Severe pain, madness, agony.
The dull agitation awakened Angron's consciousness again, and the Butcher's Nail began to viciously strike at the demon primarch's brain that had regained its form.
In the thousand years of massacre with hazy consciousness, the severe pain of the Butcher's Nail was the only thing he was most familiar with.
When the Blood Angel's violent pupils slowly opened, sulfur and fire burst out from his breathing.
The scene before his eyes was not the chorus engine exuding fiery spiritual energy in the Battle of Malakbel, but the very familiar, but somewhat different, realm of Khorne.
On the land strewn with corpses, there are no hideous giant factories of the Dark Mechanicus, nor the skeleton-strewn garrison of Chaos Astartes. There are only brass fortresses that have not changed in ten thousand years.
Angron felt a little confused, but this doubt was completely torn apart by the severe pain of the Butcher's Nail in an instant.
The thick wings blew up a bloody storm, and the majestic demon primarch arrived at the top of the corpse hill in an instant.
This endless mound of corpses symbolizes the power of the realm of Khorne and the terrifying will on the Skull Throne.
Looking at the scarlet sky and broken earth in front of him, although Angron did not understand what happened in the Demon Realm of Khorne, his fragmented thoughts were unknowingly filled with bloodlust again.
He just wants to use more massacres to calm down the fatigue of thousands of years.
However, Angrona's still clear will was able to distinguish the mound of corpses in front of him, not Malakbel's city covered with dirty marks.
In his remaining memory, Malakbel was destroyed by a single blow under the wrath of the Blood God. Any corpse believers who resisted were annihilated by the will of the destructive power, and their bodies were also destroyed by the Lord of Skulls. Powerful reinvention.
Driven by the Butcher's Nail's thirst for blood and carnage, Angron's eyes continued to have countless illusions about this war: he trampled those filthy believers from the Human Empire into countless dust, and crushed the One by one, the wight's foolish and loyal followers tore apart, until consciousness and pain were completely extinguished by the blood god's blessing, until the psionic beacon of hateful light gradually dimmed.
Then, the expedition of the Ark of Omen should be over.
Despite this, Angron still remembered the pain of being blessed by the Blood God just now, the insignificance of the fragmented soul as it rose in the fire storm, the madness of the endless killing curse being poured into his mind, the murder and murder spread throughout the galaxy. The mutilation came into view in an instant - even his consciousness fell apart under the unbearable rage.
'Self' was torn to pieces.
Yes, Angron could feel that his existence was incomplete. The will that gradually regained consciousness after thousands of years of constant fighting was fragmented at this moment, and the Butcher's Nail viciously tore apart the remaining sanity of the demon primarch at all times.
Perhaps it was shattered by the mighty power of the golden shadow, or annihilated by the wrath of the Blood God.
In any case, even if he knew this cruel truth, the Blood Angels didn't care.
In this regard, the anger spurting out from the ferocious figure became more intense, and the hatred etched on the sword edge became clearer.
The severe pain from the Butcher's Nail is always urging Angron, like whipping a hound, telling the Red Angel that more blood is needed to appease this madness and pain, although this road paved through the skull has no end. .
The hum of the Butcher's Nails replaced most of Angron's thinking ability, and the sharp pain that constantly grinds his soul represents the insatiable desire for killing.
Angron looked up at the dim sky and saw the majestic fleet that tore through the curtain of warp slowly sailing into the realm of Khorne.
He saw the Conqueror, the flagship of the Twelfth Legion. However, instead of the sacred brass runes of Khorne and the symbols of the Skull Lord, it is replaced by the foul Aquila of the Imperium of Man.
This made Angron furious.
In an instant, crazy roars exploded from the mound of corpses like thunder. Vampires within hundreds of miles were infected by this unparalleled madness and rage, forming one after another angry roars - at the same time, several The bloodthirsty demons also came to the side of the Red Angel under the will of the Blood God. They represent the blazing desire for war of the Skull Lord.
Countless souls in desperate need of blood are reflected in the scarlet and turbid pupils of the Red Angel.
Angron saw the Astartes wearing ancient power armor, also saw countless long-lost weapon technologies, and even saw the Titan machine of the Ember Wolves.
They should not have appeared in this era.
But Angron didn't care.
He knew that the concepts of past and future did not exist in the subspace, and he did not care whose internal organs and skulls he would pick up with his sharp blade.
Countless demon engines, vampires, and even flesh hounds slowly gathered under the majestic back of the Red Angel. A full eight Daemons of Khorne were sent to the battlefield, and the brass fortress roared with the horn of war.
The demon's blasphemous roar is echoing in the endless plain of corpses, and the rain of iron constantly falling from the sky symbolizes the madness of the invaders.
In the past countless eras, no force has ever truly waged a war in the realm of Khorne.
However, ancient legends reveal what happened on this scorched earth where past and future meet.
——When the war trumpet of the Brass Fortress sounds, the eternal holy war watched by the Blood God will bring redemption to all the slaughter.
Several familiar or unfamiliar figures among them gradually solidified his thoughts. He wanted to think hard about what some of these existences meant in his past, but the crazy knocks from the Butcher's Nails But it told Angron its anger, forcing Angron to tighten the black sword in his hand.
The nails were constantly eating away at Angron's sanity, and his anger was constantly building up.
Boom, boom.
The great brass heart beat thunderously, pumping the blood of madness into the Red Angel's thoughts.
Thousands of years of domination from the Blood God have long since made Angron forget everything, and his broken soul with only endless anger has become the ship of Theseus that is difficult to repair.
Things that were already broken were torn apart again, and now they are nothing.
Angron didn't care about anything.
He doesn't care where he comes from, and he doesn't care why he leaves.
The past that originated from the land of red sand has long been arbitrarily altered and distorted like a tattered curtain, and the scarlet scars once engraved on the rope of glory have also faded.
No one remembers the gladiator who tenderly cared for his brothers and sisters.
No one remembers the ghost that haunts the mountains of Nuceria.
No one remembers.
Including Angron himself.
…
…
