Chapter 47: An Elder Brother is Like a Father
Khârn stood up. He hadn't fought in weeks because he was guarding Angron. The dried blood coating his power armor made him thirsty. He decided he would drink his fill of Ork blood.
His chainsword roared to life with a piercing whine. Khârn heard the whispers of slaughter calling to him, voices promising blood and glory. Power surged through his veins like electricity.
"Orks, die!" Khârn raised his chainsword and charged at Francis. In his eyes, this was just another skull to claim.
Francis moved with brutal efficiency. He punched the chainsword aside, and the impact sent the weapon spinning. The blade slammed into Khârn's chest armor with a terrible shriek of twisting metal. The ceramite shattered like fragile tiles beneath the force. Francis's fist continued forward through the armor, leaving a massive imprint across Khârn's chest before sending him flying backward through the wall.
"Ah, so this is what it feels like to bully someone?" Francis said, examining his fist with casual interest. "It's really satisfying."
Francis kicked open the door and stepped through.
A putrid smell wafted from inside, accompanied by the buzzing vibrations of machinery and Angron's murmurs. "Father, have you come to take me away?"
Angron's hazy eyes looked toward the light at the doorway. His adoptive father's figure was so enormous that he had to tear down the wall to enter. Angron could feel his body constantly weakening with each moment that passed.
"Hmm? Why are you looking at me like that?" Francis said, unnerved by something in Angron's gaze.
Faced with Angron's ambiguous expression, Francis felt goosebumps rising. He quickly tore a hole in the wall and walked inside.
"Father, yesterday someone in my mind said that if I believed in him, I could gain eternal life. My companions are all waiting for me there," Angron said with excitement, grasping Francis's large hand. It felt rougher and stronger than he remembered.
"So, you believed him?" Francis frowned. How did Angron end up being targeted by so many people?
"Of course not! I still remember the gladiator's creed you taught me: death is honor, liberation, a new beginning. I..." Angron kept muttering. In his view, this moment felt incredibly warm.
But in Francis's eyes, he thought, "Damn, this guy's entire life is flashing before his eyes."
Francis considered the situation carefully. It should be safe to pull it out now. Angron should even feel better afterward. Just as his hand rested on Angron's head, the Primarch smiled warmly. "Father, give up. This thing can't be taken off. Francis, my brother, has already brought me peace. Perhaps dying in this peace isn't so bad," Angron said.
Francis looked at Angron's face and said nothing.
With a 'pop,' like pulling a cork from a wine bottle, a long Butcher's Nail was extracted. It trembled in Francis's grip, unable to adapt to the environment, and seemed to want to burrow into his hand.
Angron, who should have lost consciousness, stared at the scene in confusion and murmured, "That's not right! Didn't the Emperor say I would die if it was pulled out? How can I still be conscious with only half a head? Why am I not dead?"
"Who says you can't live without half a brain? You still have half a brain, don't you?" Francis said.
"It is said that in the distant M1 era, there were even people who could still fight after having their heads cut off!"
"You're just being ignorant!" Francis declared.
Francis's words challenged everything Angron understood about reality.
"You're right! I still have half a brain. I can live even without a head!" Angron said.
Angron's brain matter and spine began regenerating frantically, restoring themselves to their original state. As his flesh regenerated, Angron's consciousness gradually returned to normal.
But the adoptive father in his eyes became increasingly rough-skinned. His original brown skin turned greenish, and massive tusks unique to Orks grew from his face.
"Father, why are you looking more and more like an Ork? Have you reincarnated as an Ork?" Angron asked.
Angron's mind remained hazy until his brain fully regenerated. Instantly, his eyes widened like brass bells, and he jumped up, screaming, "Holy crap! An Ork!"
With seven consecutive backflips, Angron grabbed Gorefather and Gorechild from beside the wall.
"Sigh, just now he was calling me 'father' every other word. Now he's cured and doesn't recognize his old man anymore," Francis said.
"Should I just leave?" Francis asked quietly.
Francis looked heartbroken. Angron, through his former empathic ability, felt that Francis was truly hurt.
"You... you... you mustn't talk nonsense! Wait, how can you speak?" Angron said. His new brain wasn't quite adapted yet and processed information slowly.
Francis sat down on the ground, toying with the metal rod he had crafted back then.
"I am Francis. If I hadn't turned into an Ork, do you think the thing on your head could have been pulled out?" Francis said.
"I remember, back then, you were so 'comfortable' with this metal rod, crying one moment and laughing the next. I'll extract those memories and make a compilation video to send to everyone in the Imperium."
"No! I'll print more, and even throw some into the Warp," Francis threatened.
The more Angron listened, the more overwhelmed he felt. Although he was no longer in pain, what was with this unprecedented sense of shame? He even felt a little excited.
Francis saw that Angron wasn't speaking, but a blush appeared on his face.
"You're acting weird! I'm just telling you that I really am Francis. What's with that expression!" Francis said.
Unexpectedly, Angron nodded obediently and said, "I believe you. Indeed, only you would know that."
Francis looked completely baffled. His face was full of question marks.
Meanwhile, outside the Conqueror, Khârn crashed heavily to the ground and passed out. When a Gretchin came scavenging, it saw Khârn, especially the nails protruding from his head. The Gretchin could sense that the Ork it followed loved pulling out nails. If it could pull one out too, it would surely earn praise.
Just as the Gretchin gleefully reached for Khârn's head, a large hand instantly crushed it.
Khârn slowly opened his eyes, then sat up. He saw Orks everywhere pulling out nails, while World Eaters used chainswords to slaughter the greenskins. Some World Eaters whose nails had been pulled out wandered in a daze, like zombies, numbly wielding their weapons and fighting everyone around them.
Khârn sprang to his feet, rage consuming his reason. He grabbed a weapon from the ground and charged. He stabbed a World Eater from behind with a sword, flung him away, and continued charging at the Orks.
"Die! All of you die! Leave no one!" Khârn roared.
"No cowards here! Kill, kill, kill!"
"I want to become stronger! I want to become more powerful! No one can ever knock me down again!" he screamed.
He screamed with madness, his eyes stained red with blood. Two chainaxes carved a path through the melee. He sliced apart every living thing in front of him.
Even when Orks appeared in the air, grabbing at him, Khârn would raise his chainsword, leap high, and tear them in half.
But he was eventually swallowed by the tide of Orks. He kept slaughtering them, and they kept knocking him down. Every time they pulled the nails from his head, he would awaken again.
Constantly slaughtering, then getting injured and passing out. Then being awakened by having nails pulled out, and continuing to kill.
Countless heads piled up behind him. Khârn heard praise! Every time he severed a head, he could hear a chorus of approval like roaring mountains and surging seas. He, Khârn, would be the most courageous warrior among the World Eaters!
Brass horns appeared on either side of his head. This would be his coronation ceremony. At the end of a red carpet, a massive Brass Throne stood, upon which sat a deity who had carried blood and fire to the very end of time.
But Khârn just stood there, a black-armored arm still resting supportively on his shoulder.
[End of Chapter]