Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 111 The True Primarch - The Nail of Angron.

Without a doubt, the Emperor was an absolutely incompetent father. His emotional intelligence was inconsistent, and he was shameless, which led to all the immortals who recognized his true colors abandoning him. Only Macardo was young and had not yet come to terms with reality.

But unlike his terrible interpersonal relationships, the Emperor's scientific research ability was off the charts, highlighting his daring and decisive nature, with a wild and beautiful quality of powerful and unrestrained action.

Add to that Mordred, who acts without any scruples and can even play with Bloodlust in the Comoros, and a strange chemical reaction instantly occurs.

To gather diverse perspectives, the Emperor even sought out Akhan Rand, a great sage specializing in mechanical technology. He was the very same mastermind behind the Rand Raider, the Rand Assault Boat, the Rand Tractor, and a host of other creations.

Seeing the Emperor call for reinforcements, Mordred, fearing being ganged up on by this bastard, also started calling for reinforcements. However, after searching around, he found that none of Atlas's men were of any use, so he could only call upon the domesticated sage Kragg.

Because Mordred looked down on Macardo, a treacherous minister who only knew how to manipulate power, and the Emperor despised Magnus, a research idiot who only invested in psionic skills, the two Magnus were kicked out of the laboratory. Two truly talented individuals with expertise in technology were sent to assist them.

Looking at the laboratory door, which had been missing for a whole week and had not been opened since that day, Magnus was very worried. He went to check on it almost every day, fearing that a corpse might be carried out.

"Damn it! If anything goes wrong with Angron, how am I supposed to face the Twelfth Legion? No, I absolutely cannot let anyone know that it was my idea, that I am innocent."

"Makado, you absolutely have to be my witness then!"

Glancing at Magnus, who was frantically grading documents, Macardo, who was slacking off, silently put down his snacks and offered a word of comfort:

"Little Ma, you need to use your job title when you're at work!"
If the Emperor, Mordred, and the two great sages together cannot save him, then there's no point in you speculating here. You should believe that they are not reckless people.

"Come on, finish this report. After you're done, I'll take you out for a nice meal. There's a really good dog-themed restaurant that just opened downstairs; their cooking is superb."

Magnus always felt that Old Deng was fooling him. He had said the same thing last time, which led to him working in the government office for a whole week, his brain about to explode from all the approvals.

"Okay, Ma Zhiwu! But don't try to skip out on the bill this time."

……

Makado was right; instead of worrying unnecessarily, it would be better to do something practical. However, he clearly underestimated the madness of the four great masters combined.

"Damn it, Mordred, you piece of trash! This plan is completely unreliable. Who taught you the Life Alchemy? This is totally alien! Did you learn it all over a dog's brain? I think you want to die."

"Shut up, old Deng. This is orthodox physical technology that I've improved. It's pure gene fusion therapy, completely different from your nonsensical psionic witchcraft."

You can roll stars into tiny balls and play with them, yet you still can't remove the chaotic contamination from the nail. It's entirely your fault that things have dragged on like this.

"You useless hapless Haki Huang, I think you need some dragon fruit CPR. If you don't understand, don't spout nonsense. Do you even know what fusion is? Fusion is the noblest thing!"

Looking at the two who had argued from morning till night for a whole week, each holding their own opinion, and who ultimately failed to reach a consensus, the two great sages saw the helplessness in each other's eyes.

But work had to go on; after all, they were his underlings.

As the Emperor's loyal dog, Rand and Kragg, Mordred's lackey, could only try to appease each other and persuade them to sit together again.

Looking at Angron, which had been broken into pieces within the static force field but whose vitality remained unaffected, the Emperor, though unwilling to admit it, acknowledged Mordred's technology.

"Fine, let the unlucky kid be a heretic if he wants. At least he's capable. Don't get angry, don't get angry!"

Unbeknownst to the giant blond man who was hypnotizing himself, as his contact with Mordred deepened, his humanity became richer, and even his ability to make witty remarks grew stronger. By the time he realized this, it was too late.

Mordred also knew that for the current Emperor, completely eradicating the chaotic pollution from Angron's soul was not something that could be solved by sheer force.

"Forget it, let old man Huang be a bit useless. After all, we can't do without him."

In terms of personality and many other aspects, Mordred is very similar to the Emperor. Not only are their moral bottom lines flexible and changeable, but they are also the kind of people who are willing to suffer for the sake of saving face.

Fortunately, this wasn't just a strained father and son; with the help of Rand and Cragg, the two began to cooperate again.

To help alleviate the pressure on the yellow weasel, Mordred brought in Icarus, whose powerful computing ability assisted the Emperor in sorting out the twisted soul of Angrona, which had been completely parasitized.

Despite saying he didn't want this blasphemous creation that was nominally a machine soul but was actually just a reskinned version of an abomination intelligence, the big golden guy used it more skillfully than anyone else.

As beings capable of creating Primarchs by hand, the Emperor's mastery of life alchemy is the source of all the Custodians and Primarchs.

Coupled with his status as an immortal, he has plenty of time to try and correct his mistakes, making him far superior to Mordred, a self-taught amateur.

To prevent Angron from becoming a monster that was neither human nor ghost, the Emperor began to seriously teach Mordred the use of life alchemy and correct those barbaric operations filled with mystical power.

Mutual understanding is always the foundation of win-win cooperation. Although arguments still erupt from time to time, the experimental progress has begun to advance rapidly. Two and a half months later, the four people who had conducted a total of 12 simulation experiments collapsed on the ground. The extremely high intensity of work filled the entire laboratory with the unpleasant smell of sweat and the acrid odor of burning protein residue.

But the results were encouraging. The Emperor and Mordred's experiment was ultimately successful. They were able to insert the essence of the Primarch into those two nails while ensuring the autonomy of the Angron.

However, just as the final treatment was about to begin, Mordred suddenly stopped the Emperor:
"Old man Huang, have you ever heard of numerology?"
We've already done 129998 experiments. If you ask me, let's do one more simulation experiment for good luck. Including the last one we actually performed, that'll bring the total to 13.

Furthermore, when performing surgery on Angron, it's best to burn incense, bathe, set up an altar, and perform some kind of feudal superstition.

This move immediately won the unanimous praise of the two great sages. No wonder they always felt something was wrong; it turned out they hadn't worshipped Om Messiah, and this link had to be filled.

Only the Emperor suspected Mordred might have some serious illness. He knew better than anyone what Om Messiah was and numerology, something he had never heard of before.

In the end, the Emperor agreed to the request. After all, it wouldn't make a difference if he did it once. To be honest, the Emperor quite liked the number 13, but it always reminded him of Guilliman, whom he disliked.

With the final simulation experiment a complete success, 13 candles were placed around the operating table for the ritual. After bathing and changing clothes, and each person eating 13 small cakes, the four began the final transformation.

Perhaps this feudal superstition really worked, or perhaps some future bastard had put his powers to use; in any case, the surgery was a complete success, even unbelievably smooth.

"But why isn't he awake yet? Has our plan failed?" the Emperor asked.

“I don’t know, but I know a way to wake it up quickly.” Mordred rolled up his sleeves, revealing his strong and resilient hands.

"Moreover, this method is extremely effective, especially for curing useless people!"

…………

As if he had just experienced a bizarre and indescribable nightmare, in his final moments, Angron felt himself freed from the limitations of his physical body. His form stretched rapidly and eventually split into three, held in the hands of a pair of large golden hands.

"Open your eyes!"

"What? So I didn't escape after all? Mordred, you're inherently evil! You actually drugged me, you deserve to die! I haven't even seen my father yet."

But who is my father? And who is Angron?

“Angron is us! You are Angron, he is Angron, we are all Angron!”

A pink figure came into view. For some reason, a sense of self had emerged, and the pink figure seemed repulsive, even though it was so beautiful and pleasing.

This loathing drove him to want to destroy that fellow human; he had to kill him no matter what. So much so that after this thought arose, another scarlet figure sprang out, roaring and shouting:
"war!"

Without any hesitation, driven by a desire for wholeness, the three consciousnesses clashed fiercely, devouring and entangled each other.

Bathed in golden light, the two consciousnesses grew weaker and weaker until they finally vanished completely, leaving only a mournful curse:
"Damn cursed ones, we will definitely be back!"

His ignorant consciousness decided to give up thinking. After eating and drinking his fill, he began to slack off on his own, driven by instinct. But as he slacked off, he suddenly saw a bright green lightning bolt on the horizon, which struck him hard.

One after another, a continuous stream of emerald green lightning, like divine retribution, caused him to scream in pain, and he could only try his best to stretch his body to relieve the pain.

"Wait, I think I came here as a person, so why do I have so many hands?"

Suddenly realizing the problem, he looked down, but no matter how he peered, he couldn't see his own body; all he could see was a tangled mess of fine cables.

Angron knew those things all too well; they were the two nails that had tormented him for so long.

A terrifying fact is before us: Primarch Angron, or rather, Primarch Angron's Nail, is gradually beginning to regain its memories.

I am Angron, I am Angron Tark, I hate anesthesia, you wretched Mordred, how dare you poke my ass with a syringe! Father, I love you so much!

As the emerald lightning struck repeatedly, the call from the horizon grew clearer and clearer.

"Superman of the Empire, open your eyes! I am Shafulin!"

With this call, Angron finally awoke again, and then he saw four pairs of malevolent eyes, and his reflection in the mirror of the culture jar:
Gazing at himself, floating in the culture tank, only a head remaining, countless metallic cables extending from the severed neck, swaying up and down—more like a butcher's spike than a human—Angron instantly emitted a sharp, explosive sound:

"Quack—don't touch it!"

　The fever has subsided, 37.6°C. I should be able to update regularly again tomorrow.
　　
　
(End of this chapter)