Chapter 326: Arrival at the World Eaters
The Imperium's envoy had finally arrived, dragging behind it a foreboding, suffocating silence.
Khârn of the World Eaters stood aboard the Conqueror. Beside him stood the ship's captain, Lotara Sarrin. Together they stood at the viewing port, silently watching as a massive, dark, and voiceless black ship docked alongside the Conqueror.
"Khârn… are they here to disband the Legion?"
Sarrin's tone was quiet, but it wasn't a question—it was a statement.
Khârn let out a deep, irritated grunt.
"When did you become so pessimistic, Sarrin?"
Sarrin turned to look at him. The usually unflinching captain's eyes wavered with uncertainty as she replied,
"It's been so long since we last reached him… and Legion Master Lhorke's entire fleet has gone dark."
"Two years and seventy days."
Khârn finished her sentence for her. He remembered it perfectly.
Outside the viewport, the black leviathan was almost docked. Khârn fastened his helmet—it was time to go.
"That's not long, Sarrin. Keep ordering the astropaths to reach our father. We're almost done sweeping this region," he said gruffly, "Let's see what the Imperium wants with the World Eaters. Are they unhappy with our pace in the war?"
Without hesitation, Khârn turned and left. His heavy boots struck the metal deck with ringing force. Behind him, Sarrin's furious voice echoed down the corridor, sharp and desperate:
"You and I both know what this really is! That's a Black Ship! A Black Ship! You can't hide it from them—stop lying to yourself, Khârn!"
Khârn ignored her. His fist tightened, and the scar across his palm began to throb.
. . .
If this were a Warhammer 30K game, Hades would absolutely rank the Emperor and Malcador as the most infuriating NPCs of all time.
Lack of mission info? Check.
No clear rewards? Check.
No walkthrough or guidance whatsoever? Double check.
When Hades asked the Emperor and Malcador what exactly had happened with the World Eaters, Malcador's answer was simple:
"We don't know—that's why you're going to find out."
Then Hades asked if there was anything he should be aware of, or any hints. Malcador's response?
"If we knew, why would we send you?"
So Hades asked the only reasonable question left:
"Then how did the Imperium even realize something was wrong with the World Eaters?"
Malcador rolled his eyes and threw a thick stack of World Eaters' campaign reports at him.
Hades had skimmed through some of the Twelfth Legion's reports before, but with this many collected together, the true issue became painfully clear.
He buried himself in the documents.
"Angron… hasn't personally led a single battle?!"
Over two years' worth of reports, every mention of the Primarch Angron was identical:
'The Primarch Angron drafted a detailed and meticulous operational plan, greatly reducing Legion casualties and inspiring morale among the warriors.'
Hades' mouth fell open in disbelief.
Even the most peace-loving Primarchs—Vulkan or Lorgar—couldn't manage that. Two years—two whole years!
And this was Angron—the very symbol of bloodlust and fury!
Malcador spoke flatly,
"Now you understand why. If you have no further questions, get out, Hades."
Hades raised a hand, refusing to leave just yet.
"Old Mal, then tell me—why send me? Give me one reason, and I'll be gone from your sight right now."
"Through your believer Jin's surveillance of a Tech-Priest of Mars, we've learned that the World Eaters' scholastica—their Librarius—is rapidly shrinking. Some of their phrasing shows distinct… tendencies. Likely Chaos-related."
Hades stared at him, incredulous.
"What? Wait— hold on—Jin's spying—"
"You should already be out of my sight, Hades!"
And so, Hades sat gloomily aboard the Black Ship, clutching the fragments of information he had managed to gather.
The vessel was silent. Even Little Herila had grown solemn and quiet, speaking hardly a word.
Left to himself, Hades huddled in his cramped cabin, listening mournfully to the whispers and screams of the Warp that clawed at the edges of his mind.
He began to think—obsessively—about what could possibly be happening with the World Eaters.
He imagined several possibilities.
One: perhaps Angron had become a pacifist… or maybe developed a newfound passion for tactical planning.
Hades shook his head.
No, that was even less likely than Mortarion swearing off smoking on the spot.
Another possibility: maybe the Butcher's Nails no longer allowed Angron to fight. But that was unlikely as well—the Nails only stopped tormenting their hosts when they were fighting. The longer they went without bloodshed, the deeper the Nails burrowed into their skulls, until they killed the host outright.
Or perhaps… the World Eaters were trying to remove the Nails from Angron's head—and something had gone terribly wrong? That seemed far more plausible.
The Emperor had even shown Hades the surgical records from His previous attempt to operate on Angron.
The Butcher's Nails had replaced part of Angron's brain and frontal lobe.
The operation had failed—Angron still wore the Nails.
The Nails were also highly sensitive to psychic energy, which tied neatly to what Malcador had mentioned—the sudden reduction in the World Eaters' Librarian.
The connection made sense. Hades just couldn't piece together the exact sequence of events.
Perhaps Angron had fallen into a coma during the removal attempt, and the World Eaters were hiding it?
Of course… there was also the final possibility—that Angron had simply vanished.
Hades remembered the accounts from the original timeline: Angron had once abandoned the World Eaters entirely. The Lord of the Red Sand had sought an opponent strong enough to kill him—to give him true peace, rather than live trapped within his Twelfth Legion, a host of slaves driven mad by his own design.
But the Captain of the Eighth Company, Khârn, had anticipated this. Khârn had secretly installed a locator beacon within Angron's armor—and it was thanks to that foresight that he ultimately found his Primarch again.
The period between Angron's disappearance and his recovery had not been short.
However…
Hades scratched his head, frowning. According to Malcador, it seemed that this time the World Eaters had found Angron before the Imperium even noticed anything was wrong.
Had Khârn's caution paid off early?
If the Legion had found their Primarch first, then perhaps Angron wouldn't be as extreme as he was in the original timeline.
But if the Nails were still torturing him beyond endurance—to the point that he left the Legion to seek death—then…
That had nothing to do with being "extreme." That was simply pain—unimaginable, unending pain.
Hades took a deep breath.
Speculation was pointless. Without hard information, he wouldn't draw any conclusions.
The eerie howling in his ears suddenly ceased.
A knock sounded on his cabin door.
Hades rose to his feet and activated his blackstone aura; darkness wrapped around him like a living shadow.
Outside, Little Herila stood in full combat gear. She opened the door.
"We have arrived at our destination, Lord Hades, Lord of the Underworld."
Hades sighed.
"You really don't have to call me that, kid."
Herila hesitated for a moment, then tightened her grip around the heavy bolter pressed to her chest.
"As you wish, big brother."
<+>
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