40K: When evil spirits appear

Ald stared intently at the monster.

Its appearance is indescribable; no language can accurately describe its enormous yet twisted body. If one had to put it into words, it looked as if charred metal and flesh had fused together, creating a terrifyingly grotesque appearance. The truly magnificent and exquisite brass armor further amplified this chilling sense of oppression, making it a demon that conformed to the common imagination...

But Old didn't pay attention to any of that; he was only looking at its face. More precisely, its eyes.

They were like two bright red, boiling suns, burning fiercely in their eye sockets, devoid of any humanity, containing only endless madness.

Angron, a Primarch.

Logically, he should be human, but what Ald was seeing now confirmed the contents of those books that no one else had ever read—betrayal leads to corruption, and corruption brings destruction. The books said that Angron was no longer human; his physical form had been completely annihilated ten thousand years ago, replaced by the rage of the Blood God…

Therefore, these words are not merely a rhetorical device, but rather closer to a simple description.

"Fire!" Ald heard the alpha wolf roar.

He turned his head slightly and saw a burst of brilliant fire erupting on the horizon not far away, followed by a genuine bombardment. However, the bombardment was not aimed at Angron and the twelve Khorne demons that appeared behind the wolf pack, but at another group of World Eaters not far away.

They were the second group to break out of the city, but now they faced annihilation. The various cannons of the Amighidtonians turned them into dust in the air.

This attack was remarkably successful, but the deafening roar of the artillery barrage was far from over. Various vehicles were urgently changing direction or directly turning their cannons to fire at Angron and his demon army. Hard ground and rocks were being blasted up like flowing water by the seemingly endless heavy firepower, blotting out the sky and making the already terrifyingly dark night even more gloomy.

The wolf pack was scattering without the slightest hesitation.

The sounds of Volgen dialect filled the air; this concise battlefield language was proving highly efficient, greatly improving the wolf pack's ability to regroup...

But this could not stop the massacre from happening.

The twelve demons, known as the Bloodthirsty Berserkers, scattered and charged into the wolf pack, wreaking havoc. Each strike took at least several lives, and a single blow could overturn armored vehicles. Angron, however, hadn't even moved. It stood there, spreading its wings, its breath echoing like the sound of war drums.

Alder spoke in Volgen.

"I'll go into battle."

"No," Logan replied immediately.

"I will fight," Ald repeated, then switched back to Yuvik. "There is no other way."

Logan's expression turned extremely strange at those words; his features even contorted together. When he spoke again, his voice had lost the majesty unique to the alpha wolf, becoming ordinary and commonplace, as if this were just an ordinary morning in Etnay, and he was sitting in the long hall asking Ald what he wanted to eat.

"We will retreat, do you understand? The intelligence was wrong; we didn't know Angron existed. It was a huge mistake. I must get back on track and send out a distress signal."

"Then go," Ald said. "Tell the wolves to get as far away as possible."

"What are you going to do?" Logan asked in a low voice.

"I will fight," the warrior said.

A series of dense, low rumbles of thunder came from beneath his chest.

It wasn't as loud as Angron's breathing, but it was far more terrifying, as if the human-looking being standing before Logan Grimner was the monster.

The wolves, who were about to retreat, froze. They understood what the sound meant, but it was not what they wanted to see.

The killer, Ulric, even spoke directly to the alpha wolf via communication: "Tell him to stop! There are still mortals here! The Inquisition will come later!"

"I know," Logan said softly. His face was illuminated by the bright red light.

The warrior's eyes shone like torches, burning silently in the darkness. The brand beneath his eyes was now blazing, like lava erupting from a volcano. This light gradually enveloped him completely, even his armor. The thunderous roar didn't last long, ending almost instantly.

When it subsided, the man known as the Dragon Slayer—a title only wolves dared to use as a nickname—had vanished without a trace. In his place stood a monster with two horns on its head, more ferocious than even demons, its terrifying jaws clenched tightly, its eyes shining like stars. Its armor, however, had undergone a subtle change, appearing even heavier and more imposing than before...

He turned his head and looked at the alpha wolf.

"Go ahead," Logan said to him, and also to Ulric. "We'll handle things with the Inquisition."

The soldier nodded slightly and disappeared from the spot.

When he reappeared, he was already in mid-air. The shockwave from his high-speed movement swirled around his right foot, which was pointing straight down, and flames ignited as he plummeted downwards, eventually transforming him into a crimson meteor as he crashed straight to the ground.

Logan didn't look; he turned around and walked towards the recently deceased World Eater, picking up Ald's sword from the edge of his corpse and gripping it tightly in his hand.

A third of a second later, accompanied by an earthquake-like tremor, a loud bang came from behind him.

The soldier landed.

Flames raged across his body like a heavy cloak, causing the ground to cave in more than four meters, spreading outwards in countless cracks like tentacles extending from some indescribable creature. At the very center of the pit, the mangled skull of a bloodthirsty demon lay crushed beneath his feet, most of its flesh charred and hissing as it clung to the crumbling bones. The headless corpse stood above the pit, frozen in its final moments, its arms raised high, seeking further slaughter.

But that's no longer possible.

Half a second later, blood gushed from the demon's body, turning into a raging sea of ​​blood that spilled onto the surroundings, staining everything red and even slowly filling the deep pit. The warrior had already lowered his body, grabbed the horn from the severed head, and hurled it violently.

A visible shockwave erupted from the darkness, carrying the grotesque skull and everything within it towards the other bloodthirsty demon, leaving a bloody trail in the air...

The soldiers followed closely behind.

As it struck and shattered the bloodthirsty berserker's breastplate, the warrior swung a punch at its neck. The berserker narrowly dodged the blow, then roared with delight, as if it had finally met a worthy opponent.

And that was its final thought.

With another deafening crash, the eight-meter-tall monster, one of the twelve bloodthirsty berserkers belonging to the Angron Guard in the Imperial Records, had its head severed by a single punch. The break was rough and uneven, almost like a giant tree that had been snapped in two.

The soldier landed lightly, and the red light on his right fist dimmed slightly.

The remarkable results he achieved with just a few punches and kicks didn't faze him in the slightest. In the war tens of thousands of years ago, he had already faced demons far more powerful than these, and yet he had still managed to slay them. This had little to do with strength, speed, or skill; in essence, he believed it was more like a natural opposition, like water and fire.

And that is the purpose for which he was forged.

His pupils lit up, a brilliant red light blazing forth. The warrior straightened his body and clenched his fist once more. The demon's boiling blood rose and evaporated from his gauntlets, dissipating as a red mist.

The ground trembled immediately afterward, and ten bloodthirsty demons roared as they charged at him, their swords, axes, and whips forming an insurmountable killing formation that enveloped him. But the warrior simply threw a punch, sending two of the longswords flying and even inflicting deep, bone-revealing backlash wounds on the demons' sword-wielding hands.

Then, he raised his left hand and suddenly grabbed the end of a long whip. Five sharp claws rubbed the sharp brass together, making a squeaking sound. The demon holding it let out a low growl and pulled hard, sending the warrior flying into the air.

It grinned maliciously with satisfaction, and with a swift motion, swung its giant axe at his chest. But then, with a deafening roar, the demon's axe was mercilessly pierced through by a tremendous force. A ferocious fist, radiating a blinding red light, flashed through the huge hole, smashing into its jaw and tearing out its spine and long tongue in a bloody manner.

The soldier landed firmly once again.

Another demon pounced on him excitedly, wielding its axe with both hands and slashing fiercely. Finally, it struck, piercing the warrior's left shoulder armor and embedding itself deeply within it. Crimson blood, like lava, gushed out, but the warrior seemed oblivious to the pain, taking several steps forward and closing in, ignoring the demon's attempts to drag his arm back and strike his back with the axe blade.

He simply threw another punch.

With a muffled thud, the axe-wielding demon's abdomen was pierced from bottom to top, armor and demon intact.

Each of them was eight meters tall, while he was only three and a half meters tall. Even disregarding the number, just considering the difference in size, this should have been a crushing battle. How could it be like this, with four bloodthirsty demons dying in an instant?

The retreating wolves were speechless at the sight, while the Amighidodton soldiers on the high slope not far away, who had watched the whole thing, were making a great commotion. Some said it was demons killing each other, while others argued that it was the dragon slayer in disguise, and that he was a member of the wolf pack, which was clearly some kind of ancestral secret technique of the Fenris.

Ultimately, all the arguments ended with an old soldier's mutterings.

"This must be the power of the divine emperor," he said with utmost piety and happiness. He lowered his head as he spoke, so no one could see the dark golden light in his eyes.

People looked at each other, and eventually stopped arguing, but they didn't accept his explanation either; they just continued watching.

Meanwhile, the warrior had already killed the sixth bloodthirsty berserker and was now facing an attack from the seventh and eighth.

He took the full force of the sixth sword's thrust, which pierced his abdomen, and then smashed it in two with his fists, breaking the blood-stained, evil weapon in two. Countless souls howled from its broken pieces, swirling and flying towards the sky.

The warrior's right fist pierced the demon's left knee in the next instant, forcing it to its knees. At that moment, the seventh head, wielding another greatsword, lunged at him. These swordsmen were far more powerful than the axe-wielders; each strike was ruthless. For instance, the seventh head's sword precisely pierced his back, then through his chest, creating a long, almost tearing gash across the warrior's upper body, echoing the wound inflicted by the other sword...

He paused, then immediately twisted his body and swung his elbow. The demon, already prepared, twisted his wrist, drew his greatsword, grinned maliciously, raised it again, and slashed it down once more.

It almost saw him cleaved in two by the sword, but it didn't succeed—the sound like a cannonball hitting the ground vanished in an instant, and amidst the scattering dust, the warrior raised his hands high, managing to grab the edge of the sword. The edge of the blade sliced ​​his palms, but that was all; it couldn't go any further.

But the situation was extremely critical, because the remaining four bloodthirsty demons, believing they had seized an opportunity, had raised their wings and were attacking simultaneously...

A red light flashed in the soldier's eyes; he had found a way to break the deadlock. However, at this critical moment, a scarlet meteor crashed to the ground, landing right in front of him.

It neither roared nor shouted; it simply raised the black bronze sword in its hand.

A dim, cold light, like that of sinners buried in hell, flashed by in an instant. The head of the seventh bloodthirsty demon fell to the ground, while the rest remained in place.

Angron breathed heavily, raised its wings, and blotted out the sky.

It was silent, and indeed, it needed no words; the bloodthirsty demons knew its will—or rather, the will of the Blood God. So they respectfully bowed their heads and departed. They were originally the Blood God's guard bestowed upon Angron, at its command, and though it had long since gone mad, how could they dare disobey the Blood God's personal order?

The soldier pulled the piece of debris stuck in his body with his hand and calmly straightened his back.

His wounds were healing at a visible speed, and his breathing remained steady, as if he had never been injured at all. He tilted his head back and carefully observed Angron, especially the steel-like braids at the back of his head that were deeply embedded in his skull, and remained silent.

And what about Angron, or rather, the slaves of the Blood God?

It simply stood there, but the madness that surged in its eyes had vanished, replaced by a chilling fanaticism that even distorted Angron's hideous face, giving it a strange gentleness.

Then it laughed.

The sound was like lightning striking the wilderness in ancient times, each strike enough to terrify the primitive people in the cave.

This wasn't laughter a human could possess, not even that of Angron. It belonged to something else entirely, something indifferent to hope, life, or anything worth holding onto in this world. In the beliefs of some cults, He was seen as the god of war, the protector of warriors, and the master of weapons. And in the few books of the Empire that truly recorded His name, He was referred to as…

"Khorne." The warrior opened his mouth and uttered the name with a metallic scraping sound.

Angron stopped laughing and nodded in satisfaction. Then, it growled, took a step back, dropped the giant axe, and raised the greatsword alone, pressing it to its forehead.

Fanaticism vanished in its eyes, and madness regained its dominance.

Angron breathed heavily, blood trickling from its sharp teeth. It roared and swung its sword.