The True Primarch - Angron's Nails

Without a doubt, the Emperor was an absolutely incompetent father. His emotional intelligence was inconsistent, and he was shameless, which led to all the Perpetual who saw his true colors abandoning him. Only Malcador was young and had not yet come to terms with reality.

But unlike his terrible interpersonal relationships, the Emperor's scientific research ability was off the charts, highlighting his daring and decisive nature, with a wild and beautiful quality of Brute Force.

Add to that Mordred, who acts without any scruples and can even play with the Kabalite in Commorragh, and a truly Big Mek, and a wonderful chemical reaction is instantly created.

To gather diverse ideas, the Emperor even sought out Akhan Land, Arch-Magos specializing in mechanical technology—the very same mastermind who designed the Land Raider, the Land Speeder, the Land Tractor, and a host of other creations.

Seeing the Emperor call for reinforcements, Mordred, fearing being ganged up on by this bastard, also began to call for reinforcements. However, after searching around, he found that none of Atlas were of any use, and in the end, he could only call upon the domesticated sage Kragg.

Because Mordred looked down on Malcador, a treacherous minister who only knew how to manipulate power, and the Emperor despised Magnus, a research idiot who only invested in Psychic Power, the two Macardos were kicked out of the laboratory. Two true talents, experts in technology, were sent to assist them.

Looking at the laboratory door, which had been missing for a whole week and hadn't been opened since that day, Magnus was very worried. He went to check on it almost every day, fearing that a body might be carried out.

"Damn it! If anything goes wrong with Angron, how am I supposed to face the World Eaters? No, I absolutely can't let anyone know that it was my idea; I'm innocent."

Malcador, you absolutely have to be my witness then!

Glancing at Magnus, who was frantically grading documents, Malcador, who was slacking off, silently put down his snacks and comforted him:

"Little Ma, you need to use your job title when you're at work!"

If even the Emperor, Mordred, and the two Arch-Magos combined can't save him, then there's no point in speculating here. You should believe that they are not reckless people.

Come on, finish this report. After you're done, I'll take you out for a nice meal. There's a really good restaurant called "Canid Restaurant" downstairs; their cooking is excellent.

Magnus always felt that Old Deng was fooling him. He had said the same thing last time, which led to him working in the Department of Administration for a whole week, his brain about to explode from approving so many orders.

"Okay, Malcador! But don't skip out on the bill this time."

Malcador was right; instead of worrying unnecessarily, it would be better to do something practical. However, he clearly underestimated the sheer madness of the four Big Mek combined.

"Damn it, Mordred, you piece of trash! This plan is completely unreliable. Who taught you Biochemical Alchemy? This is totally Xenos! Did you learn it all over your brain? I think you want to die."

"Shut up, old Deng. This is orthodox physical technology that I've improved. It's pure Gene-Fusion Therapy, completely different from your so-called Psychic Power witchcraft."

You can roll stars into tiny balls and play with them, yet you can't remove the Chaos contamination from the nail. It's entirely your fault that things have dragged on like this.

You useless Harkon, I think you need some dragon fruit CPR. If you don't understand, don't spout nonsense. Do you even know what fusion is? Fusion is the noblest thing!

Looking at the two who had argued from morning till night for a whole week, each holding their own opinion, and who ultimately failed to reach a consensus, both Arch-Magos saw the helplessness in each other's eyes.

But work had to go on; after all, they were the underlings.

As the Emperor's loyal henchman, Land and Kragg, Mordred's Dog's Leg, could only try to appease each other, and it took a lot of persuasion to get them to sit together again.

Looking at Angron, which had been broken into pieces within the Stasis Field but whose vitality remained unaffected, the Emperor, though unwilling to admit it, acknowledged Mordred's technology.

"Fine, let the unlucky kid be a heretic if he wants. This guy's got ability, don't get angry, don't get angry!"

Unbeknownst to the Golden Giant was hypnotizing himself, as his contact with Mordred deepened, his humanity also became more complex.

Even his ability to make witty remarks has become increasingly sophisticated, but by the time he realized it, it was too late.

Mordred also knew that for the current Emperor, completely eradicating the Chaos corruption from Angron's soul was not something that could be solved by Brute Force.

"Forget it, let Old Man Huang be a bit useless. After all, we can't do without him."

In terms of personality and many other aspects, Mordred is very similar to the Emperor. Not only are their Morality bottom lines flexible and changeable, but they are also the kind of people who are willing to suffer for the sake of saving face.

Fortunately, it wasn't just this antagonistic father and son; with the help of Land and Kragg, the two began to cooperate again.

To help alleviate the pressure on the Yellow Skins, Mordred summoned Icarus, whose powerful Computing Power assisted the Emperor in sorting out the twisted soul of Angron, which had been completely parasitized.

Despite his outward reluctance to use this Blasphemous Artifact, which was nominally Machine Spirit but was actually a reskinned Abominable Intelligence, the Golden Giant used it more skillfully than anyone else.

As beings capable of creating Primarch by hand, the Emperor's mastery of Biochemical Alchemy is the source of all the Adeptus Custodes and Primarch.

Coupled with his status Perpetual, he has plenty of time to try and correct his mistakes, making him far superior to Mordred, a self-taught amateur.

To prevent Angron from becoming a monster that was neither human nor demon, the Emperor began to seriously teach Mordred the use of Biochemical Alchemy, correcting those barbaric practices filled with My Thinking Power.

Mutual understanding is always the foundation of win-win cooperation. Although arguments still break out from time to time, the experimental progress has begun to advance rapidly.

Two and a half months later, the four people who had conducted a total of 129,998 simulation experiments collapsed to the ground. The extremely high intensity of the work had filled the entire laboratory with the unpleasant smell of sweat and the burnt odor of incinerated protein residue.

But the results were encouraging. The Emperor and Mordred's experiment was ultimately successful. They were able to insert the essence of the Primarch into those two nails while ensuring the autonomy of the Angron.

However, just as the final treatment was about to begin, Mordred suddenly stopped the Emperor:

"Old Man Huang, have you ever heard of Numerology?"

We've already done 129,998 experiments. If you ask me, let's do one more simulation experiment for good luck. Including the last one we actually performed, that'll bring the total to 130,000.

Furthermore, when performing surgery on Angron, it's best to burn incense, bathe, set up an altar, and perform some kind of feudal superstition.

This move immediately won the unanimous praise of the two Arch-Magos. No wonder they always felt something was wrong; it turned out they hadn't Omnissiah, and this link had to be filled.

Only the Emperor suspected Mordred might have some serious illness. He knew better than anyone what Omnissiah was and Numerology, something he had never heard of before. But in the end, the Emperor agreed to the request. After all, it wouldn't make a difference if he did it once. To be honest, the Emperor quite liked the number 13, but it always reminded him of Guilliman, whom he disliked.

With the final simulation experiment a complete success, 13 candles were placed around the operating table for the Operating Table. After bathing and changing clothes, and each person eating 13 Small Cakes, the four began the final transformation.

Perhaps this feudal superstition really worked, or perhaps some future perverted person exerted their influence; in any case, the surgery was a complete success, even unbelievably smooth.

"But why isn't he awake yet? Has our plan failed?" the Emperor asked.

"I don't know, but I know a way to wake it up quickly." Mordred rolled up his sleeves, revealing his strong and resilient hands.

"Moreover, this method is extremely effective, especially for curing useless people!"

As if he had just experienced a bizarre and indescribable nightmare, in his final moments, Angron felt himself break free from the limitations of his physical body. His form stretched rapidly, eventually splitting into three parts, which were then held in the hands of a pair of large golden hands.

Open your eyes~

"What? So I didn't escape after all? Mordred, you're inherently evil! You actually drugged me, you deserve to die! I haven't even seen my father yet."

But who is my My Father? And who is Angron?

"Angron is us! You are Angron, he is Angron, we are all Angron!"

A pink figure appeared before her. For some reason, she had developed a sense of self and felt disgusted by the pink figure, even though it was so beautiful and pleasing to the eye.

This loathing drove him to want to destroy that fellow human; he had to kill him no matter what. So much so that after this thought arose, another scarlet figure sprang out, roaring and shouting:

"War!"

Without any hesitation, driven by a desire for wholeness, the three consciousnesses clashed violently, devouring and entangled with each other.

Bathed in golden light, the two consciousnesses grew weaker and weaker until they finally vanished completely, leaving only a mournful curse:

"Damn the Cursed, we will be back!"

His ignorant consciousness decided to give up thinking. After eating and drinking his fill, he began to slack off on his own, driven by instinct. But as he slacked off, he suddenly saw a streak of Emerald Lightning flash across the sky and struck him hard.

One after another, bolts of Emerald Lightning, like divine intervention, struck him relentlessly, causing him to scream in pain. He could only stretch his body as much as possible to relieve the agony.

"Wait, I think I came here as a person, so why do I have so many hands?"

Suddenly realizing the problem, he looked down, but no matter how he peered, he couldn't see his own body; all he could see was a tangled mess of fine cables.

Angron knew those things all too well; they were the two nails that had tormented him for so long.

A terrifying fact was unfolding before them: Primarch Angron, or rather, Primarch Angron's Nails, was gradually beginning to regain its memories.

I am Angron, I am Angron Tark, I hate anesthetics, you wretched Mordred, how dare you poke my ass with a syringe.

Father, I love you so much!

As the emerald lightning struck repeatedly, the call from the horizon grew clearer and clearer.

"Imperial Superman, open your eyes! I am Saffrin!"

With that call, Angron finally awoke again, and then he saw four pairs of malevolent eyes, and his reflection in the mirror of the culture jar:

Gazing at himself, floating in the culture tank, only a head remaining, countless metallic cables extending from the severed neck, swaying up and down—more like the Butcher's Nail than a human— Angron instantly emitted a sharp, explosive sound:

"Gua Yi Yi, don't touch it!"