Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

When they see the light, they always see the sands of Nuceria.

Rough, brutal, and boundless, it played with every sunrise, turning the sky like blood-soaked gauze, and like a whip in the arena, constantly beating on each of their skin, reminding them all the time. , what a terrible world they live in.

To remind them: they live on damn Nuceria.

The remote Nuceria, the luxurious Nuceria, the Nuceria with its golden buildings, the coppery smell of blood flowing in every inch of the air: its ruler They were parasitic in the spiers above everyone's heads. While using their fat fingers to enjoy the jewels that could buy the entire country, they looked at the idiots who were wantonly enslaved by them with their timid pupils like maggots.

The Maggots call themselves High Riders, and no one knows how they gained domination of the entire world: they are fat, greedy, and weak, unable to unite to form a firm class, nor use the powerful high-tech technology at their disposal. Weapons to arm themselves into arrogant warriors, and they are unable to achieve a true cooperative relationship with the poor at the bottom, because the only thing they are proficient in is endless exploitation.

Therefore, the rule of the high-ranking riders is weak, just like the fat on their bodies: with just a small spark, the maggots' prosperous kingdom will become a blazing torch.

They know that they need a reliable method: a kind of morality, a kind of entertainment, an invisible transaction, in exchange for these low-level people to continue to live in ignorance, instead of thinking about why they are high-level riders, but not poor people like them. , got more.

As a result, the arena was established.

As a result, hundreds of gladiators were thrown into the red sand, where they would fight against beasts, mutants, and each other, and use their blood-drained wails to please the crazy people: No one cares about the wealth of the high-ranking riders, because they are all busy rushing to the arena and lowering their thumbs to the losers.

On the most gorgeous high platform, the high-ranking knights sang the law called "Bread and Entertainment" and drank and talked happily: every death cry at their feet would make their rule more unshakable.

In this way, death, entertainment, and power each bit the tail of the former, and eventually formed an eternal reincarnation on Nuceria, devouring the lives of countless fighters, and allowing the bloody prosperity to continue into eternity: And the only thing that enters eternity with it is the endless sun-blocking wind and sand above the sky.

until……

Until there was a war cry that penetrated the bloody curtain.

It was an anger, an uprising, a fire of resistance ignited by hundreds of gladiators: it started in the twilight darkness, swallowed up a whole city of lies, and now it has been pushed into a corner, but It's just a beast dying.

And all this is the original destiny chapter of an unfortunate Primarch.

——————

Angron had never liked the windswept sands of Nuceria.

He had too many reasons to hate these screaming whirlpools filled with the smell of copper.

After all: they trapped him, they whipped him, and they witnessed the sad fate of his [Son of the Mountain] along the way: he was brought into Tarke by a slave-catching team in the wind and sand. In the family arena, it was in the spreading wind and sand that he made his first killing, shed his first tears, and began to enjoy the cheers for him alone in the arena from the bottom of his heart.

Those cheers filled with stupid killing fanaticism once became his motivation and the life goal he prepared for himself. They will blend into the wind and sand, forming a different kind of wild laughter, and it is in this kind of wild laughter that Under the witness of the sound, Angron actively or passively killed everything in front of him.

Beasts, mutants, barbarians, modified monsters, unknown gladiators, gladiators he knew, gladiators he was familiar with, and those who once called him brothers and friends.

They are all dead.

Died at the hands of Angron.

In the end, it was his closest relative.

In the end, it was Otto Mamos.

His predecessor, his guide, his battle brother, if possible, Angron is even willing to learn from those mortals and call him his [Father]: Otto Mamos has done what this title should do. In all his responsibilities, he was like the only ray of sunshine in the wind and sand, constantly telling Angron that this world was not just complete madness.

But Otto Mamos was still dead.

He was killed by Angron himself, was sentenced to death by the Butcher's Nail in the mind of the Son of the Mountain, and was sentenced to death by the audience in the arena, and was swallowed up by the long wind and sand of this world: Angron will never hear that again. The old man who was like his father was teaching him earnestly in his ears, and he could no longer hear the roars and cheers in the arena that made him increasingly disgusted. He could no longer even hear those on Nuceria. The sound of wind and sand never stops.

The Butcher's Nail devoured them.

This damn iron nail exerted a twisting roar of endless pain on Angron, swallowing up all the past of the Son of the Mountain: whether it was Automamos, the Arena, or the wind and sand on Nuceria, until now, Even Angron himself will be swallowed up by it.

The Son of the Mountain was driven to the end, driven to the end by the high-level riders and their iron nails. He and his brothers and sisters are now trapped on this snowy mountain with no grass growing: compared with this ice and snow, Lian Nukeria is The wind and sand all look so nostalgic.

There is nothing here, only the iron-gray sky and the dazzling heavy snow, only the impenetrable army surrounding the snow-capped mountains, and only the butcher's nail in his head that inflicts pain and curse on him all the time.

There is only a group of brothers and sisters who are willing to fight to the death with him in this hellish place.

These are all the rebel warrior named Angron has now.

"..."

When he sat at the entrance of the cave, listening to the sounds of his brothers and sisters huddled together laughing and scolding each other inside the cave, and looking at the bright morning light on the iron-gray sky in the distance, Angron thought of all of these.

It made him smile.

He knew that this was his ending: in the face of destined death, everything seemed less terrible.

He knew that when the sun officially rose, he and his brothers and sisters would walk out of the cave they had been hiding in for several months and out of the snowy mountain. After bidding farewell to the brothers buried behind the cave, they Like an army of high-ranking riders charging forward with swagger: this will be the last bloody battle.

The Son of the Mountain will fight side by side with a powerful army: hundreds of battle brothers who broke through the arena with him at the beginning, after this long fierce battle, now only fifty-two of the most determined Avengers remain.

No one has ever escaped, and no one has ever flinched, just like everyone in this cave now: the only reason why the [City Eaters] survive in the world is to let those high-level riders drain their blood.

And tomorrow, when the sun rises, is the best opportunity: almost all the high-level riders have gathered under the snow-capped mountains, and Angron’s brothers and sisters have also reached their limit. Unable to find anything to eat on the snowy mountains, the Son of the Mountain even cut his blood vessels and asked his brothers and sisters to take his blood and devour it mixed with the cold snow cover to barely satisfy his hunger.

But this did nothing, it only delayed death temporarily: in the end, before they were killed by cold and hunger, everyone thought they should rush down the mountain and drain their last breath in the most extreme revenge. Blood.

Even Angron himself could not refuse such an idea.

So, this group of warriors who escaped the duel pit huddled together, laughing for the crazy and sweet revenge a few hours later: almost no one wanted to sleep, but before being dragged into sleep by unstoppable exhaustion, they also laughed. No one bothered Angron who was sitting at the entrance of the cave.

They know that Angron is thinking: he is smarter than any of his brothers and sisters, and he is braver and stronger than them all. He is the only core of the rebel army, their spear and shield, so , although Angron has already made up his mind to die together with his brothers and sisters, he will always think about more things before embracing death, and no one will choose to disturb him.

The Son of the Mountain sat there, motionless for several hours, eyes closed, like a mighty statue, holding the silver vine tightly in his hand: these are the standard weapons of the personal guards of high-level riders. The implant was Angron's trophy from his last hunt.

He killed a small team of prey. The youngest among them may not be fifteen years old: However, this was not a successful hunt, because just when Angron temporarily left his brothers and sisters, an unknown shadow had already Sneaked into their base area.

They may be killers called by high-ranking knights, or they may be someone else: in Angron's memory, there have never been those warriors wearing dark blue armor. They were unusually tall and tall, carrying Wearing a hateful bat mask, Angron felt an indescribable sense of familiarity.

But that's not important. What's important is that these dark blue ghosts stole Angron's four brothers from the base, his four most important brothers: Yochuka, Kleist, and Croma Qi and Flett were kidnapped from their posts and disappeared at the edge of the camp of high-ranking riders.

Angron was furious and failed to recover his comrades. This failure even cast a shadow on the death party in the cave: no one wanted to imagine the final outcome of these four brothers. No one spoke of them again, and they forced themselves to forget it all, hoping to remember them as other brothers who had died in previous battles.

But Angron couldn't do this. His superhuman memory could clearly remember those four faces, especially Yochuka, his little brother, the junior he admired most, that immature face, and the talent. Fifteen spring and autumn years passed on Nuceria.

He originally planned to train him, just as Otto Mamos once trained the Son of the Mountain, and make him his heir: but before tonight, he was willing to use the name of his little brother to fight among the city-devourers. Behead more maggots in the apocalypse.

"……whispering sound……"

The angry hands turned into fists, and in a moment, countless snake-like cracks appeared on the hard wall.

But it all became a lie, and Yochuka's end was one step ahead of him.

Every time he thinks of this, a flood of anger will surge out of Angron's mind, even suppressing the pain of the Butcher's Nail given to him for a time: In the past time, the Son of the Mountain was willing to fight for Yochuka and The other brothers and sisters, and drove away the pain caused by the Butcher's Nail, because he had already been robbed of everything by this damn thing, and he would not let it rob him of his brotherhood again.

Even now, this is the case.

He believed that Jochuka and his other brothers and sisters would be waiting for him on the way to hell, and that he would meet his end with his remaining battle-brothers: To hell with the damn Butcher's Nail, after daybreak, Neither he nor the high-level riders will ever be able to enslave the Son of the Mountain again.

…it can never be possible…

…

……no matter who……

Angron lowered his head and carefully retracted his palm. There was silence in the cave behind him, and his brothers were enjoying the last moment of peace in their lives.

But Angron, who did not need sleep and had not eaten for several weeks, started the last period of thinking in his life in those red eye sockets: the previous meditation on Yochuka and the Butcher's Nail made him think deeply. The son of the mountain naturally remembered his adventure a few days ago.

That impressed him because it was the only thing in his short life that he couldn't answer with his own wisdom: he didn't tell anyone about it.

He clearly remembered: just about three days ago, he once again slaughtered an entire group of high-level knights' personal guards, and ripped off the silver vines that they were proud of, preparing to give them to Yochuka. When given as a gift.

That golden, blurry, dazzling halo of light appeared in his mind for no reason: it was arrogant and overbearing, and made a more majestic sound than the rolling thunder in the sky, even in the sky. The parasitic Butcher's Nails in Angron's mind chose to retreat in the face of this voice, and angrily began to torture Angron's already broken heart even more.

Angron reluctantly responded to this voice in confusion and pain. The voice in the golden aperture claimed to be the emperor, claimed to be the creator of Angron, and claimed to be the master of all destiny and life of the Son of the Mountain: even those who None of the high-level riders would be so eager in front of Angron. They knew how to use false feelings to seduce this son of the mountain.

Just before Angron laughed loudly because of this series of arrogant names, the voice said arrogantly that he would take the Son of the Mountain away from this world and bring him into the stars.

Angron didn't know who the so-called emperor was, and he had never had time to look up at the stars before: Facing this frivolous and abrupt, yet arrogant and unreasonable voice Angron, he was just extremely sure, He stated his only request.

He was taking his brothers and sisters away.

Whoever that voice was: Angron wouldn't mind hearing it if he could truly lead his brothers and sisters away from Nukyria.

But the voice rejected him more decisively than he imagined.

Therefore, the Son of the Mountain naturally gave the same response. Angron declared with contempt that his brothers and sisters were everything to him: in his eyes, this voice was no different from that of high-level riders. Maybe it's just another prop they use to confuse the Sons of the Mountain.

To Angron's imagination, the sound finally stopped bothering him. It disappeared into the hum of the Butcher's Nails and became an episode in the long bloody battle: the only thing that made Angron feel uneasy was, Just one day after the voice appeared, those dark blue ghosts stole Yochuka and the other three brothers.

He naturally connected these two unfinished events. In the last few hours of his life, Angron thought about the meaning behind these two events: However, he did not think about anything in the end. The knowledge in his mind is so lacking, and the life in the arena has made him have no connection with the word "learning".

Rather than thinking, he seemed to be simply passing the time.

And it turns out that this kind of arbitrary thinking can indeed pass the time very well: when Angron raised his head again, the sunlight climbing up the mountains was hurting his eyes mercilessly. Behind him, his The brothers and sisters are also moving around, choosing weapons, and encouraging each other before the last war.

"Angron!"

He heard someone calling him. So, he turned back and looked at those faces: those fifty-two faces, those fifty-two soldiers who were willing to entrust their lives and beliefs to him, and he said that brief pre-battle speech to them.

"Let's go."

The Son of the Mountain laughed.

"Let those maggots bleed like rivers."

The son of the mountain responded only to the clash of swords and loud cheers.

They all know: rivers of blood.

——————

"Rivers of blood!"

This is a war cry.

This is a roar.

It was a declaration of fate for each of his opponents.

Rivers of blood, this will be the final fate of every high-ranking rider, personal guard, mercenary and militiaman who is foolish enough to dare to stand in front of Angron this morning: no matter how good the armor they use to protect themselves , no matter how advanced and unreasonable the silver vines, anti-gravity armor, sonic disruptors and material conversion undulators in their hands are, the Sons of the Mountain have bare hands. When he rushed into the military formation of high-level riders, his war cry was the verdict of all fate.

The battle broke out in the first ray of sunshine in the morning, and the high-ranking riders' last attempt to persuade Angron to surrender became the laughing stock of the rebels. They shouted and rushed to the battlefield with their leader: At least half of the people died in the first moment, while the remaining people rushed into the formation of the Guards, using the brass broadswords and short knives in their hands to fight against the terrifying ones they couldn't even name. A volley of weapons.

Angron rushed to the front, his hands were bare, and his thick palms were already full of traces of blood and internal organs, which came from the first high-level rider killed by him in the battle: he was once a gladiator. The announcer in the arena, his sharp and mean voice, accompanied Angron for the entire first half of his life. It was under his spell that everyone in the arena unanimously delivered the verdict to Angron.

nail.

"Rivers of blood!"

In the next five seconds, Angron killed forty-five more people, most of whom were high-level riders who were stupid enough to dare to stand in his attack range and challenge him. The defense line composed of walls and silver vines rushed left and right, just like the devil in ancient stories. Wherever he went, there was blood dripping all the way. He stirred the entire battlefield into a crazy blood prison, and the blood prison in turn turned into The invisible river poured everything on the battlefield into Angron's ears.

The son of the mountain could hear the voices of his brothers. He could hear his battle brothers being knocked down in front of those powerful weapons. Their bones and flesh turned into smoke, their blood boiled into steam, and the silver vines penetrated the human body. Destroying organs and grinding their bones into powder.

No one screamed, no one begged for mercy, every city devourer took away as many opponents as possible before death, until more than a minute after the war started, until Angron was sure, and at most ten seconds later. , he will lose all his brothers and sisters and fight alone.

But this did not affect him at all. He grabbed the spear on one side and stabbed the high-ranking rider hiding in the sky thousands of meters away. Then he grabbed the Guards officer on the other side and killed him. He tore it in half, snatched the huge battle ax flashing with kinetic energy from his hand, and looked for his next prey.

But he failed to throw the ax in the end.

Because time is frozen.

Just when Angron raised his axe, and just when he was looking for his only remaining battle brothers, and looking for the next prey among the panic-stricken high-level riders, an unprecedented feeling seized him. : First there was an unpleasant silence, the angry thoughts were controlled in the imprisoned body, and then, there was the familiar golden light.

He remembered the light, the power wielded by the man known as the Emperor, the hypocritical man who had suggested to him days before that his power now trapped Angron.

Instinctively, Angron only felt horrified. He wanted to struggle, but found that he could do nothing with this power. He could not even move his eyes to glance at the frightened faces behind him.

This situation lasted for a moment, or maybe a few seconds, until a more dazzling light replaced it, until the smell of blood on the battlefield turned into the smell of stale ozone, until a smell more terrifying than the Butcher's Nails , the heartbreaking pain penetrated the Son of the Mountain, and he was released from this ruthless cage. Due to inertia, he fell on the sand in embarrassment.

"..."

No, this is no longer sand.

Instead, it was a layer of luxurious, mosaic-style tiles, even more luxurious than those laid in the palaces of the most extravagant high-level riders on Nuceria. Angron was dazzled by these extravagances, and immediately Then, more noise flooded into his ears: it was no longer the wails and shouts on the battlefield, but other sounds, the roar of machines and the crackling movement of power halberds. Voice.

When he looked up.

He was already aboard the Emperor's Dream.

He was already in front of the so-called emperor, and beside them were a large number of warriors wielding power halberds and wearing dazzling golden armor.

These warriors were very close to him, even closer than the guards on the battlefield. They were arrogant and unreasonable, and the power halberds pointed at him shone with dangerous light, but they were so weak: at the Butcher's Nail, let Before Angron's eyes turned blood red again, he just took a glance and discovered dozens of weaknesses on the golden warrior closest to him.

Without any hesitation, the anger on the battlefield needed more venting. Angron stretched out his hand. In a moment, the fool who dared to approach him was torn into two pieces. His lifeless body fell, and a large piece of his body fell. The mosaic floor was stained the color of blood.

This killing aroused the anger of the other golden warriors, as well as the indifference on the throne: the emperor, who was like the sun, just watched everything coldly, as if the one who was killed was not his guard, until Ange Long panted heavily, and when he pounced on the second person at the urging of the Butcher's Nail, the Emperor finally stretched out his hand.

+Stop. +

He spoke, and Angron had to kneel down. His stomach and intestines were raging, and he vomited large mouthfuls of blood.

Only then did he truly see the Emperor's appearance, and only then did he truly hear the Emperor's voice: as arrogant and pretentious as ever, just like the high-ranking riders on the surface.

The Lord of Mankind walked up to his son and looked down indifferently. He opened his mouth, called the Son of the Mountain by name, and told him his identity, his mission and responsibility: Angron was the Primarch of the Gene. He should leave with the Emperor and go to the distant stars to fight for the fate of all mankind.

What greeted him was Angron's laughter spitting out blood: just like a few days ago. Angron did not change his terms. He asked to stand with his brothers and sisters. If he was allowed to leave, then take his remaining brothers from the surface with him. Otherwise, let him and His brothers died together.

+I don’t agree. +

+You won’t go back either. +

+The things on Nuceria are over: they have nothing to do with you. Don't think about losing your life in vain in that insignificant slave war. +

+This is not your destiny. +

Faced with this obvious request, the Lord of Humanity just stared at his heir with a frosty face, and after a long time, he uttered this answer.

Just before Angron's eyes roared in anger and grief, the ruler of the Human Empire waved his hand, and the flashing storm captured the Son of the Mountain again: the next second, he disappeared in front of the Emperor, and Disappeared on the Emperor's Dream.

"My Lord Emperor, what should we do next?"

After a few seconds, a consul of the Forbidden Army bypassed his dead brother, walked up to the emperor, lowered his voice, and asked.

The Emperor just closed his eyes and remained silent for a long time.

——————

+ etc. +