Roundtable Viewing (IV)

The Nuceria turned their heads the moment they heard the roar, but could only catch a fleeting glimpse of a dark shadow. ♚♞ 🐻💝

He thought the Shadow would rush towards him, but he was wrong. It stubbornly charged toward the round table, only to be intercepted midway by another white phantom that was hurtling past. The two collided, producing a deafening sound that made one's eardrums throb.

"You dare to stop me?!" Konrad Curze Curze growled again.

"You seem to have missed a few etiquette lessons, brother," Sanguinius replied, frowning slightly.

The Angel of Baal did not touch the ground; he gently flapped his wings and hovered in mid-air, but his powerful arms firmly gripped Curze's outstretched hands, rendering him unable to move.

"Does the place he came from really require any etiquette?" Leman Russ Russ asked, his face still bearing that malicious smile.

Sanguinius glanced at him, silencing the Fenrisian once again.

He folded his wings and landed slowly. Curze seized the opportunity and suddenly took two steps back, the force of which was so great that it shattered the ground.

He tried to disrupt Sanguinius' balance, but the angel remained unmoved, his hands like statues cast from steel. His originally beautiful muscles suddenly bulged, and the power he unleashed made him an impenetrable wall.

The angel shook his head, slowly bringing his face closer to his brother, who was baring his teeth and growling. He stared Dreadnought into those dark eyes and saw his own expressionless reflection in them.

"While that videotape guy was rude, brother," he began calmly, "You're still far worse. Besides, he's right about one thing: it's just a story that never happened, so why are you so bothered?"

A cold smile crept across the Nostramo's face.

"You're an outsider, so of course you can be indifferent, you proud domestic bird. Look at you, so Radiance. Should I kneel before you and beg for forgiveness, sir?"

He answered in a low voice, full of malice, his breath coming out icy cold air, so cold it made one wonder if he was still alive.

"So, why do you care so much, Konrad Curze?" Angron interrupted the conversation, asking.

He slowly rose from his seat, the white cables overhead steadily transmitting the medicine that could cure the aftereffects of the Butcher's Nails, his deep blue eyes filled with concern.

Of course, this kind of emotion is completely unacceptable to some people.

"Stop your hypocritical pretense!" the Nostramo roared. "Don't let me see you look at me like that even once again, or I'll gouge your eyes out!"

Sanguinius suddenly exerted his strength.

"Apologize to him, brother," he said sternly and mercilessly.

"I don't consider you my brothers." Curze turned his head and grinned. "Come on, don't use that word to address me. One of us is destined to betray us, start a war, and burn the Imperium and the galaxy. Maybe that one will be you, Sanguinius?"

"Enough!" A furious shout came from beside the round table, Horus Lupercal stood up. "You're being far too willful, Konrad Curze!"

"It's much better than you, a mere Primarch Child who keeps calling someone 'father'," Konrad Curze Curze responded with a forced smile.

Horus's face flushed red and then turned pale at the sharp, sarcastic remark that was impossible to refute. But the instigator was still not satisfied. He simply turned his head and glanced at each of his "brothers" with a fake smile, his eyes quite cold.

He opened his mouth.

Sanguinius sighed, a flash of white light appeared and disappeared, and one of his wings stirred up a gust of wind in the stone chamber, forcing Curze to swallow his words.

"Magnus." He turned to the most scholarly-looking among them. "Could you use your psionic powers to fetch something that can help us get started in our current situation?"

The crimson Magnus hesitated before raising his right hand.

Sanguinius sighed again.

He tried to remain as gentle as possible and asked, "What is it, brother?"

"Sure, but what do you want?"

"A hammer," Alpharius said quietly. "Or a sword."

"I understand the sword, but what do you need a hammer for?" Leman Russ Russ asked with great interest.

Alpharius smiled but did not answer, instead making a gesture of tapping his teeth with his right hand.

"A little tape to shut him up for now will do, Magnus," Sanguinius replied wearily, ignoring their actions for the time being.

But Magnus clearly had a different opinion. He nodded, then hesitated for a few seconds before raising his right hand. "Well, even the highest quality duct tape probably wouldn't be able to restrain him for very long."

"If you dare conjure up a roll of duct tape, I'll kill you!" the Nostramo roared. "And I'll burn every single book you've hidden! Just you wait, you bookworm!"

Russ burst into laughter, raised his right hand, and slammed it on the table. "Hammer--!"

Alpharius nodded in agreement, saying, "Hammer."

Aside from the situation, Ferrus Manus frowned and shook his head quite seriously. He silently turned his head to look at the light screen, where a line of small words had appeared precisely at the right moment.

Why are you looking at me like that?

"Let's end this farce," Medusa's Gorgon thought silently to himself.

[This was indeed a farce, but why should I end it?]

I know you can, I'm begging you.

[I can, but whether I can and whether I want to are two different things. This is a rare farce, performed by all of you great, noble, and proud Primarch. How can it be interrupted halfway through? However, since you've put it that way—]

Suddenly, the videotape, which had been lying quietly on the round table, began to vibrate violently, and a blinding blue light burst forth from it. When the light faded, both Sanguinius and Konrad Curze Curze were back in their seats.

Moreover, the Nostramo man's hands and feet were bound by a ring that emitted a blue glow. No matter how much he struggled, it was to no avail.

He was clearly furious, veins bulging on his forehead. He opened his mouth to roar, but no sound came out; he looked like a skilled pantomime actor.

Then, a voice came from the videotape, a male voice that sounded like it was always carrying a frivolous laugh.

"You guys are really making a ruckus," he remarked.

"It's talking." Perturabo squinted. "It really does have self-awareness. An Abominable Intelligence?"

"No," the videotape casually dismissed the speculation. "My identity is unimportant, and I suggest you don't take it so seriously. The chances of us meeting are absurdly small, even smaller than an ant drawing a Mona Lisa in its the Nest."

"What exactly do you want?" Vulkan had remained almost entirely silent, asked seriously.

"I don't want to do anything," the videotape said. "I just want you all to quietly watch this foolish story so that nothing like this ever happens again. Do you know what your fathers sacrificed for this opportunity? Friendly reminder, I'm not exactly a benevolent businessman."

Regardless of how the Primarch reacted to its words, the light screen flickered again. The previously still, or even dimming, image began to move smoothly once more.

In the scene, Angron, his face twisted like a demon, reached out with lightning speed and grabbed Karyl Lohars by the neck. The veins on his hands bulged, and the force he used left no doubt about his murderous intent.

The victim remained unmoved and showed little panic. Then, a golden light flashed suddenly, like flames, Angron suddenly howled. He immediately retreated, even plunging his hands into the writhing steel braid at the back of his head.

His face was shifting between madness and agony, a sight that horrified onlookers.

[Leave now.] Angron in the scene is looking down, breathing heavily. [You must leave.]

The man named Karyl Lohars did not answer; his upper body remained hidden in the darkness. However, in that instant, the Primarch keenly sensed that something was amiss.

He had grown enormous compared to when he was still in Nostramo, even surpassing many Primarch.

[Get out of here! Get lost! I don't need your help!]

No, you need it.

"Karyl said, and began to walk slowly and calmly toward the man who had recently tried to kill him. Angron roared angrily again, yet anyone could hear an inappropriate fear in that broken howl."

Fear? Why the fear?

The Nuceria sighed.

"He was afraid he would kill him," he said, his voice very dry.

He stared at the image, his hands clenching unconsciously. He didn't know what would happen next, and for a moment, he was even afraid to look in Konrad Curze Curze's direction.

However, what happened next took an unexpected turn.

In the scene, facing the completely berserk Angron, Karyl Lohars offered no resistance. He even opened his arms to welcome the furious charge filled with murderous intent, allowing himself to be firmly grasped by those blood-stained hands.

Then, he did only one thing.

He cupped that contorted face in his hands and gently wiped away the blood from under his eyes, as if wiping away tears.

Angron was stunned; he couldn't comprehend it. The Butcher's Nails continued their relentless assault, drilling and destroying relentlessly within his brain, forcing the blood vessels on his forehead to burst.

Fury once again seized control of the body. Angron should have clenched his fists and killed Karyl once more, but this time, his fingers failed to move.

Not only that, he couldn't even turn his head. A pair of pale hands pressed against his cheeks, forcing him to remain immobile.

"[It's you again.]" the man in the video said in a low voice, his tone gentle, yet a palpable anger was burning within it.

The light curtain went out again.

Leman Russ Russ suddenly uttered a Fenris phrase, fast and drawn out, in a very loud voice. Judging from his expression alone, it was clearly not a pleasant thing to say.

Coincidentally, Roboute Guilliman also whispered something, and soon a series of noises filled the stone chamber. Everyone seemed to be dissatisfied with this, and among the Primarch, only one remained silent.

Why? Is it because you don't want to?

"Why do you always stop the story when it's at its most exciting point?" Lion Alderson asked, rather displeased.

"Perhaps it did it on purpose," Perturabo scoffed. "It wants to observe our reaction."

The voice on the videotape chuckled softly, sounding quite pleased.

"I'm not that bored. In fact, this is the only request from all of you fathers." It said slowly in a very unpleasant tone. "But what can I do? Although I'm a businessman, I still value integrity."

"The will of our father?" Lorgar Aurelian suddenly pressed, his voice serious. "Mr. Narrator Machine, what exactly did he say?"

Two low laughs came from the videotape, the screen went dark, and then lit up again.

This time, it also clearly glossed over something, as Angron appeared in a rather advanced medical room, with a large blue U-shaped emblem gleaming on the wall.

Roboute Guilliman frowned sharply, a million questions swirling in his mind. He even stood up, trying to figure out what was going on. But the images didn't stop; instead, they played continuously.

[That was seven months ago, and it was my sixteenth year in the arena.]

[I agreed, and then, when I woke up, Oenomaus was already dead.]

[Four hundred and seventy-one, I killed four hundred and seventy-one people, I only remember killing four hundred and seventy-one people.]

[Judgment.]

"My lord, my name is Oenomaus, and I come from the desert."

My name is Akar, and I come from the forest.

My name is Milkan, and I come from the snow-capped mountains.

[My name is Yanio. I was born in the arena; I am the child of a gladiator.]

I am Angron's father.

[And me, I was once his brother.]

[Me too.]

I am his older sister; I died when he was eight years old.

[My lord, we are his family. He has saved us countless times, in gladiatorial combat, in the punishment of slave owners. He took away our bitter tears and nourished us with his own blood.]

He had countless opportunities to escape and become a free man, yet he chose to remain in the arena, simply because he couldn't bear to see us die.

His kindness tormented him, turning him into a monster.

[We've been lingering in this blood-stained sandpit ever since. I watched it crumble before my eyes, and so have we, sir.]

The Nuceria stared at the screen in disbelief; he had lost the ability to speak.

Unlike the person in the image, he had only been in the arena for less than five years, and had only been impaled for three months before being fortunate enough to be found by the Emperor. However, he did recognize those illusory souls; he recognized each and every one of them.

They were indeed his family.

In fact, they are already in Terra. They came to Terra with him by boat, which was the only request of the Nuceria.

[Stop, Angron. We'll fight alongside you in this gladiatorial combat.]

The light curtain slowly dimmed, again and again.

"You—" The Nuceria man stood up angrily, pointing at the videotape, his finger trembling, and remained silent.

"Oh, believe me, you won't particularly want to see what happens next," the voice on the videotape said slowly. "Especially considering your legion is still on its way to see you."

The Nuceria took a deep breath and spoke very seriously, even giving a slight bow.

"I beg you to keep playing; it's very important to me."

The videotape remained unmoved, retorting, "Who doesn't care about this story? Look at the mute guy sitting diagonally across from you; he doesn't seem to mind—oh, sorry."

A flash of blue light, and Konrad Curze Curze roared at a deafening volume, "Continue—play—!"

"Really?" the videotape asked skeptically. "Shouldn't you let me go back to the beginning? Aren't you curious about how Karyl Lohars returned to the real world?"

"No need for further explanation, this must be the power of my father," said Lorgar Aurelian with great reverence.

He was completely oblivious to the adjectives used in the videotape; only a few people were astute enough to grasp the meaning behind those words.

Back to the real world? Perturabo frowned deeply.

"Don't make me say it a third time, you machine that should rot in a sewer," Konrad Curze Curze said through gritted teeth, panting heavily.

"I have indeed been to places like stinking ditches, but that's the city's sewers, and it was all because I was drunk. Unlike you, you little black bat, you grew up in stinking ditches."

Amid Konrad Curze Curze's howls, Leman Russ Russ suddenly approached the round table with a serious expression.

"To be honest, Mr. Narrator Machine," he began slowly. "Do you know something?"

"What?"

"Your character is far more wicked than all of us combined," the Fenrisian said in awe.

"Thank you for the compliment, but to refute your slander against me—" The videotape burst into laughter, and the screen lit up.

The images flashed by so quickly that even with Primarch- level dynamic vision, it was impossible to glean any useful information from such rapid movement. Several seconds later, the images gradually slowed down and became clearer, and the sound reappeared.

[Live on, Karyl Lohars, the covenant between us has not yet burned out.]

[I am Angron of Nuceria, and I have come to kill you.]

The scene shifts, twists, and finally settles on a skeleton lying before a trembling Night Haunter. It is completely covered in ashes, emitting wisps of smoke, with no trace of flesh or blood, only a pale, endless gray.

The screen froze again, then went dark.

"--How was it?" the videotape asked expectantly. "My personality isn't bad at all, is it?"