The Show Begins (IV)

Angron Thayer awoke again.

His nasal cavity and mouth were filled with the smell of blood, and he almost wondered if he had vomited blood and internal organs while unconscious.

His mind was in such a chaotic state that it felt as if it had been struck by a power hammer; all his thoughts were like unformable fragments, swept through his mind by some force and expelled like garbage.

He couldn't retain any useful ideas, not even be able to organize his thoughts. The Word Bearers's cheeks twitched, and he gritted his teeth, trying one more time.

As he exerted his jaw muscles, a sharp, aching sensation came from between his clenched teeth. Then, accompanied by a series of cracking sounds, all his teeth shattered into powder.

Angron Tey was stunned. He could feel the pain, but the pain couldn't compare to his astonishment at that moment.

How could this be? What happened?

Before he could even open his mouth and feel for the broken tooth fragments with his fingers, he was suddenly struck by an even stronger pain that nearly knocked him unconscious; every bone in his body began to shatter in that instant.

No, it's not that simple. It's like someone is repeatedly hammering every bone in his body with a bone-crushing hammer, never stopping even when they're completely shattered.

But this was only the beginning, because Angron Te's perception began to move toward something deeper.

He could feel his bones cracking, and at the same time, he could feel his flesh disintegrating—something was raging beneath his skin, turning his muscles and nerves into boiling blood indiscriminately. Angron Tei couldn't help but open his mouth, trying to scream, but no sound came out.

His vocal cords were dissolved, of course, as were his eyes; he can't see anything now, but that doesn't matter. He's been in darkness from the beginning; there's no need for eyes here.

Strangely, even though everything had been disintegrated, Angron Tey still retained "sensory awareness." He could clearly feel the existence of his fingers and toes, and he could also feel a breeze blowing across his bare skin.

Even more terrifying, he could simultaneously feel the pain of their disintegration and the effortless control they had when intact. This contradictory perception overwhelmed every inch of his sensory experience, completely filling his neurons.

Reason screamed at him that something was wrong, but perception pulverized reason with even greater force. Under such cruel torture, Angron Te should have descended into madness, or something deeper than madness.

No one could endure such torment, not even Astartes.

But he didn't, because his vision was recovering.

See how simple it is to give a prisoner hope again? It only takes a tiny bit of generosity.

Angron Tey finally opened his eyes and saw a corpse.

Who is this? He had no answer; he simply observed it meticulously, almost frantically. He needed this to escape the torment of "perception," and it was the only way he could distract himself now.

The skeleton hadn't actually turned into a skeleton; some flesh still clung to the gaps between the bones, the tendons had turned into a rotten, disgusting moldy gray, and only two withered nerve remnants remained in the eye sockets of the skull.

Looking at the corpse, Angron Tei's sense of smell suddenly returned, and he abruptly smelled a strong stench of decay—rotten, morbid, and utterly repulsive.

Unable to Word Bearers opened his mouth and uttered a hissing sound from his throat, which quickly transformed into complete syllables and eventually into a sentence—a sentence that he himself could hear.

"Lorgar!"

"Angron Tai blurted it out," he himself didn't know why he was calling out the Primarch's name, he just felt it was the right thing to do.

At the same time, his newly formed eyeballs began to feel a warm sensation, and his nasal cavity became sore. Two streams of hot tears fell vertically down his cheeks, splashing onto a patch of decay and stirring up a cloud of dust.

The Word Bearers is still in pain, two conflicting senses constantly vying for his attention, each trying to pull him into their camp, but he has his own will now, and he can make his own choices.

Without hesitation, Angron Te chose to stay away from the skeleton that was so close at hand. As this thought arose in his mind, a surge of power instantly welled up from the bottom of his heart.

It was warm and gentle; if it had a color, it would most likely shimmer with a golden light. The next second, the rotting skeleton shattered instantly, turning into ashes.

A radiant light emanated from the seven orifices of the Word Bearers, and the previous pain began to fade rapidly, his senses gradually returning to balance. His sight, hearing, and breathing were all intact. Angron Tey didn't even dare to close his eyes, fearing he would return to that darkness.

His eyes were open, his right hand twitched, and a pain shot through his palm. He turned his head and saw a bone nail deeply embedded in his hand, pinning his right hand to it.

Moreover, it wasn't just his right hand, but also his left hand and both feet, as if someone was restricting his movements.

With just four bone screws?

Absurd, he thought.

At the same time, he also heard two other voices, a man and a woman, their voices filled with fear.

"He's moving?" the man muttered in panic. "Did you hear that? There's a sound coming from the Firstborn's sarcophagus."

"You'd better not have misheard; closing the coffin lid again is a lot of trouble," the woman's voice replied somberly. "You reported it to the master; what did he say?"

"He"

The male voice hesitated for a moment, then did not answer. At the same time, a slight friction sound came from above Angron Te, like stones rubbing against each other, and slivers of light began to dance on his retina.

What's wrong with him?

"He said, we will dedicate ourselves to—" The man's words were cut short by Angron Te's own right hand.

The bone nail was still trembling in the center of his palm, the grotesque Eight-Pointed Star flashing ominously on its round head, but this did not stop Angron Te from gripping the man's neck with his right hand. The dim candlelight outside came into view, Word Bearers silently rose from the sarcophagus.

The woman who opened the coffin lid for him knelt down in a frenzy, calling out the name of the Firstborn like a madman. Angron Tai ignored her, simply snapping the man's neck and kicking the woman's chest to pieces.

She was thrown backward in shock and surprise, crashing into a stone statue and sliding down with the fragments. Blood mixed with white foam gushed from the corner of her mouth; life was rapidly leaving her body.

Angron Tey simply stared at her coldly, without reacting, until the woman died. Only then did he look away and pull out the remaining three nails for himself.

At the same time, he felt a chill on the back of his neck. A slight pain, accompanied by a biting sensation, surged up. He turned his head and saw a swirling shadow.

Angron Tai smiled.

"It's you," he said softly. "Where am I?"

The shadows shifted, telling him a word. Its voice sounded cold and damp, carrying a chilling aura. The language it spoke was none of those familiar to Angron Tai, yet he could understand it nonetheless.

The Perfect City.

He is in the Perfect City.

The Word Bearers lowered his head and took a deep breath of the still-bloody air. He looked around and saw candlelight, an altar, and mud walls covered with scriptures. There were no windows; everything was completely obscured by the grayish-white mud.

So, where is the door?

He turned his gaze and saw a scarlet door. The emblem of the Word Bearers gleamed on it, carrying a metallic goodness. He was silent for a moment, then walked toward the door. But at that moment, shadows surged, giving him another message.

Angron Tai stopped in his tracks and nodded thoughtfully.

"You're right," he admitted. "We really should get to know each other again. What's your name, partner? I am Angron Tey, son of Lorgar Aurelian."

The shadows twisted and revealed a name to him. At the same time, he reached out and pushed open the scarlet door.

The blinding sunlight beat down on them. Outside, many believers dressed in tattered clothes were praying, but when Angron stepped out, the prayers ended. He silently watched them, his cold gaze sweeping over the eight-pointed star mark on each face.

"Then, Laerhe," Angron Tei bowed his head, making his request to the shadows, "I need a weapon."

The shadows surged again, moving from his back to his right hand and climbing upwards. A straight, sharp blade appeared in Angron Te's hand.

The blade was dark, as if it could devour light, and wispy shadows rippled along the edge like living things. On the hilt was a scarlet eye, staring unblinkingly at Angron Tai.

The Word Bearers nodded to it, withdrew his gaze, looked at the crowd of believers rushing towards him, and raised the blade in his hand.

--

With unease, Ahzek Ahriman asked his Primarch a question he had been holding back for a long time, "Are you sure it really works properly now? We haven't conducted a full test yet."

Magnus smiled, turned around, and gestured to the Chief Librarian. Behind him stood a massive instrument, just unloaded from orbit. Against the backdrop of the chaotic sky of Nikaea, its surface shimmered with iridescent colors.

"All great creations and inventions originate from a sudden flash of inspiration, not from experiments, Ahzek. What good are countless experiments? Inspiration lies unexpectedly; it doesn't favor you based on the number of experiments conducted. It belongs only to geniuses."

"But wouldn't that be too hasty?" Ahzek Ahriman paused for a moment, then mustered his courage to ask again.

This time, however, the Crimson King's smile vanished. He looked into Ahzek Ahriman's eyes, emphasized his words, and repeated himself.

"There won't be any problems. All the previous patients saw that gentle ocean we saw, didn't they?"

"Yes, Primarch."

"Then you needn't worry about anything." Magnus smiled again, resuming his scholarly demeanor. "How much time do we have?"

"One hour and twenty-one minutes," the Chief Librarian replied.

"That's enough." Magnus clenched his right fist, speaking as if to Ahzek Ahriman, yet also as if to himself. "It's more than enough."

One more chapter will be updated later, I'm in too much pain, I need to rest.