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

Chapter 90 Brothers fighting
Waves of World Eaters formed a vanguard formation that was more suitable for breakthroughs. This formation with extremely strong central breakthrough capabilities caused the Ultramarines' shield wall to bear a large amount of impact force at a certain node.

The waves of World Eaters combined into a ferocious tsunami, determined to break through the human wall dam formed by the Ultramarines.

If the World Eaters before were a group of vagrants with only military power, now they are more like professional soldiers with considerable discipline and organization.

Guilliman noticed the changes in the World Eaters. No, this legion now gave him the feeling more like the war dogs of the past, that powerful legion that was capable of both violent attack and strict discipline.

"What on earth did they do in there? Why did these World Eaters become like this?"

Guilliman led his victorious army forward. He had predicted the changing trend of the battlefield. The shield wall of the Ultramarines would not be able to withstand the concentrated attack of the World Eaters.

The Primarch took a huge step forward, and the sincere dagger in his hand flashed a stream of light.

Guilliman's swordsmanship is among the best even among his fellow Primarchs. Unlike most Primarchs who rely on their own comprehension, Guilliman has received the best education, of which martial arts was also a part.

Guilliman's sword is not as gorgeous as Fulgrim's, nor as powerful as Lion's, nor as steep and ingenious as Chagatai Khan's, but his sword is the most moderate and peaceful.

Just like his sincere dagger, Guilliman's swordsmanship is like a sincere heart, without many strange moves.

With every swing of his sword, Guilliman harvested the heads of the World Eaters as if taking candy from a sack, the sword flashed like starlight, and the power field tore through the ceramsite armor and weapons of the enemies.

As long-range weapons were restricted, Guilliman switched the Hand of Domination on his left arm to Lightning Claws. When the World Eater rushed to him at the cost of his life, the unstoppable power claws tore the enemy to pieces like a dragon, along with his armor.

"For the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar! Follow me to kill the enemies, fearless warriors!"

Guilliman pinned one of his enemies to his feet, the heavy armour piercing the Astartes' chest, crushing the ceramsite and bone and muscle.

A random attack from the Primarch was enough to overwhelm even the combined resistance of several Astartes. These World Eaters, whose strength was squeezed out by the Butcher's Nails, were beaten away by Guilliman like babies trying to beat up a fighting champion.

The victorious soldiers clad in adamantium armor followed closely in front of Guilliman. The ruthless adamantium blocked all attacks from chainsaw weapons. They were like an insurmountable mountain, squeezing and colliding with the World Eaters' army.

"Lorgar! Angron! Face me!"

"Slaves of faith, slaves of Nukeria, are you ready for revenge?"

Guilliman roared loudly, and the Primarch's battle cry even drowned out the extremely noisy fighting on the battlefield. Anyone could hear the anger and hatred contained in it.

However, no one responded. The surrounding World Eaters rushed to Guilliman one after another as if they were collectively going to die, preventing him from continuing to march towards the city of Dessien.

What the enemy prevents is naturally what they fear. Guilliman saw through the enemy's intentions and led the vanguard troops directly to the city of Dessien.

Even though the World Eaters tried their best, the cobalt blue battle line still advanced towards the city of Desian.

Guilliman was like the most ruthless killing machine, reaping the lives of the World Eaters with his sincere dagger and lightning claws.

The gap between the Primarch and the Astartes was almost insurmountable, especially when fully armed, and even the most valiant Champion of the World Eaters was no match for Guilliman in his perfect battle armor.

After several hours of continuous killing, Guilliman was covered in blood. Countless enemies were shattered in front of him, and legendary warriors fell here in vain.

Finally, as the last Astartes fell to Guilliman's hands, Dessian's defenses had fallen open for him.

The Primarch was breathing heavily, his eyes were red, the endless killing seemed to have infected him, and Guilliman felt as if there was endless rage in his heart that needed to be vented.

The hatred of Calth, the hatred of Amatra, the hatred of the five hundred worlds that burned under the blades of the rebels.

The fire of revenge in Guilliman's heart was completely ignited, filling his brain like a prairie fire.

His mind was multi-threaded, replaying the battles with Angron, Lorgar, and the others, down to every glance, every step, every exchange of blows. Guilliman was already engaging the Traitor Primarchs in his mind. Of all the Primarchs, only his mind could achieve this level of power; even artificial intelligence couldn't outperform Guilliman's deductions.

"Come on, who is it? Lorgar or Angron?"

Heavy footsteps were heard from the city. Guilliman took a fighting stance, staring intently at the figure that walked out of the scarlet mist.

The giant that emerged from the fog was taller than Guilliman. A string of skulls dug out from the ground hung on his chest. Blood was absorbed into the skulls, and some kind of shiny pendant was attached to the outside of the skulls.

The eye sockets of these skulls were particularly deep. They were arranged in a row on the giant's chest, staring at Guilliman together.

"Angron!"

Guilliman recognized the identity of his brother. It was Angron, the Lord of the Red Sands of Nuceria and the Blood Angel, who stepped onto the battlefield.

Angron looked at the corpses of World Eaters lying all over the ground. There was not much hatred or pain on his face, but a sadness that went deep into his bones.

He stroked the skulls of his brothers and sisters with extremely gentle and delicate movements, as if he was talking to their souls attached to them.

"Yochuka...Flett...Kleist..."

"I'm late. I'm a coward."

Each of these names is a brother or sister that Angron considers as family.

Angron wore only a few scattered pieces of power armor, leaving large areas of brass-colored skin exposed. He wore no helmet, and his smooth head reflected the light.

Guilliman's pupils suddenly contracted. In his deduction, the probability of Angron transforming into some hideous demon was higher than his current appearance.

He saw: Angron's butcher's nails that looked like braids had disappeared at some point, and what appeared in his sight was a round skull that perfectly met the standards of the Imperial Truth.

"Angron, my brother, what have you been through?"

After a second of silence, Guilliman couldn't help but question.

Yes, he had a deep hatred for these traitorous brothers, but when he saw Angron free from the slavery of the Butcher's Nails, he still felt a kind of comfort and joy from the bottom of his heart.

This joy was for his former tortured brother, not for the rebellion in front of him.

In Guilliman's multi-threaded thinking, there is even a branch line in which he persuades Angron to surrender and takes Angron back to Terra to accept the Emperor's punishment.

The probability was so small that it was almost impossible, but Guilliman still held on to that tiny hope. He hoped that Angron would come to his senses and return to the right path.

If Roxi was by Guilliman's side, he would definitely find that his belief in idealism once again occupied the top of his mind. The people of Macragge could often be described as naive.

However, Angron did not argue with him as Guilliman expected, he simply attacked Guilliman silently.

He showed no mercy to his Macragge brothers. The linked battle axe in his hand was the most violent fang, and every swing was filled with hysterical murderous intent.

The Red Sincere Dagger clashed with the Chain Axe at close range, the decomposition field of the power weapon against the monomolecular teeth of the Chain Axe, dazzling sparks and debris continued to explode.

The two majestic Primarchs confronted each other with strength and skill, their heads fighting each other in close proximity.

Guilliman's eyes were fixed on Angron's pupils, full of confusion and anger. If the Word Bearers had thrown themselves into the arms of the creatures of the Warp, then what was Angron doing it for?
(End of this chapter)