I Am an Angel Investor

Angron sensed it.

He had never felt so close to the Material Universe.

It was a call from the material world, like the earth Whisper to a wanderer, like the ocean beckoning to a river.

Every inch of his newborn skin was breathing in the air of Baal.

Every newly formed nerve senses the temperature of the sand beneath its feet, and every drop of new blood resonates with the pulse of the planet's magnetic field.

He opened his eyes.

He saw his brother Robert Guilliman's smile.

That smile was humble and gentle; its owner was truly only waiting for one brother.

There was no condescending scrutiny, no victor's arrogance, only pure joy, like finally meeting fellow travelers after a long journey.

Angron's lips moved.

I'm so sorry.

He said, his voice hoarse but clear, "I'm so sorry for everything I did to you."

Guilliman didn't speak, he just looked at him quietly.

"I am sorry for everything I have done to the Imperium."

The arena was completely silent.

Only the soft sound of the wind rustling through the sand could be heard.

"I'm even more sorry..."

Angron's voice trembled slightly, "What I did to myself... to those things I should have protected but destroyed with my own hands... to my homeland that turned into red sand..."

Within that golden pillar of Psionic Energy, Angron's soul became increasingly perfect.

That pillar of light was not only a gift from the Emperor, but also a baptism.

The anger, regret, pain, and self-loathing accumulated over thousands of years will be gradually washed away, stripped away, and purified.

Even his Warp Essence began to radiate golden light.

That light did not belong to the Emperor, nor to Guilliman, but to himself—to the "God of Emotion and Strife," the most primal light of humanity originating from the joys and sorrows of billions of human beings.

Ah, the joys and sorrows, the partings and reunions.

That stems from the joys and sorrows of humankind.

The god of emotions should be closest to this will.

He should have been the guardian of human emotions, the master of laughter and tears, and the vessel of anger and tenderness.

Rather than prisoners consumed by anger.

He finally understood.

A pair of arms reached out from the golden light and embraced Guilliman tightly.

Angron held his brother tightly, like a drowning man grasping at a piece of driftwood, like a lost soul finally finding his way home.

The force of that embrace was enough to twist steel—but Guilliman simply smiled and reached out to wrap his arms around Guilliman's back.

"Thank you, my brother." Angron's voice came muffled from his shoulder. "Thank you... I never imagined I could find such sacred peace."

Angron raised his head.

He took a deep breath.

That was the air of Terra, a mixture of gunpowder and dust, the stench of decaying Tyranids remains in the distance, and the blood and sweat of comrades nearby—but it was also the air of freedom.

For the first time in ten thousand years, he breathed freely.

He felt a sense of peace.

Unprecedented.

Guilliman looked at him, his smile growing even warmer.

"You're finally not angry anymore," he said. "That's great news, brother."

He reached out and patted Angron's newly formed shoulder, the touch light but carrying a weighty promise, "Your anger should be left on the battlefield."

Of course, you can choose not to get angry if you don't want to.

"Make good use of your current superhuman strength and tear the enemies of humanity to shreds!"

Angron paused for a moment.

Then he laughed.

That wasn't a bitter smile after thousands of years of vicissitudes, nor a self-mocking laugh, but a genuine, heartfelt smile, as pure as a child's.

"Okay," he said.

Guilliman smiled and returned the greeting to his brother.

Their relationship had never been so harmonious.

In the distance, two thousand World Eaters watched this scene silently from the stands.

Xiang Bang stood there, and behind him, the soldiers who had just been cheering for their father's return were now silent.

But that silence was no longer the silence of the "rejected," but a deeper kind of peace, like that of someone finally being accepted.

Because they felt it.

I felt the gaze from the Ultramarines beside me.

That gaze was no longer one of vigilance, scrutiny, or distanced "observation," but rather a genuine, equal, and comrade-in-arms recognition.

Feeling the gazes of the Adeptus Custodes —those eternally unchanging golden statues, beneath their masks, seemed to possess a touch of warmth.

They nodded slightly; it was a warrior's recognition of another warrior, an Imperium's affirmation of Imperium.

A genuine sense of agreement.

These guys all think that the current World Eaters is now a qualified Imperium warrior.

Xiang Bang's eyes were a little moist.

He did not cry—the warriors of the World Eaters do not shed tears easily—but from the ranks behind him, soft sobs could be heard.

No one laughed.

No one glanced at them.

Because at this moment, everyone understands what this scene means.

Angron cried.

Not murky tears, scorched by anger for millennia.

Those tears were so clear, so bright.

Tears rolled down his newly formed, crimson-gold eyes, streaked across his resolute face, and dripped onto the sandy ground of Baal, leaving tiny damp patches.

That wailing was so innocent.

Like a child abandoned for ten thousand years, finally finding their way home.

Like a prisoner who has been confined for ten thousand years, finally seeing the sky of freedom.

It's like someone who has never truly "lived" feeling their heart beating for the first time because they are "alive."

Those who gave me life, those who nurtured me, make me weep.

At this moment, Angron truly appeared as a human being.

He burst into tears and hugged his brother tightly.

All the pent-up grievances, regrets, desires, and ecstatic joy of finally getting what they wanted over the millennia were poured out in this tearful outpouring.

He understood.

For the rest of his life, at least he had family.

I will never leave.

Never abandon.

He looked up at Guilliman.

There was no longer a trace of confusion in those crimson-gold eyes.

His next life goal was so simple, so pure: wherever Guilliman's sword pointed, he would tear those enemies to shreds.

Even if Emperor stood right in front of him, he wouldn't hesitate—his axe would strike the Emperor's armor with deadly force.

Even if that armor symbolizes humanity, even if he now wholeheartedly identifies himself as the god of humanity.

But he would do anything if his brother wanted to.

This is atonement, gratitude, and above all, the loyalty of a wanderer who has finally found a home to pledge allegiance to his new home.

"Alright, alright,"

Guilliman felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze, and chuckled, patting his cheek. "Don't look at me like that, it's kind of cheesy."

He turned and pointed to the two thousand burning gazes in the stands. "You should get to know your children, my brothers."

Angron followed his gaze, looking at the white and red square formation, at Xiang Bang, and at those young, passionate, and expectant faces.

He was stunned.

Guilliman stood beside him, and Guilliman was very happy.

I was as happy as a child who had finally collected the last piece of a puzzle.

The Imperium has gained another powerful general.

With Angron's physical strength increased tenfold, wouldn't cutting down those Chaos Astartes on the battlefield be as easy as harvesting leeks?

He had already begun to imagine that scene.

Angron charged ahead, and wherever his battle axe swept across, the Traitor Legions fell in swathes like waves of wheat.

Sanguinius swooped down from the sky, his golden wings casting a radiant glow of death;

He himself stood at the back, holding a teacup, leisurely watching this scene.

Feeling great.

"From now on, you'll go to the battlefield with Sanguinius!" Guilliman waved his hand, his voice filled with heroic spirit. "I'll be watching over you from the rear!"

Since you're both angels anyway, what's the difference between a holy angel and Red Sand Angel?

Be a good, honest worker for me, your angel investor!