The One Who Never Yields

Angron slowly exhaled a breath of air tinged with the smell of blood, his breath reeking of rust.

Corax stood beside him, panting, his Jump Pack on his back damaged and sparking with electricity, and four deep wounds on his left shoulder armor and entire chest armor.

Horus's massive Lightning Claw left these wounds on him, but these were only the visible injuries; there were also some hidden, unseen wounds.

Angron was in much better condition than him—but that was definitely not a good thing; it only proved that Horus Lupercal was consciously discriminating.

He deliberately refrained from using excessive force against Angron, as he was not wearing armor, but he was much more ruthless towards Corax, almost to the point of being unreasonable.

If Angron attacks him, he will either dodge or parry. But if it's Corax, he will counterattack directly and will never stay put.

It's utterly absurd. What kind of logic is there in treating enemies differently?

Horus is definitely plotting something, Angron is aware of it but powerless to stop it.

He only has one choice.

The gladiator roared and charged forward once more, his pale brother close behind.

Angron handed over his sword, and he followed up with his claws. The attacks were relentless and incredibly fierce, each strike a deadly blow. They had never cooperated before, but now they fought as if they were comrades who had fought side by side for decades, with perfect understanding.

If Angron opens an opening, Corax immediately attacks Horus's armor with double the ferocity. If Corax is caught in a stalemate, Angron quickly changes its stance and launches a fierce attack on Horus with unstoppable momentum.

Such an offensive would be impossible for even themselves or other Primarch to survive for long. Not to mention Horus, who effortlessly neutralized the threat with a few dodges and parries.

He even had the energy to speak to them, his words sincere and heartfelt, as if he were not in the midst of a perilous battle, but rather having a long talk with his brothers after a dinner party.

"This will not be the end for you. A greater cause awaits us both. Join me, Angron, Corax. You deserve to know the truth, no one in the entire galaxy deserves it more than you. Moreover, you are my brothers, and I will never stand by and watch you become accomplices to lies and deception."

"A cliché," Angron scoffed. His rough, blood-stained face was framed by a pair of azure eyes filled with coldness, devoid of any friendliness. Only icy indifference and murderous intent.

"What do you have left, Horus? You keep talking about truth and lies as if you know them so well."

"I have indeed witnessed the truth with my own eyes." Horus smiled reservedly, then thrust out his left hand, forcing Angron to dodge.

Corax's somber figure suddenly burst forth from Horus's blind spot, his Lightning Claw aimed straight for Horus's jaw. As always, the attack failed, and the Lord of the Ravens immediately withdrew, cautiously maintaining his distance. He had learned his lesson.

"Then what you've seen is a lie," Angron said, adjusting his pace. "If you had seen the truth, you couldn't possibly be willing to stand on their side. You don't understand what they truly are, Horus."

Horus shook his head at him with a slightly serious expression.

"Brother, no one in this world understands this better than me. Maybe he does, but he's not human; he's just a long-lived fraudster trying to irrigate his own path to heaven with our lives and blood."

"The ravings of a madman," Angron sneered.

Once again, he charged. He knew nothing of giving up; nothing could subdue the Red Sand King of Nuceria. He was a born fighter, and the cruelty he had acquired only strengthened his nature.

Horus frowned slightly, finally showing some displeasure. He raised his claws, and the force fields on the blades of the sword and claws collided, forcing them into a struggle for a moment.

Undoubtedly, this was not a good thing, Corax was watching closely from the sidelines. Horus sighed regretfully, placing his right hand on his left arm, his strength suddenly increasing, even to the point that Angron could not withstand it.

The previously maintained balance was instantly shattered. Angron's pupils contracted sharply, and he immediately retreated, but he still couldn't avoid being slashed on the right shoulder by one of the five claws. Blood splattered out, and the blade fell to the ground.

Corax roared, his prepared attack turning into a blockade. Horus, however, stepped back at just the right moment, causing Corax to miss his target.

The Lord of the Ravens glared at him angrily, Horus returned a smile, which he quickly transformed into sorrow. His gaze passed over Corax and turned toward what was behind him.

Fresh blood slowly dripped onto the ground.

Angron stood up silently, glanced down at his right hand, his fingers were twitching uncontrollably, and blood was gushing from the junction of his shoulder and arm; the muscles in his hand were no longer under his control.

He dodged quickly, but not fast enough. His disadvantage was too great; if he were wearing armor, this attack would have been nothing, but now...

No, it's pointless to think about these things now.

Fight on, this is the only path left.

"I'm sorry, brother," Horus said sincerely, at just the right moment. "Let's stop, okay? I beg you, I'll go get the Apothecary."

"No," Angron said, raising his head without hesitation, as if he had considered this matter a thousand times over.

"What?" Horus asked, slightly taken aback.

"Continue," Angron said. "Take off your hypocritical mask, Horus. We will kill you."

"But you don't even have weapons anymore," Horus said, frowning, stepping forward and pressing his foot on the hilts of the two Power Swords, his tone emphasizing the insult. He seemed completely oblivious to the insult in his gesture.

Corax witnessed this, and his eyes behind his helmet showed even more sorrow—he had understood something.

"Give up, brother, I'm begging you. And Fulgrim, he needs treatment too," Horus said, his posture firm, yet his tone gentle.

Angron remained silent, only glancing down at his right hand. After a silence lasting less than half a second, he reached out his left hand, grasped his right wrist, and began to exert force.

Blood splattered, the gladiator's face contorted in agony, veins bulging, his clenched teeth cracking.

Amidst the terrifying sounds of flesh tearing and bones breaking, he gripped his right hand, stood still, and gasped for breath. Strangely, the blood from the wound stopped gushing out, and on the ground, another point of the eight-pointed star began to light up at an almost frenzied pace.

The gladiator took a deep breath, stood still, and another color slowly emerged in his azure eyes.

At the same time, the flesh of that hand began to melt, turning into boiling blood. Everyone present felt a heavy and immense pressure; a deity was pouring His power into this place without restraint, not to take possession, but to bestow blessings.

Blood surged and clung to the bones of Angron's right hand, gradually deforming it, and a giant axe with a bone handle and flesh as its blade was born. Extremely ferocious and extremely ominous, its desire did not even need to be seen or heard.

Its birth caused an uneasy whisper within the Dark King's Court. The corpses, hanging upside down, stared at the scene with their empty eye sockets, their jaws suddenly snapping shut in unison, as if in celebration.

Horus looked at him with extreme seriousness, his voice almost a whisper, "Brother."

Corax was speechless; he was unable to respond to what had just happened.

"I just wanted a weapon," the gladiator replied coldly. "Now I have one."

"So, come to war, Horus. Cast aside your so-called theories of lies and truth."

"You will surely die today, and I will use your blood to atone for the Vengeful Spirit."

His voice remained loud, as if he had never been injured. The bloodlust in his eyes kept surging, but it could only make his expression grow colder and his breathing more even; he could do nothing else.

He never gives up.

Horus's seriousness gradually turned into respect. He sighed and his gaze swept imperceptibly over the phoenix lying on the ground. After a moment, he nodded.

"Then let's fight," said the Wolf God.

On the ground, a kind of Radiance began to shine brightly, dazzlingly so. As it gradually faded, Horus Lupercal had already changed into a different suit of armor.

His crimson eyes remained unchanged, but the insignia of the Aquila and the Legion had been replaced with Chaos eight-pointed star, its color changing from white to black, outlined in gold, and giving birth to burning flames. His skin had also turned an evil, ghastly white, and his pupils emitted a dark light.

The Worldbreaker had appeared in his hand without him noticing. He solemnly raised it and assumed a fighting stance towards Angron.

The gladiator didn't look at him, but nodded slightly to Corax. The Lord of the Ravens exhaled a breath of stale air and looked sadly at Fulgrim.

--

Horus Aximand had lost count of how many elevator shafts he'd climbed. A sharp pain shot through his ribs—a wound from an explosion. Reaching his destination was proving much more difficult than he'd anticipated, but that wasn't the end of the world.

This is not a problem, this will not be a problem, he will solve it, he will reach the Primarch.

He had to fulfill his duty, and if everyone else had abandoned theirs, then he would have to. He had sworn an oath that no one could break.

He walked alone in the darkness.

Update complete.