Warhammer: Start with a dog

The conversation between Angron and his genetic father, the Emperor, ended quickly. After all, neither party wanted to have any further understanding of the other at this time.

The Emperor seemed a little surprised by the son he had received from all aspects, but then was satisfied with his answers and the way he turned out, and the Twelfth Primarch's emotions were concealed in a secret. Behind the polite social mask, there is no way to tell - Angron swore that he definitely heard a hint of "How could he be so good after so long" and "It's a bit embarrassing now" in that voice. smell.

Of course, only he could feel this subtle soul emotion, and except for the Imperial Guards, everyone on the Emperor's Dream quietly grew in awe of the newly returned son who could answer fluent questions with his imperial father.

Angron Petra was not immediately sent to join his legions.

He was told that the 203rd Battle Group led by the flagship of the Twelfth Legion, still called the Fortitude and Resolve, was rushing here day and night.

Although the Lord of Ironheart felt the prying eyes of a certain person, Angron decided to pretend not to notice.

And the man who spied on him seemed unaware of the fact that there was always a greater and radiant eye watching all within the confines of the Emperor's Dream.

It was not suitable for him to board other people's ships now, so the Emperor made an exception to allow the newly found heir to stay in a guest room specially opened for him on the Emperor's Dream.

An old man wearing a gorgeous robe and with the mark of a double-headed sky eagle branded on the back of his head proudly and humbly introduced him to the furnishings in this luxurious and huge room. Finally, he said, "You are the second descendant of our Lord who has stayed here in many years." The soaring twelve-line chant at the beginning finally succeeded in breaking Angron's patience with mortals.

The red-haired giant politely but firmly stated that what he needed now was to rest alone, and then "invited" the old servant, who seemed to want to say something else, out of the magnificent bedroom.

Oh, my God, there is so much gold here, he thought, and the Primarch's eyes and head felt hot, swollen, and aching from the glitter everywhere.

His adoptive father and teacher once taught him that if he was in this situation, it was better to sit down and take a bath, have a cup of hot drink, and then go to bed comfortably.

"With no big decisions to be made at the moment, there is nothing better than sleep to soothe the mind. Take it as it comes. This is the most useful thing I have ever heard from my Gene-Father and Chapter Master. One of the teachings.”

So he did just that, taking a hot bath in a huge bath with a marble cherub who could pour hot water from a gold vase. Then he dried himself, wrapped himself in his nightgown, and picked up his axe, axe, and axe. The pistol and other items were neatly placed by hand and under the pillow. Before going to bed, he kicked out all the unnecessary people and servitors in the room for the last time, and finally fell asleep peacefully.

Day and night aboard the Emperor's Dream crossed the zero point of Terra.

Angron Petra found himself nearly naked - thankfully with a crotch cloth - standing at the very bottom of some huge pit-shaped structure.

Come again. What is it this time?

The smell of death sacrifice and ignorant violence in his nose instantly made him frown.

But the protagonist here is him but not him.

He's meeting someone.

This is some ghost floating over Nuceria.

Some ghost dwells in the dream of the past.

The huge, headless corpses of the two Pit Fighters fell into the red-stained sand. All life, vitality, names, good and evil had drained from their bodies, and only their skulls and dirt had been beaten into their bodies. The squirming metal "nails" like living animals in the dirty scalp are still gnawing at the brains of the deceased unsatisfied, as if they hope they can still stand up and continue to satisfy it with pain, blood and killing.

A pair of iron horn crowns, representing endless slaughter and berserkers lost in violence, were stained with the blood of their owners and lay horizontally in the roasted red sand.

The gaze of Angron's body did not stay too much on the corpses of the defeated, as if he had seen this scene many, many times, so that to him they were just the common, daily gravel under his feet.

But the iron-hearted and kind-hearted person still noticed the evil lurking on those nails with the corner of his eye and something deeper was given to them.

Damn it. He thought to himself, I remember He is quite displeased... He even hates those who play with psychic powers and witchcraft? Why, you can't be responsible, acknowledge or reject what is delivered to your door, right?

Then he saw the anti-gravity silver monitor floating in front of him - a bit like a servo skull with only eyes - and a voice came from it, with the tone of a malicious and controlling dog playing in the mud -

"The people of Deshii want more! The undefeated Angron! The old bear of Urcham, the Oinomouth! Today we take a look at these two great warriors of the arena, and the audience's My dear general, who among you is truly the greater warrior?!"

The people sitting around the Colosseum suddenly burst into tsunami-like shouts and screams of ecstasy to express their complete approval of this bloodthirsty proposal.

Fighting beasts, slashing with beastmen, and finally the blood of berserker champions can no longer satisfy the people's blood lust.

The objects they kill become more and more human, and they want more.

They wanted the blood of the stronger among men, and they wanted to feast here on the blood offered by one of Angron and Oinomouth.

Angron Petra was silent, and in the body of the ghost, he puffed up his chest and tried to speak a word for the first time.

He thought he would at least get some support.

After all, he is a great warrior in the arena and the beloved general of the people, isn't he?

"No."

This word was so rare and so powerful that the huge gladiatorial arena suddenly fell into an eerie silence.

Angron Tark, inspired by the silence, repeated the word without hesitation, speaking it aloud from the slave pits to the clouds where the godlike High Riders sat.

Oinomouth's hand was on the arm of Angron Tark, the child he had raised so he would accompany him.

"No?!" The monitor - Angron Talk called it the "Maggot Eye" - began to laugh at the speaker. They gathered around him, spinning around him, and kept emitting A sarcastic and threatening voice.

"Who allows you to say no? The property of the Tarke family, Angron Tarke! Now give us a wonderful and exciting blood-spattered battle show and his head, then maybe we can show mercy. Forgive your disrespect!"

So who gave you permission to do this to other people? As Angron Petra chewed, he discovered that even the teeth of this body had been removed and replaced with black steel teeth, just to make the young man look more intimidating and ornamental, just like a fighting man. Dogs generally sharpen their canine teeth.

…Hell, I really don’t understand how things got to this point. Isn’t there any sense and logic in this place? Once again, he meditated on his teacher's instructions, making decisions before taking action, and he continued to observe through the eyes of the young gladiator.

He saw that the young gladiator still retained a slight, naive hope in his heart, and thought that he could believe in the favor of the people - at least in exchange for the old gladiator's life, right? -- only one gladiator's life -- if they all hail the high horsemen in unison --

He also heard the gladiator say, if you want more blood, you can come down and fight us yourself, and the collective human emotions surging around him almost - almost reached a certain critical point, but Angron ·Petra experienced more fear, selfishness and dark despicability from inside - hell!

Damn it! Angron Petra understands the heart of Angron Tarc. This strong demigod fighter has only lived in the dark dungeon under the arena since he was a child. He doesn't think he is wise at all. ! No one taught him how to truly use his powers! ——He has no idea and has no way of knowing how powerful, terrifying, bloodthirsty and fickle the "human heart of the majority" is!

No one, no one could explain those truths and knowledge to him clearly, and help him stand up from the mistakes that could be repaired and corrected, and experience those truths again and again. As a slave gladiator fighting for his life, he had no trial and error. opportunity, because the price of a mistake is life!

At this moment, Angron Petra truly began to realize the gap between himself and the ghost, and how rare and valuable the truth and teachings he had obtained were.

He observed the High Riders and their guards communicating privately within those anti-gravity mechanisms and implants, revealing their level of isolation from the arena audience.

Finally, the maggot eye that had been talking floated down again, and his voice became loud and sharp, ensuring that his words could be transmitted to the ears of every living person present.

"You are nothing but a dog! Angron Tark! You are a bastard who was raised here just for everyone to watch you kill other vile things or be killed! Use your blood to entertain our people. It's your life! Who do you think you are? A domestic dog dares to resist his owners!"

The voice of the High Rider agitator seemed to be singing a beautiful aria of malice, "A domestic dog that dares to resist should be beaten into obedience until he obediently provides his masters with daily entertainment. What a great dog we like, everyone."

His laughing tail echoed on the blood-stained, hot sand of the arena, and Angron Tark felt the audience begin to become cold towards him. And Angron Petra had completely foreseen what was going to happen. He gritted his teeth in this body and stretched out his hand with all his strength towards the boy who was staring at the butcher's nail in the severed head on the ground, which was beginning to melt. ——

“O wise and just people of Deshii, we—?!” The host of the arena deliberately prolonged his voice in an artificial manner, so as to arouse more despicable and dark gleeful carnivals in the hearts of mortals, “Alas! ! Let us tell you, how should we teach our beautiful puppy that has become disobedient?!"

A short sentence buzzed around the arena seats and began to be mentioned and recited to each other, and the single word was shouted excitedly in Nuceria.

Angron Petra completely understood the meaning of this Nucerian word, but this word made him experience two feelings of anger. One was like ice, falling into his stomach, which was Angron Tal. Ke, his hands and feet are cold, and his heart is cold; one is like a spark, which will burn everything here, is Angron Petra. Only the land burned by the prairie fire can sprout new shoots.

"Nail him!" The people, who were in the ecstasy of sacrificing a star, shouted in the voice of the High Rider host, "Nail! Nail! Nail! Nail him!"

Angron Petra felt that he had truly completed the transformation into a stone-hearted person at that moment. At the same time, he understood that Angron Tark had the body of a giant and could only see the sky of the arena since he could remember it. and the blood of the dead, a truth that a child named Angron was unwilling to face.

Except for people who are as humble as me.

The whole world is an enemy.

So……