I'm in Warhammer, please don't praise Doraemon

Chapter 577 Blood Raven: Victory!
They were never angels.
They are ghouls, mutants, the bloodiest and cruelest blade sculpted by the Emperor.
He dragged them from the deepest crater on Pluto, exposing their deformed limbs to the faint sunlight.

Terrified, they bowed, knelt, and begged before the golden king, unable to understand why this king was attacking them.
They are just the most insignificant inhabitants of Pluto, an insignificant planet. In order to adapt to the environment of this dwarf planet, they have become distorted and are very different from their ancestors, just as Pluto was downgraded from a planet to a dwarf planet in an era that humanity has forgotten.

But then the Golden King arrived, unleashing those bloodthirsty monsters clad in scarlet armor. They burrowed into their tunnels, invaded them, slaughtered them, and captured them.
They used all their abilities to fight against the Golden King, but to no avail. The Golden King killed all their leaders and captured them one by one from the burrows.
They knelt before the Golden King, His perfect and divine body searing their flesh, like the sun barely visible on Pluto.

The Golden King didn't kill them; if he wanted to, he could have simply destroyed the dwarf planet with his fleet.

The Golden King implanted gene seeds into their bodies, modifying their blood, flesh, bones, and genes.
They were reshaped; their former deformities were gone, their frail spirits were completely rebuilt. They were tall, strong, and had all their limbs intact, just like normal people. They had blond hair and handsome faces.

But they are still mutants, vile monsters, even more deformed and terrifying than before.
The moment the transformation was completed, they felt a bloodthirsty urge.
They were clad in the same crimson power armor as those bloodthirsty monsters, given the same names, and their minds were molded to be the same as those bloodthirsty monsters.

They were transformed into the bloodthirsty monsters that slaughtered them.

They were the Ninth Legion, vile ghouls who devoured the corpses of their fallen comrades and plucked the blood of their enemies.

They were elevated from mutants and molded by the Emperor into the crimson, vile blade, bearing the most cruel and bloody aspects of the Great Crusade.
Until he came back,

Beautiful person, beautiful angel, beautiful golden child,
His smile soothed their hearts, his sorrow comforted their fate, and his soft words calmed their bloodlust.

He said they were his offspring, and he would save them, he would rebuild them.

They are not mutants, not ghouls; they are noble angels.

He brought art, poetry, painting, forging, and sculpture. He used these beautiful things to reshape their souls and help them suppress the crimson hunger within them.
This seemed to be working well; they were gradually emerging from the abyss of ghouls, and their reputation was changing. They were angels in the mouths of the empire's inhabitants, and they were tasting an honor they had never experienced before.

But did they really transform from ghouls into angels?
In those deep, silent nights, they would be tormented by a scarlet thirst, restless and unable to sleep.

On those most brutal battlefields, they are awakened by the anger of those around them, and their rationality becomes extremely thin.
In those deserted corners, gazing at the blood flowing from the corpses of his comrades or enemies on the ground, his throat would tighten.

At those times, they would be terrified, more terrified than ever before.

They feared reverting to their former selves, becoming those twisted ghouls, and tarnishing their present glory.

Even more terrifying was the fear of disappointing his father's expectations, betraying the affection of the son of gold, and failing that beautiful woman.
Father, son of gold, beautiful one,

You're wrong. How much pity do you have for us now?

Our bodies are ultimately ghouls, our blood is ultimately mutant blood, and our destiny is ultimately blood.

All that pain, resentment, and struggle ultimately transformed into a raw, burning rage at the moment of death.
To the enemy, to the comrades, to oneself, and to the Golden King.

O Emperor, why did you mold us into such ugly and bloodthirsty forms, and why did you bestow upon us such a beautiful genetic father?

Are you using him to control us? Are you using him to humiliate us?
Or did you even intend to portray our father as a ghoul as well?

Was it just that the turbulence in the warp disrupted your plans, saved our father, and by chance made him an angel?
This thought was the most intense of all the anger, almost naked hatred.
Burning, burning, burning, until finally chosen by the Blood God and molded into the Red Angel.

The Red Angels represent the wrath of all Saint Gilles' offspring; they are the original form that the Emperor envisioned for Saint Gilles.
A bloodthirsty monster that is more bloodthirsty, angrier, and more insane than anyone else.

O King of Gold, we hate you!
Son of Gold, we we we
Abaddon and Fugan retreated almost simultaneously, putting distance between themselves and the Red Angels.

All the pent-up rage of Saint Gilles accumulated in the subspace over ten thousand years was released at this moment, transforming into crimson flames that ignited the Red Angel and consumed everything around them.

Blood boiled and evaporated, the marble building crumbled in the blink of an eye, turning to ashes and vanishing with the wind.
The flames roared, and the wails of countless ghouls could be vaguely seen as they pounced on Abaddon and Fulgrim. Their power armor crackled and sparked under the intense heat. Even their bodies, blessed by the Four Gods and cloned from the Primarch, couldn't completely withstand the fury; their bodies were scorched black with intense heat.

If it weren't for Fugen's cover, and Finney leading the mortals to escape, countless others would have been consumed by the flames.
Amidst the raging flames, the fire transformed into countless ghouls, carrying the red angel upwards into the shimmering sky.

The powerful subspace fluctuations tore the veil of reality apart, burning away space, time, logic, and causality.
For a moment, everything was in a state of chaos and indistinctness, making it difficult to distinguish between illusion and reality. All material things were receding, leaving only the human spirit to dominate everything.
Between the burning sky and earth, that golden, holy figure emerged.

Saint Gilles spread his pure white wings and looked down from the sky at the millions of ghouls formed from flames, and at the red angels amidst the fire.

At this moment, the will bestowed upon the Red Angel by the Blood God was blurred; primal impulses drove him to flap his wings and fly towards Saint Gilles in the air.

Angry, angry, angry
Boundless rage caused the millions of burning ghouls to roar as well, their wings lifting the red angel's body and carrying her toward the pure white figure.

Reality faded away completely, Corinnar disappeared, and only fire, the Red Angel, and Saint Gilles remained in the world.

But Saint Gilles remained silent, speechless, and motionless.
She merely looked at the red angel drawing ever closer with pity.

Or rather, he wasn't looking at the "Red Angel" as a demon.
The will and existence of the Red Angel were sculpted by the Blood God from the rage of the Son of Saint Gilles, like a shell encasing energy. Saint Gilles did not see the shell, but the rage within.

The angel's lips still bore his signature smile, a smile devoid of joy, mockery, or sarcasm, containing only pity and sorrow.

That damn smile! That damn smile! That damn smile!

The Red Angel roared, or rather, it was the angry roar of the Sons of Saint Gilles within him.

He stretched out his claws toward Saint Gilles —

Saint Gilles did not stop the red angel, allowing him to pounce on him.

Then, he gently reached out and embraced the red angel who had rushed in front of him and was burning all over, gently covering his body with his own wings.

"Son," Saint Gilles whispered to the thousands of rages within the Red Angel, letting those flames burn his body, leaving scars.

The Red Angel froze, and even the myriad streams of anger seemed to freeze in that instant.

Their anger seemed insignificant at this moment and began to recede gently.

+No+
But the Blood God would not allow it.
Crimson flames of rage emanated from the brass throne; the presence and consciousness of the Red Angels became shackles, enslaving and twisting the anger of the Sons of Saint Gillespie.
Under the roar of the Blood God, the anger that had originally stemmed from the Emperor's creation of them as ghouls and his attempt to turn Saint Gilles into one was twisted and altered.
This anger began to try to truly drag Sanguis into the abyss of ghouls.

The red angel struggled to break free from Saint Gilles's embrace.
Saint Gilles offered little resistance, only looking at the red angel with sorrowful eyes.
The red angel transformed into a blurry, crimson figure, opening its blood-red maw towards Saint Gillespie, attempting to devour him whole.

Ok?
The Red Angel turned his head slightly and suddenly noticed that the millions of fire-breathing ghouls supporting him were disappearing one by one.
The Red Angels are hidden in the cave containing the Khorne artifact, the Flame of Fury, the core of their hidden ritual.
Gabriel Angelos and his elite Blood Ravens moved like crimson phantoms, easily bypassing the Khorne demons guarding the Flames of Fury. Even the bloodthirsty berserker standing directly in front of the Flames of Fury was unaware of them.

Gabriel moved with light steps, and in the blink of an eye, he arrived before the raging flames of fury.
Then, he reached out his little hand and pulled the raging fire from the core of the ritual.

"We have once again successfully recovered a sacred relic passed down through the Blood Raven family!"

Gabriel Angelos wore a joyful smile, as if he had just tasted a bountiful harvest.

(End of this chapter)