From Titan Corporation to the Empire of Man

Chapter 585 "Welcome, kid."

The seventh layer of the hell realm: violence;
There is no sky or earth in the traditional sense here, only a chaotic blood-red void. A large number of iron chains hang from the darkness, hanging countless cages.

There is a sinner imprisoned in each cage, and their wails and the friction of the chains interweave into an eternal wail.

The seventh level is divided into three rings, with the punishment in each ring corresponding to the form of violence committed by the sinner.

First Ring: Violence against oneself

The souls of those who committed self-harm or suicide are imprisoned here.

Their bodies continue to heal, but are constantly cut by invisible blades, repeating the process of self-destruction forever.

Second Ring: Violence against Others

The souls of murderers and torturers are tortured here.

They are thrown into endless gladiatorial arenas, forced to fight the phantoms of those they murdered in life, and are reborn every time they die, continuing to suffer the wrath of revenge.

The third ring: violence against humans

The souls of traitors who disregarded the Human Code and violated their race will burn here.

Their bodies were nailed to huge brass gears. As the gears turned, their flesh and blood were crushed bit by bit, and then reborn in the fire of karma, repeating the cycle over and over again.

Above these three levels stands a pitch-black Tower of Judgment, manned by the Bound Warriors, those Astartes who died in battle but still serve the Emperor of Mankind.

They were clad in seemingly rotten power armor, with golden spiritual fire burning in their eyes. They were both jailers and executioners.

At this time, on the edge of the seventh level of violence, a tall body slowly emerged from the pool of blood.

His skin was as pale as a corpse, his muscular body was covered with criss-crossing scars, and the butcher's nails implanted behind his head had long since rusted, but they were still trembling slightly.

And this is Angron, the Primarch of the World Eaters Legion in the Warhammer 40k universe.

?

Angron opened his eyes, and the pupils that once burned with rage were now empty and confused.

"He" looked down at his hands, no armor, no weapons, only a naked body and heavy chains wrapped around his wrists.

"This is where?"

Angron's voice was hoarse, as if he had not spoken for a long time.

No one answered.

Only the sound of chains shaking in the distance and the screams of criminals being tortured could be heard.

Angron stood up, blood dripping from his body.

"He" looked around and found himself standing on a barren scorched earth. In the distance were countless souls bound by chains, and further away, a huge dark tower stood under the bloody sky.

“Hell?” Angron whispered, then smiled in relief. “I should have been here a long time ago.”

At the same time, the Primarch of the World Eaters looked relaxed. After all, since coming to Hell, he actually gained peace for the first time in ten thousand years.

There is no need to endure the stabbing pain in the brain, and there is no need to release anger.

And just as he finished speaking, the ground began to shake.

Three cursed warriors in tattered power armor stepped out of the shadows, their armor engraved with Chinese runes, and their rotten cloaks fluttered in the windless air.

The leading warrior raised his hands, and psychic chains wrapped around Angron's limbs like living things.

"Angron, Primarch, traitor to the World Eaters." The voice of the Bound Warrior was like the friction of metal. "You are sentenced to eternal punishment for your violence against yourself, your slaughter of others, and your betrayal of the Emperor."

Angron did not resist.

"He" just stared at the other person, with a hint of sarcasm in his eyes.

"who are you?"

"We were once Astartes," the Bound Warrior replied. "Now, we are Inquisitors."

"Hahaha--"

Angron laughed, a low, hoarse laugh.

“Come on, then.” Angron raised his chained hands. “See what you can judge.”

The Cursed Warrior has no nonsense.

They raised their hands and waved, and the scene around them suddenly distorted.

Angron found himself standing on a battlefield
That was Nuceria, his former homeland.

He held a bloody axe in his hand, and in front of him were countless civilians kneeling on the ground begging for mercy.

"Kill." The cursed warrior's voice sounded in his ears, "This is your sin."

Angron's muscles tensed, and the Butcher's Nails, which had been quiet, suddenly began to buzz in the back of his head.

His fingers trembled, and the axe blade almost swung down -

But he stopped.

"Do not."

Angron growled, his voice more lucid than ever before, "This is not me."

The illusion around him shattered, and he stood on the scorched earth again. The cursed warrior looked at him silently.

Angron did not answer, but looked up at the dark Judgment Tower, with a complex emotion flashing in his eyes.

“Take me to him,” Angron said.

Hearing this, the Cursed Warrior seemed to have anticipated Angron's request, so he tightened the chains and dragged the Primarch towards the tower.

Angron crossed the violent scorched earth of the seventh layer, bones cracking with every step.

The ground was not made of mud, but countless crushed bones. When he stepped on it, dark blood would seep out of the empty eye sockets, as if the earth itself was crying blood because of his arrival.

The first ones they passed were the souls that had fallen here due to self-destruction.

A man in civilian clothes kneeled on the ground, holding a rusty dagger in both hands and stabbing himself in the chest repeatedly.

Every time he fell, the wound would heal, and then he would raise the blade tremblingly and stab again.

Another civilian was suspended in mid-air by chains, his throat cut by an invisible force, blood gushing out, but he recovered at the brink of death and continued to suffer the same pain.

Angron's brow furrowed slightly.

The wailing of these people is not caused by external forces, but comes from their eternal self-torture.

"Father.?"

A hoarse voice came from the darkness.

Angron glanced and saw an Astartes nailed to an iron pillar.

The opponent's power armor had long been shattered, revealing flayed flesh, but on the opponent's shoulder armor, the emblem of the World Eaters Legion could still be recognized.

"Is that you, Lord Angron?"

The soul struggled and the chains rattled.

The cursed warrior did not stop, but Angron's steps did.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"From the Eighth Company." The soul's voice trembled, "We. Failed."

Rou~——Puff——!
Before the World Eater could finish his words, a spear burning with golden flames suddenly pierced out from the darkness and pierced through his head.

what--! !

The soul disintegrated in a scream and turned into a wisp of black smoke, but soon, the figure of the World Eater reassembled on another iron pillar and continued to endure the punishment.

"No talking allowed."

A Cursed Warrior on patrol said coldly, and retracted the spear that pierced the World Eater's head.

"."

Angron showed no emotion about this. To be honest, the Primarch had no deep impression of most of his descendants, or he was often in a state of confusion and madness, so how could he have time to care about those descendants?
Then, Angron continued to follow the cursed warrior forward.

And the scene ahead is even bloodier.

A huge arena was suspended in the void, with countless souls fighting in it.

Armed with the weapons they had used in life, they slashed at the phantoms of those they had killed.

Every time you die, you will be reborn and continue fighting.

And here, Angron saw more World Eaters.

"Father!!!"

A bloodied World Eater lunged from the edge of the arena, its chainsaw axe spinning wildly and its eyes burning with rage.

"Take us back! Take us back to continue fighting!!!"

The cursed warrior didn't even look back, he just raised his hand and waved it, and a psychic chain lashed like a whip, instantly tearing the body of the World Eater apart.

Blood and flesh splattered, but soon the World Eater was reborn at the other end of the arena and continued to fight the phantom.

"They were your offspring."

The cursed warrior leading Angron said calmly, "Now, they are just sinners."

Angron watched all this in silence.

In the arena, the World Eaters repeated the atrocities they committed in their previous lives, hacking and killing the phantoms of innocent people, only to be killed in return by those phantoms.

With each death, their roars grow more desperate.

"They don't remember why they fight," the Cursed Warrior continued. "They only remember to kill."

A flash of pain flashed across Angron's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by indifference.

“Keep going,” Angron whispered back.

The scene in the last ring was the most horrifying.

The huge brass gears turned slowly, nailed with the souls of the blasphemers. Every time the gears rolled over, their flesh and blood would be crushed, only to be reborn in the fire of hell and continue to endure the crushing.

"Angron!!!!"

A World Eater whose upper body was crushed by gears laughed wildly. There was no longer chaotic madness in its eyes, but a twisted pain.

"The Blood God has abandoned us!!! Did you see that?! Did you see that?!!!"

The World Eater's words came to an abrupt end - the Cursed Warrior's spear pierced his throat, nailing him to the gear.

But soon, the World Eater regrouped in another place and continued laughing wildly.

"Mad dogs. They are all a bunch of mad dogs."

Angron's breathing became heavy, and the Butcher's Nail hurt at the back of his head.

The cursed warrior ignored him and continued to drag him towards the dark tower of judgment.

Finally, they arrived at their destination.

The base of the tower is made up of countless broken power swords and chainswords, and each sword is engraved with a name.

At the top of the tower, a figure stood quietly, overlooking the entire Seventh Floor - Violence.

"We're here." said the Cursed Warrior, then merged into the shadows.

Angron raised his head and looked toward the top of the tower.

He knew that what awaited him there was neither salvation nor punishment.
But the answer.

Wow——wow——!
Entering the main gate, the sound of chains echoed in the empty tower, and Angron climbed up the spiral staircase.

Every step made his muscles tense, and the Butcher's Nail vibrated faintly behind his head, as if warning him of the fate he was about to face.

He thought he would see the figure sitting on the golden throne - the "father" he had betrayed.

But when he stepped into the middle hall, what caught his eye was an elegant "purple".

With silver hair like a waterfall and a luxurious purple robe, Fulgrim leaned against a broken stone pillar with a faint smile on his face.

Those eyes that were once filled with pride now contain an indescribable depth.

Angron's breath hitched, and then he was filled with rage.

His fists clenched instantly, and his bones made dull sounds as he could not bear the weight.

Without hesitation or words, Angron rushed forward and punched Fulgrim directly in the face.

However, his attack missed.

Fulgrim dodged the blow with a nimble movement, his purple robes fluttering, as if dancing. His movements were so smooth that they were almost ironic, as if he was mocking Angron's barbarity.

"You're still so direct, brother."

Fulgrim's voice was low and melodious, yet it carried a barely perceptible hint of fatigue.

“What are you doing here?” Angron growled, the anger still in his eyes. “This is a place of judgment, not your pathetic pleasure palace.”

Fulgrim chuckled and shook his head.

"Judgement? No, Angron, there are no judges here, only sinners." Fulgrim raised his hand and tapped the cracks in the stone pillar with his fingertips.

Angron frowned. The Butcher's Nails, which should have been silent, began to sting and hum, making it difficult for him to think.

He stared at Fulgrim, trying to find any trace of mockery in that perfect face, but all he saw was something almost pity.

“What do you want to say?” Angron’s voice was hoarse and dangerous.

Fulgrim was silent for a moment, then finally spoke: "We have all been deceived, brother.

Whether it is you or me, our anger, pain, and degradation are just pawns on the chessboard."

Looking up, his eyes penetrated the dome of the tower, as if looking at some distant place.

"And in this hell, we finally have a chance to see the truth."

"."

After Fulgrim's words fell, Angron suddenly felt the Butcher's Nails fall silent again, allowing him to continue thinking.

"Go ahead, brother."

At this time, Fulgrim's figure suddenly disappeared, "Father is waiting for you."

Angron stood there, breathing heavily.

His fists were still clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force, but this time, there was no anger, no frenzy, only a strange hesitation.

He looked up at the end of the spiral staircase, which was shrouded in a hazy golden light, as if some kind of majesty that could not be looked directly at was waiting for him.

Angron's steps were heavy, but he could not stop.

Every step he took was like stepping on the corpses of the past, the souls of those he had killed with his own hands, the descendants who had fallen because of him, the oaths he had betrayed - they all turned into invisible chains at this moment, dragging him down, but forcing him to climb upwards.

Finally, he reached the top of the tower.

There is no magnificent throne or pile of bones on the top of the tower, only a void of silence and -

That man.

Sui Yang, the human emperor of the main universe, stood on the top of the tower. His black-gold armor glowed coldly under the blood-red sky. His eyes were like burning stars, and the golden light pierced through all the haze.

Sui Yang had no anger on his face, nor the coldness of a judge, he just stared at Angron quietly.

"Welcome, kid."

The Emperor's voice was not a thunderous proclamation, but rather low, calm, and even a little tired.

Angron's throat tightened.

He should have roared, should have yelled, should have questioned why this "father" who had abandoned him was only willing to see him now, but the Butcher's Nail remained silent, and his soul actually felt a long-lost peace at this moment.
(End of this chapter)