Warhammer: Don't Call Me the God of All Machines

Chapter 65: The Grudge of the World Eater

The Conqueror floats quietly in Amaterra's low-Earth orbit.

This World Eaters flagship had been badly damaged in the previous battle, the integrity of its hull was greatly damaged, and the huge holes smashed by the rift field were difficult to repair on the battlefield.

Captain Rotara Salin ordered the activation of the temporary airtight door, barely maintaining the operation of the battleship.

The interior lights of the flagship of the XII Legion were dim, with scarlet lumen lamps being the only source of light. Most of the World Eaters had already gone to the surface to participate in the war, with only a small number of Third Line troops remaining on the ship for defense.

Rotara has been the commander of the Conqueror since she was thirty years old. She was once one of the youngest captains in the empire. At this moment, the female captain was shuttling through the messy cabin. She was familiar with every piece of metal here, and it did not affect her at all even in the darkness.

"My ship, what happened?"

There is a huge bloody palm print on the female captain's white uniform, which is the Primarch's recognition of her work. She has always carefully preserved this precious gift.

As the Primarch's most ardent supporter, Rotara was willing to fight for Angron to the death.

She stared into the dark cabin, vaguely aware that something seemed to be staring at her in the darkness.

Maintenance servitors would not appear here, and those mortals would rather stay dormant in their own lounges unless they were assigned a mission.

The environment on board was becoming increasingly difficult for mortals to adapt to, whether it was the dehumanization of those tortured by the Butcher's Nails, the increasingly manic and unstable World Eaters, or the strange scenes that were claimed to have been witnessed.

The captain has heard reports from his subordinates more than once, claiming that there is something in the darkness of the ship, which has been tempting the desires of mortals with strange whispers.

And when they really think that their wishes can be fulfilled, those things from the deepest part of the nightmare will take him away.

More and more people disappeared from the ship, and no one knew where they went.

At the same time, the Conqueror, a warship full of honor and history, becomes more and more eerie and strange.

Rotara understood that it was closely related to the Word Bearers, allies of the World Eaters. Those mystical creatures believed in the mysterious existence of the Warp and established a connection with something in the Sea of ​​Souls.

But the female captain didn't believe these things, or more accurately, she didn't care.

Fear is the right of the weak, not hers. If there really is something called a demon coming before her, she wouldn't mind giving it a shot of plasma.

She was the captain of the Conqueror and also its soul. Rotara could hear the accusations and wails of the machine soul. It had suffered too much damage.

But what disturbed her was that she heard the sound of the creature's abdominal organs wriggling on the deck of the battleship.

It was like the sound of some kind of worm swallowing up its hapless prey, with the living prey struggling to survive and being digested in its stomach and intestines.

Those pipes and energy cables seemed to be flowing with blood instead of energy. Those dilapidated decks and bulkheads had the texture of bones. They twisted and tried to heal together as if they were alive.

Suppressing the uneasiness in her heart, Rotara carried a grease lamp and walked towards the place where the Dreadnought was sleeping. The Contemptor Dreadnought had suffered a devastating blow before, and the former legion commander Locke was now sleeping in another Dreadnought.

Rotara had too many confusions in her heart and she needed to consult the elders of the Legion, so she came here to awaken Fearless.

The mechanical priest who surrendered to the Warmaster followed the ritual and awakened the sleeping Locke.

The former legion commander woke up from endless pain, his body sleeping in stasis, but his consciousness did not.

He seemed to have escaped from an endless nightmare, and when he opened his eyes he saw Rotara in front of him.

"Has there been another war, Captain?" Locke lowered his voice very low, with little sanity left in him.

"No, Elder. I need your help in resolving my confusion." Rotara placed her hand on the Contemptor's metal mech, using her experience with machine spirits to soothe the fearless and violent machine spirit. "Thank you, I feel better," Locke said, whether as a comfort or a genuine response.

Elder Fearless observed the situation inside the Conqueror. It was dark and silent. The cheerful and lively atmosphere of the War Dogs in the past was gone.

This place is simply like a blasphemous alien nest, Fearless thought to himself.

"Elder, I can't see the future of the Legion." The female captain leaned on the Dreadnought, her back to Locke's eyes, staring at the darkness behind her, "Our progress is not smooth, the war with the Ultramarines has encountered difficulties, and even the Primarch has been injured."

Fearless coughed and laughed softly, and Rotara couldn't tell whether he was breathing heavily or laughing.

"Captain, do you know the Ultramarines' name before their gleaming Primarch returned?"

"Sons of War, those blue guys were not like they are now. They deserve the name of World Eaters better than us." Locke recalled the past years when the primarchs of various legions returned one after another. At that time, the Thirteenth Legion welcomed back its own Primarch, Roboute Guilliman.

"The XIII Legion was changed by Guilliman, who instilled rationality, restraint and discipline into the Legion's bones. The Ultramarines were great because of their gene-father."

"Guilliman is a rational man. I have met the Lord of Five Hundred Worlds before. He fits all my fantasies about the Primarch." The Dreadnought's voice echoed in the dark cabin. "And it was not until thirty years after I was sent to the Dreadnought that our Primarch returned. Angron, Angron from Nuceria."

"Do you think he is a good Primarch?"

Rotara was a little angry but she didn't know where the anger came from. This was undoubtedly slander and criticism against the Primarch. If a World Eaters warrior had made such remarks, she would have shot his head off without hesitation.

What else could she do for a fearless man who had already given everything for the Legion? In this sarcophagus was only a broken body, eternally soaked in nutrient solution, surrounded by endless loneliness and pain.

What frightened her even more was that she had a vague feeling that Locke was right and Angron was not a qualified Primarch.

"No matter what, he is the Primarch of the 12th Legion. We will follow him. Even if there is an abyss of destruction ahead, I will continue to follow him without hesitation."

Rotara's loyalty to Angron was unshakable, and her dissatisfaction with the Primarch came mainly from the fact that Angron was further influenced by the Butcher's Nails.

Not only Angron, but most of the Space Marines of the entire XII Legion chose to be branded with inferior imitations of the Butcher's Nails in order to feel the same pain as their Primarch.

This was the beginning of the fall, when the heroic warhound became a thrall to the Butcher's Nails, driven by it with blood and pain.

"The Butcher's Nail is killing the Primarch. I asked the Mechanicus, and they claimed that the Butcher's Nail cannot be removed." Rotara's expression twisted, "Even the hypocritical Emperor couldn't remove the damn nail while the Primarch was alive."

"Yes, he is not a qualified Primarch, nor a qualified father."

A hoarse voice suddenly came from the darkness, and Rotara pulled out the plasma gun, while the tall figure continued to approach without any care.

"Kahn?!"

The darkness receded, and the face of the captain of the Eighth Company appeared before the captain. She didn't know when Kahn returned to the flagship. The last time she heard about him was from the legion pharmacist. It was said that he was seriously injured in the war with the Ultramarines.

"He is called the Lord of Red Sands, the Devourer of Cities, the Devourer of Worlds, and some dare to call him the Blood-Red Angel, but none of these are who he really is. Angron is a slave who became a butcher, a Primarch who became a monster."

Kahn looked at Rotara who was looking up at her, his tone neither sad nor happy.

"Nevertheless, we loved him. We knew that he was being tortured by the Butcher's Nails and was losing his mind. He had only a short time to stay sane. Nothing was left of him but the name Angron."

"We need more power."

(End of this chapter)