This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 315 He was just a slave

Violent and fierce.

The behemoth leaped dozens of meters in an instant. Not only was it fast, but its body was also like a burst of flames, with sparks flying out and igniting the air, turning dozens of iron ring machines into walking torches.

Almost in the blink of an eye, Angron had closed in on Perturabo, his greatsword slashing down and shattering the towering Storm Shield.

Perturabo was no slouch either, appearing and disappearing in an instant, precisely calculating the trajectory of his attacks while retaliating with his warhammer.

Countless demons and Chaos followers watched the battle unfold, its intensity so great that even the demons could barely make out its presence; all that remained were fragments of earth shattered like building blocks.

They were deeply moved by what they saw, and the Blood God's gaze made it impossible for them to remain indifferent.

They drew their weapons, blood-stained blades in hand, and charged toward their allies.

The eternal battlefield is willing to accept everyone.

Perturabo seemed to have noticed this as well. He frowned, furrowed his brow, and clenched his fist tightly at Angron, who was approaching again.

boom!
The flames burst forth.

The punch was faster than any artillery barrage, shattering a bomb that had inadvertently entered between the two, before slamming into Angron's chest.

Clang—Bang!

The fist struck a hard object with a soft thud and the sound of a heavy object hitting the ground. Peturabo felt pressure coming from his left.

clang! ! !
The axe blade sliced ​​into the Iron Lord's shoulder, which was fused with steel, and lodged itself deep into his chest cavity, the sharp serrations rolling and drawing blood.

But he remained standing, and the Furnace Breaker swung his weapon again, this time even faster than before, the clash of their weapons causing the air to tremble.

Bloodstains appeared on the stained ground between the two men. Angron, covered in burning blood and shattered armor, staggered and threw a punch at Perturabo.

Perturabo held Angron at bay, his iron ring gun aimed at the Red Angel, but he didn't fire.

Angron's body even regenerated as it was constantly torn apart by weapons.

He didn't come to kill this beast.

Peturabo's face twitched as metal filled his damaged body, gradually healing.

He didn't want to get entangled with this beast. Their fighting here would only serve to please the Blood God, deplete their own forces, and further delay Peturabo's plans.

But neither of them could kill the other.

"You are a slave. You were born a slave, and you have always been a slave."

The Lord of Steel squeezed out these words through clenched teeth. The adamantite visor clashed against Angron's shattered helmet, producing a teeth-grinding scraping sound. The two Primarchs wrestled like ancient bulls, the ground beneath their feet cracking under the pressure.

The Iron Lord's patience was almost exhausted by this pointless struggle.

Angron's only response was a roar, the blood mist trembling with the sound waves, and the faint sound of Khorne's satisfied laughter could be heard.

When Peturabo suddenly turned his head, his gaze locked onto the figure who had been watching from the sidelines.

Fugrim.

This Slaanesh's favorite, who had already killed two of his brothers, leaned elegantly against a bronze pillar, enjoying the pain of the lava searing his skin, his flawless face bearing a sickly expectation.

"Watch what I do?"

Stimulated by Perturabo's cold gaze, Fugrem twisted his serpentine waist in an alluring arc before breaking into a smile.

"If you are inviting me to join this game, then I must decline."

Fugrim's fingertips lightly traced his newly replaced gilded collarbone, his voice carrying an uncomfortably sweet tone.

"After all, dancing with a wild beast and cold machinery goes against my ideals."

The Primarch of the Third Army seemed to enjoy watching the drama unfold.

"If you want to postpone this war that brings you pleasure."

Perturabo's breathing filter emitted a heavy hissing sound as he resisted the urge to maneuver the 'Ironblood' and unleash a beam of light on Vograim.

We can't let him have his way.

"The conflict between us has gone on long enough, and it's wearing down all of our patience."

He tried to reason with them.

After all, during the Iron Lord's brief observation, this Primarch, who should have been the most corrupted, unexpectedly maintained his mental clarity under normal circumstances.

"Roar!!!"

Peturabo wiped the crimson saliva off his visor without expression.

At least compared to Angron.

"No, no."

Fugrim parted his lips slightly.

"Out of remorse for what I have done in the past, I do want to help you, but the Prince of Pleasure does not think so."

He suddenly pointed gracefully to the sky.

There, the pinkish-purple subspace vortex writhed like a thirsty throat.

He is waiting, waiting for a scene that will bring Him joy.

Before that, He will not allow any of the actors to leave their seats or do anything that their roles should not involve.

"How could I possibly disobey my master's orders?"

His fingertips returned to his heart, a gesture that made Peturabo feel uncomfortable.

"After all, I am just a puppet that is manipulated at will, only to bring pleasure to my master and achieve his goals."

At this point, Fugrim couldn't help but embrace the burning bronze pillar, responding to the pleasure welling up inside him with sensory stimulation.

doll?

His bones were trembling; Peturabo had used all his strength.

But this is just a pointless stalemate.

Perturabo pondered and analyzed what Fugrim had told him.

They are nothing but puppets, obeying the orders of the evil god, merely extensions of the evil god's will.

Don't be blinded by their power, and don't assume they are free just because they act recklessly outside.

Peturabo recalled the words he had used to reprimand Abaddon during the Siege of Terra.

"The quantity of data can deceive the opponent. Its content, the amount of detail, and especially if the opponent is working tirelessly to process this data, the deception will be even more effective."

"He told me he had learned to 'walk away'."

"Even at the height of the conflict...walk away."

"Would you believe it? This allowed him to clear his mind, focus his energy, and let go of the irrelevant and superficial things, to contemplate and simplify the complex. After he finished, he came back. Do you know what he would do then?"

"I don't know, sir."

"He'll win, Abaddon, that bastard will win."

The Iron Lord's face reflected his past experiences, and the lessons Dorne had taught him suggested that he should choose to withdraw directly from this conflict.

This suggestion caused Peturabo's mechanical heart to pause briefly, and a strange hesitation flashed in his eyes.

He did not immediately implement the optimal solution.

"I can play with you to the very end."

Peturabo suddenly roared, his voice carrying a sense of unease that negated his past thinking.

He pressed his forehead against Angron's, his eyes only inches away from the other's bloodshot eyeballs.

“I can play this deathmatch game with you, fight you to the last drop of blood, and then I will banish you and you will be resurrected in the Blood God’s Wasteland, or you can banish me and I will return to the Steel Blood.”

"But if you still believe I can trust you, and that my authority as the commander of three legions still stands, then obey my orders, acknowledge me as your master, and I will give you the reward you desire."

Angron ignored him.

Peturabo suddenly released his grip on the arm he was wrestling with.

This was an act that could be considered suicidal in a life-or-death struggle, but he did not feel the impending doom.

The roar of the chainsaw axe came to an abrupt halt.

The blood-stained serrated edge hovered before the Iron Lord's forehead, the sharp teeth of the axe blade roaring, the wind it generated cutting cracks into the skin, but it could not advance any further.

Peturabo stared at the murder weapon so close to him, a certain emotion rising within him from the fact that he had made the right choice was stirring within him, enough to disturb his mind.

"Roar--!!"

Angron's unwilling roar pulled him back to reality.

Perturabo suddenly laughed, a laugh like rusty gears suddenly turning smoothly. He laughed loudly, and the Forgebreaker's Warhammer slipped from his fingers and slammed heavily into the lava ground.

He truly understood it.

The Iron Lord withdrew from the war, looking down with disdain at the mad dog before him.

A thick barrier has been erected between them.
-
Lyddis, a Khorne berserker.

He and his brothers were walking through the Ramirez-class space fortress prepared for the World Eaters, his gaze sweeping over the crowds gathered on the towering platforms.

He had long heard of an unprecedented war and was prepared for it.

But the chaos and noise in this area still surprised him somewhat.

The air emanating from the platform carried a hazy, rusty red hue.

The roar echoed, mingled with engine oil and blood, gradually triggering the trembling sensation transmitted from the Butcher's Nail, spreading from top to bottom.

This comes from the world devourer above it.

Lyddis was certain that he had seen more World Eaters today than he had ever thought there were in the entire galaxy.

There are tens of thousands of them in this Star Fortress near the Blood God Wasteland alone. Who knows how many more there are in other places, or how many more are on that Conqueror flagship?

His train of thought was cut off, and his past experience made him instinctively lower his head and make tactical maneuvers.

At the same time, a bomb roared from somewhere in the arena.

Then came a cacophony of echoes: axe blades slicing into flesh, explosives tearing through bones. Countless World Eaters crowded together, most of them appearing as chaotic as their armor, cobbled together from various models; a few were even more disorganized.

They slaughtered all living things in their path, escalating conflicts among themselves, until they were killed by a more powerful force.

Most of the Space Marines on the platform are traitors, pirates, and followers of evil gods. They kill each other according to their instincts, and then become addicted to the Butcher's Nail, driven by it, until they themselves are no longer sure who they are or what is happening around them.

a mess.

A meaningless battle.

They were completely undisciplined and showed no semblance of military bearing.

As he led his squad toward the other end of the platform, toward the ramp leading to higher ground, a Space Marine, crushed by the crowd, fell on top of him, his weapon burning.

Lydis knew this was a blessing from the gods; his Butcher's Nail trembled with the bloodlust emanating from the other, urging him to kill.

Lydice ignored the scum.

He led his squad across the platform and then toward the area isolated by the Iron Lord.

He looked behind him and saw that only three people remained in his accompanying team.

This is a selection process to determine which World Eaters are still capable of inheriting the Legion's glory.

Leddis understood the significance of this platform's existence.

And so he found what he had longed to find deep in his heart.

They will certainly be here; this is the most complete gathering of the Broken Legion in ten thousand years.

So of course they're here too.

The true world devourer.

They stood out like blood-stained brass knuckles on a clenched fist, easily recognizable even amidst the chaos of paint schemes and armor markings. They were either clustered together in company-sized groups or, more often, stood around the roaring gunboats, clad in massive plate armor.

Hooded mechanical priests raced around them, tending to the rumbling war machines, while bloodstained battle banners fluttered in the heat of the engine fans.

They were filled with bloodlust.

But they were able to restrain themselves.

They also possess discipline.

"Get out of my way."

Lydis roared as he strode forward, shoving aside the guards who were trying to stop him.

A World Eater platoon leader immediately raised his heavy bomb gun like a law enforcer, while Lydis stared at him with wide eyes.

After the expected attack failed to materialize, the World Eater company commander smiled, nodded to each World Eater who roared at him, and began to plan future tactics and strategies, thinking about how to give these warriors a death that was honorable enough.

Lydice scanned the faces before her, which were crazed yet still retained a sliver of clarity, scarred and battered.

They are here now.

All the World Eaters still alive in the galaxy are here, or at least most of them, around him.

They looked so free.

Here, he will get all the answers he desires.

Where is Angron?

Laeddis approached the company commander and roared his questions.

"Where is he?"

He needed an order to pursue his glorious death.

He's there—

The company commander stretched out his finger and pointed to the wasteland outside.

"He slaughtered all life on the wasteland, leaving only skulls and blood, and is now dueling Lord Peturabo."

"Then what are we doing here instead of going to stay?"

"Leddis roared."

What else do we need to do?

"Of course, we wait, and then we leave."

The company commander spat on the deck, his attitude towards Angron filled with nothing but contempt.

“You will no longer obey Angron, but will instead swear a blood oath to those who break their oaths.”

Who broke their oath?

"Leddes asked, puzzled."

"Cossolax".

Lydis frowned instinctively; he didn't recall having such a person in the Devourer Legion.

"He is the owner of this interstellar fortress."

The company commander said.

“I once saw him in Amegiddon, but it was completely different from when Lord Perturabo summoned us to meet. Since obtaining the Conqueror, he has become very powerful. He commands the most powerful warriors and is highly favored by the gods.”

"If we submit to him, perhaps he will lead us to transcendence and break the curse that has been entrenched in our minds."

"Can he do it?"

Lydice couldn't help but ask in surprise.

"At least he's willing to do it."

"The World Eater Company Commander replied, then walked back to his seat, picked up the heavy explosive weapon, and sat down again."

"But the Primarch would not do that."
-
"This is truly unprecedented."

Fugrim's voice flowed like poisonous honey, and a morbid pleasure appeared on his perfectly beautiful, almost demonic face. His purple-gold eyes admired the absurd scene before him, savoring the extreme emotions within it.

"Look how heartbreaking it is—"

"A ridiculous and meaningless farce."

He spread his four arms wide, laughing with enjoyment, while the huge wings behind him stretched taut as if in a climax.

This is exactly what he wanted to see.

An unprecedented clown contributed his value at this moment.

He was nothing, and yet another brother was trying to make a choice out of a slave who already belonged to someone else?

Is he worthy?
Angron stood in a pool of blood. The iron-ringed robots had long since retreated, but some more cruel shackles were binding him.

The butcher's nail shrieked inside his skull.

The steel needles stirred the brain tissue like living things, transforming every nerve ending into a conductor of pain.

It urges its own body to kill and destroy.
But it's definitely not the steel giant in front of us.

"Roar!!!"

He roared in grief and indignation.

The Primarch's howl shattered rocks within a hundred meters, but it couldn't break Forgrim's blissful laughter, an androgynous sound that echoed across the wasteland.

"Luojia really sold you for a good price."

"Hahaha--"

Almost choking himself, Peturabo rubbed his throat after calming down, suddenly feeling like a fool, an idiot.

He was actually arguing with these brothers who couldn't even control their own army, their own power, or even themselves.

He actually treated these slaves as his own brothers.

He should have treated these brothers the same way he treats the Four Gods long ago, because once he reached a consensus with the Four Gods, these brothers would only obey his orders.

The Blood God merely wanted this conflict to satisfy his bloodlust, while Slaanesh simply wanted to witness a farcical drama and experience the emotions they displayed for his own pleasure.

As a result, Peturabo acted like a fool, lowering himself to put on an act with his brothers who had been reduced to slavery, wasting his time in vain.

He should now plan his first offensive and unleash devastating power upon Kadia.

In the real universe, the Imperial forces, led by the Wings of Dawn, have united closely and are working diligently to prepare their defensive lines.

Aside from being dragged into a fight by Angron and providing emotional value to several Chaos beings, he did nothing else.

Peturabo immediately felt his blood pressure spike, instantly reminding him of the Siege of Terra.

'I should have thought of that from the beginning.'

Peturab picked up his warhammer, stood on the ruins, and looked down at his brother who was struggling in vain.

Angron's blood steamed on his brass armor, broken bones pierced his skin, and each swing of his axe was like a slave slamming his fist against his cage.

Blood was spurting, and bones were shattering.

But it all means nothing.

This mad warrior can never kill him, just as a slave can never shatter the stars.

The Lord of Steel turned and left, his back to the frozen Angron. The Iron Ring Machines receded like a tide, clearing a path for him to the Blood of Steel.

Angron howled in anguish as he struggled against the forces that were hindering him, his body crumbling.

He had just tried to seize the initiative in the war and then travel to the real universe to have the new monsters created by the Emperor kill him.

Slaves are now also trying to kill themselves in the same way.

But there was nothing he could do, because the Blood God's attitude was already clear.

He is willing to pay the price for a war, but He will not give up the slaves in His hands.

He delighted in Perturabo and nourished himself with Anglon’s hatred, which Anglon could not resist.

He was just a slave.

(End of this chapter)