Red Sands coughed up a flood of blood and spread his arms in surrender, letting his ravaged son slide from his grasp to the floor.
"Too late!"
Too late! No matter what they said—it was all too late!
What kind of father let his son sacrifice his soul to protect him?
Angron had failed to protect anything. He had fought again and again, sworn oath after oath—but look at him now. He had achieved nothing!
Angron wailed in despair.
He wanted to die—he should have died that very first day.
Then there would be no Angron, no The Lord of the Red Sands.
His teacher and sons would still be alive.
Angron laughed, his voice cracking with grief.
"Why did you even come looking for me?! For a slave tortured to death by Nails?! Don't waste your hollow hopes on me!"
Chunks of shredded flesh spilled from his nose. Angron wiped them away carelessly, grinning bitterly as he looked down at Lork—whose body was now so warped and scarlet he was barely recognizable.
He had accomplished nothing.
He had only forced others to give up everything—for him.
The heat and the blood seared Angron's flesh, dragging him deeper into a pit of emotion.
Every word of comfort from Lork only deepened his guilt—driving him further into the abyss.
Such an unworthy Father… Angron thought bitterly.
Would the Imperium send someone to judge him?
He almost hoped they would—that the Imperium had come to condemn him, not to make another futile attempt at saving him.
"Then will you abandon the World Eaters who are still waiting for you, Angron?"
Angron froze.
The voice from the darkness was calm, utterly steady.
Crimson light reflected coldly from the figure's eyes.
"And also… pardon me. Step aside."
Hades moved forward without hesitation.
Angron's emotions were unstable, yet he instinctively yielded, stepping aside to clear the way.
Perhaps he knew what Hades was about to do.
Obituary hung quietly at Hades' side as he dismissed the Black Domain, motioning for the World Eaters and the Blanks to move in and secure the hall.
Lowering his gaze, Hades looked upon the struggling World Eater—the warrior fighting a losing battle against his pain and against the Blood God's whispers.
It was a scene he had seen before, reflected deep within his own memories.
Hades raised a hand and grasped the daemon's throat.
Angron growled, furious at the gesture, and charged forward—but Hades lifted his other hand, interposing the scythe to halt him.
"I'm saving him, Angron," Hades said firmly. "Please—let me try."
He gestured quickly to the Blanks: hold position, maximum alert—thirty seconds.
Angron hesitated. He tried to process the words—simple, clear—yet he didn't understand them.
He watched as Hades, utterly unguarded, closed his eyes.
And then—the thick, oppressive blood-haze surrounding Lork began to fade.
The blood-axe clenched into Lork's gauntlet started to scream.
The veins of crimson energy connecting daemon and the Astartes withered rapidly; cracks spread along the ram's horns of the possessed creature.
What had once been sharp and unbreakable now crumbled like soft soil.
Angron stared in disbelief.
Lork… Lork could still be saved.
A painful tightness rose in his chest—his nose burned, his vision blurred.
When he looked down, bits of torn flesh were dripping from his face to the floor.
Finally, the Imperial warrior opened his eyes.
He drew a long, ragged breath—visibly exhausted, yet calm.
"It's done," Hades said softly. "Lork held on to the last piece of purity in his heart. Angron—his loyalty to you saved him. He never gave in to the daemon."
His tone was gentle.
"A warrior truly worthy of respect."
Hades inhaled again, gripping his scythe more tightly.
"Angron, please… try not to waste what they've given you. There's more we need to discuss—once we get out of here."
He turned toward Angron—and in that instant, Hades realized his mistake.
The Primarch's face was twitching violently, every muscle spasming beneath the skin.
The Nails had burrowed too deep—and looked as though they'd been ripped and twisted not long ago.
Yet Angron showed no sign of feeling pain.
He simply stared down at Lork… then slowly lifted his gaze to meet Hades'.
"Who are you?"
"Hades. But not now—Angron, give me ten seconds… no, five. Let me examine the Nails."
Hades could see the unbearable torment the Butcher's Nails were inflicting.
Angron's body jerked involuntarily under their constant, searing pressure.
They had dug in far too deep.
Hades wouldn't have been surprised if Angron were to suddenly go mad and strike him down.
But Angron didn't.
He stood there, like a wounded beast chained in place, teeth bared, trembling as Hades stepped closer—as the man reached toward his scarred, tortured head.
"...Thank you."
Angron spoke.
He heard Hades draw in a sharp, pained breath—yet the man did not stop his examination. At last, Hades stepped back, eyes fixed on him.
"I… I might be able to help you," he said quietly, "but not here. We need to return to the World Eaters' flagship immediately and operate. Angron, you cannot keep fighting."
Angron bared his teeth in a strained grin. Now that he was sure Lork still lived, the pain of the Nails came crashing back, burning through every thought.
"Then how do we get out? Didn't you hear their footsteps coming?"
He saw Hades watching him with grim focus. If not for that sharp, human gasp of pain earlier, Angron might have mistaken him for one of the Emperor's Primarch.
As for why Hades looked so much like a Primarch himself—Angron didn't care. Perhaps he was one of his brothers. Perhaps not. It didn't matter.
"You can't fight anymore," Hades repeated. "The Nails will kill you. I'm going to use the Black Domain to force your body and soul into a half-conscious state. That should stop the Nails from digging any deeper. Then we'll find another solution."
Angron's breathing grew ragged. He still wanted to fight—every nerve in him screamed for it—but then he felt the eyes of his sons upon him.
No… that look made him ache more than the Nails ever could.
"Alright. I'll trust you."
Angron said.
A heartbeat later, the nauseating blackness closed in around him.
The Primarch's body, already far past its limits, finally gave way. He swayed—and collapsed.
Hades caught him instantly, as if he'd been expecting it, then lifted Angron onto his back.
Angron's head lolled to one side. He could still feel the dull ache in his muscles, the weariness spreading through every limb—but he managed a faint, tired smile as he saw Mago heft Lork's limp form. The two grotesque, demonic wings on Lork's back tore free and fell away.
Once Angron's condition was stabilized, Hades immediately gave the order to retreat.
Bearing the unconscious Primarch on his back, he led the combined force of World Eaters and Blanks, carving a bloody path through the domain of Khorne.
The closer they got to the exit, the fewer Khornate troops appeared—until at last, even Hades' Black Domain could no longer sense a trace of the Blood God's psychic presence.
From experience, Hades knew that was rarely a good sign.
And sure enough—the moment they emerged from the building, the chasm below them erupted with a thunderous roar of molten fury.
The planet's crust began to quake violently.
Deep beneath the surface, the true master of this world was awakening.
Through the snowstorm's blinding haze, Hades caught sight of a silhouette—one he recognized instantly.
The Necrons.
Only then did he realize—the structure they had just escaped from wasn't built by Khorne at all.
It was a Necron tomb, long desecrated and usurped by the Blood God's presence.
And slowly, the realization dawned on him.
From the very beginning… Khorne's goal had never been just one.
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