Leman Russ was fighting a bloody battle at the Far Eastern Cliff, Magnus was killing his children who had mutated into Chaos Spawn, and Perturabo was taking a beating from daemons. So what was Angron doing in this other world?
Could this Primarch, once the most savage and bloodthirsty of them all, really be sitting safely in the rear, enjoying this hard-won peace?
Of course not!
The moment Angron received Leman Russ's message, he realized that the situation at the front was growing increasingly dire. Unable to move his own body properly, he forced himself to control a mechanical frame through neural commands. Then, he radically modified the Leviathan-class Dreadnoughts stored by the Legion, creating a Primarch-grade Dreadnought for himself—one so atrocious that any tech-priest who saw it would faint from rage on the spot, while the Ork boyz would roar that it was brutally awesome.
Of course, even the largest Leviathan-class Dreadnought was still too small for a Primarch. Angron removed the sarcophagus, leaving his front completely exposed, while his back was plugged directly into the Dreadnought's operating system by a mass of neural cables. To ensure his movements would not become as slow and cumbersome as the Dreadnought's, Angron carved countless magic arrays both inside and outside its frame to propel himself.
Angron charged toward the front with his Devourer guard. He arrived near the portal, where the atmosphere was still grim and deadly silent. The Collegia Titanica and Skitarii stood guard without moving a step. Angron needed to bring his brother the Titans' support, even if it was only one of them.
"Head to the front..." The Warlord Titan's pilot looked troubled. "It isn't that I'm unwilling to obey your orders, my lord. But the front is at least eight thousand kilometers from here. Even at full