Chapter 105 95. Nusria Massacre Day
The massacre began with the first drop of blood in the butcher’s hand.
The drop of blood fell with him.
Amid grand cheers, guests from outside the world jumped off the high platform and drew an arc.
His figure hit the ground heavily, splashing red sand.
Looking at this uninvited guest, the nails roared, and Angron pulled out a twitching mockery, and blood flowed.
"What are you going to do, slave owner?"
However, his opponent ignored his taunt -
Kahn smashed the chain ax to the ground, holding the ax handle with one hand,
"Bang!"
He knelt down.
The smooth power armor smashed into the mud, and blood splashed out.
On the viewing platform, the cheers stopped abruptly, and people watched in disbelief at what they couldn't understand.
It was quiet, absolutely quiet.
"Sorry, we are late."
"Father."
Kahn said softly, his blood was rushing, his heart was beating violently, and his soul was throbbing.
Even though he is as still as a corpse now.
Angron was stunned, his tall nose twitching unnaturally. He seemed to be trying very hard to understand the situation, but the buzzing nails disrupted his thinking.
However, that inexplicable throbbing, that coming from the binding in genes and soul, that coming from across from him, the huge sadness and anger, pulled back Angron's last shred of reason.
The original body spoke, and his voice was like the strong wind roaring over the mountains,
"I'll give you a chance, who are you?"
Kahn felt that he was boiling, he was suffocating, and he was twitching.
Finally, he spoke slowly and said the words that every war dog once dreamed of,
"We are the war dogs that bring you glory."
Without glory, he lowered his head heavily, like a sinner.
Bitterness bloomed in his mouth,
he was the lucky one of the war dog, but -
there was no glory.
Angron pulled out a smile that was uglier than crying. The face embedded with the butcher's nails was a broken demigod. "
Then help me kill them."
In response to him, Karn's chain ax started roaring.
On the towering stands, Piggy, who knew something was wrong but still found it difficult to accept the reality, was speaking,
"What is going on, sir?"
What they heard in response was the sound of their heads falling to the ground.
The massacre began.
No one knew how long the massacre lasted, and the angry butcher forgot about such insignificant things as time.
Thousands of drop pods roared tore through the blood-red sky, light spears and macro cannons ignited the sky, and the air trembled and bled.
The battle ax spun, blood splattered, angry roars and whimpering, and red enveloped everything.
Angron was like a god of war, running wildly among thousands of enemy troops. His powerful muscles carved the body of an angry god, and his rough leather draped his identity as a slave. His huge battle ax was chopping, and his life was flowing.
Countless war dogs were running wildly. They rushed out of the airborne pod, armed with weapons, and slaughtered towards their father.
The towering figures of the fearless are interspersed with the violent currents of war dogs. Melta and heavy explosive bombs are rare ranges in this carnage.
Towering cities burned, noble banners were torn to pieces, heads were chopped off wantonly, and mad war dogs howled and charged at their enemies.
Discipline is obviously no longer necessary at this point.
With the huge gap in strength, they are like strong winds, they are like tsunamis, they easily crush everything in front of them! They easily devour everything they have!
One city after another was captured, and one head after another was chopped off!
The iron cages holding the slaves were torn open and then they were drawn into the killing frenzy.
Blood and carnage chase them.
Blood all over the ground.
The fire gradually extinguished, gunpowder smoke drifted across the sky, the broken flag hung its head, and the dead body was placed on the flagpole.
The last larger group of survivors ran into a cave in the countryside. They were both men and women, but most of them were old and weak.
They are all poor people, or farmers outside the city.
Relying on their familiarity with the wilderness, they have survived to this day.
The roar of the ax had arrived, and Kahn, who was at the forefront, skillfully raised his weapon -
"That's enough."
The battle ax held high above his head stopped.
"Enough, I say, enough."
The hoarse and deep voice of the original body echoed in the cave. To those civilians, it was like the sound of nature.
Even though the nails are still ringing.
Kahn didn't understand, but he stopped his behavior.
The ragged mortals in front of him were shivering.
Kahn turned around, as if waking up from a big dream.
Angron's tall figure was blurred in the bright light at the entrance of the cave, leaving only a silhouette of him.
"Yes, father."
He responded quietly.
So he turned and followed his primarch, leaving a bloody puddle in the soft earth with every step.
They left this small and dark cave. In the blood-red sky, black smoke floated. As far as they could see, blood and heads were everywhere on the ground, while the angry war dogs were still rummaging through the ruins of the city looking for the last survivors.
Angron stood on the high slope and looked at all this, all this that had appeared in his dreams countless times.
Slave owners were beheaded, tyrants were overthrown, and the benighted lackeys of the monarch paid their price.
But
his eyes were dark, those slaves hiding in fear, those poor people fleeing in panic. The
words of his father, Onomamus, echoed in the brain where reason had gained the upper hand,
"Those people are not monsters, don't take your anger out on them." There are many real monsters above us, and they are the targets of my anger."
Some lives should not pay the price.
His anger is reserved only for monsters.
Angron raised his hands flat, then let go.
"Bang!"
The battle ax in his hand hit the hard rock, leaving a permanent mark.
He opened his hands, and the enemy's blood flowed from his arms.
He looked at these warriors who claimed to be his descendants, and he looked at these warriors who were loyal to him without hesitation.
"Enough!"
Angron shouted,
"That's enough!!!"
Those people stopped, looking at all this as if they were waking up from a dream.
The rushing current suddenly stopped, and they slowly merged from all directions.
Countless people in white armor emerged from the red-black ruins, their armors smeared with pits, dust, and blood. They walked towards their father silently.
The battles in various places have long ended, and most of the war dogs have been moving closer to their original bodies in the previous wars. Now, except for the slow Dreadnoughts, most of the war dogs are here.
As the water flows, the last to arrive is a special team.
It was a team led by Legion Commander Rock and composed of technical sergeants and pharmacists.
In Dogs of War, those brothers who are unwilling to slaughter will choose to become Apothecaries, or Techmarines.
At the center of the team are the brothers and sisters from the Angron Arena.
After realizing that the arrival of the war dogs was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Angron's brothers and sisters decisively asked Angron to take the war dogs to fight.
"Leave us alone, Angron, kill those slave owners."
"Angron, we know you are different from us, but they are very similar to you."
"Angron, go kill them quickly, we will chase Not you, but we will chase you."
"Kill the slave owners before they react, Angron, don't let them escape."
At that time, Angron made a second request to the war dog ,
"Help me. Please let them participate in this battle."
He wanted to protect them, but he also wanted to fight with them.
But the gulf of strength separated them.
Angron, carrying the expectations of his brothers and sisters, left, running towards another more brutal battlefield.
He hopes that they are all alive, but he also does not hope that they are protected cowards.
The nail interrupted his hesitation, and amid the anticipation of his brothers and sisters, he turned to seek the kill.
But they are all standing here now.
His brothers and sisters were there, some frightened, others excited.
What was happening now was a scene that had never appeared in their wildest dreams.
Angron looked at them. They were all there, and there were even some other unfamiliar faces. They must be family members of his brothers and sisters, or something else.
Then he looked at the warriors protecting them. Strange devices were placed on their armor.
He silently remembered them.
Angron moved his gaze and scanned these war dogs falling from the sky.
There was no gleaming armor, and blood was thickly stuck to their bodies.
In the previous battle, from the few words spoken by the war dogs, Angron roughly spelled out the stories of these warriors and his origin.
Were they slave owners?
But slave owners will not fight with slaves.
Are they slaves?
But slaves would not have such fine equipment.
No, neither.
They are weapons.
A crazy and bloodthirsty war machine that can devour an entire world.
But now, the authority of the weapon was given to him, and the hound voluntarily handed over the collar.
Angron looked around at all this, as if he was still dreaming.
The first scion to kneel woke him up.
Kahn got down on one knee.
Like a command, the sound of power armor hitting the ground was heard everywhere, and blood scabs mixed with soil were thrown up.
The sun shines down, and the armor gleams.
His sister Kleist in the arena looked at him with a sly and encouraging smile, and knelt down along with these giants.
The brothers and sisters knelt.
Silence, he was the only one standing now. Angron spoke slowly.
He was the son of the mountain, and his voice was like a falling boulder.
"I don't know where you come from, and I don't know why you are loyal."
"But you Follow me to capture Nusria and cut off the slave owner's head."
"You showed me your sincerity."
"If you are still determined to follow, then Angron will definitely live up to it!"
Angron took a deep breath. He took a breath and shouted, his strong voice tearing through the sky,
"In the history of Nusria, those invincible armies were called city-devourers, swallowing up one city after another." "
But you, You!"
"You are so powerful that you can devour this world!"
"You are my battle ax to cut down the slave masters, and you are my war machine to devour all worlds!" "
You are the World Eaters!"
"You are the World Eaters. !!!"
The Twelfth Legion, the World Eaters.
Since then it has been established.
"I'm guilty."
In the wreckage of the First Arena, two figures were hiding in the shadow of the viewing platform.
Kahn, the commander of the eighth company, buried his head absentmindedly, his eyes wandering.
"You are the first person to discover the father of the original body. You have done your best."
Legion Commander Rock crossed his arms and stood upright, but his expression was tired.
"We have all tried our best."
He murmured. .
But no one spoke.
The expectations of the War Dog before were now like sharp and vicious daggers, stinging the World Eater.
They are too arrogant, they are too vain.
arrogant.
The return of the Primarch was a slap in the face.
"I used to look down on him."
"Shh, Kahn, don't say it."
Rock looked at him with dark eyes,
"We know this very well."
"I thought I was standing on that high platform, overlooking him."
This will become his eternal nightmare.
Rock patted him and said,
"There is nothing we can do about it."
"The top priority is to recover our original body."
"I have contacted the Empire-"
The gladiatorial horn sounded, interrupting the conversation between the two.
They looked at each other, walked out of the darkness, and walked onto the bright arena.
There, led by Angron, countless World Eaters stood on the red sand.
Today, they will carve their first rope of triumph.
The Rope of Triumph, a Nuthrian tradition.
Kahn stood between the warriors.
They took off their armor and scars covered their muscular upper bodies.
Angron was at the front, with a winding red line climbing up his spine from his tailbone.
Every extension of the red line is a successful battle and an honor worth remembering.
Without hesitation, the original body stabbed the front end of the red line with his dagger, and scarlet blood dripped down.
Following their father, the World Eaters slashed their skin with their blades, penetrating deep into the lowest layer of black carapace.
Angron took a handful of red sand and poured it into the wound. The rough sand was embedded in his flesh and blood.
In order to remember the eternal glory, Angron stretched out his hand, inserted into the newly opened wound and pulled it to prevent the wound from healing quickly.
Blood dripped down his fingers.
Blood dripped down their fingers.
Kahn used his fingers to support his wound. His fingertips touched the slippery black carapace, and the pain burned like a flame.
He took a deep breath, but did not hold up the fiery red sand.
He held up the pitch-black sand.
Black sand symbolizes shame and failure.
Shame will be the beginning of the World Eaters.
The black climb numbed his painful heart.
Vision is blurred, black and red mixed in as far as the eye can see.
Angron was delighted that he gained another group of new brothers, who followed him and carved the red rope of glory.
But what he didn't know was that not everyone among the World Eaters chose red sand.
The black line meanders.
[Emperor's Dream]
The future.
"Reporting to your lord, the Twelfth Legion has discovered their original body."
Following the messenger's words, Angron's message was transmitted.
The emperor looked at it casually,
"Oh."
"Inform the Twelfth Legion that I want to arrange an operation for No. 12." The
battle report from the front line came again, and the emperor's mind was only distracted for a moment, and he had no time to continue. Gu.
Although No. 12 is damaged, it is still usable.
Wonderful Little Theater:
"Lao Ba, why don't you stop them?"
Lao Qi murmured to himself, pushing Lao Ba,
"His anchor point is no longer here."
Lao Ba laughed,
"Besides, I don't care about this, as long as it has a head and blood!"
"Don't stare at a gas tank, man, I like them all!"
Lao Qi had a dark expression, muttering something about fate, perseverance, kindness, etc. that no one could understand. Gurgled out.
[Extra has been posted]
Well... the troubling point here is the Emperor's attitude. In the original work, the Emperor's attitude towards Angron is extremely cold, which leads to "The Emperor is deliberately giving up the Primarch he doesn't like." ” statement.
But in the latest book, the Emperor himself values the Primarch and hopes that everyone will retire happily in the end, but the image of a sentient being autistic is completely inconsistent with the one in the Biography of Angron.
In the part about Angron in this book, the image of the Emperor will be more consistent with the Biography of Angron.
The author will make a transition to other emperor parts.
(End of chapter)