Long Brothers

Kharn stood up. He hadn't fought in a long time, because he'd been guarding Angron. The blood dried on his Power Armour had left him ravenous.

He decided he'd have a good drink of Ork blood!

Bzzzzzz~

The Chainsaw roared. Kharn seemed to hear whispers of slaughter, and he felt power surging through him.

"Die, Orks!" Kharn raised his Chainsaw and charged at Francis. To him, Francis was just another head to take.

But then—

BANG!

Francis punched the Chainsaw. Metal twisted with a screech, and the weapon slammed into the Power Armour on Kharn's chest. The armour shattered like roof tiles.

But the fist kept coming. A massive imprint sank into Kharn's chest, sending him flying straight through the wall.

"Ahh... so this is what it feels like to beat someone up?"

"Pretty damn good!"

Francis looked at his fist, then kicked the door open.

A rotten stench wafted from inside, along with a buzzing vibration and Angron's murmur. "Father, have you come to take me home?"

Angron's dazed eyes turned toward the light in the doorway. His adoptive father's figure looked so enormous that he'd had to tear down the wall just to get inside.

Angron could feel his body growing weaker by the moment!

"Hm? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Francis got goosebumps under Angron's suggestive gaze. He hurriedly tore open a gap and stepped inside.

"Father, yesterday someone spoke in my mind and said that if I worshipped him, I'd gain eternal life. My comrades are all waiting for me there." Angron grew agitated as he spoke. He clutched Francis's huge hand, which felt even rougher and stronger than he remembered.

"So you believed him?" Francis frowned. Why were so many people after Angron?

"Of course not! I still remember the gladiator's creed you taught me: death is honor, release, and a new beginning. I..."

Angron kept rambling, feeling that this moment was incredibly warm and comforting.

But Francis thought, Oh, crap. He's already seeing the light at the end of the tunnel!

Francis considered it. It ought to be fine to pull the thing out now. Angron might even find it exhilarating.

Just as he laid a hand on Angron's head, Angron smiled warmly. "Father, give it up. This thing can't be removed. Francis—my big brother—has already made me feel so good."

"Maybe dying like this, feeling so good, wouldn't be so bad~"

Francis: ...

With a pop, like a wine cork being pulled, a long Butcher's Nail came free. It kept twitching, unable to adjust to its new surroundings, and even tried to burrow into Francis's hand.

Angron should have lost consciousness, but instead he stared at the scene in front of him, bewildered, and murmured, "That's not right! The Emperor said I'd die if it was pulled out. I only have half a brain left—how can I still be conscious? Why am I not dead?"

"Who says you can't live with half your brain gone? You've still got the other half, don't you?"

"According to legend, way back in the 1K era, there were even people who could keep fighting after getting their heads cut off!"

"You're just ignorant!"

Francis's words crashed against Angron's understanding like whispers of Chaos.

"Right! I still have half a brain. I can live without a head!"

Meanwhile, Angron's brain, brain matter, and spinal cord were still regenerating, rapidly returning to their original state.

As his flesh regenerated, Angron's consciousness gradually returned to normal.

Only, his adoptive father seemed to be getting rougher-skinned by the second. His skin, which had been brown, was turning green, and enormous tusks—like those of a beast—were growing from his face.

"Father, why do you look more and more like an Ork? Have you been reborn as one?"

Angron's mind was still foggy. He didn't come to his senses until his brain had fully grown back.

His eyes instantly widened like copper bells. He leapt up and shouted, "Holy shit! An Ork!!"

After seven backflips, Angron snatched Bloodfather and Bloodson from beside the wall.

"Ahh... a moment ago, you called me 'Dad' every other word. Now you're better, and you don't even recognize your own father."

"Should I just leave, then?"

Francis looked utterly heartbroken. Through his empathic ability, Angron could tell that he really was heartbroken!

"You... you... don't make things up! Wait, how can you talk?" Angron's new brain hadn't quite adjusted yet, and it was turning a little slowly.

Francis plopped down on the floor and kept fiddling with the metal rod he'd made earlier.

"I'm Francis. If I hadn't turned into an Ork, do you think I could've pulled that thing out of your head?"

"I still remember how good that metal rod felt. You kept switching between crying and laughing. I'll extract those memories and turn them into a meme video for everyone in the Imperium to see."

"No! I'll make extra copies and send some into the Warp, too."

The more Angron listened, the more his head spun. He wasn't in pain anymore, but what was this unprecedented feeling of shame?

He was even a little excited!

Francis saw that Angron wasn't replying, but his face had turned a faint red.

"You're acting weird! I'm just telling you I really am Francis. What's with that look on your face?"

To his surprise, Angron nodded obediently. "I believe you. You're the only one who'd know that."

???

Francis was utterly baffled.

Meanwhile, outside the Conqueror.

Kharn hit the ground hard and passed out. As a Gretchin rummaged around for scraps, it spotted him.

The nail in Kharn's head especially caught its eye. The Ork it followed seemed to love pulling out nails. If the Gretchin could pull one out too, surely the Ork would praise it.

Just as the Gretchin happily grabbed Kharn by the nail on his head, a huge hand crushed it in an instant.

Kharn slowly opened his eyes, then sat up.

He saw Orks everywhere, pulling out nails, while the World Eaters were using their Chainsaws to slaughter them in a frenzy.

Some of the World Eaters whose nails had been pulled out were dazed and vacant, like zombies. They mechanically swung their weapons, trading blows with the Orks in front of them.

Kharn sprang to his feet. Rage swallowed his reason. He snatched up a weapon from the ground and charged at them.

He stabbed a World Eater through the back, flung him away, then charged at the Orks.

"Die! You're all going to die! Not one of you will be left!"

"We don't keep cowards here! Kill! Kill! Kill!!!"

"I'll get stronger! I'll become even stronger! No one will ever knock me flying again!"

He roared like a madman, his eyes stained red with blood. His two Chainaxes carved a path through the melee, leaving no one alive in their wake!

He hacked apart every living thing in front of him!

Even when Orks reached for him from the air, Kharn would raise his Chainsword, leap high, and tear them in half.

But in the end, the Ork horde swallowed him up. He kept slaughtering Orks, only to be knocked down again and again. Whenever they pulled the nail from his head, he woke once more.

He slaughtered until he was wounded and passed out. Then they pulled out the nail and roused him, and he returned to the slaughter.

He piled countless heads behind him, and Kharn heard praise!

Every time he took a head, he heard a thunderous chorus of praise. Kharn would be the toughest man among the World Eaters!

Brass horns appeared on either side of him. This would be his coronation.

At the end of the red carpet stood a huge Brass Throne, upon which sat a god who had given himself wholly to blood and fire.

But Kharn simply stood there, with an arm in black armour supporting him at the shoulder.