"I want to install implants at the backs of their heads!"
On his very first day back on Desh'ea, Angron suddenly said something shocking.
Having already learned of the Twelfth Legion's tragic fate from the future, he would never act like the madman who ordered his sons to be implanted with the Butcher's Nails. So Caelan immediately guessed he meant something else.
Caelan asked, "The Silvervine?"
Angron nodded.
As a world that had preserved technologies from the Dark Age of Technology, Nuceria still possessed an astonishing amount of forbidden and awe-inspiring tech. Though the war with the Beast had destroyed much, and the High Kinghts of the Houses sealed away large caches of ancient machinery to maintain their rule, what survived was still terrifying, like the Butcher's Nails, and the Silvervine.
Once the Butcher's Nails were implanted, not even a Primarch could escape their torment.
That vile creation burrowed into the host's brain like a cursed parasite, eroding mind and soul, turning the noblest warrior into a blood-mad puppet.
The Nails' desecrated design could even pierce the boundary between realspace and the Warp itself, so much so that even the ascended, daemonized Angron of the orginal timeline could never break free of them.
The Emperor had once tried to remove the Nails from his son, and even though the prototype still sat sealed in a Martian vault and the Emperor studied it in detail, he was helpless before its corruption.
But if you looked at it from another angle, yes, the Butcher's Nails were ruinous, but they undeniably magnified combat potential to terrifying heights.
So… was there a similar implant that could grant such power without the ruinous side effects?
There was indeed, brother. There was.
It was called the Silvervine.
Unlike the Nails, crude devices meant for pit gladiators, the Silvervine implants had been designed for the Knightly Houses' personal guard. They were true relics of the Dark Age of Technology.
They could elevate a mortal body to monstrous levels, even granting enough strength to match an Astartes in melee combat, with almost no side effects.
Their only flaw was that ordinary human physiology couldn't draw out their full performance; and when the Silvervine was destroyed, the feedback to the brain could cause serious trauma.
During the Dark Age, engineers never stopped at one modification. Those implanted with the Silvervine were also given extensive genetic optimization and companion augmetics to adapt to it, but of that great suite of technologies, only the Vine itself survived.
Now imagine giving the Silvervine to Astartes.
The effect would be far greater than one plus one equals two!
"...Well?" Angron asked eagerly.
Caelan replied, "Honestly, I thought you'd be against mechanical implants altogether."
Angron said firmly, "The Silvervine isn't the Butcher's Nails, and I am not him. I will not sink into the shadow of the past, nor will I chain myself to a future that hasn't come."
Caelan thought for a moment. "Although the Vine's current data is nearly perfect, I still suggest you get a proper evaluation by an expert."
"The Mechanicum?" Angron asked.
"No," Caelan shook his head, smiling. "By Medea."
Angron made a sound of realization, he had almost forgotten his brother kept an Men of Iron as a companion.
"But isn't she restricted to civilian technology?"
Caelan smiled wider. "And why do you assume the Silvervine was military tech? Don't you think it sounds more like something built for the Tech-Priests themselves?"
That made Angron pause. Indeed, the Vine had always been associated with Knights and their elite retainers, military through and through. But in the Dark Age of Technology?
To pursue scientific perfection, Tech-Priests willingly turned themselves into cybernetic monstrosities, until only their brain tissue remained flesh.
Among all their augments, artificial limbs were paramount. Two hands were never enough for the god-engineers of Mars, and additional mechanical limbs dramatically boosted research efficiency.
The Silvervine, then, was essentially dozens of extra mechanical arms, more flexible and compact than any ordinary servo-limb. It was the holy grail of Mechanicum augmentation.
Caelan continued, "The prototype of the Butcher's Nails is buried in the Icosahedron Vault on Mars. That's why I believe Nuceria and Mars share a much deeper connection. Those Knightly vaults probably contain even more forbidden technologies."
"Who is this 'Icosahedron'?" Angron asked.
"No idea," Caelan admitted. "But anyone with a vault on Mars is bound to be a terrifying figure."
Mars was humanity's scientific Mecca even in the Dark Age. Beneath its surface lay countless sealed vaults and labyrinths full of lost wonders, and horrors.
Each vault was the legacy of a top genius of that era, and the most infamous among them was the Vaults of Moravec, the Emperor himself forbade anyone from ever opening it. He even ordered all vaults sealed, fearing another Iron rebellion.
So Mars was never short of Dark Age relics, it was just that all of them were time bombs disguised as treasures.
"Got it," Angron said quietly.
Then Caelan suddenly chuckled. "Don't you think our conversation's gotten a little too serious? It's starting to sound like a last will."
Angron lowered his head. He wanted to act relaxed, but he couldn't.
His father was leaving soon. How strong must one's heart be to smile at such a moment?
"Enough said." Caelan patted his shoulder. "Just remember, I'll always support you."
"You've said that to my brothers too."
"And I'll say it to the rest of them as well," Caelan smiled. "That doesn't make it any less true."
Angron wanted to ask, and 'if we ever come to blows? Who would you support then?'
But he couldn't. To ask that would be to deny everything Caelan had done to prevent them from fighting one another.
That would be too cruel.
So he only said softly, "I'm going to meet my Legion."
They had walked a long way together. Angron had dragged Caelan on foot from Devash all the way back to Desh'ea, and almost wanted to pull him further, to the mountain where they first met, but every journey must end.
"Have you decided?"
"Yes."
"Want me to come with you?"
"I need to start adapting."
"To what?"
"To days without you around."
Caelan wanted to say something comforting, but found no words.
He'd always thought Angron was a good child, but perhaps, like his brothers, he carried his own heavy heart.
"When I come back," Angron asked, "will you still be here waiting for me?"
"Maybe," Caelan admitted. "I still don't even know how I leave in the first place."
Angron tapped his chest. "Then you don't need to. Like you taught me, follow your heart."
Engines roared as the Stormbird formation climbed into the sky.
Inside one transport, the young Primarch of the Twelfth Legion sat silent as stone.
Outside the viewport, the orbital fleet shimmered like a field of stars, waiting for their lord's arrival.
Captain Gheer stole glances at his father's face, but could read nothing there, no joy of reunion, no sadness of parting.
Angron's eyes stayed fixed on the shrinking planet below. Desh'ea's majestic cities became dots, then blurs, then vanished altogether.
"Father," Gheer said quietly, bowing his head. "At your command, the Legion stands ready to descend and greet you in person."
Every War Hound knew, it is the Legion that needs its Primarch, not the other way around.
A Primarch could rebuild a Legion from nothing; a Legion without its Primarch was nothing at all.
So don't ask what the Primarch can do for the Legion, ask what the Legion can do for the Primarch.
Angron suddenly asked, "Are you my son?"
Gheer answered instantly, "Of course! Every War Hound is your son!"
Angron nodded. "That's why Father told me it was time for me to find my own sons. And so, I came."
Gheer blinked, confused for a moment, then slowly understood.
Wasn't that what the Emperor himself had done, crossing the galaxy alone to find his lost sons among the stars?
The Stormbirds pierced the upper atmosphere and soared toward the orbiting flagship Indomitable Resolve.
Only three thousand War Hounds had gathered, one small detachment among many, but they were fortunate.
The Imperium possessed only a few Gloriana-class battleships, and one belonged to them.
Today, it would host their Primarch's return in full honor.
The Stormbirds screeched as they landed on the carrier deck.
Legion Master Locke had assembled an entire company in ceremonial formation, but a secured order came through: the meeting would take place not on the deck, but in the Legion's holiest chamber, the Hall of Triumph.
Flanked by the Eighth Assault Company, Angron strode through the ship's steel corridors. Every blast door opened before them like a beast bowing in submission.
When they reached the Hall of Triumph, two thousand two hundred War Hounds stood ready, arrayed in flawless formation.
Their blue-and-white Mark II power armor glinted coldly under the lights. The Hall was filled with solemn silence, broken only by the hum of reactors far below.
Legion Master Lock stood alone at the front, with each company captain like a spearhead before their own ranks.
The Eighth Assault Company joined the formation in silence, every movement precise as clockwork.
Angron's gaze swept over his sons. The tactical lights glimmered off their battle-scarred armor, each dent and scratch a medal of honor from the Great Crusade.
Around them hung banners, each telling the tale of a bloody and glorious victory.
They had earned their name, War Hounds. Their deeds ranked among the finest of all the Legions.
After a long silence, Angron finally spoke.
"You call yourselves War Hounds, that is the name the Master of Mankind gave you."
"You have torn apart countless foes in His name, writing your legend in blood and fang. You take pride in it."
He paused.
A faint unease rippled through the ranks. Was their father… displeased?
Angron sensed their anxiety but said nothing, letting his thoughts merge with theirs.
In the shared communion of emotion, words were meaningless.
He understood their confusion, and they, his sorrow.
So the Hall grew quieter still.
"You are Astartes. Your nobility, your strength, your glory, no mortal can compare."
"But there is one thing you lack, humanity."
"You have never truly seen the joys and sorrows of mortals. When you gaze upon them, it is only to measure their usefulness to your glory."
"You are not without empathy, you merely lack empathy for humans."
Astartes could love their brothers more deeply than any mortal comrade, and die for one another without hesitation.
But the deaths of millions of humans would only make them sigh: A great loss for the Imperium.
Nothing more.
Because they no longer saw themselves as human. And that was what grieved Angron most.
"When my brothers returned, they all told their sons the same lesson, we are human. That is what Father taught us."
"And like my father, I will teach you the same. Because I, too, am your father."
"It may sound old-fashioned, but to me, there is no comfort greater than remembering that we are human."
"On ancient Terra, there was a saying: 'Lose your humanity, and you lose much. Lose your animal nature, and you lose everything.'"
"He was right. Humanity can feel like a shackle, but those without it are beasts."
"And beasts cannot build civilizations. Only humans can."
"What we defend is not merely the Imperium, nor even the Emperor, it is mankind and human civilization."
"Humanity is an invisible chain, but unlike iron shackles, it does not enslave us. It gives us the freedom to choose."
"Humanity is an anchor, when we fall into the abyss, it keeps us tethered to the light."
"Humanity is a lamp, when we lose our way in the dark, it guides us forward."
"Father always said I was the most human of all his sons, and he was proud of that. I hope I can one day be proud of you the same way."
"I do not ask you to abandon your ferocity. Humanity and bestiality are two halves of man's soul. Humanity teaches us to protect. The beast teaches us to destroy."
"Without humanity, civilization dies. Without the beast, civilization grows weak."
"Balance."
"That, too, was my father's lesson."
"When I was lost, Father always saw my unease immediately, and he comforted me."
"When you are lost, I want you to come to me. Let me guide you. That is my duty as your father."
"This is not an order."
Angron bowed his head, and knelt.
Three thousand War Hounds knelt with him, the thunder of metal against metal echoing through the Hall of Triumph.
Angron was not merely speaking to them, he was sharing his soul with them.
Their connection transcended words, a communion of blood and spirit deeper than any dialogue.
"I am not a perfect father," he said softly. "I left my own father before I even understood what that meant. And now I must teach sons far wiser than that boy ever was."
"Perhaps I will fail you. Perhaps I will demand too much. But I will still hope, you will grow into sons that make me proud. As I strive to become a father worthy of you."
"World Eaters, that is the name I give you."
"We all know the curse that name carries, and the dark fate it implies."
"But just as my father gave me my name, he told me to rage, but also to control my rage."
"He called it being twisted. And maybe I am twisted too, so I insist on giving this name to you."
"We are devourers of the old world. But what we bring is not destruction, it is liberation!"
"This ship once bore a proud name: Indomitable Resolve. Let us never forget it. But now, I give it a new name, "
"Not Conqueror, nor Liberator, but Spark."
"For a single spark can set the stars ablaze!"
"Of all the stories Father told me, this was my favorite, and I suspect it was my brothers' favorite too."
"They raised their torches, and their fire swept across their worlds. And one day, it will sweep across the galaxy itself."
"Together, we shall keep the flame of humanity alive. We will forge a wall of fire to hold back the darkness of Chaos."
"We will drive out the ignorant Old Night. Even if I must bleed my last drop, I will see the galaxy freed once more!"
"From Terra's skies to the edges of the Milky Way, we will set the galaxy ablaze!"
The World Eaters said nothing. But in their silence, Angron had already received his answer.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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