A/N: In one Lovehammer continuity, Beryl is also reborn, falls to Chaos and is smitten by Angron. These sections are more or less in continuity for that arc and include the only occasions where Angron and Beryl crossed paths. They also include crossing back to the original source materials.
Russ directed a glare at Angron.
It wasn't that he disliked his brother. To the extent alliances were necessary within their family, Angron was by temprement naturally suited to be one of his. It was nice to have someone else play the savage barbarian in comparison to the Space Wolves, candidates for which were not overwhelming. And the cartoon was hilarious, not that he'd admit to watching it.
No, Russ had only one major point of contention with Angron.
"We need to talk."
Angron gave him a look that suggested talking to Russ ranked somewhere below having a tooth-pulled in his priorities, but he drained the mug of mjod that Thora had provided him with and followed his brother out into the snow.
They walked a good long distance from the entrance to the Fang, what Russ privately considered 'safe range' and then a bit further just be sure.
"Don't look at her again."
Angron didn't pretend ignorance of whom Russ was speaking but the look that he directed at his brother suggested that his ire was real this time. "Why not?"
Russ growled deep in his throat. "She is... mine." His eyes locked on Angron, an alpha defying a younger wolf to rise up in challenge.
For a very long moment the threat of violence hung between them.
Angron's hand moved to his hip and for a moment Russ thought that he was going for his sword. He reached for his own frostblade, pausing only when he saw the anticipation in Angron's eyes. "No," he said, seeing that Angron's hand had instead simply been reaching for his helm. "I will not give you the excuse."
The other primarch lifted the helmet up and held it over his head, the brim level with the bottom of his blunt nose. "Leave," he grunted. "I know the way." Then he brought the helm down and sealed it to the rest of his armour.
Hours later, when he lay on thick furs alongside Thora, Russ felt the first pangs of guilt.
"Did I offend him somehow?" she asked him. "To leave so suddenly."
"It's just his way," Russ assured her and started to ransack his brain for possible women he could set Angron up with. The galaxy was vast and somewhere across it there must be a woman who would be right for his brother. Just... not Thora.
Cadia was an empty world. All the indicators suggested that it was an ideal planet for humankind and in the absence of man would surely have been selected for colonisation some form of xenos. Instead only a single corner of the world was home to anyone at all. Small, almost unnoticeable tribes of primitive humans that never strayed from their tiny refuge.
But now that he was on Cadia's surface, Kharn no longer wondered why no one had colonised the planet. In fact, he could only wonder that the tribes continued to survive on the howling wasteland and what reason his lord had for summoning him to this distant corner of the galaxy.
Not just him, either. From warzones scattered across entire segementum, out of scores of expeditionary fleets, the World Eaters were assembling. A detachment here, a company there. Four grand companies, a total force of almost five thousand, that had been serving under the Warmaster's command. Kharn himself had been overseeing recruitment from the dregs of a hiveworld halfway to Ultramar and had arrived with four dozen neophytes in tow.
The skies over Cadia were full to bursting as XII Legion ships jostled for postion in the orbtials, their captains as direct and forthright as the World Eaters that they transported. And on a barren, windswept plain, Thunderhawks and Stormbirds were delivering those Astartes to stand in grand parade. It was over a hundred years since Kharn's legion had come together in one place and in those days they were far fewer. Over forty thousand strong, they formed up a line a dozen deep that stretched for ten kilometers. At their back and their flanks were armoured vehicles, the transports and weapon platforms that supported them in battle.
A few old officers, like Kharn himself, walked the lines to seek out old friends among the veterans. One, standing at the very front, did not.
Primarch Angron stood, arms crossed, with his back to the legion.
It wasn't until Kharn reached the front rank that he saw the Astartes at Angron's side. Alone in the see of blue and white, this one wore rich purple battleplate, a slim blade more suited to a duellist than a soldier at his hip.
"My lord," the equerry greeted his primarch, stepping up to reclaim his place at Angron's right hand from this interloper.
Angron did not turn his head. "Kharn."
The purple-clad Astartes wore the heraldry of the 13th Company of the Emperor's Children, Kharn realised as the younger warrior turned to face him. But what was he doing here? The Phoenican and Angron were hardly close. "Captain Kharn," the Emperor's Child greeted him with a shallow bow. "It is an honour. I am Captain Lucius."
Kharn had heard of this young pup. It was claimed that he was unrivalled with the sword. However, the slight unevenness of his nose suggested that someone had demonstrated already that a fist was just as viable as a weapon. Pity it hadn't knocked some of the arrogance out of him. "Likewise." He stepped forwards, pushing into Lucius' personal space. "I have legion business with the Primarch. Excuse me."
Lucius' eyes flickered to Angron's face and whatever he saw there convinced him not to argue. He donned his helmet. "Of course," he agreed and gestured out onto the plain where Kharn's enhanced eyes could barely make out a tiny village of the local barbarians. "I'll check on their progress."
Angron waited until the interloper was almost by not quite out of hearing before glancing sideways at Kharn. "Tactiful of you," he spat in a contemptuous tone that passed for sarcasm when he spoke.
"Why are we here, Lord Angron?"
The primarch frowned in thought, trying to put his motive into words. "Who am I, Walkuf?" he snarled at last.
Kharn blinked. "Walkuf?" he asked incredulously. "What has that... children's entertainment to do with this."
"Everything!" Angron roared and then clenched his fist in front of his face. "Or nothing," he added in a more reasonable voice.
A dozen sarcastic replies crossed Kharn's mind but he didn't bother. Angron could manage sarcasm on his own part bat his record of recognising it from others was spotty at best. "That isn't very clear, master."
"Am I... one of those stuffed toys?" Angron asked slowly, apparently straining to get the question out. "Or a mindless dog like Walkuf's Angry One?"
For the first time, Kharn regretted his participation in that project. It had seemed harmless enough at the time. "You are a warrior, Lord Angron. The greatest in all the Imperium."
"Hmph. And when this Great Crusade is over? What use the warrior when the Imperium is one of my sister's tea parties."
Kharn shook his head helplessly, unsure what to say.
"That is what I am here for. To find out."
"And what about him?" Kharn pointed at Lucius' back. "What his role here?"
Angron shrugged his massive shoulders. "What's the word? Someone who goes before."
"Prophet?"
"Do I look like Urizen?"
"No, lord. A guide, perhaps?"
The primarch shook his head and then froze in recollection. A grim smile returned to his face. "I remember now. He's here as a mine detector."
Lucius was trailed by a violet eyed woman when he returned from the village. Angron, apparently in good humour, nudged Kharn with his elbow. The blow impacted the equerry's ear but he was used to that. "He's got a girlfriend!" the primarch declared in apparent surprise. "I thought his legion were all queer for Fulgrim."
"Most amusing, master," Kharn replied drily, although his lips quirked.
"Angry One," the woman said, going to her knees and genuflecting in front of Angron. His fists clenched and Kharn heard ceramite cracking. He also suspected he saw a smirk on Lucius's lips.
Angron studied his hands, grunted and removed the broken gauntlet from his left hand. "Damn cartoon," he mumbled and then looked down. "Get up, I can't see you properly lying down like that."
Lucius gestured to the woman as she stood. "This is Ingethel. She has been expecting us."
"The god-walkers spoke," Ingethel confirmed. "And the warchiefs heeded them when they said you would come. A man from the stars, a man of great strength. The one who will tear the stars from the skies and tread the thrones of the gods beneath his armoured feet."
Angron spat into the dirt and then pointed with his remaining gauntlet at Lucius. "This one also spoke to me of everlasting glory. Words are cheap."
Her violet eyes were... strange, Kharn thought. Had they been described then he might have thought them to be like those of Mortarian's ward, but these were different. Almost... alien. Her clothes were tanned, some kind of leather? Human skin he thought.
"I shall show you the reality. Come with me, Angron. Your armies have devoured first cities and then entire worlds. Now all of the galaxy shall fall to you."
The primarch crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. Like few others could, Ingethel met his gaze.
"Kharn. At my orders," Angron growled.
"Yes lord."
"Lucius. At my heel."
"I..." the Emperor's Child seemed unsure of the terse order's meaning but he was addressing empty air for Angron was already striding towards the village, barely moderating his pace enough for Ingethel to keep up at a run.
Kharn's lips drew back in contempt. "He means that you follow him." Like a dog, he added mentally.
The sun had set, chilling the winds even more. Still the World Eaters stood in their ranks, uncomplaining. Not because of orders. No order had been given to keep them from breaking ranks if they so chose. Some did, taking brief moments to see to their gear. This was not a parade. It was simply a wait, something that the legion was well used to. A lull that preceded the inevitable: sweet, sweet violence.
The World Eaters did not need the regimented discipline of the Ultramarines or the Imperial Fists. Nor did they seek refuge in the rough camarderie of the Space Wolves or White Scars. All they needed was readiness to kill. Disappointly, that was often enough to convince human opposition to surrender. They had that sort of reputation.
It was sometime after local midnight that Lucius came staggering back to their lines, his face white.
"Is something the matter?" asked Dreagher, whose company waited there. His Astartes looked at their purple-clad cousin and one of them muttered an ancient word that they had learned from the Primarch. From the dialect of the long destroyed city of Desh'ea, it translated as 'sissy'.
"There was screaming," Lucius whispered under his breath. "And... things." He was actually swaying.
"'Things'?" the Captain of the 11th Company replied, incredulously.
Lucius nodded vigorously and gestured with his hands as if trying to describe something. He failed. "Stuff," he said as if that clarified anything. "I should go back."
Dreagher had fought alongside III Legion before. He didn't recall their Captains being such sissies before. "You are back."
"Oh. Good." Lucius fell over.
It was only now that Dreagher saw that a rather large wooden stake had been driven through the back of his armour and up into his chest. Well that made a bit more sense, although the idiot should probably have reported that first. "You two," he indicated two of his World Eaters. "Take him to the apothecary's Rhino." Then he activated his vox. It was Kharn's job to deal with this sort of crap.
At dawn the next day Kharn led an advance party forwards to investigate what was happening at the village. Up close it looked even more primitive than he had at first presumed, little more than leather tents, many of which had evidently been on fire at some point during the night. At first glance there didn't seem to be anywhere intact enough to be disguising someone the size of a Primarch. (And even by that standard, Angron would be catagorised as extra-large).
Fortunately, the equerry had thought ahead and brought along an auspex. "You know, we really should have noticed these caves when we were deploying," he observed mildly.
"We did," Dreagher told him. "Our lines have covering fire of all the sections nearest to the surface in our general vicinity."
"Of course." Kharn scanned the area and then gestured to one of the tents. "Under there."
The passages that had been dug down into the ground were considerately large enough for a fully armoured primarch and therefore more than large enough for two Astartes to walk abreast. Whoever had dug them had also thought of the decoration, they were marked with carvings and mural of battle. Kharn couldn't help but admit as he and mired a crude but compelling depiction of World Eaters locked in battle against orks that they felt rather homey. Wait... why would primitive tribesmen paint World Eaters into their art before they had ever encountered them?
The artwork grew more disturbing as they marched deeper into Cadia, but somehow also more compelling. Other legions were depicted... but they weren't just fighting xenos. Other imperial elements were in conflict with them and Dreagher admitted to rather admiring what appeared to be Astartes triumphing over a giant warmachine before recognising the machine as an imperial titan marked as belonging to the Legion Mortis.
And then there were the portrayals of their primarch.
Angron, slaying what were recognisably Eldar.
Angron, locked in combat with warriors clad in the same blue as the armour of the Ultramarines Legion.
Angron, sat on a throne, someone chained before him.
Kharn paused and examined the latter picture because it showed signed of recent defacement. He couldn't make out who it was that was supposed to be his master's captive in the artwork, the stone had been smashed to render them unrecognisable. All he could make out for sure was long brown hair. Very strange.
Ultimately they found Angron after Dreagher heard echoes reminiscent of someone howling in fury. As they got closer Kharn recognised what was going on and called a halt. "I know what that is," he told them. "I'll go on ahead."
"What if the Primarch is locked in battle and needs us?"
Kharn shook his head firmly. "No. This isn't battle. There's no reason to expose you to this." He walked on, leaving a dozen confused World Eaters behind as he cursed himself for unleashing this horror on the universe.
He'd only had the best of intentions, trying to civilize his Primarch enough to interact with the rest of Imperial society. Sailor Neptune and Sailor Uranus still refused to forgive him, even after a hundred years.
The passage Kharn was following led into a larger cavern, this one decorated with dead bodies. There were numerous wooden stakes half-buried in the ground. Some of them had corpses jammed onto the other ends. The floor was covered in gore and sections of what was recognisably Angron's armour.
The Primarch himself sat unperturbed in the midst of the carnage, sewing together a sack of grey skin with a bone needle and what looked like human sinew. Worst of all, he was singing.
Some of the Primarchs were good singers. Sanguinius and Fulgrim notably, but even Leman Russ was said to have an excellent, if unpractised, baritone. Angron, putting it mildly, did not.
What was worse was that he enjoyed singing.
Probably because he knew how awful it sounded.
Fortunately, Angron broke off his song when Kharn set foot inside the chamber. "I left you with the Legion for a reason."
"I came after you for a reason."
The primarch snorted. "Fine. Pick up my armour then." He held out the bag and Kharn accepted it grudgingly. "It won't be long now."
"What won't be long?"
Angron's eyes blazed. "Until they come."
There was another army deploying onto the plains of Cadia when they reached the surface. They swarmed out of the hills as if the fleet in orbit had not done a deep scan of the area before landing the World Eaters. Soldiers and warmachines poured out, a host that dwarfed the World Eaters. Kharn squinted at them. Some of them were human, he thought. Many were not. And the warmachines ranged from a near match to those of the Imperial Army to the bizarre. An entire valley was clogged by what seemed to be giant scorpions of brass scuttling forwards.
In fact that was one matter of uniformity: almost without exception the hordes assembling in front of the World Eaters wore a mix of red and brass.
"Who are they? Where did they come from?"
Angron frowned. "I didn't ask."
"What?"
"It never came up." The primarch shrugged. His armour, rattled in the bag behind him. There hadn't been enough left for him to wear so he was walking back to his legion with nothing more than an improvised kilt to see to his dignity. Then again, he hadn't looked very different when Kharn first met him.
Kharn groaned. "But these are the ones that you're waiting for?"
"S'right."
"And what are they here for?"
Angron's smile was a terrible thing to behold. "Once I get my spare battleplate on, we can go over and you can ask them yourself."
Kharn blinked and then thumbed the activation rune on his axe, which roared to life reassuringly. "I suppose it's less distance to charge them."
"That's the spirit," laughed Angron.
The leader of the army was a giant in armour of brass, larger even than Angron. Unlike many of the leaders assembled around him - at least Kharn thought they were leaders, perhaps champions would be a more apt description - his proportions were broadly human. "I AM DOOMBREED, FAVOURED CHAMPION OF KHORNE!"
"Oh Serenity, there are two of them," Kharn whispered, earning himself a nasty look from Lucius, who had been patched up and insisted on following them to meet the army. "I am Kharn, Equerry to Angron!" he replied.
"IT ALWAYS PLEASES ME TO WELCOME A FELLOW HUMAN TO OUR RANKS. YOUR DEEDS WILL BE FELL AND GLORIOUS!"
"THEY HAVE BEEN SO FAR," Angron said, causing Kharn to blink as he realised he had been complimented. If it were possible he would have stood straighter.
"What brings you to Cadia?" asked Kharn.
"WAR!" Doombreed roared enthusiastically.
Angron nodded solemnly.
"ARE YOU PREPARED KINSMAN?" the giant demanded. "TO LEAD THIS WARHOST INTO EPIC CONFLICT, TO SPILL BLOOD FOR MY MASTER KHORNE AND TO HEAP SKULLS IN HIS HONOUR?"
Wait what?
Kharn looked over to his master, who drew his swords. "HOW CAN I REFUSE SUCH A CHALLENGE?"
Doombreed laughed. "I KNOW THE FEELING! IMAGINE IT, THE GALAXY AT OUR FEET, THE SLAUGHTER ONE THAT WILL BE SPOKEN OF IN HUSHED WORDS FOR A THOUSAND GENERATIONS!"
"IT WILL BE GLORIOUS,"Angron boomed. "THAT ONE -" he indicated Lucius "- SPOKE OF OATHS."
"INDEED." Doombreed gestured and two warriors - almost lizard like - dragged forwards a bundle. Using the butt of his axe he carved a rune in the barren soil between them in savage strokes. "HERE." He flung the bundle upon the ground, whipping away the blanket to reveal a child, a human child. "HER BLOOD SHALL SEAL THE COMPACT."
Angron stared down at the child, Kharn staring at him in horror. He couldn't really mean to do this, could he? "IT HARDLY SEEMS SUFFICIENT," the Primarch mused. "KHARN, KILL LUCIUS FOR ME."
Lucius, Captain of III Legion's 13th Company was possessed of superb, one might even say perfect reflexes. His power blade was out and he thrust it Kharn's chest, piercing his fellow Astartes' heart in a single lunge.
Then Kharn's fist closed around his opponent's wrist, pinning him in place. With his other hand, Kharn brought his axe down squarely upon the other Captain's helmet, the teeth of the chainaxe screaming as they tore through the ceramite armour. The noise was replaced by a slurping sound as they ripped almost without effort through the reinforced bone of skull and into the soft tissue of Lucius' brain. "My primarch, it is done."
The lord of the World Eaters lifted Lucius up over the rune and the child that squatted upon it. "THIS IS MORE WORTHY," he declared and tore open the astarte's battle plate, showering child and mark alike with blood and gore.
Doombreed threw back his head. "YES! MASTER IT IS DONE!" The planet itself seemed to shake in confirmation.
Kharn heard his vox chirp the code that to the educated ear of a Astartes indicated an override signal from the fleet above. "Extreme Predjudice to all command rank World Eaters. Multiple warp emergences, estimated to be space hulks."
"Lord..."
"I know." Angron picked up the bloodsoaked child, his voice lowered to normal conversational levels, and handed her to Kharn. "See to her. And yourself."
The querry grimaced, feeling the distant pain of his wound, dulled by the complex chemicals being poured liberally into him by the systems of his battleplate. "And you, lord?"
Angron turned away from him, which was answer enough. "THERE'S SOMETHING I MUST SAY TO YOU, DOOMBREED." Kharn, walking away from them heard another note from his vox. This one signified a vox override from Angron himself. He knew that the words about to be spoken would be heard by every World Eater - not only the Astartes but every man and woman in their service that was in the system.
Doombreed seemed not to notice this. "WHAT WOULD YOU SAY TO ME, BROTHER?"
In centuries of service Kharn had never heard Angron's voice so low, so sibilant, so filled with bloodlust. It was a veritable hiss as he whispered: "this is how i refuse." There was a crash of sword against axe as the startled Doombreed barely parried Angron's blazingly fast cutting stroke. "KILL THEM ALL!"
No other order was needed.
No other order was desired.
Without the slightest hesitation forty thousand World Eaters hurled themselves forwards, weapons raised.
"TREACHERY!" Doombreed's mighty axe smashed down on Angron, who met it force on force, blocking with one sword as he thrust the other towards the face of his enemy. The two giants duelled as their armies rushed together, screaming for blood, the World Eaters as enthused as their enemies.
"Damn you," Kharn whispered as he carred the child away. "Damn you Angron, for making me miss this."
With her nose buried in a medical journal the blue-haired Senshi barely noticed the woman running through the starboard gallery of the battle barge Extreme Prejudice. Under the circumstances, a woman running away made perfect sense: most people did when Angron sang in the shower.
Tekhne wouldn't be going in this direction at all if the Extreme Prejudice wasn't carrying a small library of obscure medical texts gathered from the recently pacified sectors of the Obscura region. In order to keep them safe, Angron had stored them next to his quarters. Fortunately, the belt of emergency supplies Perturabo had given her on their wedding anniversary contained ear plugs.
Her progress was interrupted when the woman grabbed her shoulders and started shaking her in hysteria. With a sigh, Tekhne looked up from her book and looked at her lips long enough to read the words that they were uttering.
"Here." With one hand she pulled out her spare earplugs and offered them.
Gratefully the other woman took them with her blue hand.
Tekhne blinked. Wait, what was that?
Thank you, thank you, she saw the lips say. I've never heard such horrible singing before.
Tekhne held up a hand, stepped back a bit and got a better look. Ah. That daemon bitch that hurt Fulgrim.
Beryl hugged the Senshi impulsively. Listen, Fulgrim needs help. I wanted to ask Angron but -
BLAM!
Tekhne's holdout boltpistol went skidding down the corridor as the recoil tore it from her hands. That kept happening - she'd ask Pertuarbo for a less powerful holdout if incidents like this didn't prove that she really needed it. Wait, what was that about Fulgrim?
Fulgrim looked up as the door opened. He wasn't expecting visitors, although Sanguinius might have returned earlier than expected. Then again, he didn't think that his winged brother would kick the door open again...
Oh.
Angron glared at his brother for a moment and then reached down and wrapped the fingers of one hand around the crown of Fulgrim's head. For a moment the tormented primarch couldn't help but shudder at the thought of those stained fingers touching his immaculate silver hair. Then he remembered that his hair wasn't exactly immaculate at the moment.
He didn't resist as Angron dragged him to his feet. "Get off your arse. Your legion need you."
It genuinely didn't occur to Fulgrim that maybe he should resist until he was being thrown face first at the wall. His nose broke. So did the brickwork.
"Are you crazy?" he exclaimed, trying to scramble back. "What are you -!?"
"They don't need you to be pretty. They don't need you to be sane..." A very nasty smile cracked Angron's lips as he grabbed Fulgrim by the ankle and hurled him across the room, breaking an abandoned attempt at taking up sculpture again. "My boys do fine with me."
Scrambling to his feet, Fulgrim jumped away from Angron, feeling his body moving in that same unnatural fashion... his vision blurred and when it cleared he got a very brief, very clear view of his brother's knuckles. And then his nose exploded in pain again.
Angron gave him a judicious look and then kicked him savagely below the ribs. This time, however, Fulgrim rallied and somehow turned his instinctive attempt to curl into a ball into a roll forwards and lashed out with one foot. There was a pained grunt and he looked to see that his heel had made crushing contact with his brother's groin. Angron's smile grew even wider. "They just need that."
He turned and walked away, apparently unconcerned by the kick. "Can't stay, got a rebellion to crush. Brought you something though."
The bag he produced from outside the door was clearly made by amateur hands. Fulgrim couldn't place the fabric though. "What's in made of?"
"Daemonhide." Angron answered absently. "First one that I..."
"Killed?" Alright, Fulgrim did NOT like the twinkle in Angron's eye at that suggestion.
"That too." He unfastened the neck of the bag and pulled a small... blue and white...
"I thought you hated those things?" Fulgrim exclaimed as he caught the Plushie Angron.
"S'right." Angron buckled up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Hear they're good against monsters under beds though."
And then he was gone and Fulgrim sat clutching the doll, laughing until he cried and crying until he laughed.
Russ stared at the picture. There was Thora. And there was a smaller, softer looking Thora.
There were all his sister's other guards as well, with their own strange-looking counterparts but...
Two Thoras.
That was... perfect.
"Thora," he asked calmly. "This... other you. Is she dating another me?"
"I don't think she has a man at all," Thora admitted. "Although it sounded like she wanted one."
Better than perfect.
"I need an Astropath." At long last Russ could be rid of his secret burden of shame. "Angron has to hear about this right away."
Beryl saw Angron at the gathering. He did not notice her.
Oh he saw her. Cold, bitter eyes measured her, calculated her threat and dismissed her.
There was a wide berth around him, no one seeking to approach the most notoriously short-tempered and violent of the Emperor's sons.
Beryl looked at him and remembered Angron, icon of the Imperium's children, patron of the Imperial Schola Program, consistently 'the Primarch I want to be like' among the under-13 age group across three Segmentum...
This Angron's blue and white armour did not have the clean lines she remembered. It was marked with chains and icons. She could see marks of cybernetic implants visible through the shaven skin over his skull and remembered that Serenity was said to have removed such cruel mechanisms from her brother when she first met him.
This is the price of your Fulgrim, a voice whispered to her. Pay it and be glad.
Between blinks Beryl saw Khorne's claws encircling Angron. Not yet closed, but ready to do so.