Warhammer: Start with a dog

"Damn it, why did I encounter an unknown reason again this time... Sigh! It's actually a red... dog... no... face... I hope An... insist... choose... hurry up..."

pay close attention?

He blinked and subconsciously tightened his grip. Then he found that he touched a "thread" in his palm. Just like Ariadne's thread in the ancient myth, the invisible "thread" gradually moved forward. He "brings it forward" is like something emerging from the water, or like passing through a labyrinth of ten thousand years in a single glance.

The familiar and close voice faded away, as if there was another female voice calling his name loudly.

Someone is trying to take him back.

he thinks.

I want to persist.

I must persist.

My soul will be like pure steel, carrying forward the past and linking the future.

——————

This is where?

Before his feet hit the ground and the fog dissipated, Angron Petra smelled the special, unbelievable smell of death, blood and betrayal of genetically modified humans.

The "thread" that had just guided him also disappeared.

What he now holds in his palm is his axe, the weight of the weapon is heavy in his hand, and the power source vibrates with a reassuring response.

Should it be said or not, the thread connecting Angron Petra to the "point" where he came from becomes stronger and more perceptible with every action and choice he makes. , and also made the wandering conquering king more and more confident in his actions.

What he sees and hears every time he appears and the fluctuations in human emotions still arouse his sympathy and empathy, but his iron heart gives him the logic of calm analysis, which allows him to better distinguish the " "Positive order" and "negative chaos" are like dividing a glass of suspension into upper and lower layers. They are the same thing but can be clearly separated.

It took him a long, long time and the cost of countless lives to learn how to use his power properly. This time traveling in the long river of time and space seemed to be re-tempering and annealing for him. Although his power was not as good as before, it was stronger. Pure, clear and clever.

He heard a voice covered in blood echoing in the ruins and blood mist of the battlefield. It roared, this kind of fighting is shameful! No virtue! No amount of praise and praise of wealth, land and holiness can hide that it is just to rob others and deprive others of their freedom! Worthless! Glory and glory are as meaningless as conquest! This is selfish evil for the sake of one's own desires! This is the crusade that drives the fool! This is not the fight I want!

No glory! No conquests! Never be a slave!

There is only one thing in this world worth fighting for!

What does killing aliens and aliens mean? You should go and fight with your kind, this is a fair fight!

Do you understand? ! I'm free now, free!

At first, the Iron-Hearted Benevolent One didn't say anything when he heard the roar of the voice, but gradually his brows furrowed.

"It does seem that you have your own seemingly noble reasons, but," Angron Petra said softly, "Who wants to fight? If everything is meaningless, who are you fighting for? Fight? For whom are your weapons roaring, and for whom are you plundering lives and blood? Could it be that depriving freedom and wealth is unjust, depriving others in the name of "I want to revenge an individual to gain fairness and freedom" Do the lives of the same kind have meaning and are not evil? - So, have you ever thought about what you fought for after you died there?"

The voice of the Supreme Tyrant of Iron Heart gradually became sharper and heavier, "Your reason sounds bluffing at first glance, but it is simply untenable, because it is a drive imposed on you, and you have given the painful whip to someone." A cover-up rhetoric that makes you instinctively feel better."

He straightened up and began to walk around the ruins, leaving his tall form completely exposed to the rubble of barricades and hills of more dead Space Marines.

"You have never understood what the things you are fighting for are. You only think that they are 'freedom' and 'fairness'. This is really not your fault, because you have... failed to recognize them from the beginning. Essential opportunities. I'm sorry, and even more regretful, that I couldn't let you see them, but I should be able to do something this time so that you can be 'free'. I hope, I believe."

Yes, Angron Petra knows where this is.

Istvan III.

————

He travels through bombings, battles, cousins, and the murder of humans.

He took every step very steadily. Anyone who tried to get close to him would be bounced away by the barrier formed by the powerful mind. This phenomenon made more Space Marines who were fighting notice him.

Beautiful royal purple with gold, heirs of Fulgrim; twilight yellow and light green are the children of Mortarion; and some fight alongside them, against others wearing the same blood-spattered milky white and blue Those who wear power armor are loyal iron - no, loyal World Eaters.

Angron Petra's eyes swept over the broken, blurred, bloody mouths that clenched the blue-green earth.

It's really strange that no one realizes the meaning of this pattern so that it can be openly painted on the shoulder armor of soldiers?

The loyalists watched him warily and hovered around him.

"Who are you?!"

someone asked.

He didn't answer immediately, but he knew there must be some meaning to his presence here.

"Father……?"

His eyes turned to a section of ruins, and the red-haired demigod immediately knew why he was here at this time.

There was a tenacious warrior leaning on the wall there, slowly losing his life in seconds.

This conclusion can be drawn immediately by just glancing at the missing half of his body, the intestines flowing all over the floor and the white bone stubble poking into the air, and Angron Petra even more painfully Judging from the strength and size of this section, it was likely that it could only have been cut by his genetic father's own hands.

The soldier whose face was stained with blood was staring at him closely with his only remaining eye. The dying man's unusual willpower concentrated on maintaining his short existence.

He should be dead, but he's not.

——

Angron noticed that his remaining hand held a bolter tightly.

He had no doubt who the gun was intended to be fired at.

Behold, Angron Tark, this is the weakness and glory you despise that sustains him.

Are they really weak and meaningless?

——

"Father...? Is that you...?"

The centurion exhaled his last few breaths accompanied by blood from his throat.

"I'm here, Koragg." Angron replied as softly as possible. The reason and calmness in his voice made the World Eater warrior's remaining eyes shine.

He took off his helmet, revealing the face of a leader, the red hair and the delicate horned crown of a sage, and leaned over the body of his dying child, paying no heed to the gasps, exclamations, or cries of the others.

He saw the opponent's hand holding the gun slowly let go.

The bloodshot one eye desperately and disbelievingly searched his hair and scalp for any trace of those implant regulating valves-those things that looked like cables.

"No..." The centurion inhaled desperately, the tremor of death had come, and that would undoubtedly be the last breath he took.

"Nothing...that's great...Father..."

The centurion breathed his last, tired, slow breath.

His eyes were looking at the sky peacefully at this moment, without reluctance, confusion or sadness. The darkness was still there, but hope still existed, which was good——

His eyelids slowly closed——

Until Angron put his hand on his chest.