Chapter 340: Angron Opens His Eyes
The fires of war were dying away, the embers no longer glowed; even the most brutal slaughter of days past was now nothing more than a memory, like the chirping of cicadas in summer.
Dim. Silent. Dry.
Angron's consciousness slowly rose toward the surface.
He smelled the spent tang of iron, the sharp sting of alcohol. His vision was hazy, drifting halos of light wavering before him.
Through the blur, he remembered something buried deep in his mind—something he had seen before.
What had he seen?
In a rare moment, Angron began to recall his memories with an unusual calm.
He first remembered blood, the arena, rage and screams.
Then came blinding golden light—light hotter and more agonizing than the fiercest plasma beam.
Angron felt himself falling endlessly into a sea of radiance. But that sea was not serene. He heard hoarse, desperate prayers; soft, pleading sobs; casual disdain; commands; requests; questions; certainty.
A thousand mouths opened and closed, forming a single image.
Angron squinted, watching countless lips shape the same word—
Em… per… or?
Angron's eyes snapped open. The dim ceiling stared back at him.
He felt exhaustion like a physical weight. His body no longer seemed to belong to him; his muscles twitched in small, nervous spasms, his heart hammered violently—yet it felt as if it pumped no blood at all. He couldn't even control his body at first.
Something was wrong.
Unable to move immediately, Angron shifted only his eyes, cautiously surveying the world around him. He heard quiet breathing mixed with soft snores, careful footsteps far away, the faint ticking of machines.
These sounds inexplicably comforted him—but that wasn't what was wrong—
The nails?!
His breath halted for a moment. Angron sensed the top of his head in disbelief. He could feel the abhorrent devices still there, crawling lifelessly—but lifeless they indeed were.
The Butcher's Nails… had stopped?
A tremor ran through him. Overwhelming joy crashed over him, and only then did he realize—if he could feel emotion right now, then…
This feeling was…
Was it… peace?
Angron had never known such an emotion. But at this moment, the Child of the Mountain was absolutely certain: an immense, indescribable calm and serenity enveloped him.
So this quiet breathing… this feeling… is peace.
He recalled that he had been on a battlefield not long before; perhaps lying here doing nothing was unwise. But the sensation… the sensation was too precious. Angron wondered if he was dead, or if this was an illusion. Regardless, the giant cherished this hard-won tranquility.
He allowed himself a moment of indulgence.
Content, he stared at the ceiling. Then, slowly, carefully, he closed his eyes. He savored the peace—this peace that should have been the birthright of every person.
Angron lay there, breathing evenly, gently.
He felt… good.
Gradually, another unfamiliar sensation rose within him. The war-god of Nuceria approached it cautiously—almost timidly—terrified that all of this might be nothing but illusion.
His will brushed against the feeling, and his instincts told him its name:
Drowsiness.
Even though his muscles still twitched faintly, even though his body burned with fever from extreme blood loss, even though he had barely eaten in years and was horribly malnourished…
But Angron still chose, with complete contentment, to sink into the cradle woven by drowsiness—like a great, dry nest lined with the fur of Nucerian beasts. No blood. No severed heads. No deafening, agitated roars of the arena. He lay within it, alone, letting his consciousness quietly fade away.
Darkness remained.
…
Angron opened his eyes calmly. He spent a full second celebrating, in his mind, the fact that he still felt at peace.
The soft breathing continued beside him.
Angron tried to lift himself slowly—but failed. Normally, this would have sent him into an uncontrollable rage. Yet now, to his surprise, he felt no anger at all.
So Angron tried something different: he turned his head to the side. This time, he succeeded. And he saw the source of the breathing.
Hades was slumped unconscious on a chair beside his bed. The blood on his armor had dried. His head hung over the top of the chair back, nose pointing upward. Angron saw a faint bubble of mucus rise and fall with each of Hades' breaths.
The sight made Angron want to laugh. If he had the strength, he would have surely slapped Hades on the shoulder while roaring with laughter. Instead, an ache hit his nose, and he coughed up a mouthful of blood.
Through his shaking vision, Angron first saw the bubble on Hades' nose pop—then Hades sprang to his feet as if launched. Bleary-eyed, he rushed to Angron's side to check on him, only relaxing when he confirmed nothing critical had happened.
Hades didn't even realize Angron was awake. He wiped the blood from Angron's lips with mechanical habit, and his body sagged back toward the chair, eyelids drooping again.
"Hades?"
Angron called weakly. He saw Hades' eyes snap open; the man straightened abruptly, then shook his head in exaggerated, chaotic motions.
"Angron?! You're awake?"
Even in his shock, Hades kept his voice down. Angron felt a brief wave of relief—his mind wanted nothing loud.
Angron gave him a faint, fragile smile to prove he was awake.
"What in the Emperor's name is going on, Hades? Did you bury those xeno metal-headed bastards in the ground yet?"
He could hardly believe how weak his own voice sounded.
Seeing him conscious, Hades instantly perked up. He pumped a fist into the air and grinned.
"Thank the Emperor, the Mechanicus, and the World Eaters—we kicked those trash heaps straight back into the dumpster."
Angron tried to laugh, but only managed a few coughing breaths. Hades quickly waved for him to stop.
For a moment—just a moment—Angron was certain he saw Hades cast a serious, troubled glance toward the doorway. But when he turned back, the bright, casual smile returned to his face.
"At least we can rest for a bit now," Hades shrugged casually.
"But never mind all that—Angron, you need rest. The more the better. Why don't you try sleeping a little longer?"
Angron shook his head. He had already slept. And it had felt wonderful.
"I'm not tired anymore."
Hades blinked in surprise.
"Not tired—? But with your condition stabilizing, you should be—"
Hades checked the instruments beside Angron's bed again, just to be sure. Then he helped prop Angron up.
"I know!"
Hades said.
"You must be hungry. Angron, you haven't eaten proper food in, what, three years? I'll get them to bring something right away."
"And it's about time the World Eaters knew you were awake."
Angron opened his mouth. In his heart, he hoped for a little more quiet; if the World Eaters came in, he would have to endure emotions far more intense than he was ready for.
But as if reading his mind, Hades spoke on his own:
"Angron, I'm not letting Khârn and the others in yet. They'd get too excited, and that's not good for your recovery."
Hades snapped his fingers. Soon after, the door opened, and a servitor pushed in a meal cart.
Hades sniffed.
"Didn't expect the World Eaters to prepare this. But I guess it suits you, Angron."
Angron watched as Hades deftly lifted the covers off the dishes. He saw trembling cream, strawberries with tips glistening in a honey sheen, and the warm, fermented aroma of baked grains.
Angron was puzzled.
Desserts had never existed on the Lord of the Red Sands's menu.
Hades—unreasonably enthusiastic—answered his confusion:
"Maybe they figured meat wasn't good for a patient. And cream, bread, fruit—they're great for quick energy. Which one do you want, Angron? I'll get it for you. You don't mind if I eat some too, right?"
Angron spoke. He felt hunger—clarified and sharpened by the calm inside him.
"Whatever. Just give me the biggest piece."
Hades flashed a mischievous grin. He handed Angron a cup of water first, reluctantly, very reluctantly, handing over a dessert afterward.
Angron devoured it. The bread was dense and soft, sliding easily down his throat. It was sweet—very sweet—but not in the sickening, metallic way blood was.
Hades ate just as fast. Angron had originally thought that the man, who ate like a civilized person, wouldn't stand a chance against his own ravenous speed. The Primarch soon discovered he was wrong. As if competing over who could collect more severed heads, they started battling over the pastries.
Hades even performed a three-second annihilation of an entire bunch of grapes. If Angron hadn't been wrestling a nut-stuffed tart at the time, he would have applauded.
In the end, Angron won. The Child of the Mountain used a bit of strategy—he sent Hades to fetch the foods farther away, successfully slowing him down.
They demolished the first cart, then Hades ordered the servitor to bring in two more. They repeated the ritual with the second. And only while tearing through the third cart of "enemies" did they finally slow down and begin to chat casually.
Angron—who lacked any sense of mechadendrite-level signal detection—had no idea that ever since Hades had woken, he had been directing the Legion through binary bursts. To Angron, Hades was simply eating and chatting out of boredom.
During this fragile window of peace Angron had just gained, they both carefully avoided certain topics.
Their first topics were utterly random. They started with why strawberries are more sour than blueberries. Angron tried to answer using what little chemistry he knew, while Hades claimed that red was jealous of blue, so it became sour.
Angron had no idea what nonsense Hades was talking about—but it didn't matter. He was spouting nonsense too. His mind drifted in and out; sometimes he realized that what he said didn't match what he had meant to say.
According to Hades, his mind just needed time to adjust to its current state.
As Angron's mind gradually cleared, their conversation inevitably drifted toward serious matters. Angron asked Hades about his Butcher's Nails, and Hades' answer was simple.
He set down a chocolate cookie, speaking solemnly—though if he had wiped the cream from the corner of his mouth, he might have looked more convincing.
"The Nails have completely shut down. They're not going any deeper."
Hades continued, his tone grave.
"Originally… at that depth, there's no way you should have survived. But maybe… your father, the Emperor, gave you a little help."
Angron spoke, his voice hoarse.
"What did He do to me?"
Hades waved a hand.
"Don't ask me. I'm a psyker-muggle—no talent for the Warp. You'll have to ask Him yourself."
Angron didn't ask what "muggle" meant. He understood enough from Hades' tone. He opened his mouth again—questions catching in his throat. Angron suddenly remembered something else had caught in his throat earlier, not just cake.
"Then what about the Nails themselves? What happens now?"
Hades looked at him.
"A huge portion of your brain and spinal cord has been replaced by the Nails. So they can't be removed directly. If we just ripped them out…"
Hades shook his head.
"Whatever's left of your brain would slosh around inside your skull like a broken egg yolk."
"So I have to carry them forever?"
Angron didn't notice the faint disappointment in his own voice.
"Not necessarily. You should trust your Primarch physiology, Angron."
Hades hesitated before continuing.
"I'm leaning toward removing them slowly—like shifting one millimeter at a time, then seeing whether your brain tissue can regenerate and fill the gap."
But Hades quickly added more:
"Since the Nails are inactive now, maybe you could try some psychic method. I can't answer that one… Or maybe…"
Hades blinked.
"I actually know someone who's pretty good with biological sciences. He might've studied stuff about brain regeneration."
As he spoke, he tapped the metal plating on the left side of his own head.
"Shame mine's already replaced with this big iron lump—but it works out well enough. Wait, Angron, how about I try—"
"No."
Angron refused instantly and cleanly.
<+>
If you want to see more chapter of this story and don't mind paying $5 each month to read the latest posted chapter, please go to my Patreon [1]
Latest Posted Chapter in Patreon: Chapter 377: A Critical Hit from Your Dad[2]
Link to the latest posted chapter: https://www.patreon.com/posts/147364832?collection=602520[3]
https://www.patreon.com/collection/602520?view=condensed[4]
[1] https://www.patreon.com/Thatsnakegirl
[2] https://www.patreon.com/posts/147364832?collection=602520
[3] https://www.patreon.com/posts/147364832?collection=602520
[4] https://www.patreon.com/collection/602520?view=condensed