Chapter 336: The Reinforcement That Was Never Expected
Angron was jolted awake by violent shaking. Perhaps because the pariah's untouchable field wasn't as strong as Hades', the Lord of the Red Sands spat out a mouthful of blood, and the freezing, blood-tinged wind snapped his mind fully back to clarity.
He looked around but did not see the familiar figure. The warriors surrounding him were restless and excited. Strange enemies were attacking the edges of the force, but even in his miserable condition, Angron could see their assault had no real coherence.
"What happened?"
Angron spoke. His voice was hoarse and faint, but even the faintest whisper from a Primarch would be heard by his loyal sons.
Khârn, newly awakened, immediately answered his Primarch:
"Father, we have received a signal from the fleet. They are unharmed, and reinforcements from the Forge World have arrived. When the blizzard eases slightly in one minute, the first aerial units will arrive to extract us."
Angron spat out another mouthful of blood. Lying down made him feel like a weakling, so he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. The World Eaters watched him with worry.
"That other warrior—Hades. Where is he?"
Khârn fell silent, repeating only that he hoped Angron would rest and await evacuation.
The giant Primarch narrowed his eyes. He stepped up to Khârn, bending down so that his massive shadow engulfed him.
"Tell me—you didn't leave the reinforcements to die while you all ran, did you?"
As he spoke, flecks of bloody spittle sprayed across Khârn's helmet.
Khârn's reply came squeezed through clenched teeth:
"Lord Hades's orders. A warrior's first duty is absolute obedience."
Angron threw back his head and barked a few laughs. Fury churned within him; the Butcher's Nails began to bite.
"Who is your true leader, Khârn?!"
"You are, my father," Khârn answered without hesitation.
"Then I order every one of you to go back and support Hades! Since when have the World Eaters become cowards hiding behind others?!"
Khârn stood motionless.
"Lord Hades said that the objective of this mission—its victory—is your safe return to the Imperium."
This made Angron rake his face with his hand, his rough nails tearing bloody grooves in his skin. He appreciated Khârn's defiance, but he also wanted him to understand.
"What good is it if only I return? Which of you can tear this cursed thing out of my skull?"
"I am meant to die on the battlefield as a warrior! Not as a coward on an operating table! If I die, then so be it—but I will die in battle!"
Under his gauntlet, Khârn was nearly crushing the armor plating. They had all seen the power of that pitch-black monster. He wanted Hades to survive, but that hope looked painfully unrealistic.
But at the very least, he could have brought his Father back.
Khârn thought, his soul trembling. If he told his Father that going back would be useless—that he would only drag down the Head of the Silent Sisterhood—would the Primarch change his mind and quietly wait here for extraction?
Khârn felt the Triumph Rope on his back begin to burn, coiling around his thoughts like boiling serpents, urging him to fight, urging Angron to fight. Retreat is dishonorable… the whispers hissed in his ear.
Before meeting Angron, Khârn had been loyal to the Emperor alone. After meeting Angron, he swore he would forever be loyal to his Primarch's will.
So Khârn said nothing.
Angron's breathing grew ragged, but rage once again filled him with strength. He knew this would be his final battle. The Nails were nearly tearing him apart, but never had his mind been clearer, never had his fury blazed brighter—Angron recognized the signs of a final flare of life.
The Child of the Mountain roared, his voice slamming down like a hammer:
"All of you who want to fight your way back with me—come! The rest stay and withdraw!"
What answered him were layered echoes of war cries.
Angron roared in satisfaction.
. . .
This was cruel. Arrogant. A kind of taunting, almost playful sadism.
Amid the blizzard, Hades opened his eyes wide. His expression had become utterly frigid. He listened to the exploding armor of the knights around him, the screech of metal twisting apart, the rain of shattered fragments falling to the ground.
Like peeling a delicious orange, the one who holds the Nightbringer slowly, bit by bit, peeled apart Hades' forces. Even though it could, with a little effort, simply crush that orange outright and then sloppily lick the spilled juice, It did not do so. It stood there in silence—confined within the boundary marked out by the Necron Overlord. On the path where the toys charged toward it, warped space twisted into many of the Necron ranks as well, yet the Overlords beside it showed not the slightest reaction to the sacrifice of their slaves.
The Holder of the Nightbringer needed them to come closer. It had been imprisoned for far too long.
Hades gasped for breath. He was not a competent shard-bearer of a C'tan; only when the physical distance closed could he feel more.
He remembered the ancient days of the galaxy—memories of the Void Dragon.
The Nightbringer… a sadistic egomaniac, an unrepentant butcher, and the very first of the star gods to hunt and devour its own kind.
Hades let out a hysterical snicker, but the feeling wasn't his.
The last trace of gloating came from the Void Dragon—the satisfaction of knowing that the Nightbringer, in its arrogance, was torn to pieces by the servants it believed it owned, trampled by the Necrons it had called slaves.
Hades stared at that Nightbringer shard. Now he understood what it sought. Compared to that, Hades himself barely mattered.
Green lightning reflected in Hades' eyes.
See—then learn.
That was what Malcador had once told him.
No—no— Hades thought. He would never learn. He could only see, only understand, helplessly, what was about to happen.
At the Nightbringer's command, Hades' knights tore through the Necron lines. Hades glanced at the Necron structures warped and "accidentally" damaged by the distortion of space and allowed himself a faint, bitter smile.
The Holder of the Nightbringer lifted its eyes. Hades felt power surging through his body. He raised his hand in vain—around the last few Knights, metal began twisting, green lightning flared, and he tried desperately to shield the warriors making their final charge.
His movement drew the Holder's attention. The being drifted lazily in the air, almost bored. Their gazes met, and for an instant, its focus slipped.
Within the blizzard, a faint light appeared in the sky above them.
But a moment later, Hades felt the sudden weightlessness of the Knight beneath him lurching forward uncontrollably; the metallic scream of armor tearing through air rang out. That was the Nightbringer's Gaze of Death—no living thing was supposed to survive its stare.
He heard a woman's voice shouting in agony, heard panicked cries erupt across the vox. The Graia Skitarii closed in around him at the last possible second—
And then everything was lit up.
A lance of light from the World Eaters fleet burned in silence. Metal melted, blood-soaked earth ignited; a light that seemed capable of incinerating all things blazed quietly across the battlefield.
A violent tearing of the air echoed through the storm.
Yet a dark figure still hovered calmly in the very center of the beam. Darkness curled around it resentfully, shielding the Necrons and its prison beneath. The scythe remained poised, waiting for the true moment to harvest.
The blinding glow faded. Agonized breaths sounded from beneath the molten wreckage.
Half-melted metal, scorched by the heat, began to drip. Hades gasped, wrapped in green lightning. He gripped the Anathame—once a weapon of the Four, now shining with golden light, faintly resonating with the Emperor's fingerbone rising beneath the skin of his neck.
The Holder of the Nightbringer raised its scythe with slow elegance. But something suddenly interrupted its meal. A heavy impact thundered across the ground, and it waved its hand impatiently.
A barrage of bolts and artillery shells from all directions froze absurdly in midair—but immediately after came the colossal god-machine, charging toward the Nightbringer without fear.
Hades lifted his head, trembling. A Titan's immense silhouette loomed before him, the banner of the Salem Forge World snapping fiercely in the icy wind.
"For the Emperor! For Angron! For the Omnissiah!"
War cries and Titan detonations roared together. The Nightbringer's movements slowed for a heartbeat.
The second Titan charged in.
Hades stared in disbelief, his pupils reflecting the shapes of the Magos.
They did not know Hades—but when the World Eaters Legion, who had once saved them, called for aid, Salem answered with a clear conscience.
Hades tightened his grip on the blade with effort. Golden light erupted. Even though the call was not meant for Hades specifically, the Magos' invocation of the Void Dragon still resonated through the Great Rift—perhaps Hades was destined to be unable to wield such faith, but someone else could.
The Emperor's fingerbone blazed.
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