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

Chapter 86: Resurrection of the Dead

Kahn looked at the fat guys talking with disgust. They were the real cancer of this planet.

The nobles, led by high-ranking riders, controlled the lost dark technologies. They controlled the strongest military force on the planet and oppressed their own people in the most harsh manner.

In the long night, the civilized civilization regressed into a slave society.

In order to appease the people, they built one arena after another, using the cruel and fascinating bloody conflicts in the arena to distract people's attention.

Ordinary people could only watch the nobles live their extravagant and decadent lives, see a class hanging over their heads, and then find comfort in watching those who were more unfortunate fighting each other.

People's sense of achievement comes from gaps and comparisons. When there are people who are more unfortunate than them, the flames of uprising have no land to spread.

"You talk too much."

Kahn did not hesitate at all. With the silver gauze wrapped around his hands, he tore apart the hidden stance shields on the high-level rider's body and blasted the vicious implants into the high-level rider's brain.

He then lifted the mutilated corpse above his head and pulled and tore it violently. The knotted muscles released a terrifying force, and blood and internal organs immediately poured out. The blood and fat, far more than that of an ordinary person, covered the stands, and Kahn stood on the blood.

"Use this place as the center of the circle and kill all these abominable reptiles."

The capital of Nuceria, Dessian, is burning. Eighteen thousand fully armed World Eaters are enough to destroy the army of an entire galaxy, and these drunken slave owners are completely unable to resist the massacre of the World Eaters.

After realizing that peace talks were impossible, the high-ranking knights finally erupted in astonishing resistance.

Their assembled troops confronted the World Eaters on the plains. Thousands of guards rode silver vines, and the ground was covered with a devouring swamp made up of silver vines.

After these silver vines formed a wave, even the World Eaters would find it difficult to attack head-on, and power armor would find it difficult to remain intact among so many mechanical tentacles.

Those high-ranking riders who were forced into desperate situations also revealed their final trump cards to the World Eaters. Some of them soared in the sky on silver wings, while others wore power armor inherited from the distant past.

They wore masks depicting horses, lions and birds of prey, inlaid with expensive gems, revealing an excessive splendor and indulgence.

"Kill them all!"

Kahn remained unmoved. He stubbornly ordered all the World Eaters to abandon those heavy armored vehicles and defeat the enemy only by relying on the power armor on their bodies and the chainsaw axes in their hands.

Facing the former Twelve Legions, the high-ranking knights took out all the relics and technologies that had been hidden in their chests.

The terrifying sonic jammer can turn flesh and bones into a puff of dust, and the microwave blaster can penetrate the protection of the power armor and directly heat the Astartes' blood to boiling.

When the matter conversion beamer inherited from the past that had lost its STC manufacturing function appeared on the battlefield, this relic weapon flipped the flesh and power armor of a dozen World Eaters over, causing the ceramsite armor to appear in the flesh and blood.

Nuceria was shrouded in a bloody mist.

The killing lasted for eight days and eight nights, and all resisters were killed by the World Eaters in the most brutal way. Those who chose to surrender were taken to the Colosseum in Dessian, where they would be used as sacrifices to pave the way for the ceremony.

On such a planet, the remaining World Eaters lost 888 battle-brothers, which was an extremely heavy loss.

They could have taken the planet at a minimal cost, but Kahn vetoed those plans.

Blood for blood, tooth for tooth.

Kahn used the heads of all the high-ranking riders to pile up a huge mausoleum on the pyramid of the Dessian Colosseum. Those fat-bellied characters were skinned and dismembered, and the blood of the Nuceria nobles was drained and poured into pipes.

The magnificent and luxurious fountains surged with a bloody smell that was almost tangible. Blood was flowing everywhere. The stone walls of the arena turned into brass, and rust and brass quietly spread on the power armor of the World Eaters.

Lorgar did not tell Kahn what to do specifically, but at this moment, the World Eater, who had already massacred the entire Nuceria, already understood it in his heart.

Nuceria will be an altar, and the blood and bones of every Nuceria will be part of the ritual, even the World Eaters who died here in battle.

The bodies of the Astartes were placed in front of the pyramid. They were soaked in the blood of the Nucerias. All the flesh, bones, and even the broken power armor and weapons were fused together, and a strange liquid emerged from the ritual site.

Kahn could see that the power released by that eye was growing in power, eight times brighter than the sun in Nuceria.

The sound of distant war drums rang out in the empty huge circular arena, as if the battlefield of ancient times had arrived at this moment.

The hearts of all the World Eaters raced to the beat of the brass drums. The crimson sands expanded, and the howling of ferocious hounds rose, as if something other than the material world were descending. Within the crimson mist, a great being seated on the Supreme Throne shifted its gaze to the altar.

The real universe shows great resistance and reaction to His gaze, and the veil of reality here is being strengthened in an attempt to expel His covetousness.

However, the altar built by the life of the entire Nuceria has now become an anchor for communication with the highest heaven. Relying on this medium, He can project His power onto this humble planet.

In the blood pool formed by the high-level riders and the dead World Eaters, waves tens of meters high suddenly arose, as if something wanted to return to the physical universe from the connected unknown world.

The Great Speaker arrived in front of the altar at some point, and the Illuminator in his hand shone brightly. The light fell into the blood, and the roar of the dead Primarch once again echoed in the sky of Nuceria.

Angron, naked, struggled like a drowning man, stretching his hands out of the blood and trying his best to grab something.

Kahn recognized the identity of the struggling figure. It was definitely Angron, but it was not exactly the same Angron he remembered.

Aside from their completely different temperaments, the biggest difference between the two Angrons was their heads. In Kahn's incredulous eyes, the vicious nails that had pierced deep into his brain were nowhere to be seen.

Father escaped the butcher's nails?
This thought flashed through Kahn's mind like lightning. This World-Eater who had fought his way through a sea of ​​blood and corpses was now trembling and unable to stand.

If Angron had been freed from the Butcher's Nail, if Angron had a will of his own, if the Gene-Father of the XII Legion had not been a complete madman...

Khârn could not imagine how wonderful that would be. The XII Legion would rise to glory under Angron's leadership. Regardless of whether or not they continued to serve the Emperor, his descendants would continue to follow him without hesitation.

The son of Angron tried hard to reach out and pull his father up, but he could not. The blood in front of him seemed very close, but everything was as untouchable as the flowers in the mirror and the moon in the water.

"Father! This way!"

The World Eaters shouted desperately, but Angron just looked at them blankly, and then the slave of Nuceria looked back at the high walls and huge pillars around him that were engraved into his bones, as well as the familiar pyramid.

He vaguely remembered that in this most painful place in his memory, he had lost too much.

Angron held his head in agony. There were no more butcher's nails in his head. However, the pain was not imposed by the vicious machine, but the real pain from deep in his heart.

"No! My brothers and sisters, they all died at that dawn, why am I still alive?"

Angron's mind was calmer than ever before, which meant that his memories would be replayed in his mind over and over again like a scene from a past life.

Angron's superhuman memory allowed him to remember every moment, and those memories were more real than reality, and he also realized that his brothers and sisters would never come back.

Without the suppression of the Butcher's Nails, Angron's suppressed and obliterated psychic talent revived again. As a Primarch who could sense the emotions of others and share negative emotions, he instantly developed empathy with his offspring.

The Primarch looked at the warriors who were calling him, who were called his offspring. He could feel the blood connection between them, but he was extremely resistant to them.

Because these are the slaves prepared by the Emperor for him. They are slaves just like himself, fighting in the galaxy for the orders of their new master.

In the past he was a slave of the high-ranking riders, and now he is a slave of the Emperor. There is no essential difference between the two. He has been a slave from the beginning to the end.

Angron recalled the conversation in the Emperor's mobile palace, when he was forcibly taken aboard the Emperor's Vision on the eve of the final battle. He questioned the Emperor in anger:
"I died there, with my brothers and sisters, hungry, cold, and free. Emperor or not, my creator or not, you have only a shell of me, the ghost of Angron, who never left Nuceria."

And the cold and heartless Lord of Humanity, whose face seemed immersed in light and fog, simply replied like this.

+Then, one ghost is enough+
Angron felt his heart aching more than before the Butcher's Nails left him.

He felt pain for his brothers and sisters who were slaughtered by high-ranking riders because of his departure. His desertion left his brothers and sisters in a truly desperate situation.

They had agreed to die together, but he broke his promise.

The Emperor, his father was so cruel and hateful, he was clearly on track, and he only needed to move his fingers to make his expensive golden toys kill all the cruel slave masters.

But he didn't, he did nothing.

He just sat high on the throne, looking down on the world with cold and ruthlessness.

(End of this chapter)