Angron would never forget the day he was captured and thrown into the arena.
He had been forcibly fitted with a collar and shackles, branded as a slave like so many other men and women, and thrown into the pit.
The announcement echoed from all corners of the pit, and the spectators cheered.
Dirty water flowed down from the high walls surrounding the pit, emitting a foul stench.
The stench assaulted my senses as I looked at the surface of the pit being washed away by the torrent, and I felt disgust.
The first to touch the contaminated water was a woman.
The moment her feet touched the dirty water, her flesh corroded, exposing stark white bone, and she let out an indescribable, ear-splitting scream.
Eventually, the pit transformed into a living hell.
The contaminated water gradually rose, forcing people to kill, trample, and tear each other apart.
Slaves who could not find work gradually sank into the dirty water, their screams of agony echoing through the sky.
Angron deeply felt the death of each slave, and it brought him unimaginable suffering.
All he could do was break the necks of the defeated as quickly as possible.
That way, they wouldn't have to suffer for so long.
One by one the slaves died, until finally only the young Angron remained. The spectators stood atop the high walls, watching with excitement and cheering.
Throughout the entire process, cheers echoed without end.
Atop the high walls, the crowd in silk robes adorned with exquisite jewels gave enthusiastic applause to this magnificent death.
Their faces shone with excitement, their eyes wide open, not wanting to miss even the smallest detail.
They were like a group of monsters trying to fill their own emptiness by feeding on others' suffering.
Such people treated the death and bloodshed of others as entertainment.
When they themselves became targets of slaughter, they pretended to be innocent in a pitiful manner.
If we forgive such shameless villains, who will comfort the vengeful souls of the dead?
Meanwhile, the supreme ruler of Nuceria knelt on the sand, begging for mercy.
He raised his face and looked up at Angron with the same eyes that had once looked down on countless lives in Nuceria, speaking in a humble tone.
"If you save me, I'll give you wealth, power—anything you want."
Angron sneered. "If I kill you, I can take your wealth and power too."
"You're just a slave gladiator. Those families won't accept your rule," the supreme ruler said. "Only by releasing me can you gain their approval."
"I don't need their approval. Because they'll all be thrown into the arena just like you."
"You won't die painlessly or instantly."
Angron's words drained the last trace of color from the old man's face, and he collapsed to the ground.
"Let me decide what to do with those bastards."
"Killing them so easily is far too simple for them."
Angron turned toward Datch and Corvus Corax, pleading with them.
Corvus Corax was slightly taken aback. He had thought Angron would simply behead them. That would have been simple, direct, and satisfying.
But Angron did not. His eyes burned with rage, yet he could not stop his anger—it was driven by something stronger.
It was revenge for those who had suffered.
Corvus Corax realized that the young Angron before him and the Angron who would one day become a slave to the Blood God were completely different people.
Datch hesitated for a moment at first.
In that instant, he saw a golden exclamation mark appear above Angron's head.
Since he insisted that the mission took priority, he immediately agreed.
Besides, the nobles of Nuceria were truly inhumane, treating slaves like Angron so cruelly that they drove them to death.
According to forum lore, after the Butcher's Nails were implanted in Angron, he was controlled by them and slaughtered indiscriminately, tearing his adoptive father Oenomaus to pieces.
When he regained consciousness, Angron was overcome with deep sorrow. Bound, he screamed for three days and three nights until his throat tore and he coughed up blood.
When Angron led the gladiators in rebellion,
the Emperor negotiated peace with the nobles of Nuceria and did not purge the local population.
They forcibly took Angron away and killed the gladiators.
Datch thought to himself that such treatment was far too lenient for starting a rebellion.
If it were him, the minimum guarantee would be a soul-shaking, tumultuous journey, and a new calamity to purify the impurities from the world.
The minimum guarantee would be a massacre large enough to destroy the entire galaxy.
Under the pressure of the Four Gods and the Emperor,
he also needed to completely eradicate all bacteria on Nuceria, cut the worms into several parts, and divide them while standing vertically.
"In that case, Angron, it's up to you. You have the right to decide how these idiots die."
Upon receiving Angron's orders, Mordachi and the other Astartes slaughtered the high-ranking riders who could still resist.
Like a storm of slaughter, they swept through the stands, rushing toward the VIP seats, every passage, and every exit.
The nobles who had been shouting "The Nails!!!" were now screaming and scattering in all directions.
However, there was nowhere for the Astartes to hide or flee.
Those who resisted were killed, and the rest were thrown into the arena.
Corvus Corax, who had stood at a high vantage point and learned the truth, looked down at the screaming people with no pity in his heart—only a sense of relief as the shackles in his heart were released.
Countless other slaves who had once been gladiators like Angron were all brought out.
They did not understand what was happening and were confused, but upon seeing Angron and the slaughtered spectators, they realized that someone had rebelled against the nobles of Nuceria.
These gladiators, who had been forced by the nobles to fight all manner of horrific monsters, were mostly physically disabled, with inferior mechanical prosthetics implanted in their bodies.
Datch walked over to the injured gladiators, took out the Golden Hammer, and struck each of their wounds.
Golden light flowed out, covering the injured gladiators' entire bodies, rapidly repairing their limbs and restoring them to their original human forms.
At this miraculous ability, Angron and the other gladiators were completely stunned.
Calling him a god was no exaggeration.
All of this was witnessed by the survivors who had been driven to the bottom of the arena.
They all knelt and shouted in Datch's direction. Their voices had gone hoarse from shouting.
"God, please forgive our sins."
A woman's voice trembled with tears. "Please don't treat us so cruelly."
"Someone with such power must be the incarnation of a god."
"Please show mercy. Forgive our sins."
"We were only confused for a moment. We were deceived by those nobles. We didn't know what we were doing. Please forgive us!"
They knelt on the ground, crawling through the sand, pressing their foreheads into the blood-stained earth.
Screams and shouts came like a tide, then receded.
"Please forgive us."
"We acknowledge our mistakes."
"Please forgive us."
"Please show mercy."
Datch ignored their pleas. These people were not worth saving.
They were like malignant tumors. The best way to prevent them from harming more people was to excise them.
When the Nameless One turned and walked away, both Corvus Corax and Angron breathed a sigh of relief.
If the other side said they would dismiss these people, there was nothing they could do.
The civilians and dignitaries thrown into the pit witnessed the Nameless One turn and leave without hesitation.
At first, despair came, followed by rising anger.
They shouted curses and threats, demanding immediate release.
No one paid them any attention. Instead, they simply opened the delivery pipe.
Extremely corrosive, dirty water flowed out, rushing straight toward the commoners and nobles.
Forced to flee toward the only exit in the pit, they climbed the pyramid to escape the threat of death.
However, as the water level rose, the space they could stand on atop the pyramid grew narrower and narrower.
To survive, they had to fight each other and push others into the water using any means necessary.
This was exactly what they had done to countless slaves.
Now it was their turn.
Angron watched as people climbed the pyramid, pushing and shoving each other, using every method to knock those around them into the water.
Those still standing atop the pyramid shouted with all their might.
Those submerged in the water screamed in despair and intense pain.
And all of this was broadcast live.
The dedicated channel for broadcasting the "spectacle" of Nuceria's gladiatorial arena live-streamed the entire event.
The suspended mechanical eyes focused their lenses on the faces of the people screaming and struggling inside the crater.
People all over the world watched.
Nobles who had been eating dinner stopped eating.
City-state lords who had been planning the next gladiatorial match stared with wide eyes.
The poor cheered with deafening voices.
All the common citizens of Nuceria saw the nobles who had once been high and powerful, the rulers who had looked down on the people.
When faced with death, they were no different from ordinary people.
They would scream, struggle, and bite each other to survive.
The propaganda about noble bloodlines and innate privilege instantly collapsed.
In the end, only a handful of people made it to the top of the pyramid and survived.
When they were pulled out of the pit, their eyes were filled with hatred.
Angron sensed their hatred, but his smile only grew brighter.
The more they hated him, the more successful his revenge was.
The gladiators stepped forward and threw the survivors into the arena.
There were weapons, beasts, and all the props they had once used for entertainment.
Shortly afterward, they released the beasts to fight the survivors.
Until they were completely torn to pieces.
Angron's actions put the nobles of Nuceria on high alert, and they began mobilizing their armies to annihilate the rebels.
However, with Datch's help, the nobles' plans were doomed to fail.
Datch first helped Angron eliminate the remaining nobles in the city.
They were dragged out one by one and thrown into the arena—the very place they had once used to torture others.
They were made to die like slaves. It was a cruel form of revenge against these despicable nobles.
Next, Datch repaired long-unused old equipment.
Magnificent weapons, aerial transport platforms, defense systems capable of attacking from orbit, and facilities to maintain civilian life.
Datch also provided massive amounts of supplies and equipment.
The gladiators, who had once wielded primitive weapons, had now evolved into fully armed, heavily equipped warriors.
The poor also united, promised wealth and decent jobs.
Thus, with Angron at the head, an army was assembled at an extremely rapid pace.
He wore heavy power armor and held a double-bladed war axe, its blades still dripping with the blood of the strong.
Behind him stood Yotchuka, Fletcher, Christ, and countless slaves who had once fought desperately to survive in the arena.
Furthermore, there were liberated civilians, volunteers, idealists who wished to change the world with their own hands, and realists eager to profit from war.
"Now let's go! We must overthrow the rule of those despicable bastards!"
Angron raised his war axe and shouted.
Countless people responded, their voices echoing deafeningly throughout the city.
To counter the encirclement and suppression by the other nobles of Nuceria, Angron led his army to the battlefield.
He achieved a swift and decisive victory, inflicting heavy losses on the coalition forces of various clans. Furthermore, in an eccentric act to boost morale and intimidate the enemy, he even attached the heads of invading generals to his own head.
As Angron began his conquest, the first city-state chose to surrender.
The nobles believed they could save their lives by offering their wealth and women.
Angron distributed the wealth to the common people, euthanized the innocent women, and sent the nobles to the local gladiatorial arena, where they met a horrific end.
Seeing the fate of the first city-state, the second city-state immediately decided to rebel.
They poured all their savings into arming their army and building impregnable defensive lines, determined to stop Angron.
However, before Angron could act, Corvus Corax had already cleaned up the situation for him.
Overnight, the heads of those influential figures were hung from the city walls, the army collapsed, and they were easily captured by Angron.
The third city-state sent envoys to negotiate.
Angron ignored all of the other side's boasts, waited for them to finish speaking, then drove them out and ordered an attack on the city to eliminate the nobles.
Angron broke through the enemy lines with unstoppable momentum, leaving behind mountains of corpses and rivers of blood.
The fourth city-state, the fifth, and one after another fell. The local nobles were uprooted and purged.
The nobles were in a truly desperate situation. They could neither surrender, win the war, nor negotiate—it was utterly impossible.
They were truly cornered and being driven to ruin.
After conquering the city-states, Angron did the same thing again—liberating slaves and executing nobles.
Those who had once held power were thrown into the arena they themselves had built.
Corvus Corax stayed by Angron's side the entire time.
Sometimes he helped with Angron's battle plans, and other times he transformed into a flock of ravens to scout enemy positions or deal with troublesome enemies.
But most of the time, he simply stood silently beside Angron, observing his brother.
This brother, who had not suffered from the Butcher's Nails, still had light in his eyes and a flame of passion in his heart.
But he could feel that the flame in the other's eyes was growing fiercer, and that he was becoming a different person from the Angron he knew.
When the last city-state fell, Angron stood at its highest point, looking down at the ruins.
The world known for gladiatorial combat and slaughter—Nuceria—now lay prostrate at his feet.
Those who had once claimed noble bloodlines and treated others' suffering as entertainment had all been wiped out.
Some were executed, some thrown into pits, and some torn apart in the arena.
Angron ruled the world and became the planetary overlord.
Throughout this process, storms raged endlessly in the Warp, unleashing terrifying scenes one after another.
Deep within the Immaterium existed a constantly shifting labyrinth composed of countless crystals.
On the crystal walls that held knowledge and mysteries, cracks appeared for the first time.
Not just one, but countless, unbelievably fine threads—like a spiderweb stretched across the entire maze.
Tzeentch dwelled in the deepest part of the labyrinth, spinning his own fate every day.
But this disturbance surprised him.
In the fabric just ahead, countless threads were severed.
These lines represented past, present, and future. They should have been tightly intertwined, forming an unbreakable web of causality.
But now, the threads of fate symbolizing the past had been severed, and the original fate was overwritten by a new one?
Everything had been determined by fate, but that fate had been shattered by the Nameless One.
The actions of the anonymous individuals at a certain point in the past had destroyed the old past, shaped a new one, and affected the present and future.
The reason these cracks had not yet affected the future was because they were blocked by a critical turning point.
It was the final battle between the Emperor and Horus, which would determine the fate of humanity.
The final battle and slaughter between father and son had completely transformed the entire galaxy.
This was the watershed that divided history and fate.
It was a decisive turning point in many major events and plotlines, the end and beginning of all causes and effects.
It functioned like a dam, blocking all influence from the past, leaving only faint aftershocks affecting the past.
But how long could the dam hold?
No one knew. Even Tzeentch could only entrust it to fate and the Nameless Ones.
Because his life had already been ravaged by the Nameless One into its current state.
At that moment, Datch received the mission completion notification.
Mission Complete! You have successfully saved Angron and prevented his corruption.
[Quest Rewards: 2,000 Points, 2,000 EXP, +500 Reputation, Time Stone ×1]
With a thought, an orange oval gem materialized in Datch's hand.
Staring at the familiar Time Stone in his hand, an inexplicable sentence floated into Datch's mind.
"Dormammu, I've come to bargain."
The Time Stone could loop infinitely unless the user manually canceled it.
Otherwise, killing them countless times would be meaningless, because they would revive again and again.
Even without reviving with this toy, he could dominate the entire game.
After examining the Time Stone for a while, Datch took out the Infinity Gauntlet and attached the Time Stone to it.
The gauntlet now held three Infinity Stones: Power, Reality, and Time. The ancient runes engraved on its surface shone brighter than ever.
If he collected three more stones, he would be able to turn every NPC in the Warhammer world into cilantro lovers with a snap of his fingers.
…
Meanwhile, on the other side of the Milky Way…
A massive fleet emerged from the Immaterium and entered realspace.
All of these ships bore the double-headed eagle emblem and were arranged in orderly formation.
Each possessed military power sufficient to conquer worlds.
This was the Great Crusade fleet personally commanded by the Emperor.
While teaching his eldest son Horus, the Emperor once again sensed changes in the Warp.
The original history was being altered, resulting in massive storms constantly raging deep within the Immaterium.
Fortunately, these storms did not affect the Great Crusade fleet.
"Is this also the masterpiece of that Nameless One?"
The first suspicious person the Emperor thought of was the Nameless One mentioned by Horus.
That man was truly shameless. Horus even talked about him in his sleep, making his elderly father feel extremely embarrassed.
The son I worked so hard to create has already become someone else's son!
…
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