40K: When evil spirits appear

What techniques are involved in this sword strike?

No, absolutely nothing. Even the wild swinging of a drunken man with a tree branch would be more agile and fluid than it, yet Angron transformed it into a beam of destructive light capable of annihilating everything in its path. The black blade didn't even produce a sharp whistling sound as it passed through the air; instead, it made a muffled thud, like flesh being ripped apart, sounding utterly bloody.

But this attack was ineffective; the warrior simply turned slightly to dodge it.

The greatsword fell, burying itself in the ground. The rare soil and stones of Amegidoton naturally separated and rose up under the black blade that had taken countless lives, like the ocean parted by the power of the gods in ancient mythology... and the warrior had vanished.

He stepped onto a boulder that had detached from the ground, leaped up, and punched Angron’s grotesque, spiked jaw.

The blow landed squarely, even forcing it to take a step back, causing its thick, oak-like neck to bend slightly, with a dull thud that made one's teeth ache—but this was not because it couldn't dodge, but because it simply didn't want to dodge; the remaining consciousness of the being named Angron did not contain such an intention.

When faced with the warrior's attack, it only does one thing.

It wields its sword.

Then it swung the sword a second, a third, a fourth time... In one second, it swung the greatsword twenty-two times in succession with unimaginable force and speed.

The soldier dodged every single one.

Angron was not much slower than him, but he lacked the cunning of a swordsman or any slightly complicated ideas, so the warrior was often able to anticipate the enemy's moves.

This was not difficult for him, but the surrounding earth suffered greatly—each strike of the blade caused a small earthquake-like tremor. And after that second, the space around the warrior and Angron was completely filled with countless large and small boulders.

They had long been stained a terrible dark red by the continuous fighting and the blood and filth in the soil, and now they even looked like a strange rain curtain.

The second arrived precisely at the last second.

The rain of stones fell bloodily, carrying enough force to pierce through an ordinary person's body. However, what did they matter to the two monsters locked in fierce combat?

The warrior, as if anticipating the future, threw a punch precisely at the spine of Angron's greatsword, deflecting it from its original path. The blade even turned and stabbed Angron's own body, but Angron merely let out a low growl, gripped its weapon fiercely, and neutralized the danger. But the warrior charged again.

The original Genesis might have been able to discern the murderous intent lurking within this horned, crown-like creature, but the beast itself was unaware, and even if it had, it probably wouldn't have cared. Thus, it simply swung its sword once more, fueled by eternal fury.

Just as it drove the sword, so too did that fury drive it, making it kill tirelessly, without hunger or mercy. Its life had only this one purpose, and was only permitted to operate in this way...

This is precisely what makes it terrifying: an enemy that knows no fear, never tires, and never retreats.

However, this is not enough when facing soldiers.

The second punch struck Angron in the chest just before the third second was up. Its armor calmly withstood the blow, which was powerful enough to split mountains and shatter rocks, and then let out a low groan as fine cracks quietly spread across its surface—did the beast care?

No. The answer is definitely no.

It howled, its right claw slashing like a sword, while its left claw clenched into a fist, sealing off the space on the warrior's left side from which he could possibly dodge.

The latter clearly realized this, so he exerted his strength and crashed straight into Angron's arms. Then, stepping on his armor, he leaped up and dodged the potentially fatal attack without a scratch. In mid-air, he adjusted his posture and landed behind Angron, but the greatsword was already slashing down relentlessly.

The fourth second has arrived.

Faced with this almost unavoidable attack, the warrior chose to cross his arms and use his arm guards to receive the blow.

He succeeded, but the price he paid was staggering—a huge, deep gash was slashed through his arm armor, exposing the bone beneath. Flesh and blood splattered out like mud that couldn't be glued together. And that wasn't all; Angron's power sent him flying backward, his body even catching fire from friction with the air.

Feeling that force, the warrior calmly stretched his body as he was rapidly flying backward, finally crashing into the city wall covered with corpses with his legs pointing backward.

It was made of a sturdy alloy, yet it had been smashed into a huge dent, countless fragments were peeled off the wall, and spiderweb-like cracks spread outwards from the warrior's feet, extending several meters in all directions...

The soldier bent his knees deeply and then exerted force.

"boom--!"

The flames engulfing him, before they had died down, intensified again, now approaching pure white. A fierce wind swept through, swirling up the corpses on the ground and sending them flying in all directions. The warrior's eyes blazed with a brilliant red light. In the instant the fifth second arrived, he transformed into a falling star, a fusion of red and white, hurtling towards Angron with devastating power.

But it still wasn't going to hide.

It raised its sword, and blood-red saliva dripped from its teeth, spreading and crisscrossing across its brass armor, merging with the cracks and ultimately outlining a dense, bloody pattern. The hideous face, however, remained oblivious to this, showing no enjoyment of the battle, only boundless madness.

In this respect alone, it may be more broken than any Khorne follower, lackey, or demon in the world, because it is the only one that has no self to speak of; its majestic body contains only bestiality and rage, nothing more.

The fifth second has arrived.

What happened next? Words cannot describe it, at least not the wolf pack that had retreated to the other side of the river. They just watched, intently watching.

The Grey Hunters no longer drove away the Bloodclaws; the Bloodclaws, forgetting everything, gazed intently into the distance. The older Wolf Guards and veteran Longtooth soldiers stood atop the tanks, their faces solemn. Even the wounded soldiers receiving medical aid from the Wolf Priests propped themselves up, staring at the opposite bank...

They saw that, five seconds after the thunderous roar that sounded like a Titan falling, and just as the intense battle officially began, the warrior shattered Angron's armor with a single punch.

The blasphemous and ominous armor transformed into countless fragments of brass, scattering like giant sparks in all directions.

Logan Grimner looked away and said to Ulric beside him, "Perhaps we don't need to bring the Inquisition with their lackeys."

"It won't be that simple, Logan," the killer replied calmly.

The alpha wolf didn't answer, but simply turned his gaze back. He reluctantly admitted to himself that the old wolf was right.

He gripped his right hand tightly and stroked Alder's sword.

On that hellish battlefield, the warrior was pulling his right claw from Angron's sunken chest. The flames that had clung to him had long since died out, but the intense heat remained, evaporating the blood that covered his body into boiling mist.

At this moment, all was silent. Their battle seemed to have instilled fear in the world, and no creature dared to make a sound—except for Angron.

The injured creature was growling in a low voice, showing no sign of catching its breath, its face still filled with madness.

It punched the warrior back, forcing him to retreat, then stood up again, completely unconcerned about the horrifying gash in its chest. Flesh and blood fell out like half-melted snow, yet it continued to prepare for battle, its steel-like braids writhing incessantly, making a drilling sound like drilling into steel.

The warrior noticed this again, and it reminded him of a torture device that had long been legally abolished in his memory. It was one of the ancient technologies brought from Terra by the original colonists, ultimately destroyed along with countless other things deemed to be worthy of destruction and oblivion…

He recalled that at the time, 92 percent of people believed that even the most heinous criminals should not suffer from this torment.

Those whose sins are unforgivable should only face death, while the rest should be educated, not destroyed in this way.

He wanted to think more, but Angron didn't give him any more time.

Seven seconds into the battle, it roared and charged forward, abandoning its sword and brandishing its claws, fighting like a wild beast.

In contrast, the warrior remained calm. He didn't throw another punch, but kept dodging, intentionally moving closer to Angron with each dodge to observe the things behind its head that seemed to be made of iron and flesh.

Finally, as the seventh second ended and the eighth second arrived, the warrior's fist lit up with red light once again.

Just as Angron swung his claws again, or even opened his jaws to bite him, he transformed into a crimson shadow and rushed toward Angron.

The latter roared in response, trampling his weapon as he charged at him, only to find his fists striking empty air—the warrior had already appeared behind him.

At this moment, he could clearly see the true appearance of those so-called braids. Each one was as thick as an adult's forearm, and its surface was covered with rusty barbs that were deeply embedded in Anglon's skull.

The soldier reached out and grabbed them, his hands overflowing with intense light.

Angron let out a deafening roar in response.

It struggled incessantly, stretching its claws back, trying to throw the warrior off, but to no avail; he had already steadied himself by stepping on its shoulder armor. In its rage, it simply raised its wings, flapping them violently, stirring up endless dust, and then leaped into the air, soaring into the sky.

Soon, they arrived at an altitude of ten thousand meters, filled with deadly exhaust fumes. The morbid accumulation of Amegidon over millennia was rampaging through their territory, like a formless, malevolent dragon. A lifeless, crescent moon lay coldly behind the clouds, indifferently overlooking this indescribable scene.

A cold wind swept across the soldier's cheek from high above, and his mouth, which had been tightly clenched, opened slightly. Like a person taking a deep breath before doing something important, his action likely carried the same meaning...

Angron seemed to sense something amiss, and began to struggle violently, tumbling and spinning through the clouds, his sole purpose being to throw the warrior off. The ground was now a distant lie to them; the surroundings were empty and silent, almost like nothingness. No one, except the moon of Amegiddund, could see this scene, or what would follow.

Eleven seconds into the battle, the warrior clenched his fists.

A brilliant crimson light burst forth.

No one could explain what had happened, not even the warrior himself. He only knew that he could do it, so he did it—and so, the braids that he had identified as the vicious instrument of torture called the Butcher's Nails vanished into thin air one by one.

Angron roared madly.

It screamed as if it had never endured such excruciating pain before; its wings, which had been flapping incessantly, suddenly froze, followed by its body and face. Then, from that height of ten thousand meters, they began to fall.

Throughout this time, Angron continued to howl, but did not throw another punch. For the first time, its eyes, which were as bright as the blood-red sun, dimmed, and it stared blankly at the sky.

Five seconds later, they landed in a corner of Amighiddon.

It was a massive pit of corpses, filled with the remains of the slaughtered, innocent bodies floating in a sea of ​​blood. The arrival of Angron and his warriors stirred up a curtain of blood dozens of meters high, further fragmenting the already gruesome bodies of the victims...

The warrior released his grip on the Angron shoulder armor, landed on the ground, and calmly gazed at the monster that had suddenly fallen silent, bending down slightly as if waiting.

Angron simply stared intently at the warrior, his eyes finally revealing a change beyond mere madness.

After a while, a hoarse and indistinct voice rang out. It sounded extremely unskilled, as if its owner hadn't spoken to anyone for a very, very long time.

"Kill me," Angron said calmly and earnestly, as if it were his only wish.

The soldier tried to answer.

Indeed, he swore, he really tried to answer, but their conversation ended completely before it even truly began.

A piercing buzz and howl emanated from the top of the pit. The warrior tensed and looked up, seeing countless gaping wounds from which crimson-skinned demons poured forth. As soon as they appeared, Angron roared again—or rather, howled.

A series of loud explosions came from inside his skull, and the soldier watched helplessly as those things came back again.

"No—!" Angron roared as he stood up. "No! No!"

It raised its fist and smashed it against its own head, but its eyes were once again engulfed in a sea of ​​blood.

The soldier lowered his head, clenched his fists, and blood slid down his cheeks.

The battle has begun again.

In a very distant place, the Blood God burst into laughter.

He has been pleased.