Have You Always Been This Angry?

The dust had not yet settled in the deep pit.

Guilliman's figure slowly descended, landing at the edge of the pit.

He looked down at the massive figure at the bottom of the pit, whose armor had been shattered and which he had nearly smashed into the earth's crust with his punch, and which was convulsing.

The golden phantom of the Emperor's Psionic Energy resembled the most magnificent solar corona.

Behind him, it burned and expanded silently, illuminating the war-torn ruins as if a sacred kingdom had descended.

The phantom had the outline of Emperor, with black hair that seemed to float in Psionic Energy, and eyes made entirely of golden flames.

It was burning with raging flames powerful enough to incinerate the Milky Way, its eyes fixed intently on Angron at the bottom of the pit.

At the bottom of the pit, Angron struggled, using his almost broken arm to support his upper body.

The crazed, distorted expression on his face froze the moment he came into contact with the pure golden Psionic Energy, and then slowly dissipated.

The eternal agony and rage brought by the Butcher's Nails were temporarily suppressed and soothed under the direct illumination of the supreme Master of Mankind's Psionic Energy.

It wasn't a cure, but rather a stronger will that forcefully suppressed that boiling madness.

Angron raised his bloodied and mangled face, and for the first time, his eyes, which had been filled with nothing but scarlet rage, clearly reflected the scene before him.

Guilliman in blue armor, and behind him, the towering, majestic, and furious golden Emperor phantom.

"Father...?"

Angron spoke hoarsely, his voice filled with a bewilderment and shock unlike anything he had heard in millennia—a voice belonging to "Angron" rather than "Prince Khorne Daemons"—"Why... why... are you... here?"

Why... why... are you... so... angry?

He didn't understand.

Over the millennia, countless Space Marines have perished, and the number of humans who have vanished is even more innumerable.

The Emperor sat on his throne, silent as an ancient ice peak, never before displaying such concrete and emotionally charged rage.

Why?

Why now of all times?

Just because he almost killed those three blue-armored warriors?

This question struck him like lightning, cleaving through his Chaos consciousness shrouded in madness.

Sudden.

It was as if I had been enlightened, or as if the truth of the universe was unfolding before my eyes.

Angron understood.

It is not through thought, but a resonance from the depths of one's blood, from the soul that once gazed upon the same radiance before being nailed to the skull.

"Ha... haha... hahahaha!!!"

He suddenly burst into laughter, a hoarse and broken laugh, yet filled with a heartbreaking sense of exhilaration and... sorrow.

Blood gushed from his mouth, yet he laughed so hard his whole body trembled.

So that's how it is. So he and his father are so alike. So they've both been angry for millennia...

How pathetic...

"So... that's how it is... Father?"

He gazed up at the golden phantom, tears welling in his eyes:

"From the moment the first human died in the Dark Ages... from the dawn of this desperate Milky Way era... have you always been... this angry?"

"As expected of you, Father..."

His laughter faded, turning into a long, bitter sigh, "Enduring such anger... bearing such despair... yet still... keeping moving forward... all for those...'damned humans'?"

The golden phantom of the Emperor remained silent.

He simply stood there, radiant and majestic as ever.

But His very existence is the most resounding answer—every ray of that light is etched with unquestionable conviction and resolve:

Humanity is supreme.

"I see."

Angron lowered his head, as if he had been relieved of a burden that had lasted for millennia.

Bang!

Guilliman's fist did not pause during this brief exchange.

He doesn't care whether you've repented or not, he doesn't care how you feel right now!

The anger of the Son of War must be vented through war!

The third punch, imbued with even more violent power and chilling rage, slammed into Angron's face, which he had just slightly raised!

This punch shattered and dislodged his entire jawbone, along with part of his cheekbone, sending fragments of teeth and flesh flying everywhere!

"Ugh--!"

Four Chaos Gods wills, entrenched within Angron's body and attempting to reassemble their power, simultaneously emitted sharp, agonizing screams!

Guilliman's punch not only damaged the physical shell, but also directly shook the Warp Essence to which it was linked!

The Warp trembled violently as a result, and countless low-level demons that relied on the power of the Four Gods' Domains were silently annihilated and dissipated under the shared pain of their masters!

"Give him a bigger blessing, this guy's gone mad!!"

The four gods roared in shock and rage, and an even greater amount of Chaos energy poured into Angron's shattered body.

The chin that had been knocked away writhed and regenerated at a visible speed in the filthy aura.

But Guilliman's attacks did not stop.

I gave you a chance, brother!

I gave each and every one of you a chance!

Guilliman's voice boomed like thunder, echoing through the air.

As he swung his fist, smashing Angron's newly regenerated jaw again, he roared, "Some say I'm merciful! Some say I'm weak!"

But I just believe that everyone should have a chance to choose!

He grabbed Angron's arm as he tried to resist and snapped it in the opposite direction!

"Magnus has seized the opportunity! He is mending the rifts within the Imperium!"

Why don't you give it a try?!

Why did you let those damn nails and those junks turn you into this monstrous state?!

He grabbed Angron by the neck, which was regenerating, with one hand.

This massive Daemon Primarch was lifted up like a lamb to the slaughter.

He was lifted from the bottom of the pit and brought up to eye level.

Guilliman's azure eyes, burning with rage, were fixed on Angron, which trembled constantly due to excruciating pain and complex emotions, sometimes turning crimson and sometimes regaining a sliver of clarity.

"Say something, brother!"

Guilliman growled, his other hand clenched into a fist, pressed against Angron's bloodied forehead:

"Did that damned nail completely shred your tongue and your ability to think?!"

Why won't you answer me?!

The fist was raised, not yet falling, but its threat was immense.

An eerie silence fell over the battlefield.

Only Guilliman's heavy breathing, the hissing sound of energy regenerating within Angron's shattered body, and the distant, still-slowing but much-diminished sounds of battle could be heard.

Sudden.

A voice rang out.

The sound was hoarse, faint, yet exceptionally clear, directly reaching Guilliman's consciousness.

"I... I'm sorry."

Guilliman's punching motion suddenly froze.

He almost thought he had misheard.

Those blue eyes, burning with rage, stared blankly at the shattered face before them, yet stubbornly regenerating under the tainted spiritual light.

Angron... is he apologizing?

Angron lowered his eyes slightly, avoiding Guilliman's overly intense gaze.

The power of the four gods within him was still surging, repairing his wounds, but a strange "peace" that had been absent for almost ten thousand years was like a gentle breeze caressing his tormented soul.

This peace was so faint, so fleeting, yet it truly existed.