Warhammer: Should I also sit on the Golden Throne?

0064 The Lord of the World Devourers and the Last War Dog

As Luo Jia Aurelion listened to the words of the think tank director, Volias, he simply shook his head slightly, his eyes looking at Volias as if he were looking at a naive child.

He believed that Volias did not understand what had happened to Angron. He had elevated and healed Angron, and now Angron no longer feared being killed by Butcher's Nail.

Angron became a god standing among mortals, the blood prince of the Blood God, the first among his brothers to receive this blessing.

"Volias, you're being too blind," Luo Jia said gently.

Volias, who had lost his eyes, did not answer. He was dead, dead in a peaceful way, dying standing before Luo Jia and his deformed father.

He led the remaining think tank members in a desperate battle against Luo Jia, attempting to stop Angron's ascension to demonhood. He failed; the out-of-control backlash of psionic energy shattered his eyeballs and took his life.

Of the nineteen think tanks, twelve have died in the same way, and Zhou Yun's predecessor was originally the thirteenth.

Zhou Yun had roughly remembered his identity.

This body belongs to the Twelfth Legion, formerly known as the War Dogs, and now the think tank of the World Devourer Legion.

Butcher's Nails cannot be implanted into the minds of psionicists. Their psionic abilities would cause the Butcher's Nails to go out of control, and even just getting close to the Butcher's Nails would cause the brothers who had them implanted to feel excruciating pain and disgust.

Thus, they were isolated, an unwelcome group within the legion, forced to stand shoulder to shoulder with the remnants of the old Warhound era, serving as mere shadows of the past.

However, they are also an indispensable part of the Legion. When Angron loses control under the torment of Butcher's Nails, only the Strategists can use a psionic spell called "Sacrament" to combine the psionic energy of all the Strategists and condense it into a psionic entity to subdue and appease Angron.

but.......

"Traitor." Angron's lips, dripping with sulfurous pus, parted, and a voice, as if from hell itself, pierced through the fangs of a beast: "Traitor!"

(Please remember 1110.com for the fastest chapter updates)

His bloodshot eyes swept over the remaining think tank members.

Ekas, the think tank's second-in-command, let out a sorrowful sigh.

How bitter it was; they were traitors in their father's eyes.

"Look, even your father is satisfied. Devourers, what else can't you be satisfied with?" Luo Jia asked.

"The world-devourer is satisfied, but the warhounds rebel."

A deep, muffled sound rang out, and a massive figure stood before the think tanks, protecting them.

It was a Defiant Dreadnought, painted in blue and white, with ancient legion markings painted on its body. It wasn't a World Eater, but a Warhound.

"The first one." Zhou Yun murmured the name of this fearless machine from his memory: "Locke."

The first person, Locke, was once the commander of the Warhound Legion. He was seriously injured and buried in the Dreadnought before Angron's return.

He was the last comrade-in-arms of the think tanks, a remnant of the legion's past, just like them.

He taught the Eighth Company Commander, Kahn, how to wield a battle axe; he taught the brothers of the Legion the value of blood ties; and he led the Legion to many honors.

But now that the Butcher's Nail has pierced the Legion, nobody cares about him anymore.

"Traitor!" Angron growled almost maniacally.

"No."

Fearless said:

"It's Locke of the War Dog Legion, and the Legion's think tank."

"Come, Lord of the World Devourers."

Angron's only response was a furious roar.

The battle ended in a matter of moments; even the Fearless could not withstand a Primarch who had been elevated to the Demonic Realm.

The steel coffin was torn open, amniotic fluid that sustained life flowed out, and the mangled body was suspended inside by cables.

For the first time, Locke looked directly at his father, the father of his genes. All the words he wanted to say seemed to vanish into thin air, turning into a sigh of sorrow.

Thus, the thirteenth of the last twenty war dogs died.

"Blood."

Luo Jia smiled and said:

"Blood sacrifice to the Blood God."

"Fuck your mother." Before he could finish speaking, Zhou Yun's voice suddenly rang out.

Luo Jia's smile vanished.

Angron stormed into the think tanks, and the brutal massacre began.

Esca's neck was twisted, Larakas was broken in half, and a think tank member squeezed out his last bit of psychic energy in an attempt to fight back, but to no avail.

Finally, he stood in front of Zhou Yun.

This behemoth, which had been completely consumed by rage and madness, hesitated for a moment in front of Zhou Yun.

Was it because he suddenly remembered that the name of the think tank in front of him was the same as that of his brother in the arena?

"Angron," Zhou Yun called softly.

He wanted to ask Angron what had happened that led him down this path, making him the original Primarch of Khorne, just as was destined in history.

But he knew that Angron was no longer able to respond at this moment.

Angron did hesitate and waver, but that was all the resistance he could muster.

The soul that once learned rebellion from Onomames has now been completely bound by the collar of the Blood God.

In the end, all the words settled down.

"None of this will happen," he said to Angron, assuring him.

Then, he looked at Luo Jia, who was watching this scene and was puzzled as to why Angron had suddenly stopped.

"None of this will happen." Zhou Yun raised his middle finger at Luo Jia, a smile playing on his lips.

"You..." Luo Jia opened her mouth, but Zhou Yun's gaze did not linger on Luo Jia at all.

He raised his middle finger, pointing it at the crack in the sky, at the brass throne in the warp.

"None of this will happen; he doesn't belong to you."

Zhou Yun said with certainty.

Then, a bloody rage overwhelmed Angron, and with a swift axe, Zhou Yun was killed.

Almost simultaneously, on the orbit of Nutheria, aboard the Glory of Macragge, which was locked in battle with the Conqueror, the monarch of Alteramar withdrew his gaze.

The psychic energy in Robert Guilliman's eyes faded, and his vision returned to the room he was in.

"Do you believe that fate can be changed?" Robert Guilliman asked the soldier beside him.

"...My lord, I do not possess a talent similar to yours, and I cannot foresee the trajectory of fate."

The Ultramariner, clad in power armor covered in inscriptions and with a power sword at his waist, hesitated for a moment:

"But I think it's possible."

"Why?" Robert Guilliman asked.

"Because I believe it's possible."

The soldier said earnestly:

"The Heavenly Shaman who served the Protector of the Nation, Chagatai Khan, once told me that the subspace is a reflection of our consciousness, and everything in that dimension is shaped by our will."

"It is our will that precedes destiny, not destiny that precedes our will."

"Only when we believe that fate can be changed can we truly fight against fate."

Guilliman smiled and looked at the company commander he had rescued from the Battle of Amatra.

"Keep that confidence, Company Commander Orfeo."

"In the original course of fate, you were destined to die at the hands of the World Eater, Kahn."

"But now that you stand beside me, you are proof that destiny has changed."

"Therefore I believe that Angron will ultimately stand shoulder to shoulder with me in the past."

"Teacher, I believe you will make sure none of this ever happened."