bookbashuk Page 285
Page 285
Rock, the former commander of the World Eater Legion and now the commander of the First Company, thought that after being transformed into a Space Marine, he would no longer have the ability to cry.
But now, crimson liquid was sliding down his cheeks.
“Rock, you are our last chance. Take our father out... or... kill him, stop him from suffering like this.”
The last surviving think tank member, Chief Reader Volias, spoke softly, as if afraid of disturbing the unconscious beast resting on his shoulder.
The nails on the beast's head were buzzing, blood was flowing from its towering nostrils, and its massive body pressed unconsciously against Volias's shoulder, while the chief reciter embraced their Primarch as much as possible.
A hazy, pure white psychic glow enveloped Volias; it was the chief chanter's last glimmer of light, faint yet inviolable.
Rock opened his mouth, his voice hoarse, blood and sound gushing from his throat.
"……it is good."
Rock heard a faint laugh; Volias might have chuckled, but the chief reciter had his back to Rock, and Rock could only see the blood streaming down his father's face.
A soft yet resolute white light appeared before his eyes. Rock squinted; it was a scene he had seen countless times: his wounds were healing, the nightmares were over, and the Primarch's eyelid twitching was beginning to subside.
Volias simply stood there quietly. Beside them, countless corpses of World Eaters lay on the ground, including ordinary warriors and think tank members, their blood soaking the earth.
Slowly, everything went dark.
Vorias reached out with difficulty, comically trying to wipe the blood from the Primarch's face, but his hand eventually fell limp.
A faint scraping sound rang out, and Vorias slowly knelt down, the Primarch sliding off his shoulder and lying steadily on the red sand.
Volias lowered his head, blood dripping from the Chief Reciter's face and then down the Primarch's chiseled features.
Rock remained silent. He walked over, struggled to lift the Primarch, and dragged the Angron toward the next room—a room filled with enemies and monsters, with silently rising lava chasing after them. They could not stay in one area for long.
Volias knelt there, watching them walk away.
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How many battles did they fight after that? More than seven hundred, or more than eight hundred, Rock couldn't remember anymore.
Sometimes he dragged the unconscious Angron, trapped by the nails, away from the surging lava; sometimes he awoke from a desperate stupor to find the Primarch carrying him, and seeing he was still alive, Angron grinned at him.
They fought countless scarlet, raging monsters, and the timing was always just right. Just as they were chopping off head after head with their chainsaw axes and their legs were finally able to run again, the roar of lava would erupt from behind them, forcing them to run desperately to the next room.
The rest periods were short. At first, Angron would eat the flesh and blood of the crimson monsters to replenish his strength, but that flesh and blood was highly poisonous to the Space Marines, so Angron made Rock drink his blood to replenish his strength.
The chainsaw cut through the skin, and fresh blood slid down the palm.
The Primarch's blood gave him power, which is perhaps why Rock still stands here, swaying.
Rock had nailed his life to this spot, to the other side of life. In a daze, Rock knew that his tenacious life was the last thread holding onto the Primarch's reason.
If he dies, the last World Eater to stay by the Primarch's side dies, what will become of Angron? Will he be consumed by rage and despair, turning into the crimson monsters that fight them?
Rock already knew the answer in his heart. As he coughed up blood, Rock thought that death might be a relief for him, but he couldn't die now.
The enormous being that was toying with them seemed to realize that Rock was in their way. During the battle, he was on the verge of death time and time again, but he pulled himself back time and time again through sheer willpower.
He had also considered killing Angron to free their father, just as Volias had instructed him to do, but Rock gradually realized that death in this realm did not seem to bring the Primarch true peace.
On the contrary, some aspect of his being will be taken away; death means defeat, means compromise, and the victor naturally has the right to execute the loser, whether it be his soul or his body.
The survivors have no choice but to fight.
But Angron was in increasing pain, and Rock could not detect the psionic energy in the environment, but he could discern some truth from the increasingly violent sound of nails.
Broken brain tissue replaced blood, flowing from Angron's nose. The Primarch indifferently wiped it away, but after the first outpouring of brain tissue, Angron stopped feeding on the monster corpses.
Rock remained silent on the matter.
Faced with the Butcher's Nail on the Primarch's head, only the Think Tank among the World Eaters had in-depth knowledge of it. They used psionic energy to stun Angron's increasingly out-of-control will, giving Angron a moment of respite for his soul.
But this means the nails will be driven deeper, a tactic the think tanks never used lightly before coming here, even when Anglon asked them to.
After they were trapped here, the psionic energy of the think tank was relatively mild compared to the violent psionic environment here, and they could even mitigate the stimulation of the Butcher's Nails by the surrounding environment.
Before his death, Volias unleashed the tactics of the Inquisitors on the Primarch. The oldest Inquisitor of the World Eaters left behind his psionic energy to protect Angron and alleviate his pain as much as possible.
But as the blood flowed and dried again and again, Volias was getting further and further away from them.
Angron is about to collapse. Even if the war and slaughter don't take him away, the buzzing nails in his head will end his life.
More than once, with painful thoughts, Rock wondered what if the Legion had arrived any earlier? Or even, what if he could have taken the pain for his Primarch?
But now it's too late. All choices have been erased, and they can only fight.
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The last time.
He is going to die.
Rock struggled to pull himself onto the survivor's boat, but all he could hear was the desperate sound of his fingernails scratching the hull.
[Rock! Rock!]
He heard the Primarch calling him from the surface of the water. Rock tried to open his eyes wide, but all he could see was darkness.
He seemed to be dead, or perhaps his consciousness lingered in his body for a while before he died, but he certainly acted as if he were dead.
As Rock sensed Angron had laid him down, the Primarch stood up, roaring and howling, blood and saliva splattering onto the ground.
Every single time! Every single time!!
Angron screamed in despair, wildly swinging his axe in anger, as if he were fighting a deadly battle with an unseen monster.
[That damned nail!!! It deserved to kill me! Not my teacher! Not my children! Not my comrades!!!]
[Damn it!! Why?! Why!!!]
Incredibly, for the first time, the Son of the Mountain voluntarily dropped his axe, which slammed to the ground with two muffled thuds.
Angron roared in agony, plunging his hands into the thick, braided thicket of nails on his head, and then—
pull!
【Aa ...
The Primarch let out a high-pitched scream. The intense pain caused Angron to suddenly kneel on the ground. The nails writhed between Angron's fingers like living worms, and blood and bone fragments splattered from the Primarch's head.
Angron was convulsing uncontrollably, like an electrocuted corpse, but his hands did not loosen their grip at all. He was tightly, desperately, clutching his unjust fate and wrestling with it.
No…no…Father…no…
Rock half-opened his eyes and heard the almost exploding buzzing of the nails. No... don't do this to yourself, Angron.
We volunteered...
His mouth twitched slightly, but apart from a faint exhalation, Rock didn't utter anything.
Angron's blood splattered around him as if as a sacrifice, and flames suddenly ignited. They heard words, the language of demons.
Rock began to struggle, cursing his broken willpower. He felt a surge of rage, realizing it was all a deception, and their father was the one most deeply wounded. No, how dare they? How dare they fool the World Eater, fool Angron?!
But he remained lying on the ground, unable to utter even the faintest cry.
The ground in front of Angron began to melt, and a scorching, bloody giant axe surged from hell, its eight skull-shaped eye sockets staring intently at Angron.
Hold my hand.
it says.
+I grant you release, your head, and your blood. +
But does the Primarch, whose brain is now riddled with nails, still possess any semblance of reason capable of communication? Angron ignores the axe, roaring as he struggles against the nails in his head.
As if sensing Angron's condition, the ground began to tremble, and the crimson behemoth stepped out, aiming its massive horns at Rock, eager to attack.
Hold me tight, Angron, or your offspring will be dishonored.
Angron gasped for breath, and the Primarch suddenly looked up to see the blasphemous creature eager to try.
No...no!!!
Angron trembled as he removed his hands from his head. He slowly stood up, saliva and bits of flesh dripping from his mouth. No! No! Absolutely not! He stared intently at the monster, reaching for the nearest axe—
Angron suddenly looked down; the sensation on his hand felt wrong.
He saw a pair of hands, a pair of hands clad in white helmets, gripping a battle axe—no, rather than gripping, it was more like preventing Angron from picking up the battle axe.
[Luo...Luo Ke?]
Angron let out a painful whimper, only to be met with the sight of his offspring surrounded by blood and flames.
It may or may not; don't wait.
Book recommendation!
The author says that if you dislike Lao Fugen's work...
Chapter 344 Brother Fear is both wise and brave
Before making contact with the Twelfth Legion, Hades had wondered what Angron would be like.
He imagined seeing a half-madman, a butcher, a Primarch driven mad by nails, and Hades was even prepared to face the Ascended Angron if things got any worse.
After all, Hades did nothing on this path of fate except to inform the World Eaters of Angron's location in advance.
But when he blew open the door, Hades realized he was wrong.
He witnessed a tragedy.
He will end this suffering himself.
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"boom!"
An explosion erupted, blasting open the heavy door. Blood and heat rushed straight to his face, accompanied by a suddenly amplified roar.
Hades narrowed his eyes and decisively stopped Margo from rushing into the hall the moment the door was blown open, and darkness quickly enveloped the entire room.
However, given the presence of the World Devourer beside him, Hades only slightly suppressed the Dark Domain.
After fully seeing the situation inside the hall, Hades's expression darkened.
【Rock! Rock!! Wake up!!!】
The beast painfully pinned the demon against the wall with its battle axe, spitting saliva mixed with blood onto the demon's face. Angron screamed in vain, the Primarch trembled, and the nails buzzed.
The demon he held in his hand was flapping its wings weakly.
"kill……"
A faint sound came from the helmet that had been pierced by the giant goat's horn.
“Kill me…father.”
The next moment, Angron’s agonizing roar nearly ripped open everyone’s eardrums. Hades could feel the growing pain of the World Eater beside him; the Primarch’s grief was having an unimaginable impact on his offspring.
After confirming that there were no physical traps in the hall, Hades abandoned everyone around him and strode forward, shrinking the dark area.
"Angron!"
Hades shouted,
"Angron, reinforcements have arrived!"
The sudden intensification of the dark domain caused the Primarch to tremble violently. Angron turned around, and his pupils reflected Hades, as well as the blue and white figures of the World Eaters behind Hades.
The Lord of Red Sands laughed loudly, spitting out blood and foam, his face contorted to the extreme.
[They're here? They're here, good...good! Too late! Too late!]
Angron laughed sadly, his body began to sway, and the hand that was holding up Rock gradually became weak.
The Lord of the High Mountains vomited a mouthful of blood. He then opened his arms in despair, and the Primarch, who had been slashed and was seriously injured, slid to the ground as the Primarch moved.
It’s too late!
It's too late! It's all too late! What son would sacrifice his soul to protect his father?! Angron has protected nothing! He fought time and time again, swore oaths time and time again, but now look, he has accomplished nothing!
Angron wailed, wishing he could die immediately. He should have died on the very first day, so that there would be no more Angron! No more Son of the Mountains! And his teachers and offspring would not have died because of him.
Angron laughed loudly.
Why are you still coming to me?! A slave tortured to death with nails, stop giving me empty hopes!
Chunks of flesh dripped from his nose, which Angron nonchalantly wiped away. He grinned and looked at Rock, whose entire body was covered in scarlet mutated flesh, making him almost unrecognizable as his offspring.