The Emperor simply gazed at Magnus in silence, not uttering a single word.
The silence was like a physical weight, pressing down on Magnus. He felt his skin crawl under the scrutiny of those golden eyes. Cold sweat—or something like it—oozed from beneath his crimson skin, and he didn't even dare to meet that gaze.
A strong desire rose within his heart: he wished the Emperor would act immediately, using lightning or a blade to erase him completely. Anything was better than this silent stare and wordless judgment; it was more agonizing than any physical torture.
Ten thousand years had not washed away the guilt buried in the depths of his soul. There was an ancient rumor that when he betrayed the Throne, it wasn't entirely due to the temptation of power, but partly because he lacked the courage to face the catastrophe he had caused—the courage to face his former father.
Ian watched this scene of "filial piety" with great interest. He even pulled out a strangely designed camera.
Click. The faint sound of the shutter was exceptionally sharp in the dead silence of the Warp. A flash of light flickered, freezing Magnus's expression of fear, shame, and despair alongside the Emperor's silence.
Meanwhile, far away in the material universe.
On a planet currently being reclaimed by the Imperium, the fires of war reached the heavens. Aatrox, inhabiting the massive war-body of Sion, was leading the Shuriman Ascended Warband and the Darkin Squad. They were like a white-hot war-blade, slicing through the enemy lines.
Suddenly, the space ahead twisted and tore violently! A massive Warp vortex appeared out of thin air, emitting a nauseating stench of Chaos. Countless hideous daemons, carrying the stench of brass and blood, swarmed out from the vortex.
Following them were a vast number of World Eaters warriors clad in red and white armor, already ascended to daemonhood. Their eyes burned with an endless desire for slaughter. Finally, with a thunderous boom, a colossal figure fell like a meteorite from the depths of the vortex, slamming into the earth right in front of Aatrox!
The impact sent dust and debris flying into the sky. Within the haze, a pair of massive demonic wings covered in black scales snapped open, blotting out the sun.
It was a gargantuan daemon—a terrifying entity wrapped in blood and brass. His crimson skin was covered in twisted runes and hideous scars, his thick limbs knotted with unnatural muscle, and a multitude of cables were driven deep into his skull and spine. These were the notorious Butcher's Nails, now fused with his demonic essence, radiating frantic psychic fluctuations.
He wore no helmet, only a face distorted to the extreme by endless rage, tusks bared, and eyes filled with pure, blood-colored battle-intent. In his hands, he gripped two exaggeratedly large chainaxes, their blades caked with dried blood and gore, their engines emitting a low, bloodthirsty roar.
The newcomer was the Daemon Primarch, Angron!
The moment Angron raised his bloodshot eyes, and the moment Aatrox felt that purity of absolute battle-lust and killing intent, the two terrifying beings locked onto each other. No words were needed. They could both feel the surging, peerless power and the boundless will to fight within one another!
The Angron before him was no longer the unstable, newly-ascended Primarch of historical record. After ten thousand years of bloody baptism, fighting and growing stronger within Khorne's domain, his power far exceeded what it once was!
"For the War!!!" Angron let out an earth-shaking roar that seemed capable of tearing souls apart! His massive frame turned into a red blur as the chainaxes in his hands kicked up a storm of gore, pouncing straight at Aatrox!
Aatrox and Sion showed no weakness!
"War!" Their battle cry was equally frantic!
Then, World Ender was activated! The massive frost wings behind Aatrox unfurled. At this moment, he looked even more like a daemon than the Angron charging toward him.
Then came the Unstoppable Onslaught! His massive body of steel and flesh was instantly enveloped in dark red energy. Like an out-of-control siege beast, he slammed headlong into Angron!
Boom!!!
Two destructive forces collided with zero finesse! The heaven-splitting roar seemed ready to tear the firmament asunder. A terrifying energy shockwave radiated out in a ring from the point of impact. The ground instantly cracked and collapsed! The weaker World Eaters who were too close were instantly blown away and torn to shreds.
Dust filled the battlefield. A moment later, it slowly dissipated to reveal the two berserk figures in the center. Their combat had no technique to speak of—only the most primal, purest violence!
Angron's chainaxe, carrying a piercing shriek, hacked savagely toward Aatrox's shoulder! Sparks flew! Metal twisted! Aatrox seemed completely oblivious, making no attempt to parry! His blood-colored Greatsword, in an equally overbearing manner, thrust straight into Angron's chest!
Splat!
The Greatsword easily tore through the Daemon Primarch's tough skin and muscle, sinking deep inside! Simultaneously, the chainaxe violently sliced through the armor and flesh of Aatrox's shoulder!
Huge amounts of blood sprayed from their wounds like fountains! The air was thick with the smell of blood and scorched metal. But the two monsters in the arena didn't seem to feel a hint of pain! Wounds! Blood! These acted like fuel, instantly igniting the deepest frenzied excitement within them!
They hacked even harder! Roaring and snarling, they drove their weapons deeper into each other's bodies. This scene didn't look like a war in the material universe at all; it looked like two daemons slaughtering each other in Khorne's arena.
Both possessed incredible regenerative abilities. As weapons were pulled out, new wounds hadn't even finished tearing before the old ones were mostly closed. They ignored all defense, as if defending were a sign of cowardice. Their eyes held only the offense, only destruction, only the pure violence of trading blow for blow.
Angron's chainaxe tore through the air with a piercing roar, hacking hard into Aatrox's waist. Aatrox didn't care. The war-body of Sion he possessed shivered with excitement. Then, the Greatsword in Aatrox's hand, like a bolt of blood-red lightning, thrust back through Angron's thigh.
Psh! The Daemon Primarch's skin, as tough as ten-thousand-year-old rock, was easily pierced. Muscle fibers were shredded, and crimson demonic blood surged out. The modified host blood of Sion also sprayed. Two distinct types of blood intertwined in the air before being torn apart by the violent gusts of wind.
Angron's other chainaxe swept across, nearly cutting Aatrox in half. Aatrox didn't dodge; his Greatsword slashed upward, leaving a terrifying, bone-deep scar across Angron's chest. Sparks showered, and the grinding of bone produced an ear-grating screech.
Pain? Non-existent! Injury? Irrelevant! Blood was like strong liquor, watering the maddened battle-lust in their hearts.
Hack! Kill! Destroy!
They roared and bellowed, weapons piercing each other's bodies again and again, only to be brutally ripped out. Chainaxes severed arms, and Greatswords split skulls. Then, their wounds would wriggle, flesh regenerating and bones rejoining in an instant.
Their battle seemed endless, and both were getting more and more "into it." They hacked to their heart's content as the battlefield turned into a quagmire of flesh and blood. The earth beneath them wailed, covered in spiderweb-like cracks. The shockwaves of energy leveled everything nearby.
This battle lasted for several hours. Finally, after a violent clash, the two separated. Weapons were pulled from the other's body. They stood facing each other, panting heavily, yet no fatal wounds could be seen on them. Only the constantly rising red steam evidenced the ferocity of the combat just now.
At this moment, the blood flowing through their veins might no longer be their own, but the other's—mixed with Chaos energy and Darkin magic.