What an Honor
That crimson "Red Sand Angel," who once made the Milky Way tremble, was now speaking to a "child" with such "calmness."
Cypher froze instantly, his anger and despair replaced by utter astonishment.
He turned his head sharply and stared intently at Angron, as if seeing the prisoner for the first time.
"I... oh my god..."
Cypher's voice trembled with shock. He involuntarily took a step forward, his eyes wide. "You... you actually spoke to me?!"
Angron! The Twelfth Primarch! The father of the World Eaters!
You... you actually spoke to me in that tone?!
A mixture of flattery and utter absurdity appeared on his face, and he shook his head repeatedly.
"I swear on my last remaining honor... even on the Gene-Father, the esteemed Lion Aljonsen, the 'Lion'."
In the few times he's met you, he's never heard you speak so... so 'gentle' or so... calmly!
Cypher's words were filled with disbelief.
In his understanding and in the records passed down through all the Chapter, Angron was always a roaring, raging beast consumed by the Butcher's Nails and boundless fury.
This calm tone, bordering on "communication," is simply unbelievable.
Angron, huddled in the corner, moved his massive body almost imperceptibly.
He still didn't look up, but buried his face even deeper in his arms. That hoarse voice came again, carrying a heartbreaking weakness and emptiness:
That's because... I'm tired.
Those five simple words seemed to drain all his strength.
"I don't have the strength... to get angry at you again..."
Angron's voice grew softer and softer, until it almost turned into a sigh.
He was like a lamp whose fuel had completely run out and whose wick was about to go out; he had almost no strength left to maintain even the most instinctive emotion of anger.
This is not a disguise.
Even now, there are still more than ten white-helmeted Ultramarines near the corner where he is curled up.
Like the most vigilant hunting dog, it glared at him with piercing eyes, its finger always resting on the trigger guard of the Bolter.
Be prepared to respond to any unusual behavior that this theoretically extremely dangerous trapped beast might exhibit.
But Angron ignored them, or rather, didn't care at all.
He was tired.
The weariness that had lingered in the depths of his soul for millennia was released after that frenzied, "atonement-like" battle on the battlefield of Baal.
After witnessing the resurrection of Sanguinius and feeling a long-lost bond of "brotherhood" and a glimmer of "the right thing to do."
Like a flood bursting its banks, it completely destroyed the dam of rage upon which he depended for survival.
In Baal, he heeded Magnus's advice.
They unleashed all the pent-up desire for destruction—both their own and the world's—on the greedy, devouring Tyranids.
He fought with overwhelming ferocity, tearing apart countless Hive Tyrant and Tyranid Warrior, and even briefly clashing with the Insect Saint.
He wasn't doing it for glory or pleasure, but rather with a near-self-destructive sense of atonement.
In a daze, he even felt that that battle... might be one of the few good things he had ever done in his twisted and tragic life.
He is helping his ninth brother, Sanguinius, whom he has never met but is related by blood, to resolve the crisis in his "offspring" homeland.
This vague understanding, like a glimmer of light in the darkness, brought a... twisted sense of comfort?
Or rather, it is a long-overdue touch upon the concepts of "brotherhood" and "responsibility."
For Angron, this was almost a twisted form of atonement.
He had dreamed, longed for, and even obsessively wanted to "liberate" his home planet, Nuceria.
In the depths of his memory, Nuceria was such a beautiful world!
The sun there, unlike in Baal, is not stained with blood; instead, it is warm and bright, illuminating the boundless, romantic red sand.
The desert is not lifeless; the wind sculpts magnificent dunes, and the night sky is as dazzling as diamonds scattered on velvet.
More importantly, there lived a group of people... whom he initially perceived as lovely.
His "brothers and sisters" were the slave gladiators who struggled alongside him in the arena, sharing bread and pain.
His love for that land and those people was once so intense and so pure.
That power of love, even in the early stages, was able to slightly suppress and alleviate the excruciating pain and mania caused by the implantation of the Butcher's Nails.
So that amidst the endless battles, he could retain a sliver of human warmth and compassion.
He had thought that he could rely on this love to endure the long years of enslavement until he won his freedom, and even... change the world.
Until the arrival of the "Holy Emperor".
Angron did not resist the Emperor himself.
He even vaguely hoped that this legendary "father" could bring about change and liberation.
When the Emperor's fleet arrived in the orbit of Nuceria, Angron had already convinced his gladiator brothers and sisters to prepare for a final, desperate fight.
They would rather die together in battle, falling free on the battlefield against slave owners, than live a life of ignominy under shackles.
At that moment, Angron's heart was filled with a tragic determination and love for his compatriots.
He was prepared to die with them, to stain the sands of Nuceria with his blood as a final and resounding indictment of that sinful world of slavery.
However, at the very moment when the flames of war were about to ignite, and the gladiators gripped their rudimentary weapons, heads held high as they faced the slave-owning army and the skyships...
What truly plunged Angron into the abyss of despair was neither the despicable slave owners on the ground, nor their advanced weapons.
It is that greater "slave owner"—who calls himself the Master of Mankind, his biological father—the Holy Emperor.
The Emperor has arrived.
It does not intervene in earthly conflicts as a savior.
Instead, he directly dispatched his elite, well-equipped, ruthless, and efficient Adeptus Custodes and Space Marines.
With overwhelming and unquestionable force, they forcibly took Angron away!
What sailed away was the enormous, magnificent, and palatial Gloriana-class Battleship.
The warship's hull was a dazzling gold, meant to bring hope and warmth like the sun.
But at that moment, in Angron's eyes...
That gold was so cold, so cruel.
Instead of bringing any light, it completely swallowed up the last bit of warmth and connection in his life, plunging it into merciless shadows.
Why did you just rescue me?!
This was the only and last time Angron addressed the Emperor from his warship, and it wasn't out of rage.
Rather, it stems from the deepest pain and bewilderment.
He was the only Primarch who dared to question "Father" so directly and with such despair.
It wasn't out of arrogance, but because his heart was truly broken.
Mortarion also hated the Emperor, but more so because the Emperor had "taken away" his "right" to execute his adoptive father.
This made Mortarion feel that his past struggles and hatreds had become empty and meaningless, like the lingering poisonous fog on his home planet Barbarus.
But Angron didn't care about these "principles" or "rituals".
He was the most compassionate and empathetic of all the Primarch.
What he couldn't comprehend was the utter disregard and cold efficiency in the Emperor's actions.
Why did you take me away alone?
Why did you leave my brothers and sisters there?!
Why?!
Why is that?!
I wasn't there when they needed me most!
I did not die with them!
They watched me leave, enveloped in golden light, and then...
They calmly allowed the slave owners' laser cannons and power blades to slice open their bodies and remove their still-beating hearts!
In Angron's last, blurry vision.
Behind his brothers and sisters are simple rope knots, symbols of victory and honor, belonging to gladiators.
Under the enemy's fierce firepower and butcher's knife, it completely broke apart, burned, and turned to ashes.
And what about him, Angron, this self-righteous "warrior," this "leader" who dreamed of leading everyone to fight for freedom?
He's a coward.
He was trapped in that magnificent yet cold warship, watching helplessly through the observation window as his brothers and sisters headed for their inevitable deaths.
Subsequently, under the Emperor's orders or tacit approval, his "offspring," who had just undergone transformation and were absolutely obedient to the Primarch's commands, were...
The first generation of warriors of the World Eaters Legion descended upon Nuceria like the most ruthless and efficient killing machines.
They did not go to liberate, but to carry out "purification" or "conquest".
Ultimately, he chose Nuceria, the most beautiful and warmest planet in his memory, the one that held his earliest love.
The massacre, burning, and ravaging turned it into a lifeless, desolate, and eternally silent red sand.