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

Chapter 93 Demon Prince Angron

Kahn knelt aside, and the blood father and blood son were casually thrown into the red sand.

Blood gushed out of the think tanks' noses and eyes, their brains were boiling, and the huge backlash of psychic energy made them feel excruciating pain.

The Contemptor's fearless ceramsite-steel and adamantium composite armor was completely damaged, one of its power claws was completely destroyed by psychic energy, and half of the sarcophagus containing the remains of the ancient warrior was exposed.

The three conflicting forces among the World Eaters were ultimately unable to reverse Angron's fate.

Lorgar came to Kahn's side and looked down at the powerful warrior with a relieved smile on his face.

"I promised you, and now I have fulfilled my promise. Angron, I have been resurrected, and from now on I will never fall to death by the Butcher's Nails again."

He pointed at his ascended brother, and Khârn trembled as he saw the Primarch's features clearly.

The original Angron had hard copper-colored hair that piled on his high brow bones, deep eyes, cheekbones that looked like they were chiseled by a knife, and an aquiline nose that outlined the face of a primarch.

It was the face of a warlord worth following to the death, one for whom all World Eaters would die.

But now? Angron was left with only pure rage, his face like the most terrible beast and monster, his features twisted and pulsating, his eyes burning with fire, rows of terrifying teeth staggered, and his skin as red as blood.

He knelt on the ground, but even so, Angron was at least five to six meters tall, with hideous bone spurs and gnarled muscles intertwined together to form the most terrifying claws and fangs.

A pair of huge wings of flesh and blood were tucked behind his back, but compared to the holy archangel, it looked more like some kind of demon crawling out of the abyss of hell.

Is this still Angron? Is this still their father?

Khârn knew that the Primarch of the XII Legion, the Twelfth Son of the Emperor, the gladiator from Nuceria, had vanished.

The monster before him inherited Angron's body, name, and concepts. He was no longer an ordinary creature, but the demon prince of the existence called the Blood God in the High Heaven.

"Father?"

With his last hope, Kaan shouted to Angron, who had transformed into a terrifying demon.

The huge being trembled very slightly, as if it heard a familiar voice.

He looked at Kahn blankly, with only a sense of strangeness in his eyes.

"He is not our father anymore, give up your fantasy, Kharn!" The knocked down Contemptor Dreadnought stood up again, bombarding the Daemon Primarch with the heavy bolters and plasma loaded on his only remaining arm.

"He is right. We have lost Angron forever." Among the nineteen think tanks, only Volyas survived. He was extremely weak, but still struggled to face Angron.

Their unusual movements immediately attracted the attention of the huge monster, especially Volyas.

Angron covered his head. The Butcher's Nails that had left for a short time came back. It seemed that his new master was not satisfied with Angron without the Butcher's Nails, so He put chains on him again.

The Butcher's Nails was furious, the demon primarch's eyes were spitting hellfire, and he became extremely disgusted with the existence of psykers.

Psionics! Psionics! The stolen power of cowards!
Those inhuman eyes were violent and terrifying. Even Kahn did not dare to stare into them for long.

Through it, Kahn vaguely saw a being sitting on a brass throne, observing the world through his new followers.

Angron took a step forward, and the bloody wings behind him spread out, almost covering the sky.

The last of the Warhound Librarians, Volias, unleashed his psychic energy, lightning shredding his body. Lightning spears pierced the Primarch's skin, but that was all. The Daemon Primarch's claws, blazing with black flame, effortlessly removed the Librarian's head. Standing fully erect, its tough, rugged wings extended immensely, the psyker's head lifted high above its head. He roared once more.

"Skulls and blood! Blood sacrifice to the blood god! Skulls for the skull throne!"

Angron's act of killing psychics seemed to really please the being in the High Heaven. A chaotic storm was gathering around it, and countless red sands condensed on its terrifying body. The hideous armor slowly emerged.

Vorias was dead, at the hands of his beloved Primarch.

His headless body fell heavily to the ground of Nuceria, his armor shattered, and his blood flowed on the ground, gathering into a small pool of blood.

“Angron!!”

The Contemptor's Dreadnought had used up all its ammunition, and the plasma launcher on its hand was emitting a thrilling red temperature. Its machine soul had reached its limit and could explode at any time.

But Locke didn't care, he had had enough!
Come on! Come on! Let it all end!
The huge body of the Fearless, driven by the power core, rushed forward. He was only a head shorter than Angron. The body made of ceramsite steel and adamantium caused the center of gravity of the Demon Primarch to be unstable, and his sharp claws plowed a deep groove in the ground.

The engine and servo system were outputting energy crazily. Fearless fired plasma continuously at Angron's abdomen. The high-temperature flames burned the blood-colored armor into a black mass, and a faint burnt smell was emitted.

"You destroyed the war dogs, whose slave are you now?" Locke laughed. Angron stood firm. The Dreadnought was wailing as it suppressed the ancient war vehicle with its power.

The demon primarch was extremely annoyed by the huge cast iron coffin. It pinched the opponent's body with its sharp claws and then pierced deeply into the sarcophagus.

The ceramic steel was pierced easily like cheese, and only the adamantium skeleton could slightly block the claws filled with subspace energy.

Angron's rage grew, and he tore the Dreadnought into pieces, finally pulling out the sarcophagus buried deep inside.

When the giant claws closed, the sarcophagus carrying the last remains of the War Dog Lord shattered, and Locke's body was exposed to the air from the nutrient solution. He even ran out of blood, which made Angron extremely dissatisfied.

Kahn stood up from the ground with a dead heart. The think tanks were dead, and the former legion commander Locke was also dead. He wanted to resurrect his father for his own selfish reasons, but he committed an even more terrible crime.

He reached out his hand, trying to comfort Angron as he had done before.

The hideous demon looked at the guy in front of him with confusion, a strange feeling of familiarity bothering him.

Its bloodthirsty instinct wanted to chop off Kahn's head, which would be a nice trophy, but its remaining sanity suddenly began to struggle.

"Blood God... Khorne..."

A few unstructured words came out of the mouth of the Daemon Primarch, and Kahn continued to repeat them.

"It's Kahn, I'm your son, father."

Angron tried hard to clear his mind. He opened his mouth and said, "I am not your father. You and I are completely different. I should not stay here... The Blood God, the Blood God is calling me."

Khârn's pain grew worse as he discovered that Angron had lost even the experiences in Nuceria that he had always cherished.

He forgot his children, the Nuceria uprising, and his brothers and sisters.

"My brother, you still have your mission - to kill Guilliman and help Horus overthrow the False Emperor!"

Lorgar, who had been watching silently, stood up. He admired Angron's current appearance and threw himself into the embrace of the warp, becoming a follower and beloved son of a god.

(End of this chapter)