The smoke slowly dispersed.
The battle-kilt swayed, but he was absolutely no fragile figure.
The nearly four-meter-tall physique bore no bloat whatsoever, but rather the demigod physique that combined ultimate elegance with monstrous majesty.
(T/N: Um, in the original fanfic, Angron was a woman, but I just kept the battle-kilt, as I imagine a Scottish version of Angron would be way too funny to pass up.) He was clad in crimson power armor trimmed with gilded edges.
Every inch of its lines was smooth and sharp.
The chest armor was engraved with the Aquila insignia and the Emperor’s sacred sigils; every inch exuded sacredness and majesty.
Golden light flowed over it, untainted by dust, entirely out of place with the dilapidated gladiatorial arena around it.
His passionate, flame-like red hair cascaded down like a waterfall.
His hair blew lightly in the wind, his skin was as white as snow, and his facial features were as exquisite as a deity’s, yet his red-gold pupils completely manifested the majesty of a son of the Emperor.
Wherever his gaze swept, even the air seemed to freeze.
The divinity belonging to a Primarch was revealed—an impassable chasm that mortal Astartes could never bridge!
The Astartes were the Emperor’s warriors, his elite weapons.
But he was an extraordinary son forged by the Emperor’s own hands, a demigod walking among mortals.
Every breath he took carried the momentum to suppress the galaxy.
Between the two, there was a difference like that of clouds and mud.
Lancelot felt there was no longer any need to grip the power sword in his hand, because he saw that at that moment, this Lord of the Twelfth Legion named Angron held tightly in his hand a longsword blazing with flames.
The Emperor’s Sword.
Even without channeling its power, it emanated an awe-inspiring pressure that suppressed all chaos and evil.
This sword contained the pure power of the Emperor himself.
Daemons killed by it would not be banished back to the Warp as usual, but would be completely obliterated on every level!
In the original world, the one who wielded this longsword was the Avenging Son, the Lord of the XIII Legion: Roboute Guilliman.
But in this mirror world, it was actually the weapon of Angron…
oh wait, the Lord of the Twelfth Legion, Angron?!
It was said that Guilliman himself was actually a berserker, merely suppressed by his education.
Angron was originally supposed to be a psychologist, but had been forcibly transformed into a killing machine by the environment of his planet and the Butcher’s Nails!
With this in mind, Lancelot couldn’t help but look at the head of the Primarch Angron before him.
The Butcher’s Nails—this thing was also an ancient piece of brutal technology from the Dark Age of Technology.
In easy-to-understand terms, the thing was akin to a lobotomy combined with a neural stimulation device.
Its implantation procedure was also extremely brutal.
It required driving a massive number of “nails” trailing cables through the skull and implanting them into the brain, replacing the functions of certain brain regions.
Having undergone modifications to such an extent, the only function of this thing was to amplify anger, suppress reason and emotion, and inflict terrifying pain that almost exceeded the limits of physiological endurance!
Even a demigod-level existence like a Primarch could not endure it.
Wearing this thing meant finding pleasure only in slaughter, and only combat could temporarily relieve the pain.
When the Primarch Angron of the main world had been found by the Emperor, he had already worn the Butcher’s Nails for many years, and even the Emperor could not safely remove them.
It seemed that because of this reason, the Emperor himself had almost no patience for Angron, completely treating him as a tool to be used—truly the epitome of despicable.
And if one only looked at Angron himself, his experiences could be called a tragedy among tragedies.
Picked up by slavemasters as a child to participate in gladiatorial combat as a gladiator, he was implanted with the Butcher’s Nails before he could fully master his own power.
Under such circumstances, enduring pain and bloodthirsty desires for slaughter, he still led a slave uprising, wanting to overthrow the slavemasters.
As a result, toward the end of the fight, the Emperor descended directly, took him away, and made Angron confusingly become a so-called “deserter.” Thus, for the Angron of the original world, his entire life was that of a slave.
The Emperor was his slavemaster; Chaos was his slavemaster.
The root of all tragedies was the Butcher’s Nails.
Later, after his Daemonic Ascension, Angron briefly broke free from the interference of the Butcher’s Nails.
At that time, his heart intensely wanted to just let everything rot, forcing Khorne to ascend the Butcher’s Nails into daemonhood as well, thus thoroughly making this Lord of the Twelfth Legion become a monster driven by fury and slaughter.
And now, for the loyalist version of the Lord of the Twelfth Legion in this world, would there still be this thing called the Butcher’s Nails on his head?
It seemed not; no wonder.
Lancelot muttered a sentence in his heart.
At that moment, the Primarch Angron, who had descended here, scanned the battlefield.
His golden eyes also instantly locked onto Lancelot in the arena, and subsequently, his brows couldn’t help but furrow slightly.
Before arriving at this place, Angron had already received intelligence transmitted from his Legion.
One of the traps he had laid had been triggered; an existence appearing to be a Dark Angel had silently broken into his bedchambers and triggered the trap he had personally set.
At first, he naturally thought it was his traitorous brother who had fallen into his trap.
The other party had turned to Chaos, was incomparably paranoid about everything, and was infinitely obsessed with any secrets regarding him.
That was why he had set up this trap.
Now that the trap was triggered, Angron immediately put down all the work on hand, and even used certain special methods to rush back to his homeworld at top speed.
But what was somewhat bizarre was that along the way, various pieces of intelligence were transmitted.
This existence that had fallen into his trap had not attempted to kill his sons.
If he truly was that traitor Lion, why go to such lengths?
Unless he had long since seen through everything in this place, yet still chose to step into the trap, the purpose being to draw him out and confront him.
There might be many conspiracies involved in this; it might even be a trap set up for him in reverse by that guy…
But for Angron, wielding the Emperor’s Sword, he had to step into this gladiatorial arena no matter what.
Upon landing, he had already prepared for a fight to the death.
But upon truly seeing the existence before his eyes, Angron’s brows furrowed slightly.
“You are not Lion.” He spoke a sentence that set the tone.
Upon hearing this, Lancelot breathed a sigh of relief.
But the next moment, the words of the Lord of Red Sands swerved back: “But you indeed bear the feeling of Lion’s genes.” Saying this, Angron strode toward Lancelot, and that sense of oppression naturally washed over.
“So…
what exactly are you?” “Could you possibly be a tool created by Lion to explore this place?
To be able to arrive at this place silently, what has Lion invested in you?” The Primarch gradually approached.
The deterrence transmitted from his genes was enough to make an ordinary Space Marine’s legs go soft.
But Lancelot was unaffected.
He merely looked at the Primarch before him.
After being slightly dazed for a moment, Lancelot realized what was happening, his desire to survive surging forth, and quickly said: “Honored Lord of the Twelfth Legion!
I have nothing to do with that traitor Lion!
As for the reason I appear in this place…
I cannot explain it clearly to you, but what I can tell you is that I bear a mission!
An item directly related to the Emperor!” “An item related to the Emperor?” Hearing this sentence, Angron only found it laughable.
The Emperor’s Sword in his hand also blazed fiercely at that moment.
To survive, he would even spout such nonsense?
It was just that Angron actually wanted to know why the person before him was so fearless.
He clearly knew what kind of deterrence this Emperor’s Sword in his hand was to daemons.
Even his traitorous brothers would feel fear when facing this sword, but the existence before him actually had no reaction.
The reason was actually quite simple.
Firstly, Lancelot could leave this world at any time.
Secondly, he hadn’t expected to directly meet a loyal son of the Emperor here, so in this way, the authenticity of that item could be judged…
It was just that looking at the Primarch before him approaching covetously, with an attitude of completely disbelieving his words, Lancelot still felt somewhat terrified inwardly.
“Wait, Lord Primarch!
That item is rather special; I think we can have the surrounding people leave first!
Give us some private space, and then I will show it to you!” “Have us leave?!
Damned heretic!
Do you think you can deceive us with mere words?!” The surrounding Crimson Angels growled lowly.
The Primarch of the Twelfth Legion Crimson Angels, Angron, looked coldly at Lancelot before him, and the Emperor’s Sword in his hand had already been lightly raised at that moment!
There was no other way…
Lancelot’s sense of crisis flared with frantic warnings!
How fast could a Primarch’s movements be?!
To an Astartes, one could be killed almost before one could see clearly!
And the reason Angron was still standing there was merely because he was still observing to determine if there were any traps present on Lancelot.
The Primarch Angron’s thoughts were like a tide at that moment as he looked at Lancelot.
What was somewhat bizarre was that the Warp around this person was unusually calm, and the real universe was very stable…
Could Chaos have inflicted some special curse upon him?
Myriad thoughts were processed in the Primarch’s mind like lightning.
Various conjectures appeared, but ultimately all these conjectures had one premise, and that was…
Let’s slash with the sword first.
If any Warp daemons lodge within him, being pierced by the Emperor’s Sword will also reveal their true form!
The desire to attack reached its peak in an instant.
Lancelot also instantly felt like his hair was standing on end!
There was no other way!
Under such circumstances, the Primarch and these Astartes warriors would absolutely never believe him and allow him to be alone with the Primarch!
Then…
he could only risk being discovered by Chaos!
Lancelot made a decision in his heart in an instant, and in the very next moment, Angron moved.
His figure disappeared from the spot almost as if skipping frames.
Almost at the same time, a white light shone in Lancelot’s hand.
“Damn it, is this chaotic scum finally going to reveal his tricks?!” Khârn, watching the battle from the periphery, thought to himself.
But at that moment, he suddenly felt his body—this fearless body of his—exhibit a certain instinctive trembling.
Angron also froze.
The Emperor’s Sword had already slashed to Lancelot’s face, but was halted by him.
The white light emanating from Lancelot’s hand contained absolutely no Warp fluctuations, and within the white light, an item suddenly surfaced, appearing in Lancelot’s hand.
It was a tube of red blood encased in a quartz tube.
Everything seemed no different, but for some unknown reason, the air seemed to become viscous.
Within the gladiatorial arena, the thirteen golden pillars of light that had originally lit up began to burn fiercely.
At that moment, even the Primarch, looking at the item in Lancelot’s hand, wore an expression full of disbelief!
Thaniel_a_goodchild.