Chapter 6.8 Webway Devoured
Angron looked up at the Emperor on his golden throne. He watched, almost in fascination, as the Emperor's face twisted and contorted over and over, the muscles in his neck flexing as if in some great agony.
He was, of course. The Emperor was sitting atop a machine that was rapidly failing, using it to channel his vast energies into preventing the warp from collapsing the Imperial Webway project and ripping the entire planet of Terra apart. It would have been painful enough, if he didn't have to compensate for the failing machinery as he did so. It was a massive burden for even the mightiest of the human species.
Beside the great machinery stood many non-human psykers. Several seemed in a state of collapse, near death, as if all their life force had been drained away. An Aeldari seemed to be commanding them in some xenos language. Why there were there, Angron did not know. But he didn't care.
Neither did he care about the small human man that seemed to watching the proceedings, or the women of the Emperor's chosen that marched groups of human psykers into devices attached to the machine, only to see their corpses shrivel and their screams echo around the room.
Behind the Primarch, thousands of Astartes marched onwards, flowing like water through the chaotic and frantic workings of the Imperial Dungeon and into the Imperial Webway. World Eaters. His sons.
A handful of Sons of Sanguinius and Sons of Horus joined them. Angron didn't recognise them and he didn't care to ask. They were all meat for the grinder. None of them would survive.
Many of them winced and a few of the weaker members even stumbled as the butchers nails bit deep into their cerebral functions.
Angron didn't care about them either. He had never asked for this Legion, he'd never asked to become a tool in a greater conflict. All he wanted to do was die on the sands of Nuceria along with his comrades.
Various twitches of pain rippled across Angron's face, almost in a sympathetic gesture of the Emperor's own suffering. But there was no sympathy in the eyes of the Red Angel.
How Angron hated that name. It was a name for ones like Sanguinius or Fulgrim, the pampered princes of the Imperium. They hadn't been born slaves or had chunks of cerebral matter cut out of their brains. They hadn't been abducted from their home worlds where they had intended to die in battle, and their home worlds weren't still occupied by the same monsters that had lobotomized him.
Still. Here he was. Standing before the man who had ruined his life.
No. That wasn't fair. The bastards on Nuceria had ruined his life. This bastard on his Golden Throne had ruined his death. Fortunately, though, he might at last have a chance to undo that.
"I Hate You," growled Angron to the figure atop the golden throne, his face violently shifting with the effort, "You… You took what little… I… Had. Do you… Do you remember what you said to me… on that day. Do you remember when you said a ghost would… would serve your needs? Here I am. Your ghost is… Here."
Angron paced forward and back to try and get some relief from the agony of the butchers nails. It didn't work. It never worked. But he needed something to keep him from flying into a rage and slaughtering everyone around him. It didn't matter his hands were empty, a Primarch was more than capable of tearing men in half through brute strength alone.
"You Know… Now," spat Angron, "You know now… my pain. I see it. I see it on your… face. You know the agony of your mind… being split. Over and over again. Day after day after day. It never ends. It… never… ends."
Angron stopped, his hands jerking like a puppet on poorly used strings. He had left his weapons with Kharn under his advisement to prevent anything… unfortunate occurring. Even as the forces of the World Eaters had descended upon Terra, and marched straight into the Imperial Dungeons, Angron had still been debating what to do when he came face to face with the Emperor once more.
"I… I could kill you," he muttered, "I should… for what you have done to me. For what you made me do… to others. But I won't. I won't."
Angron took one pace back and then turned to the Emperor, yelling at the top of his lungs.
"I AM NOT LIKE YOU! YOU HAD A CHOICE! I NEVER DID! I AM WHAT EVENTS MADE ME!"
Angron followed this up with a roar of pain and anguish, allowing his body to deplete itself as much as possible of oxygen before resuming pacing once again. It didn't help, as usual.
"I don't… I don't care… about this world," he continued, "I don't care about you, or your Imperium, or your… stupid… plans. But I'll do it. I'll die here. I'll be the ghost you wanted. Because… because I'm better than you. I will… do what you could not. I won't let… my ego… get in the way… of what needs to be done, unlike... unlike you. I won't let… my pride… and sel… fishness… be what defines me. Not at the end. If you kept me… kept me alive to die here, then at least I might… finally… get some peace and fight… the battle… you stole from… me."
As he turned, Angron noticed the Praetorian Dorn behind him, his mouth agape. From the Lord of the World Eaters these utterances were practically poetic. Such a tirade of emotion and honesty that none had heard before. It caught Rogal entirely by surprise.
Closing in quickly, Rogal advanced to Angron and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. The Red Angel twitched as if to almost rip Rogal's arm from the socket, but the World Eaters Primarch resisted the urge.
Dorn looked into the eyes of Angron and saw nothing but pain. Pain and sadness, but amongst them now was a resolution. A resolution to fight to the end, to be the sacrifice needed.
"I am… sorry brother," said the Praetorian, bowing his head, "I never realized how much pain you were in. I think we all might have misjudged you."
"Yeah. I think… you might have," grunted Angron, a slight smirk trying to fight its way onto his features.
"Perhaps, in the next life, we might be able to get to know you better," said Rogal. This got a small chuckle from Angron followed by a wince of pain.
"Yes. Perhaps… we… will."
With that, Angron turned from Dorn and walked towards the glowing Webway portal. As hundreds of World Eater Legionaries marched passed them both into the beyond, Angron grabbed his giant axes from Kharn, barely breaking his stride as he swung the blades experimentally in preparation for the coming fight. With one final swing and a roar of defiance, Angron ran full sprint into the Webway gate and vanished from sight.
Rogal simply stood there, watching the line after line of Twelfth Legion Astartes vanish through the Gateway. Somehow, he knew he would never see his brother again. Death was certain, he could feel it. Angron of Nuceria would not emerge from that Webway portal again.
From the shadows, Omegon emerged and walked up to stand beside his brother. John appeared as well, following in Omegon's wake.
"Well that was surprising," murmured Omegon, staring at the disappearing horde of World Eaters.
"Indeed," said Dorn, his voice grave, "I have to wonder. For all the horrors and atrocities conducted by Angron, would I have turned out the same if I had landed on Nuceria instead of he? Is the difference between me and him simply a product of our birth? With the crude butchery on my brain instead of his, would I have been capable of his acts?"
"I could run some calculations if you like," said Omegon, to which Rogal responded with a look of disdain, "My apologies, Lord Praetorian. Today has been a lot to take in."
"That it has," agreed Dorn.
"I'm not sure how much of the Twelfth will follow my orders," admitted Omegon, "I know I have operational authority but I doubt Angron will remain on any leash for long."
"I doubt it matters," replied Royal, "We are not committing the World Eaters for a sound strategical overview. As much as I dislike to admit it, the World Eaters are a speed bump and nothing more. I doubt they will hold or drive back the enemy, but we can be certain they will shatter any plans the enemy does have of a quick victory and will take a vast quantity of the foe with them. Those that will respond to your orders should be used as you see fit. Try to establish early which units those are. The rest, along with Angron… let them at the enemy and hope when the traitors break through you have enough force to withstand their assault."
"The rest of the Imperial Army units will be a significant boost though," continued Omegon, "And we have several Titan units that will be brought down in the coming days. The support units alone will help us bulk up the fortifications your sons have built."
"You should have heard what Lotara Sarrin of the Conquerer said when I told her the fleet was to be subordinate to the Phalanx," chuckled Rogal, "The woman was not pleased. She was lucky that I found here brutal honesty refreshing. I told her she could keep her position and even give her command of the Solar Fleet if she accepted command of the Phalanx instead. Do you know what she said to me?"
"No?"
"That she would rather be reduced to an ensign than be removed from the Conquerer," said Dorn with a laugh, "Its spirits like that which will keep us in the fight beyond what rightly should."
After a chuckle from Omegon, the brothers fell silent, watching the line of Twelfth Legion Astartes as the continued their unstoppable advance into the Webway.
"Perhaps if we are lucky we will see another brother in this chamber before too long," mused Omegon, "Surely someone else will have received the message and be on their way to Terra by now."
"Perhaps," agreed Dorn, "But do not count on it. We must hold as best we can. Angron and his Legion gives us a fighting chance, but our victory will need much more than that. I fear that this will end with us departing Terra in defeat."
"If the time comes, and we are forced to retreat," said Omegon calmly, "Know that there will still be hope as long as the Emperor lives."
"Indeed," muttered Dorn, "Terra is but one world. The Emperor is the Imperium, and where he goes, the heart of the Imperium goes with him. But we have not lost Terra yet."