Warhammer 40: My Fiancée Fulgrim

"I have another question—why, why does an angel appear in this story? Casgar?"

broken.

She discovered my blind spot.

Casca was plunged into despair.

"If I remember correctly, when you left, you didn't seem to say that Saint Gilles would be going with you, did you?"

"Furthermore, I've also heard rumors that the Primarch of the Holy Blood Angels went missing the very next day, and was only discovered today above Nukelia. What's going on, Kasgar?"

Yes, yes.

What happened?

Kaska was actually quite curious about this as well.

But it really happened, and it wasn't Casca's fault!

"Haha."

He smiled.

Then, a moment later, she smiled too.

Help—ah—

what--

Ah ~

what.

The other observation room on the Resolute was silent.

a few days later.

Still aboard the USS Endurance.

"Gentlemen, after these days of training and interaction, I believe you all understand my character and preferences regarding the principles I want you to uphold!"

"If you don't understand, that's alright. I'll reiterate here—I, Angron, do not want to see any slaves or lackeys in the Legion! Gentlemen, any questions?"

"--no problem!"

The Twelfth Legion Space Marines standing in front of Angron answered.

During these days of contact, Angron spared no effort in investigating and boosting morale and improving the soldiers' thinking throughout the Twelfth Legion.

Not only do superior-subordinate relationships exist only in battle, but even the Space Marines' squires, Angron, stipulate that Space Marines must give each other the respect they deserve.

Otherwise, they will face the Primarch's own iron fist.

Perhaps Angron's previous work seemed meaningless because his combat strength was so weak.

But after burning away all the Blood God's corrupting influence in front of the Brass Fortress, Angron's strength is now no less than that of any Primarch!

Original strength plus war experience and wisdom gained through learning!

The current Angron is arguably ten times stronger than the Butcher's Sting wet item from a certain timeline!

And that’s not all!

"it is good!"

"At the same time, the name of our Twelfth Army Corps will also be changed today."

"Perhaps many of you call yourselves loyal warhounds, but I, Angron, dislike the word 'loyalty,' which implies absolute obedience from subordinate to superior!"

The War Dog Legion is about to receive a new name.

"We will not be war dogs at the feet of others; we should be the masters of the world!"

"From this day forward, the Twelfth Legion will be called the [World Devourers]!"

"World Eater!"

"World Eater!"

"World Eater!"

As Angron delivered his speech, a deafening roar of Space Marines filled the flagship named Resolute.

Of course, the current flagship is no longer called Resolute or Conqueror.

Angron also dislikes the conquerors.

Now, the flagship is named the Insurgent.

They originally wanted to name it the Rebel, but that seemed too unconventional and was rejected by the imperial bureaucrats on board.

The impact is indeed not good.

"Our next task is also very simple."

"Captain Salin, you explain."

At Angron's signal, Captain Lotara Salin stepped forward: "Thank you, Commander Angron, for giving me this opportunity to introduce our fleet's future destination to you all."

"As per the Emperor's request, we will soon travel with the Emperor's son, the Fist of the Empire, and the Emperor's own fleet to a planet called Nostramore, where we will welcome the return of another Primarch."

Compared to the original story's expedition to Nostramore, this Primarch is missing Loka and Philus, who are currently on a large-scale expedition around the world.

There's now an Angron who can absorb the negative emotions of others.

With Butcher's Sting gone, Angron's ability to absorb the negative emotions of others becomes even more crucial.

Once Koz's symptoms can be alleviated even slightly, the rebels' fighting strength will be reduced by several points again, thanks to Koz's individual combat capabilities.

Everything is progressing in a positive direction.

After the World Eaters finished their collective speech, the Space Marines, now given new names, dispersed, looking forward to the new Primarchs they would encounter in Nostramor.

Meanwhile, Angron and the company commanders stood near the boarding gate, seeing off Fugrim and Kasgar, who were about to return to the Emperor's Son flagship.

"Casca, thank you for everything you taught me on Nu. It's an honor to have you as a brother."

Angron was arguably the most unpretentious Primarch, as he embraced Kasgar at their farewell.

Okay, take care.

However, Casca's answer seemed somewhat listless.

As the commander of the Emperor's son and also the one who infiltrated Nukelia at the time, Kasgar appeared to be in very poor condition.

Not only did she become much thinner, but she also developed dark circles under her eyes from working so hard.

It was as if someone had drained all the life force from them.

Is the Great Expedition really this arduous? Kasgar has become so haggard in just a few days.

Angron thought to himself.

"Alright, Angron. See you in Nostramore!"

As for Fugrim, he was beaming with joy.

However, Angron seemed to sense that the other person's heart wasn't as joyful as she appeared.

seem

It seems she still has a lot of worries weighing on her mind.

Angron thought of his ability to absorb the negative emotions of others.

Let's share some of the burden with her.

He stretched out his hand, pointing it at Fugrim, and closed his eyes.

He activated his power.

Then he froze in place, not moving.

Goodbye, Brothers Angron!

"Angron?"

Angron remained silent until Kasgar and Fugrim boarded the transfer ship and left the Rebel.

"Sir?"

"What are you doing?"

Company Commander Kahn slowly stepped forward and asked...

Casca! I love you! I hate you!

I want to grass-feed you!

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I hate you, I love ....

Angron crawled on his hands and knees, beginning to move through the shadows.

"Quick! Stop the Primarch!!!"

"quick!"

Chapter 149 Koz saw nothing!

Nostramo.

The only large hive city in the dead world with life stands amidst a complex of countless towering black spires. The streets are crowded and noisy. In this world where the population is severely overcrowded, the depths of the hive city are filled with the stench of money, which is tinged with blood and decay.

The ventilation fan spewed foul air into the eternally dark Northum, its old, neglected blades groaning and pounding against the bearings.

The stench of the Nostradamus, a mixture of industrial waste heat from indiscriminate emissions and the stench of sweat from layers of high-temperature steam, was even more unbearable.

As these waste heat and toxic particles rise, they eventually condense into water droplets in the atmosphere, combining with the randomly released acidic substances to form rainwater that pours down again. Through the lights on the Hubble Spire, they shimmer with color, splashing up a cloud of acidic mist against the gray-black sky.

Recycling centers that have ceased operations due to a lack of profit incentives, and outdated and nearly unusable tap water purification systems, have long since lost their original function.

The wastewater flowing back to the ground, under the high temperature and amidst the uncollected rotting corpses, continues to breed new, flourishing life.

Just like the countless cycles it has gone through, it is playing out in this nest city, on this planet.

A rotten world.

Like a distant star that is gradually dimming, Nostrama is decaying.

The upper-class nobles who control the trade and processing of refined gold have everything in the world. They have more resources than they can use, yet they refuse to give even a fraction of them to the rest of the people. Under layers of corruption and embezzlement, they cannot even spare a little mercy for the lower classes.

If that's the case, then why show pity?

Whether in the upper or lower classes, people who lack hope for the future live aimlessly in this world.

In the crowded, dilapidated, and dimly lit streets of the city, filth breeds when the lights are dim.

There are countless other hive worlds like this, filthy, dilapidated, and lacking any form of control.

People crawl and live like wild beasts in this severely polluted and barren land, and fight endlessly like wild beasts for those laughable and pathetic resources for survival.

Ultimately, they too are robbed and murdered, or they exhaust their meager life force in the intoxicating haze of anesthetic drugs, dying like stray dogs whimpering in a corner where no one cares.

All of this should have continued indefinitely, until everything in the hive ceased to function under the erosion of time, and the people on the planet gradually perished in the decline of civilization.

But an uninvited guest interrupted it.

The adamantine incubation chamber, carrying the monstrous creature it was born with, rushed into the surface of Nostramore, penetrating its corrupt and rotten heart.

Conrad Coates.

he came.

Another mangled corpse was hung on the spire of Nostrama.

The legend of the midnight ghosts gradually spread around the city of Nest.

Legend has it that the body of any gang member who dares to occupy this area will be hung on the city's spire the next day for all to see.

At first, not many people took it seriously—murder and revenge were as easy as breathing in Nostrama, and the kind of guys who could survive in this treacherous underbelly wouldn’t be intimidated by such simple threats.

As more and more corpses hung atop the spire, the traces of blood and flesh on their bodies became increasingly blurred.

There might really be a midnight ghost, carrying out aimless vendettas in the streets of the Underground Nest.

Some people began to fear its rumors and gradually dared not act as recklessly as before.