Chapter 364: Your Friend, Angron
"Come in."
Angron opened the door before the Great Angel even had a chance to knock. The Lord of the Red Sands raised an eyebrow, silently staring at Sanguinius, who was awkwardly holding his hand in midair, a smile still forming on his face.
Angron had been inside reviewing battle reports—about the only thing still connected to combat that he was allowed to do after being forbidden from killing.
Then he sensed a fluffy bundle of emotions—unease, worry, irritation, resolve, and determination—hovering outside the door of the World Eaters' lounge.
Since this hovering had exceeded the maximum time Angron was willing to tolerate, he decisively opened the door, inviting the indecisive presence inside.
Angron irritably scratched his head. He could feel the oppressive atmosphere of the Nikaea theater: everyone was anxious, unsettled, tinged with a subtle pessimism and anger. To some extent, it affected Angron now that he could perceive emotions.
Maybe he should have just bared his teeth, let the Butcher's Nails grind, and kicked out this guy who was wandering around the World Eaters' lounge, staring at the boring landscape painting on the wall and trying to make small talk.
This brother was like a damned aristocrat, and Angron hated anyone who acted superior.
If Angron hadn't sensed even the slightest trace of arrogance in Sanguinius's heart, he would never have tolerated him staying this long.
Angron felt puzzled. What Sanguinius showed on the surface was completely different from what Angron sensed in his inner world. Even though he seemed to be trying his best to comfort himself, his heart was still restless and anxious.
Frowning, Angron dragged over two chairs. The chairs screeched sharply against the floor, finally making Sanguinius—who had been admiring the dull painting—turn his head.
"Sit."
Angron said gruffly. Sanguinius sat down in silence. The Great Angel seemed eager to speak, but Angron's abrupt behavior had clearly broken his train of thought, making him instinctively more cautious.
Angron snapped his fingers. To Sanguinius's surprise, a servitor arrived carrying a tray of desserts and tea. The Lord of the Red Sands growled another "Eat," then, without the slightest concern for the Great Angel, took a piece for himself.
The angel lifted his tea and smiled.
"Sanguinius, Primarch of the Blood Angels."
"Angron, World Eaters."
Angron extended a hand smeared with grease. The Great Angel's smile remained flawless as he reached out and shook it.
Angron's hand was rough, scarred, uneven with old wounds. The Lord of the Red Sands tightened his grip in open provocation.
The angel's smile did not change.
Angron released his hand. The Child of the Mountain spoke again, his tone now noticeably less aggressive.
"Brother, are you really a saint?"
Before Sanguinius could respond, Angron burst out laughing. He shook his hand dismissively.
"Good grip. So—tell me, my brother. What did you come here for? I don't know more about the Imperium than any of the rest of you."
The angel smiled softly and answered calmly,
"That is a misconception. Every brother has his own unique understanding of the Imperium. Even Horus, the first to return, cannot claim to know every detail of such a vast entity."
Angron looked away, casually grabbing another pastry.
"Enough nonsense, Sanguinius. If you have something to ask, ask it. I hate pleasantries. I grew up in a completely different environment from you people—Mortarion understands etiquette better than I do."
The corner of Sanguinius's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly—whether because of Angron, or because of the mention of Mortarion, it was hard to tell.
Then the Great Angel went straight to the point.
"I want to understand how you managed to get in contact with the Head of the Silent Sisterhood."
Angron froze. He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the Great Angel with a deep frown, as if straining to discern something.
At last, he asked softly,
"You're troubled on the psychic front—and you're worried the head of the Silent Sisterhood might come to pass judgment on you? Or is it some other psychic issue?"
A corner of the Great Angel's smile cracked. Angron heard, crisp and clear, what sounded like a faint groan from the cup in Sanguinius's hand.
The Lord of the Red Sands muttered,
"Good grip. Really good grip."
"I don't understand," Sanguinius said gently, "of how you know these things. As far as I know, you haven't had much interaction with the other Legions."
Angron shrugged indifferently and tapped his own head. The angel's gaze caught the profane mechanical implants there—chilling to behold even at a glance.
"You showed it yourself."
The Great Angel understood instantly. He blinked.
"Is this your ability, Angron?"
"So… unique?"
Angron grinned and pointed at the wings Sanguinius had awkwardly folded away so he could sit.
"Brother, you've got wings."
The Great Angel did not deny it.
"This is an ability He gave us."
Angron frowned again in confusion. What Sanguinius said didn't quite match the emotions Angron sensed from him.
But he tacitly skipped over the topic and laughed it off—a trick Angron had learned from Hades. He'd often seen Hades deftly use it to shift work onto Khârn and Lhorke.
Besides that, he'd learned quite a lot.
"Yes."
Angron said.
"So why are you looking for Hades? If you're worried about the Silent Sisterhood, then I can swear to you on my honor—so long as there's even a shred of possibility for salvation, the Silent Sisterhood will not choose destruction."
Angron lifted his teacup and drained it in one gulp.
Back then, he and the World Eaters had been a complete mess. Even after being pulled back from the brink, they were still badly damaged—hardly of much use to the Imperium. And yet Hades had still hauled them back.
But then… he thought of Magnus. That big red one was even more unfortunate than he was. Angron remembered the regret and terror he had sensed from him—but he would not pity those who crossed the red line of their own accord.
He slammed the cup down hard.
"Don't go poking at those things yourself."
He recalled the skull-and-blood hallucinations he had once endured. Staring at the hesitation in the Great Angel before him, he continued,
"Lies, excuses—they promise you whatever you want. Where in this world is there such a good deal?! You might as well go to the Emperor himself; I reckon he's quite fond of you. That'd still be more reliable than this nonsense."
Angron bared his teeth in a grin.
"But no matter how reliable that is, it's still not as reliable as that kid Hades."
He thumped his fist against his chest, a sign of his and the World Eaters' loyalty to Hades, then looked back at the Great Angel. Sanguinius's mental state was clearly much better now. Though he still looked confused and shocked, at least much of that wavering uncertainty had faded.
As expected of the perfect Great Angel, Angron thought to himself. When he had first returned to the Imperium, he had already heard of the angel's reputation—alongside Horus's.
Sanguinius looked at Angron as if awakening from a dream. He gazed at this brother who looked like a gladiator—but a gladiator who lived only to kill would never say such things.
The Great Angel spoke softly, "…Thank you for your guidance, Angron. I had thought this conversation would be very difficult."
Angron blinked, then let out a hearty laugh. He waved his hand, signaling that the angel could leave.
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