61. Death of the Gladiator

The royal court of the Wolf God trembled. The dead, hanging upside down, silently observed the battle. The eight-pointed star marks forcibly engraved on their foreheads glowed faintly, echoing the one on the ground.

A strong wind swept through the royal court, not continuously, but rather a turbulent flow of air, one gust after another, accompanied by tremendous tremors as if the moon had fallen from the sky to the ground.

Horus, wielding the Worldbreaker in one hand, fought alongside Angron. Each clash between the axe blade and the Warhammer caused the air to tremble, creating distorted ripples.

Horus refrained from further words, maintaining a rare and precious silence.

His opponent, however, was not like that; with each swing of his axe, he was forced to let out a shrill roar, not as a release of power, but rather as an endurance of pain.

Every time the hammer falls or collides with the axe, the brutal sound generated by the force completely shatters the eardrums of those around.

"Die--!" Angron hurled a broken howl from his chest, his voice as shattered as if he had swallowed a razor blade.

He wielded the blood axe with one hand, his blows falling like a torrential downpour, relentless and astonishing. Even Horus could not completely withstand it, and his chest armor plate was now covered with multiple wounds.

Despite the apparent danger, he remained calm, showing no intention of using his left-hand Lightning Claw. He could have easily ended the fight simply by striking with his claw while Worldbreaker, yet he refrained from doing so.

Corax watched from the sidelines, his heart filled with anger and worry.

But now there was no time left for him to think. The battle had been going on for several seconds, but to the Primarch it felt like hours. The Lord of the Ravens had to painfully accept the fact that he was incapable of participating in such a battle.

He could no longer offer Angron any help, and might even become a burden. There was only one thing he could do left.

Corax turned and ran to Fulgrim's side. The latter was still lying on the ground, panting heavily. The phoenix's face was covered in dust and blood, and compared to his former noble and radiant face, he was now extremely wretched.

But he didn't care about any of that. Fulgrim's gaze was fixed on Horus, unblinking, and his eyes were bloodshot.

He tried again and again to get up from the ground, but his body repeatedly rejected and punished him. Blood and bits of internal organs kept gushing from his throat, but the phoenix didn't care and just continued to torture himself.

Corax then realized that his noble brother had completely lost his mind; the rage of Vengeance and the deep-seated hatred were enough to make a person completely abandon reason and become a mad beast.

Raven Guard forced himself to reach out and press his hands on Fulgrim's shoulders. "Listen to me, brother, listen to me. We have to leave. Horus is no longer himself; he is something else. We—"

"--No!" Phoenix roared, vomiting blood, her eyes flashing with madness. "No! If you don't help me stand up, let go of my hand, Corax! I'm going to kill him, he must die, he must die!"

"You can't do it," Corax declared calmly, but his hands moved with surprising speed.

He gently ran his left hand over the sunken sternum of the phoenix, the tactile sensation from the sensor sent through his fingers making his heart sink. He placed his hands on the phoenix again, searching for a position that would prevent Fulgrim's injuries from worsening and would allow him to lift him up.

But the phoenix did not cooperate; it struggled violently and howled incessantly. The Lord of the Crows silently withdrew his hand and removed his helmet.

His face was barely visible in the darkness, surrounded by what seemed like floating dust, and his dark eyes were filled with sorrow.

"Let's go, brother," Corax whispered, followed by the gladiator's almost shattered roar. "Don't let him down."

"You want me to desert, Corax?! No! I will never leave our brother here to fight that damn bastard alone!"

"But there's nothing you can do right now, Fulgrim, just like me, no, you're in a worse situation than me," Corax said painfully but firmly.

He paused for half a second, looked directly into Fulgrim's bloodshot eyes, and continued speaking without wavering.

"You have no armor, no weapons, and are so badly wounded you can barely move. How are you going to fight Horus? Look at him; if even someone like Angron couldn't gain the upper hand in battle, how can you expect to win?"

"It doesn't matter, I'll kill him, I definitely will." Phoenix stared stubbornly at Corax, like a naive child yearning for recognition.

"I can do it, Corax, believe me. Help me get up, please? I beg you, let me get up."

"The only help I can offer is to take you away," Corax said.

He reached out and pulled Phoenix up despite his struggles. The movement was gentle, yet brooked no resistance. Phoenix continued to struggle violently. If he weren't worried that knocking him out would lead to some unpleasant consequences, Corax probably would have already rendered him unconscious.

He carried Fulgrim and strode toward the gates of the royal court, when Horus's voice rang out behind them, perfectly calm.

"You cannot leave without my permission," Horus said, dodging a swing of the blood axe. "This is the Wolf King's Court."

As soon as he finished speaking, the door vanished without a trace. Darkness enveloped everything, and the view outside the porthole was no longer of stars, but of enormous eyes, Chaos, disordered, and insane—staring at this place without pause.

"It'll be the same when you're dead!" Angron roared, swinging his arm furiously and bringing his axe down again.

Horus swung his Warhammer, parrying with a backhand. Sparks, like Thunder, burst forth from where their weapons clashed, their faces brightening in the instant, both able to see each other's eyes.

Angron's eyes were filled with blood, yet the two glimmers of azure shone like two jewels within the crimson, refusing to succumb. The Butcher's Nails drilled and pressed into his skull, inflicting immense pain, but only strengthening his resolve.

Horus's eyes were completely black, empty and indifferent, like utter voids.

The sparks vanished, the axe and hammer separated, time began to flow again, and Horus smiled thoughtfully before immediately stepping back.

"So you weren't fighting alone, brother."

Horus said gently.

"I saw them, in your eyes, beside you. They were fighting alongside you, and have they been all this time? They were protecting you from those terrible instruments of torture, and from the baptism of rage. How great."

He finally raised his Lightning Claw, Angron realized what was happening and charged towards him, but it was too late. The Wolf God's cold face was illuminated by a terrifying light, and within the light, some faces began to appear.

The black mist rolled in, and a tremendous sense of oppression suddenly descended, instantly halting the movements of the three Primarch. No matter how they tried to resist, they were powerless.

If the battlefield were on another ship, the situation might be much better, but they are currently in the Lupercal's Court, where the Wolf God is the sole master and can do whatever he wants.

Anything.

Horus gazed intently at the light, raised his paw, and slowly grasped it.

He walked to Angron's side before releasing the Lightning Claws, and the light fell on the gladiator's head, forming a dazzling crack in the air.

Horus smiled, reached in with his right claw, and viciously tore it apart, pulling out a soul, a Shadow, a scarred man, bare-chested, with a knot of blood and scars around his waist.

"Traitor! You're a traitor!" the soul cursed in Nuceria. "You've betrayed everyone!"

"Words are useless, but courage is commendable; how tragic is your resistance." Horus replied in Nuceria as well, his Lightning Claw lashing out. Claws collided, souls shattered, and slowly dissipated like specks of light.

He reached out his claws again and grabbed another one. This time it was a young man, perhaps even a minor, with a youthful face. Like the first man, his face was also filled with intense anger.

There was no fear, not even a little bit.

"Look at what you've done!" he berated. "How can you be Warmaster? You cruel schemer, hypocritical liar, disgusting traitor!"

Horus chuckled softly, his claws closing and piercing the soul's body. Then came the third, the fourth, and the fifth.

Angron's face was completely contorted, his muscles seemed to have separated from his bones, and his nerves and blood vessels throbbed incessantly on his skin. He wanted to stop it, to resist, to swing his axe and kill Horus, but he could do nothing.

The rebels had no way to resist, and the perpetrators smiled, their eyes filled with a nihilism far greater than before. This horrific massacre lasted for a while, until Horus dragged out the last man, an old man with white hair and beard.

Two tears of blood finally streamed from Angron's eyes.

"Well, you are the last one. Do you have anything to say?" Horus asked.

The old man didn't look at him; he simply turned his head slowly.

"Don't give up, son of the mountain."

Oenomaus told his son that the language they used was the ancient Nuceria dialect.

"We are long gone, but we will live on in your resistance and battles. We come from the desert, the forest, the snow-capped mountains." He smiled. "We will always be with you."

Horus swung down his claws.

The light dissipated, and the black mist vanished. Angron rose from the ground, crimson blood streaming from his eyes, the two streaks of azure finally fading away. He opened his mouth, unable to utter a sound, and charged toward Horus.

The latter burst into laughter, as if he had already won.

Until a voice rang out.

"Father!" a faint voice began to call from outside the door.

Besides