"Erebus! Stop running! Come at the tank!"
Talos stood atop a Land Raider, chainsword raised like a standard.
Khârn glanced sideways at Argel Tal.
"What did he do this time?"
Argel Tal shrugged mildly.
"Considering it's Erebus? Probably something deserved."
Erebus sprinted past them at full speed, power armor scorched and dented.
From behind came the roar of Midnight Lords.
Khârn lost interest immediately.
Among the Word Bearers, Argel Tal was the only one he truly respected. The rest—he tolerated.
"How about the pits?" Khârn asked.
Argel Tal smiled.
"As always."
The Parade Before War
Lorgar's work on Nostramo had concluded. He would soon return to Terra. The XVII Legion intended to review its strength before its Primarch—proof that even without constant oversight, they were worthy sons.
The XII Legion—now formally the World Eaters, named in memory of Angron's Eaters of Cities—would join them in an upcoming compliance action.
Khârn had never cared much for the Word Bearers.
Too many sermons.
Too much incense.
But Argel Tal was different.
Steady.
Honest.
Reliable.
That was enough.
In XII Legion culture, entering the pits together meant trust. Chains bound their wrists to their weapons—not as restraint, but as declaration: we fight together.
Khârn accepted the grey token.
First Blood or Third Blood.
Not Final Blood.
Good.
He scanned the slate.
Khârn.
Argel Tal.
Opponents:
Devarus.
Eusonis.
Khârn froze.
"…Eusonis?"
The name tasted unpleasant.
Eusonis appeared opposite them without ceremony.
"Khârn."
Flat tone.
Neutral stance.
Twin blades drawn—one standard grip, one reverse.
Khârn suppressed the instinct to turn and walk away.
"How are you here?"
Eusonis tilted his head slightly.
"Mother is present in this theater."
That explained everything.
Old Score
Argel Tal leaned closer.
"You know him?"
Know him?
The last time they fought, Eusonis had cut Khârn thousands of times in a single engagement. Not killing strikes—precise, humiliating dominance.
Khârn had survived because the fight ended prematurely.
He did not resent it.
But anger lingered.
World Eaters did not forget.
Khârn rolled his shoulders.
"He's fast. Don't underestimate him."
Argel Tal nodded seriously.
Across from them, Devarus cracked his neck, already grinning. He had fought beside Sigismund before. He feared no one in the pits.
Signal given.
Khârn moved first.
Axe descending like orbital impact.
"I'm not made of stone, you bastard!"
Eusonis flowed aside.
Steel met chain-axe.
Argel Tal engaged Devarus.
The pit erupted.
Aftermath
Devarus laughed loudly afterward, clapping shoulders.
"Still undefeated," someone shouted.
The World Eaters roared approval. Brotherhood mattered more than pride.
On the sand, Khârn lay staring upward.
Argel Tal hauled him up.
"For a moment I thought you were dead."
"Felt like it."
Eusonis approached calmly.
"You are not as fragile as you believe."
"Is that praise?"
"Yes."
Khârn studied him.
Speed.
Control.
No wasted motion.
Not brute force—precision.
He exhaled slowly.
"World Eaters welcome you, brother. I'll challenge you again."
"If Mother returns, so will I."
Argel Tal frowned.
"The Vice-Emperor is here?"
Eusonis said nothing.
Khârn's expression shifted.
The Real Battle
Far from the pits.
In a sealed chamber.
Lorgar stood tense.
"Well?" he asked Ezra.
Ezra's head lowered.
"If we attempt full removal now… Angron's cortical failure probability exceeds survivable thresholds."
Silence.
Konrad Curze remained in shadow.
Lorgar glanced toward him.
Curze finally spoke softly.
"I have seen him broken."
Yuki cut him off immediately.
"Enough."
Curze's visions were never simple prophecy. They were possibility layered over inevitability, colored by his own fatalism.
Yuki would not let despair become self-fulfilling.
Lorgar deflated.
"Are we simply to watch him die?"
Among all the brothers, Lorgar alone actively sought to change Angron's fate. Others pitied him. Few believed he could be saved.
Ezra tried.
He had studied the Butcher's Nails in exhaustive detail.
The problem was not merely extraction.
The original cortical tissue had been replaced.
Removed.
Destroyed.
The Nails were not attached.
They were integrated.
Even the Emperor, upon first examining Angron, had declared removal would kill him.
Ezra's voice trembled slightly.
"I require time."
Yuki placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You've done well."
The Operating Table
Angron awoke again beneath sterile light.
He recognized the ceiling.
Recognized the taste of metal.
Recognized the distant whisper of the Nails in his skull.
He sat up slowly.
"So. When is the next attempt?"
Flat.
Empty.
Yuki crouched beside him so their eyes aligned.
The Nails still pulsed within his cortex.
She did not lie.
"Five years."
Lorgar snapped his head toward her.
Five?
Before, she had admitted the impossibility.
Angron's eyes flickered.
"Five years?"
"Yes."
Her tone did not waver.
"In five years, I will remove them completely."
Lorgar stared.
Ezra's gaze lifted sharply.
Curze said nothing.
Angron studied her face.
He had heard promises before.
But this one felt different.
"Five years…"
he repeated quietly.
Yuki met his eyes without hesitation.
"Yes. Five years."
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