The corridor leading deep into the Colosseum was long and dark.
The air was thick with an inseparable stench—a fermented brew of rust, sweat, congealed blood, and pure despair. Droplets of water seeped from the moss-covered stone walls, hitting the ground with a monotonous, oppressive 'drip-drop' that sounded like a funeral knell for the deaths to come.
Lining both sides of the corridor were rows of cages forged from thick alloy.
In the darkness, one could occasionally see pairs of eyes shimmering with various lights. Some held the ferocity of beasts, others the indifference of xenos, and some... belonged to humans, hollow voids where all Hope had long since been extinguished. They were all sacrifices, consumables sent to appease the red beast and temporarily soothe his endless fury.
Terrania's small hand tightly gripped the corner of Leticia's clothes. Her pure little face was somewhat pale, and her golden eyes were filled with unease. Every inch of air here seemed to be weeping.
Leticia didn't speak; she simply reached back and held the girl's cold little hand, offering silent comfort through her own warmth. Her pure black eyes calmly swept over the cages with neither pity nor disgust, possessing only a deep silence that seemed to absorb all this suffering into itself.
At the end of the corridor, a faint, dim yellow light appeared.
The smell of blood became ten times more intense there.
They reached the edge of the Colosseum. Beyond a massive, rust-stained iron gate lay that legendary stage.
There were no cheers, no shouts.
Only a deathly silence.
It was a circular arena so vast it made the heart palpitate, its ground covered in a thick layer of dark red sand. Years of being watered with blood had caused the sand to harden into clumps, which reflected a greasy, nauseating sheen under the dim lights. Broken weapons, shattered bones, and the massive remains of unknown creatures were scattered randomly across the arena like trash.
The entire Colosseum was like a giant, filthy bowl filled with blood and pain.
And in the center of that bowl stood the beast.
Angron.
With no enemies present at the moment, this Primarch of the World Eaters was like a giant beast imprisoned by invisible chains, pacing back and forth restlessly. His scarred upper body was bare, and beneath his bronze skin, knotted muscles bulged like mountain ranges, brimming with explosive power. His head, implanted with numerous hideous metal tubes and wires, was lowered, and from deep within his throat came a suppressed, continuous low growl like that of a wounded animal.
Every muscle on his body spoke of pain.
Every breath he took vented fury.
Terrania subconsciously held her breath. She could feel the tangible agony radiating from the giant, causing her pure soul to feel bouts of stinging pain, as if cut by knives.
Suddenly.
"ROOOAAARRRRRR——!!!"
A roar that sounded entirely inhuman, mixing endless pain with heaven-shaking rage, exploded from Angron's throat without warning!
The sound felt as if it would tear the very dome off the Colosseum.
Amidst the roar, he spun around like a mad bull and used his head—completely dominated by the Butcher's Nails—to slam violently, again and again, into the thick alloy wall at the edge of the arena!
THOOM——!!!
A deafening boom rang out, as if a battering ram had struck a city gate.
The hard alloy wall was forced into a visible dent by his sheer, raw strength.
He didn't stop.
THOOM——!!!
Another strike.
THOOM! THOOM! THOOM!
He seemed oblivious to pain, using this most primitive and barbaric method to frantically devastate his own body. With every impact, blood seeped from the seams where his forehead skin met the metal tubes, flowing down his hideous face.
He seemed to be trying to use this more direct, more intense physical agony to temporarily overwhelm or counter the never-ending mental torment in his mind—a torture enough to burn a soul to ashes.
Terrania trembled all over, terrified by this bloody and cruel scene. She instinctively covered her mouth to keep a cry from escaping. Her golden eyes were filled with incomprehensible fear and deep pity.
"Why... why hurt yourself like this?"
Leticia's heart was also deeply stung by this beast-like wailing and self-destructive venting.
She knew why.
Because for the current Angron, this physical pain—which he could clearly perceive—was the only remaining anchor he could use to prove he was "still alive."
When the pain of the soul exceeds the limits of what language can describe, all that remains is this purest form of violence.
She couldn't wait any longer.
If this continued, he would destroy himself first.
Leticia let go of Terrania's hand. Under the gaze of those golden eyes full of worry and confusion, she slowly, step by step, walked out from the shadows behind the iron gate.
Her simple black robe was spotless.
Her pure black eyes were calm and waveless.
Holding the hand of the little blonde girl who shone like gold, she stepped onto that filthy ground soaked in blood and sand.
Their figures were so out of place in this realm of death, despair, and madness.
It was as if two drops of the purest, brightest light had fallen onto a canvas splattered with foul blood and thick ink.
THOOM...
The frantic, self-mutilating sounds of impact stopped abruptly.
Angron's massive body froze in place. He slowly turned around.
His bloodshot, crimson eyes—where the pupils were nearly invisible due to endless pain and fury—pierced through the dim, murky air to stare fixedly, intensely, at the two uninvited guests.
His beastly instincts were screaming frantically.
The black-haired woman before him was very dangerous.
But what made the chaotic fire in his brain stall even more was...
He didn't smell a single shred of fear coming from her.
He saw Leticia's face, which was too perfect to be mortal, and then saw the little blonde girl behind her, clutching her clothes tightly, eyes filled with dread yet still refusing to retreat.
These two figures were like ghosts crawling out from the deepest part of his soul—from the grave he had personally buried long ago, labeled "Hope" and "Protection."
Their existence was, in itself, the greatest and most heartless mockery of his current state—neither man nor ghost.
A fury more tyrannical than any before surged from his chest.
"Get out..."
Angron squeezed the words out from between his teeth.
His voice was as raspy as two pieces of rusted metal grinding together, every syllable filled with bone-scraping pain.
He raised the massive Twin-linked Chainaxe that never left his side.
"...Or... die!"
VROOOOOM——!!!!
The chainaxe's engine was pushed to its limit in an instant, emitting a piercing, tooth-aching roar, prepared to tear this untimely illusion—and everything they represented—completely into shreds.
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