9: Raging Flame (End)

A roar—a howl akin to that of a wild beast—contorted the crimson face, pupils shrinking to pinpoints, and the pale blue eyes devoid of reason; pure rage and a thirst for slaughter overwhelmed everything.

The impulse came so suddenly that Karyl frowned, made a mental note of it, and then prepared himself to dodge the barrage of attacks.

Angron had no armor, no weapons, yet he fought a torrent of blood with his bare hands. Blood seeped from the wounds on his body, the most horrific being the one on his forearm, where the flesh was torn open, the wound inflicted by his guards' Silvervine almost reaching the bone. Every movement caused bleeding, turning him into a blood-soaked figure.

His every swing appeared chaotic, yet each strike contained a terrifying power—the power unique to the Primarch. These powers should have been used for better purposes, but now they were being used by a mentally broken remnant of the past to vent his pain.

Karyl tilted his head slightly, dodging attack after attack. He didn't say anything to stop or persuade him, but just frowned and sighed silently.

His opponent charged at him like a madman, wildly waving his arms in the air, trying to grab Karyl, but failed—as always.

He roared, his voice brimming with fury, and at that moment, Karyl saw the cables behind his head begin to wriggle.

"Blood--!" Angron roared and charged at him again, but Karyl had nowhere to dodge; the underground cavern was far too cramped for the battle between the two giants.

His blood-splattered fist slammed into Karyl's palm the next second. Karyl raised his hands, grabbed Angron's hands, and stared into his eyes again, trying to find a glimmer of reason in them, but Angron only seemed to grow more enraged, suffering immense pain from his inability to carry out killing and violence.

His pupils were still about the size of pinpoints, crimson covering the whites of his eyes, and the remaining pale blue showed no trace of reason. Karyl sighed, then kicked out with his left leg, tripping Angron to the ground.

The blood-soaked giant fell heavily to the ground, but quickly rose again. He let out a broken, almost wailing roar and charged at Karyl once more.

There were no tactics, no skills; everything was hidden within his own power. The ground trembled with his rage, and he himself was tormented by that rage.

Amidst the terrifying howls, two points of eerie blue flashed and disappeared in an instant.

The next second, Karyl grabbed him in a way that Angron couldn't comprehend, and then slammed him to the ground again, this time with much more force and solidity. Blood gushed from his wounds in that instant, staining his entire body once more a pure and terrifying crimson.

He lay on the ground, unable to rise for a moment due to the enormous tremors, but with the agility of a beast, he turned his head and stared intently at Karyl in the darkness, his hands flailing in the air, trying to touch him with his fingertips and make him bleed.

Karyl sighed slowly.

Wild animals, even the most ferocious beasts, will cautiously retreat back into the jungle when wounded. The instinct to seek advantage and avoid harm is inherent in all living beings; unless it's a truly life-or-death situation, few creatures will disregard everything and launch a reckless attack.

But Angron was different. His reason for not caring about whether he was injured was not because his life was threatened and he needed to abandon everything to fight for a chance to survive.

He did this simply because he was completely unaware that he was injured. The mechanical implants at the back of his head were torturing him in a cruel way. Karyl didn't know the principles behind it, but he could glimpse the reason.

The reason is this rage, this rage that leaves no trace— Angron's anger is unpredictable, seemingly inexplicable and natural, yet so intense, like lava deep within a volcano.

This is not human anger.

Karyl clenched his right fist, and Angron's blood dripped down his palm along the lines of his skin.

He walked toward Angron and, unsurprisingly, saw Angron rise from the ground in an instant, as if he had never been injured, and pounce on him with lightning speed. A sinister grin appeared on that broken face, a grin that was clearly a smile, yet it carried a sense of bewilderment and ignorance, as if he had no idea where he was.

Bleeding, he grabbed Karyl by the throat without hesitation, intending to strangle him, or tear off his head, or strangle him and then tear off his head.

However, his victim simply looked at him calmly and sighed as he raised his right fist—and at that very moment, Angron abruptly released his grip, as if he had been electrocuted.

Karyl narrowed his eyes. Just a moment ago, a golden flame flashed and disappeared, but it wasn't his doing.

Angron howled.

The sound collided and shattered between the rock walls, turning into an indescribable echo.

He began to back away, his fingers trembling—or rather, every muscle in his body was trembling. Karyl stared at him, realizing that this broken mind was resisting the rage that something in the back of his head was imposing on him.

Angron slowly knelt down, plunging his hands once more into the steel cables. He trembled wildly, forcing his muscles to work, clenching his teeth, and then let out a low sigh.

Half a minute later, or a century later, he spoke.

His voice sounded like a piece of bleeding flesh, or something else inextricably linked to blood. It was hoarse and broken, and even more tragically, when he was speaking, his voice sounded like a scream.

"Get out of here," Angron said, head bowed, clutching the source of his anguish with trembling hands. "You must leave."

Karyl didn't answer, so Angron roared—or rather, screamed, "Get out of here! Get out of my way! I don't need your help!"

Karyl still didn't answer; he simply stared, time stretching out, becoming something he controlled. He stared at Angron again, observing him with his psionic vision. In this vision, the cables behind his head glowed.

Then he sighed.

"No, you need it," he said, and walked toward Angron again.

The latter roared angrily, but it contained not only anger, but also fear.

He sobbed and roared, clutching the steel cables, retreating with blood and tears streaming down his face, trying to get away from anyone who approached him. The name Oenomaus kept flashing through his mind, connecting with fragmented images.

Oenomaus, Father.

Oenomaus, love.

Oenomaus, teacher.

Oenomaus, kill.

Oenomaus, dead.

Then, a scene flashed before his eyes, a scene he had long tried to forget, but was now being forced to remember by the Butcher's Nails.

That was Oenomaus —the man he regarded as his father, his mangled corpse; he heard his own weeping and the slave owners' maniacal laughter.

"No--!" he screamed, his hands angrily piercing through the steel cable, bringing another wave of excruciating pain that made his skull swell.

He had reached his limit. He had disobeyed the Butcher's Nails far too many times tonight, so they punished him with unprecedented force.

The crimson curtain returned, turning everything into grotesque, twisted forms. Oenomaus's voice rang in his ears, eerie and shrill, as he cried out Angron's name, demanding that he kill every creature that appeared before him.

The father made the request, and the son complied.

Then Angron leaped up, a twisted laugh spreading across his face. He waved his hands, grabbing Karyl again, his pinpoint pupils scanning wildly, as if searching for a suitable way for Karyl to die.

He—or rather, it—even harbored a kind of expectation in its consciousness: it wanted to see its prey struggle, so that more blood would flow.

But its prey did not struggle.

Its prey simply cupped its cheeks and wiped away the blood below its eyes, as if wiping away tears. It was stunned, unable to understand, and stood there frozen for a good ten seconds.

The nail's gnawing became increasingly severe during this period, even causing the blood vessels on its forehead to burst, and its rage returned.

But it was completely unable to move. A force had trapped it in place; its fingers were trembling, but it just couldn't exert any force.

Its prey, however, calmly gazed into its eyes and slowly shook its head.

"It's you again." It heard him speak softly, and a terrifying emotion was gathering in that gentle voice.

Then, Thunder struck.

--

Fire.

Angron opened his eyes in confusion. He had just seen flames, golden flames. But as soon as he opened his eyes, the flames vanished, leaving only a warm temperature.

Surrounded by darkness, he felt as if he were floating. Looking down, he saw a river of blood, the stench so strong it seemed capable of drowning. He stared at the river, bewildered, wondering how he had gotten there.

In reality, he didn't even know where he had just been. Chaotic fragments filled his mind, making everything seem Chaos and disordered.

This feeling of doubt did not last long, for a roar flashed by, the warmth dissipated, and pain and darkness struck at once in the next second. He couldn't help but howl, and the desire for death flashed through his mind.

He sank deep into the river.

He opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by blood and bones. The dead stared at him with wide-open eyes, some even reaching out to try and keep him there. Angron frowned in disgust. He held his breath and swam upwards, wanting to leave this place and return to where the flames still lingered.

However, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get himself out of there.

The river bound him, held him back, and countless dead whispered in his ear, promising him glory and such things, but Angron cared nothing. He only wanted to go back, either to the place where the fire raged, or to his brothers and sisters.

He disliked blood and killing; he never had.

Until Oenomaus's voice reached his ears.

"What you like."

Angron's eyes widened as he turned to look, and he saw a face he knew all too well: Oenomaus, his father, smiling quietly at him amidst the river of blood.

"Oenomaus!" Angron called out, swallowing a mouthful of blood, but he didn't care; he had to express his joy.

Angron swam over excitedly, trying to give his father a hug, but at that moment, a familiar pain suddenly struck him, he screamed in agony, and swallowed more blood. The familiar crimson color returned, but his father stood there, giving him an approving smile.

"Yes." Oenomaus, with his scarlet eyes, smiled and nodded. "That's it. Drink it, my child, become the embodiment of rage, the source of slaughter. You will possess unparalleled might, you will make every world shout your name. Make me proud, my child."

He spread his hands, smiling as he asked, "Don't you want me to be proud?"

I think, Oenomaus, of course I want to—but—

No buts, child.

The smile vanished, and the sternness that had once taught him martial arts returned.

"Don't you enjoy the cheers from the stands when you kill your opponent? Think back, Angron, they cheered for you! They rejoiced when you wielded your sword, they were ecstatic when you killed. Isn't that good? Violence is a desire rooted in the human heart; everyone has a violent streak. You simply unleashed it for them through a legitimate means. You are their hero, Angron, you are not a slave gladiator."

The dead Oenomaus laughed silently, "And you too will become my hero."

Angron looked at him blankly, swallowing large gulps of blood from the river. Oenomaus looked at him with delight, his approval overflowing without needing to be expressed.

And so Angron smiled, a flicker of pride crossing his Chaos mind—a child always wants to make his father proud.

Everything seemed to be set in stone.

Oenomaus's face began to contort more and more, his smile becoming almost a terrifying expectation.

He nervously twitched his fingers, while Angron heard cheers and the clash of swords. He gradually closed his eyes, ceasing his struggle like a drowning man, all his strength gone. He felt peaceful and serene.

Until the thunder roared.

Angron awoke with a start, and "Oenomaus" roared in fury.

The old gladiator's skin had been turned inside out. Brass, spiked armor replaced the skin and muscles. Scarlet, flame-like eyes replaced the human eyes.

He stood there, and His mere presence almost made Angron scream. His reason could not bear His arrival, and He paid no heed to his emotions, but roared and stretched out His right hand, stirring up the river of blood, trying to grab Angron.

Then Thunder struck.

A giant appeared before Angron.

He was draped in golden flames, and his eyes shone with Radiance, blazing azure light.

Then he sneered.

"Get out," he said softly. "Go back to where you belong."

The blood river vanished in an instant.

Okay, an extraordinary update, no hiccups or omissions, and I even added an extra chapter to finish the climax all at once.

I hope you enjoy reading this, and I'd appreciate a vote!