Warhammer: Don't Call Me the God of All Machines

Chapter 888 Angron's Redemption (Part Two)

When Angron heard Yochuka's remnant soul's question, his massive body suddenly trembled violently.

Even when Ryan's fierce attack pierced his vital points, he had never shown such a posture.

He clutched his head, which was covered in butcher's nails, and let out a roar of extreme pain and a mournful wail.

The Butcher's Nail flashed red light frantically, trying to suppress the noises in its host's mind that came from the distant past and should have been completely annihilated.

But this time, the Butcher's Nail's trick, which had always worked, failed.

No matter what torment and pain it inflicted, Angron stubbornly refused to compromise.

Even though his brains had already begun to boil under the stirring and writhing of the Butcher's Nail, Angron still used his teeth to pierce his own palate. The people present could even hear the strange sound of his teeth and bones rubbing against each other.

Angron’s eyes grew brighter and brighter, like two scarlet suns shining brightly.

“Yochuka…”

"is it you?"

Angron stared at the light and shadow, and whispered the name in anguish.

He was one of the earliest and most trusted brothers Angron met in the gladiatorial pit. He was pierced through the chest by a spear from a high-ranking rider guarding him while fighting those damned slave owners.

"no no……"

"You can't control me! In front of my brothers and sisters!"

Angron's roar was filled with chaos and struggle.

In his eyes, there was a faint trace of human bewilderment and painful struggle trying to emerge.

"Good, very good!" Angeltai looked at Angelon's performance with a face full of joy.

If there is anything in the world that could pull Angron out of the clutches of the Blood God, it is his brothers and sisters who shared life and death with him.

The Primarch created by the Emperor is so magical that even though his essence has been sacrificed to Khorne by the Loka, as long as Angron's will is strong enough, he can still say "no"!
This is the subspace, a place where the mind triumphs over matter, and the will transcends everything.

A different kind of light, carrying a completely different aura, emerged from Angelte.

This time, the contours of light and shadow are more delicate, like the tenacious and unyielding thorns in the desert.

Lemanrus could be vaguely discerned to be a woman, her soul's voice sharper, carrying a mournful cry of blood.

"Angron! My brother, my leader!"

Kleist's lingering soul is calling out, stirring up more memories and humanity in Angron.

“We once fled from high-ranking riders in the freezing snow, we once huddled together for warmth, we once drank your blood so that everyone could survive.”

"We shattered their formation, burned their city, we are the city devourers, the nightmare of those despicable slave owners!"

“You are different from us. Our triumphant rope stopped at Nukelia, but you have come to a wider world, and you have followers who are better and more outstanding than us.”

"You should break free of your shackles and fight in a more thorough way, to fight for all the enslaved, to cut off the heads of tyrants and slave owners, and to carry out a thorough and satisfying revenge!"

“We believe in you, we entrust our lives to you, not so that you may forever bear the name of a slave—whether you are the slave owner of Nukelia or the slave owner of some damned Blood God.”

“I don’t know what the Blood God is, but I firmly believe you will not submit to Him. This guy is no different from those high-ranking riders.”

"If He really is God, then how could God derive pleasure from enslavement and torment?"

"Wake up! Look at yourself, look at the blood under your feet!"

"It contains the blood of us humans, the blood of those warriors who fought to the death against chaos with everything they had!"

How are you any different from those accomplices who serve slave owners? No, you are more hateful than those bastards because your master is not even a human being!
Please, Angron, wake up... please... end this damned thing..."

“Clay...Ste...”

"I...wuwu..."

Angron clutched his head, his massive body hunched over, emitting a mournful wail like that of a wounded lone wolf.

The pain in that voice was so real that it even overshadowed the false anger created by the Butcher's Nail.

The destructive light in his eyes flickered uncertainly, as if two souls were tearing at his body madly.

One is a slave shaped by nails and the God of Blood, and the other is the gladiator Angron, who fell into a deep sleep in the pain of betrayal after being forcibly taken away by the Emperor from the final battle of Nukelia.

As Angron himself said, the real Angron had died beside his brothers and sisters, before the dawn of the final battle in Nukelia, while the Angron forcibly taken away by the Emperor was merely a puppet and slave trapped in the past.

"Now, Kahn!"

Angeltai's voice was filled with unprecedented urgency, and his face turned deathly pale.

Maintaining the manifestation of the two Nukelian remnants and resisting the dual impact of the Angron spirit and the power of the Blood God placed an enormous burden on him.

"Let him see everything clearly, let him remember everything, he must make his own choice!"

"Whether to face death with pride or to live on as the demon prince of Khorne, we have little time to hesitate."

Angertai knew very well that if they hadn't seized the crucial moment in the bloody battle between Khorne and the Emperor, the Blood God would have discovered and intervened the moment Angron made a move to resist.

Now, with the Emperor as an enemy, even Khorne wouldn't be able to spare enough attention to a mere demon prince.

Without any hesitation, Kahn charged forward like an arrow the moment Angron's mind was violently shaken and his movements were slowed by the impact of the two Nukelian remnants.

Instead of attacking, he suddenly spread his arms and rushed to Angron's massive body, standing at his feet where lava blood flowed.

He raised his head and roared with all his might:

"Father! Look at me, look at us, look at Yochuka, look at Kleist!"

“I am Kahn! Your son, we are all here watching over you!”

"We've come to free you, to pull out that damned nail with your own hands!"

"Just like when you tore the throats of those slave owners with your bare hands in the arena of Nukelia, for yourself, for us, for all those you have forgotten and betrayed, pull it out!"

Kahn's call, mingled with the resonance of Yochuka and the remnant souls of Kleist, was like the sharpest weapon in the world, tearing apart the Butcher's Nail and the cage woven by the Blood God using anger and pain, reaching the deepest part of Angron's soul.

Both of the Angrons who were locked in battle heard the call.

“Ughh ...!!!”

Angron let out the most piercing and painful roar since the start of the war.

His enormous claws suddenly grabbed his head, which was covered in thick bone armor, and pounded it wildly, as if he were pounding his most hated enemy.

The red light of the Butcher's Nail had reached its peak, emitting a piercing roar like a high-voltage current overload. The chaotic energy on his body surged and clashed violently, sometimes expanding and sometimes shrinking, as if it might explode out of control at any moment.

An eerie silence fell over the battlefield, and no one dared to approach Angron.

Ryan Johnson gripped the Lion Sword tightly; he had never seen Angron in such a vulnerable state.

The playfulness on Lemanrus's face vanished, replaced by solemnity and a hint of barely perceptible shock.

He witnessed firsthand the war within Angron's soul, a war whose danger and grandeur surpassed even the clashes of swords on the battlefield.

"Perhaps we never truly knew Angron, our...brother."

Ruth smiled wryly at Ryan, saying that there was absolutely no need for formalities or lies between them.

Regardless of how peacefully they coexisted with Angron during the Great Crusade, most Primarchs harbored a natural disdain for Angron in their hearts.

This brother of Nukelia is one of the few who did not unify their homeworld. Even someone like Conrad Coz became the Night Lord of the Nostramors.

Even worse, Angron ended up as a slave in the gladiatorial arena, utterly disgracing the other Primarchs.

If the Emperor hadn't arrived and taken him away, Angron might have become the first Primarch to die on his homeworld, which left the other Primarchs speechless.

Furthermore, Angron's frequent irrational and crazy behavior due to the influence of the nails further exacerbated the discrimination and ridicule from other Primarchs.

Ryan remained silent, sensing from Angron at this moment an extreme emotion called... resistance.

Never laugh at someone who dares to fight back, even if they seem foolish.

Angron is rebelling against Khorne, against the Butcher's Nails, with unprecedented force.

If I had to describe it, it would be: Give me liberty or give me death.

For some reason, neither Ryan nor Ruth wanted to interrupt the process.

In their eyes, Angron was a shameful traitor, a brother who couldn't be helped, but if they had a choice, they would still hope that Angron could be freed from the enslavement of Khorne and the Butcher's Nail and die as a free man.

“Pull...out...”

"Pull it out!"

Angron's massive claws, covered in grotesque bone spikes, trembled and slowly rose, reaching for the Butcher's Spikes on his head, which were embedded in his skull like malignant tumors and gleamed with a destructive red light.

The instant his claws touched the nail.

An indescribable, terrifying energy, a mixture of the Blood God's rage, the backlash from the Butcher's Nail, and the pent-up pain of Angron, erupted from Angron's center.

Kahn, who was the first to be hit, was struck head-on as if by an invisible giant hammer.

His enchanted power armor instantly cracked, and he was thrown backward like a kite with a broken string, spitting out blood.

The remnant soul of Kleist attached to his soul flickered violently, emitting a silent lament, before instantly dimming and almost going out.

Angeltai was struck as if by a heavy blow. He groaned, his body swayed violently, and he fell to his knees on one knee.

The light that sustained Yochuka's remnant soul on his chest was also fluctuating violently. He himself bore most of the backlash, just to protect Kahn and the two remnant souls.

The Chaos Legion warriors who were a little further away were also swept by this mental storm. Many of them knelt down in pain, clutching their heads. Even the warp demons within their bodies were terrified.

They genuinely do not want to get involved in the internal conflicts of the Khornean forces; if they are not careful, they will be torn to pieces.

At the eye of the storm, Angron's figure was completely engulfed by the raging crimson energy.

Ryan and Ruth could only vaguely see his enormous claws, which were digging into the base of the Butcher's Nail.

He let out a bloodcurdling scream, as if he were tearing his own soul out alive!
"I...am...not...a...slave!!!"

Within Angron's soul, the slave Angron was brutally pinned to the ground by the gladiator Angron. Even though the slave Angron had a much larger physique and a more terrifying appearance, he still could not defeat the self before him who looked down on everything and possessed absolute free will and humanity.

The bitter smile on the slave Anglong's face gradually transformed into a calm acceptance.

He gave up resisting, letting his other self snap his neck. With a crisp crack of his spine breaking, the slave Angron's expression froze in that instant.

With that heart-wrenching roar, Angron's massive claws, amidst the frenzied backlash of the Blood God's power and the dying screams of the Butcher's Nail, suddenly lashed outwards.

Swish——!!!
A chilling, soul-shattering tearing sound echoed across the entire battlefield.

Mixed with dark red demon blood, fragments of skull, broken brain tissue, and countless crimson butcher nails that twisted and shimmered like weed roots, Angron forcibly tore it off his own head.

The most malevolent creation on Nukelia is the Butcher's Nail, a technological artifact used on stone golems in the Dark Ages that spreads and multiplies continuously after being implanted into a living organism.

It was like the roots of a weed, constantly penetrating deeper into Angron's skull over time.

If Luo Jia hadn't elevated Angron to a demonic state, the World Eater's original form might have already had its brain emptied and died long ago.

But after ascending to demonic power, the Butcher's Nail was no longer just a physical implant; it was a tangible shackle used by the Blood God to bind Angron's soul. Those crimson metal roots, one end connected to the nail, the other deeply rooted in the depths of Angron's soul.

The moment the nail was pulled out, the metal roots twisted and broke as if they were alive.

With each broken hair, Angron let out an even more agonizing scream, his massive demonic body convulsing violently, and his chaotic energy erupting out of control.

"It worked?!" Kabanha's eyes blazed with ecstatic joy.

Even the most ferocious and bloodthirsty demons felt a trembling fear from the depths of their souls when they saw Angron's self-mutilation.

That's the Butcher's Nail; even in the realm of the Blood God, there are very few instruments of torture as vicious and terrifying as that.

But Kabanha was confused again, unsure whether Angron, who had pulled out the Butcher's Nail, would die completely.

However, instinctively, Kabanhar felt that Khorne would not give up so easily.

Now, it can only hope that Angelte has a next step in its plans.

Leman Russ and Ryan Johnson held their breath. It seemed that Angron was really about to succeed in breaking free from slavery.

However, just as the last Butcher's Nail was being pulled from Angron's brain, a sudden change occurred.

The claw that Angron pulled out, along with the Butcher's Nail he tore out, was suddenly locked onto by an irresistible, terrifying will originating from the deepest part of the warp.

A vast, cold will, filled with endless rage and destructive desire, pressed down like an entire burning galaxy, descending directly upon Angron's gaping wound and the nail in his hand.

The Blood God is enraged!

"Angron!!"

The power of that will was so vast and terrifying that Angron's enormous demonic body seemed to be gripped tightly by an invisible giant hand.

His movement of pulling out the nail froze instantly. The Butcher's Nail in his hand, which was about to be completely torn away, suddenly burst out with an unprecedented, dazzling blood light that seemed to scorch the soul.

A surge of Blood God power, a hundred times stronger than before, flowed back into Angron's body along the Butcher's Nail like a burst dam of blood, aiming to utterly crush his free will.

The Blood God would never allow his puppet to harbor any disloyalty, as this would undoubtedly cause Him to lose all face.

Angron remained obediently the host of Butcher's Sting, rather than an independent entity with its own thoughts.

Angron let out a desperate wail, the faint glimmer of clarity that had just appeared in his eyes was instantly swallowed up by the surging tide of blood.

Compared to Khorne, his power was far too weak.

Even the most powerful demon prince is no match for the Chaos God; the two are simply not comparable.

His enormous claws began to tremble uncontrollably. The nail seemed to weigh billions of tons, and not only could it not be pulled out, but it was also being forcibly pressed back into his head by that force.

The Butcher's Nail's tentacles writhed wildly, desperately wanting to return to Angron's brain, where it would torment this disobedient host even more brutally than before.

"No! Father!"

Kahn, who had been thrown back, struggled to raise his head and saw this scene, which made his eyes widen in fury.

He saw in his father's eyes the flame of humanity that had just been ignited but was ruthlessly extinguished.

Angeltai also suddenly raised his head. He knew very well that it was a complete fantasy to try to help Angelon get rid of the Blood God by relying on this method.

However, this was only the first step in his plan.

"Kabanha!" Angeltai roared with his last strength, "It's your turn, stop Him!"

Almost at the same moment Angeltai roared, Kabanha moved.

This ancient, bloodthirsty demon has been waiting for this moment for far too long.

It wasn't to save Angron, but to uphold the "skull staircase" in its heart, to prove to its god that even the god himself cannot transgress the rules.

"Blood God, witness my actions!"

"I will bring you back from the wrong path!"

Kabanha let out the loudest battle cry of his life.

On its massive brass body, all the lava patterns instantly shone brightly.

Instead of charging towards Angron, it used all its strength and will to throw the massive battle axe burning with infernal fire at the void above Angron's head, which was locked by the will of the Blood God!
Although the axe never actually struck Khorne, it carries an indelible symbolic meaning.

It, Kabanha, swung its axe head-on at Khorne, challenging its own god.

Kabanha poured all his understanding of the Way of Khorne, his absolute loyalty to the rules of the Blood God, and his resistance to the Blood God's current biased behavior into this attack.

That space was like a shattered mirror, instantly covered with countless dark cracks.

The terrifying torrent of energy that the Blood God poured into Angron was abruptly blocked and distorted by this all-or-nothing attack.

Even the Blood God hadn't expected that one of his subordinates would dare to challenge him head-on and swing his battle axe at him.

Khorne's consciousness experienced a moment of disorientation.

Long ago, a bloodthirsty madman also swung his axe at Khorne, but unfortunately, the fool Skabrand launched a sneak attack on Khorne under the instigation and instigation of Tzeentch.

This completely violated Khorne's minefield, so it's no wonder it ended up being eternally banished by Khorne.

At this moment, Cabanha and Skabrand are completely different.

It is entirely out of its own will and its own beliefs that it challenges terrorism in a positive way.

Khorne's instincts immediately responded to this attack; the Throne of Unfettered Slaughter would never refuse a direct challenge, and even Khorne could not overcome this instinct.

He felt both anger at Kabanha for hindering him and admiration for Kabanha's courage and will.

It was this insignificant momentary delay, achieved at the cost of almost Kabanha's own destruction.

Within Angron's body, the last vestige of his own will, almost crushed by the Blood God's pressure, was like a dying spark finding its last breath of oxygen.

"I...am not...a slave—!!!"

With this shout, fueled by the burning of his soul, Angron's massive claws, on the verge of being crushed, unleashed their final power.

That power no longer stemmed from Khorne, but from his own longing for freedom after being enslaved for hundreds of years, and from his love for his long-dead brothers and sisters in Nukelia.

The butcher's nail, wrapped in endless pain and servile enslavement, along with its broken metal tentacles, was finally pulled completely from Angron's head and clutched tightly in his hand.

Time seemed to freeze at that moment.

The clamor of the battlefield, the roar of destructive energy, and even the restlessness of the warp itself, all fell into an eerie, suffocating silence.

Angron stood frozen in place, the once dense array of Butcher's Spikes on his head gone, leaving only terrifying holes from which filthy pus and blood continuously oozed.

Deep within that void, the tattered brain tissue could be faintly seen pulsating, emanating a psionic energy fluctuation on the verge of complete collapse.

His life's flame flickered like a candle in a storm, threatening to be extinguished at any moment.

Angron should have died completely, been banished back to the warp, and finally resurrected in Khorne's pool of blood.

However, a faint yet incredibly tenacious will, like a new bud breaking through the soil in early spring, stubbornly peeked out from that dying body.

It was a pure power belonging to Angron himself.

"He...he did it?" Lemanrus's voice was hoarse, his eyes filled with disbelief and shock.

Looking at the massive figure whose head was riddled with bloody holes and whose life was hanging by a thread, he felt for the first time a kind of heroic grandeur that shook his very soul in this brother whom they had despised.

To tear apart the shackles that bind you with your bare hands, even if the price is utter destruction?

This requires an insane amount of courage and determination.

Ryan's expression was complex, a mixture of respect and sorrow rising within him.

Perhaps they never truly understood Angron.

Kahn struggled to his feet, his eyes fixed on the butcher's nail in Angron's hand, a symbol of enslavement.

He instinctively wanted to imitate Angron and pull the replica Butcher's Nail off his head, but Angelte stopped him without hesitation.

“Brother, you’re not Angron. If you forcefully pull out the Butcher’s Nail, you’re dead,” Angertai said sternly.

"With my reassurance, your Butcher's Nail will not activate, nor will it affect your survival."

"The first step of the plan, allowing Angron to break free from the enslavement of the Butcher's Nails through his own will, has been accomplished."

"But this is not true liberation. The power of the Blood God is still imprinted on his essence. Khorne can reshape him at any time, or even torture this toy that dares to resist even more severely."

A mad flame burned in the eyes of the blessed son; he had to ensure the success of his plan.

"Don't worry, brother. Angron doesn't need help from the outside world. He can only rely on himself."

Just as Angeltai finished speaking, two faint yet incredibly warm lights, like fireflies returning to their nests, quietly drifted out from Angeltai and Kahn's chests.

Those were the only remaining fragments of Yochuka and Kleist's souls.

After experiencing the confrontation with the will of the Blood God and the terrifying energy shock when Angron pulled out the nails, they had become extremely dim.

However, these two faint lights, carrying an unwavering resolve, drifted toward the enormous wound on Angron's head, toward his dissipating soul.

“Yochuka… Kleist…”

Angron's voice was choked with tears.

He felt a warmth that was etched into his very bones, familiar yet distant.

That was their cuddling as they licked each other's wounds in the gladiatorial pit, their trust in sharing body heat on a snowy night, and their vow to entrust each other's backs when facing death.

These emotional fragments, long since torn away by the butcher's nails, are now rekindled by the remnants of the souls of his two closest relatives, filling the enormous void in his soul left after the nails were removed.

"Hold on, brother..."

A faint yet incredibly firm thought resounded directly in Angron's consciousness, carrying Yochuka's familiar stubbornness.

"We...will be with you until the very end..."

Another gentle yet resilient female voice rang out; it was Kleist, carrying her unique vitality, like a desert thorn.

The two remnant souls had no strength left to speak; they merely used their last bit of soul fire to reinforce Angron's fading consciousness.

"well……"

"This time..."

"I will never be a deserter again."

Angron’s enormous head nodded very slightly, the movement clumsy and laborious.

In a daze, Nukelian felt as if he had returned to the night before his decisive battle with the high-ranking riders. He was just as exhausted, yet filled with fighting spirit and the joy of dying alongside his brothers and sisters.

His hand gripped the butcher's nail tightly, his knuckles groaning under the strain.

He raised his head, his blood-red eyes, now imbued with renewed humanity, gazing at the very center of the battlefield, at the terrifying battlefield that illuminated the entire Comoros like a doomsday twilight.

He is going to his death.

(End of this chapter)