Demiurge's feelings were complicated. Staring at the sluggish Angron, he suddenly felt that he had made a mistake.
What had the original attack plan been?
Demiurge had planned it well. He had long since scouted out the city's defenses and knew that, aside from the fixed heavy city-defense cannons, there was nothing in the city that could threaten his life.
So he had intended to act personally: kill a patrolling soldier, wear his skin, infiltrate the heavily guarded city-defense cannons, and burn those weapons away with his hellfire. If luck was on his side, Demiurge would even try to use those weapons to fire upon the Imperium's troops.
Once the city-defense cannons had drawn enough of the defenders' attention, Demiurge would collapse the ground beneath them and have the Undead Avengers he had converted over the past few days lead an army of undead in a massacre through the city, forcing the Imperium's troops to split their forces. Only then would he summon the undead army sealed within his item all at once and launch a fierce, merciless assault on the city walls. He believed that, with enemies both inside and out, there would be no survivors in this city.
But why had he not carried out that plan? The reason was Angron.
After Leman Russ had effortlessly killed a level-90 Dark Young and followed the traces of teleportation magic to twist off Demiurge's head, he had developed an inexplicable psychological shadow toward those unusually powerful beings known as Primarchs.
That feeling of being utterly invincible, of being able to do nothing but struggle futilely and watch himself slowly die, filled Demiurge with fear. Every plan he devised was meaningless in the eyes of Primarchs; their brute strength was enough to shatter any hopeless situation.
If that was the case...