64 Interlude: The Bloodstained One

Lotala Salin heard an incredibly low, labored breathing, unlike anything a human should have, but rather like that of a wild beast, and a wounded one at that. The sound came from the deepest part of the darkness, accompanied by an extremely strong smell of blood.

Before coming here, Lotala thought she could face it calmly, but now she finds she can't.

But that's alright; these things alone are not enough to stop her. She is the captain of the Firm Resolve, bearing immense responsibility, and nothing or anyone can prevent her from fulfilling her duties.

She had been its captain since she was thirty, and now at forty-five, she was still full of fighting spirit. Lotala held a very simple thought in her heart—sooner or later, she would prove that even death could not stop her.

But is that possible? Can a mortal truly overcome the law of death through sheer willpower? Perhaps, but let's return to reality for now. Captain Kharn of the Eighth Company of the War Hounds walked ahead of her, guiding her and issuing his nineteenth warning of the day.

His tone was so natural that Lotala initially thought he was going to say something else. But he was the same as always, continuing his warnings.

Lotala thought that Kharn always knew how to disappoint others outside of the battlefield.

"I told you, Captain, he doesn't want to see anyone right now. Remember me, and remember it clearly," Kharn said. "So you won't complain to me later."

"He is our Primarch, Kharn. So whether he likes it or not, there are some decisions only he can make. And also, I almost never complain about you."

"Ours," Kharn said, looking down at her. "But not yours, Captain. Watch your words. Otherwise, I'll conspire with others to replace your command Throne with a wooden one."

Lotala gave him a less-than-friendly smile, the smile made even more sinister by her face, ravaged by two horrific scars.

"You'd better not joke with me at a time like this, Kharn," the female captain said. "Or I'll get the others to stuff your pillow full of that Eighth Legion Remembrancers's book and throw you in solitary confinement."

"Understood, Captain. But I don't need a pillow," Kharn said, obediently shutting his mouth.

Lotara wasn't joking when she said she'd throw him in solitary confinement; the female captain had the authority and the guts to do so. Discipline was extremely important within the War Hounds, and replacing the captain's Throne with wood was undoubtedly a violation of discipline.

They continued forward into the darkness.

About twenty minutes later, Lotala finally saw the person struggling painfully in the darkness clearly; her eyes saw every detail.

Blood, scars, a severed arm, and a twitching, bloodstained face with bulging veins that seemed to pulsate like an acquired brand. His eyes were bloodshot, making him look utterly terrifying.

On the way here, Lothara could hear the Primarch's suppressed, painful gasps, and now, she was witnessing firsthand the mutilation of a demigod.

Lotala herself couldn't say which of the two things was more agonizing to her sanity.

Kharn turned his head expressionlessly and pointed in that direction.

"I can see," Lotala said, her eyes still fixed on the giant in the darkness.

"Yes, I know," Kharn said, grabbing his belt to find a place for his hands.

Now, they stood side by side, facing Angron, one of the Primarch, Lord of the Twelfth Legion, Lord of the Red Sands, Son of the Mountains of Nuceria, Gladiator.

A person stained with blood.

Lotara cleared her throat, her voice carrying far and clearly in the darkness: "My Lord—"

"--Why did you bring her here?" the Primarch interrupted her, asking Kharn in a thunderous voice.

The company commander sighed, shook his head at the female captain with an expression that said, "I knew it," before answering Angron's question.

"I can't, Primarch. No one on the Firm Resolve can defy Lady Lotara."

"My lord," Lothara spoke again, "Your brother, Lord Kolaus Corax, has sent a message requesting to speak with you."

The person in the darkness did not answer immediately; he stared at her for at least half a minute before finally managing to squeeze out a muffled sound.

"I... I don't want to see him right now."

Was that a cry of pain? Oh, the Emperor.

Lotara calmed herself down and forced herself to focus her gaze on Angron's face so that she wouldn't have to keep noticing his missing arm.

Just looking at it gave Lotala an urge to order the ship to turn back and bomb the Vengeful Spirit, but she managed to restrain herself. She still swore in her heart that one day she would blow everyone on that ship to smithereens.

Not a single one was left.

Suppressing that thought for the moment, she continued to persuade Angron: "My lord, I don't usually repeat myself to you many times, but your brother seems really..."

"Very what?" Angron asked reluctantly.

"Sadness," Lotala said, adding the words "weariness" and "pain" to it in her mind.

The image of that pale giant, Kolus Corax, one of the two deadliest assassins in the galaxy, appeared before her eyes. Yet, at that moment, he seemed unexpectedly quiet, weary, and fragile on the holographic projection screen.

Lothara knew this was an illusion; a Primarch was bound to be far stronger than she imagined, perhaps even stronger than a thousand of her combined. But at that moment, the Lord of the Ravens did indeed show some kind of pain.

Extremely profound, extremely obvious.

She couldn't forget, just as she couldn't let go of Angron's missing right arm.

The gladiator remained silent for a moment, his breathing heavy. Besides this, Lotara could also hear a faint, distorted sound. She knew what was causing it, but she didn't want to concern herself with it for the time being.

In reality, she had no way to deal with it.

"I understand," Angron said. "Arrange a meeting for me; I'll be on the bridge shortly. Also, ask Fulgrim if he'd like to come."

The Son of the Mountain exhaled a breath of air tinged with the smell of blood. Lotara saw blood dripping from his lips and teeth, and at the same time heard the creaking sound of Kharn's gauntlets rubbing against his belt.

"Is he alright?" The son of the mountain swallowed a mouthful of blood and asked.

His voice was filled with obvious concern. Even though the pain had broken his voice, it couldn't conceal this strong emotion.

"Lord Fulgrim's situation is somewhat complicated, my lord," Lotara replied hesitantly. "I don't know how to describe it to you, but according to Captain Akurduana, what Lord Fulgrim needs most right now is rest."

Angron nodded. "It's good that he's alright. I'll go see him after the meeting. I'm so sorry we couldn't reclaim the Pride of the Emperor."

He slowly closed his eyes, and the deep blue that had been covered by the crimson of blood disappeared.

The Butcher's Nails, long since rendered incapable of further damage to his brain, utterly produced a strange, low grinding sound against the Primarch's skull. They could no longer ravage his sanity, emotions, or memories, but they continued to inflict pain upon him.

Lotara couldn't understand why Angron was so determined to preserve this horrific instrument of torture. She had asked many people about it, but none of them had an answer. The only thing she could do was respect that, just as she was keeping silent at this moment.

Kharn did the same; he watched his Primarch suffer without uttering a word. He didn't need to say anything; he knew what Angron had gone through.

They all know.

They had already heard those things.

Kolaus Corax was a very calm and rational narrator. He didn't use any adjectives at all, but simply stated everything clearly and plainly. And it was precisely because of this that the scenes he described seemed even more cruel.

Kharn couldn't fathom the willpower with which his Primarch forced himself to remain rational and sane, especially considering that Angron hadn't even vented his anger after waking up.

After understanding the situation, he simply issued a few basic orders, such as changing course and leaving, making sure Luna Wolves and the last Sons of Horus were settled, and then had a warehouse on the lower deck emptied and locked himself there.

"My lord? Are you alright? I have a few more battle reports to report to you," Lotara spoke again.

At this moment, she deeply resented disturbing the Primarch, yet she couldn't ignore her duty—she was here to do something, not just to visit.

Everyone on the Firm Resolve was busy, and she would never have dragged Kharn away from their posts to come here unless absolutely necessary.

"Not good, but it won't affect the meeting I'm attending," Angron replied with his eyes closed. "As for the battle report, put it down, Lotara, I'll read it."

"Yes, my lord."

They left, and it was fifteen minutes after they left that Angron snapped out of his reverie.

He lowered his head, blood flowing from his nose, staining the edge of the Dataslate on the ground. The Primarch extended his left hand, only to find his index and middle fingers twitching. He took a deep breath and shook his neck violently.

The Butcher's Nails began to punish him severely for this act of resistance, but he let out a long breath, and the trembling in his fingers miraculously calmed down. The Mountain Child picked up the Dataslate and began to review the reports.

What used to take less than two minutes now took him a full ten minutes—a long and painful ordeal. Every second of his thoughts was filled with complex branches of ideas born of the pain, but that didn't matter.

He slowly stood up from the ground, stretched his body, and loosened his muscles. Crusts fell from his healed wounds. He looked down at his empty right arm and felt a phantom pain emanating from the nerve endings.

With the regenerative power at the Primarch level, limb regeneration is not difficult, but his right hand is not simply damaged and cannot be restored.

Angron closed his eyes again, and those faces flashed before him, those names accompanied by their individual voices brushing past his ears. From the mountains, from the forests, from the desert, from Nuceria.

They protected him. Once, twice, and the last time.

"I don't hate you, Horus," he whispered sadly. "But I will kill you, brother."

The full name of the female captain would be blocked by Qidian, so I changed it from La to La.