A piece of coarsely fibrous muscle tissue. It chewed like an enormous tendon, and perhaps because its owner had been brutalized for so long, even its flavor was laced with anxiety.
Along with it came a vast amount of genetic information.
"Primarch, Angron."
"Likes flowers."
"Born on Nuceria, gladiator."
"Psychically senses and absorbs the negative emotions around him."
"..."
Clearly, the genetic information this time was enormous. Even memories of Angron's entire life had flashed before Francis's eyes.
The loneliness and hurt of being abandoned as an infant on Nuceria, only to be attacked by the Drukhari almost immediately.
Then the resentment and fury of being captured by a slave master and forced to fight to the death against his adoptive father.
Finally, after the Butcher's Nails had been implanted in him despite his resistance, his adoptive father's death had led him to choose at last to lead his gladiator friends in an assault on the slave master.
Unfortunately, the Emperor had taken him away at the crucial moment...
Unnoticed, a tear slipped down Francis's stern face. He looked at the hand he'd used to wipe it away and murmured, "What's wrong with me?"
"Francis, what's wrong? How is Angron?" Leman Russ asked hurriedly, sensing that something was amiss.
Francis turned to look at the unconscious Angron. The furrow between his brows, which had been tightly knit all along, had eased considerably. It seemed that losing consciousness was far more comfortable for Angron than remaining awake.
Then Francis suddenly felt his senses grow sharper. He could even see the emotions surrounding other people.
The anxiety clinging to Leman Russ, and the waves of anxiety, agitation, pain, and confusion outside.
Of course, the most obvious emotions were Angron's fury and pain. If everyone else's emotional auras were the size of a fist, Angron's was as big as a football field.
Then Francis said, "A Primarch's physiology is far more complex than an Astartes's, and there's even a substance in him that I can't understand."
"It doesn't seem like anything found in the material world. It's more like something from the Warp."
At that, Leman Russ lowered his head.
That was true. If even the Emperor couldn't solve the problem, how could it possibly be fixed so easily?
"But there is a way to make him more comfortable. I'll need to try it first."
Hearing this, Leman Russ's eyes brightened a little.
"More comfortable is good enough!"
Francis took a deep breath, then reached out toward the emotional aura around Angron.
At their slightest touch, it was as if a spark had passed between them, linking their emotions together.
Then the pool brimming with fury and pain burst through its floodgates, pouring into Francis's body in a torrent.
Francis's eyes grew bloodshot, veins bulged across his forehead, and his body began to tremble violently as sweat poured down him like rain.
The pain kept intensifying. In the end, unable to bear it any longer, he screamed, "Aaaah!"
Agony beyond all measure!
It felt as though electronic maggots had begun gnawing at his brain before burrowing into his spinal cord, tearing him apart.
It was the terrifying sensation of something foreign devouring him from spirit to flesh!
Francis could feel his body rejecting the intruder. The damaged tissue regenerated rapidly.
It was as if two forces were fighting for control of his body. They writhed against each other, then melded together, still devouring and destroying one another.
It was like a long nail driven into his body, twisting and turning. Whenever the wound was about to heal, the nail would tear apart the newly grown flesh again.
Until it ground him into a pile of mush!
"Aaaah!"
Francis roared in agony, tearing at his hair and back. The contortion of his face reminded Leman Russ of Angron.
"Francis! How are you? Stop! You have to stop!" Leman Russ was at a loss. All he could do was hold Francis tightly to keep him from tearing himself apart.
"I can't stop!"
"Aaaah! Kill me! Kill me!"
"Aaaaah!"
Blood seeped from all seven of Francis's orifices. He howled in pain, trying to tear apart everything in sight.
Including himself. It seemed that only the sight of blood could give him pleasure!
Creeeak—
Their armor scraped against each other. The shrill groan of twisting metal and the crisp crack of breaking bones sounded strangely sweet in that moment.
His agonized screams even pierced through the medical bay, echoing throughout the entire ship.
The Soul Drinkers, who had been resting, immediately sensed their Primarch's pain and rushed out.
They gathered outside the medical bay.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Primarch! What's wrong?"
"Primarch, open the door! What happened?"
"Everyone, stand aside! I'm going to break the door down!"
As he spoke, Sarpedon prepared to attack the door with his staff.
But just then, Francis's roar came from inside again.
"Leave! All of you, get out!"
"But..."
Before they could finish, Francis roared again.
"Get out! All of you, get out!!"
"Aaaah!"
Francis continued to howl in pain. The Soul Drinkers outside stood frozen in the doorway.
And so Francis's agonized screams continued for an entire month.
No one knew what was happening inside. They only knew that the sounds of things being smashed never stopped.
The entire battleship even shook continuously.
Then, a month later.
Hiss—
As the door opened, a cloud of blood mist billowed out of the medical bay.
The air reeked of putrid, nauseating blood.
When the blood mist gradually cleared, the room was revealed as a complete wreck. Metal fragments littered the floor, and blood was smeared everywhere.
At the center of the room,
a man covered in blood sat there. His armor was made of countless blood-crusted scabs. Compared to a month ago, he had become terrifyingly gaunt.
He looked as though he weighed less than a quarter of what he had before.
The Soul Drinkers approached in disbelief, their hearts aching terribly.
"How could this happen? Primarch, what did you—"
Before Sarpedon could finish, the pile of debris beneath Francis began to collapse. Francis seemed to have lost consciousness.
His body toppled with the momentum.
Fortunately, Sarpedon caught him in time. All the Soul Drinkers then hurriedly carried him to another medical bay.
Leman Russ was in no better shape. Deep, bone-exposing wounds covered him, filled with dried blood, but he was still conscious.
His eyes remained fixed on the unconscious Angron. For once, the other Primarch's face was peaceful.
"So you've been suffering like this all along?" Leman Russ said sadly.
"Francis really is an incredible man. Maybe we really have done some things wrong?!"
Francis, too, had fallen unconscious. His mind sank into even deeper fragments of memory.
He was like a third party, looking down over a vast landscape.
He saw countless Astartes, resembling zombies, fighting another group of creatures whose flesh was grotesquely twisted.
Countless Dreadnoughts stood in the middle of the battlefield. Each of these colossal machines was like a moving mountain, their bodies forged from sturdy metal and inscribed with ancient runes that shone with mysterious light.
Their enormous cannons aimed ahead, unleashing devastating beams of energy that erased entire hordes of monsters.
Yet their enemies were even more indescribable—monsters crawling out of fissures in the abyss, their flesh and bones twisted together.
They had no fixed shape. Some resembled enormous tentacled monstrosities; others were horrifying hybrids that seemed to combine the traits of countless creatures. Their eyes burned with a lust for life and a fervor for destruction.
They could even devour and absorb anything they came into contact with, including Titans!
Just as Francis wondered where he was, the Soul Drinkers' voices reached his ears.
The Soul Drinkers carefully peeled the blood-crusted scabs from Francis, revealing his body beneath.
His entire body was covered in enormous, horrifying gashes, as if something had ripped him apart.
Fortunately, Primarchs had extraordinary regenerative abilities. Anyone else would probably have been dead by now.
But in just one month, Francis had withered until he looked like dried meat. How much blood had he lost to end up like this?
"Librarian, what do we do? Why hasn't the Primarch woken up?"
"Yeah, what do we do?"
"Librarian, come up with something..."
Everyone asked Sarpedon anxiously.
"Quiet! The Primarch is still alive! As long as he's alive, he'll be all right!"
"He'll wake up eventually!"
"What matters now is helping the Primarch recover. He needs a lot of nourishment!"
Sarpedon stepped forward and shouted.
Meanwhile,
Angron's eyelids trembled faintly, as if he were about to wake.
Before you continue