Cold, cruel.
The emotions that had just surfaced in the Emperor's heart were indeed felt as genuine by Angron.
Angron was horrified to realize that, despite his heart being filled with hatred for the Emperor, when the Emperor showed some sincerity, displaying deep helplessness and pain, Angron instinctively felt a sense of pity.
It could even be said that Angron felt a surge of "love" for his father.
This was unimaginable; the Emperor was the object of Angron's hatred, yet Angron was almost seduced by his spirit, feeling an instinctive love for him.
It wasn't until the Emperor spoke, expressing his desire for Angron to become his tool again, that Angron suddenly sobered up.
Everything the Emperor had just shown was merely because such displays were more efficient and beneficial to humanity.
Everything he said to Angron was to treat Angron as a tool, and a repaired tool at that.
His view of Angron was no different from ten thousand years ago; it was just that Angron was a damaged tool then, and now Angron was a repaired tool, nothing more.
"False Emperor!!!"
The coldness in Angron's heart prompted him to let out a low growl, questioning the Emperor:
"My only answer is that I will not be your slave!!"
"You shaped me as a slave, and you still expect me to work for you?!"
The desiccated corpse stared coldly at Angron; no emotion could be discerned in his hollow eyes.
"I never saw you as a slave; you are a tool."
"My original purpose in shaping you was also to allow your brothers and myself to become qualified tools."
"You can perceive the emotions in other people's hearts, whether good or bad, and you can alleviate these emotions."
"Whether it's pain, pride, doubt, hesitation, arrogance, stubbornness... you can eliminate all of these."
"If you hadn't been damaged, Fulgrim, Mortarion, Perturabo... many Primarchs would not have fallen, and I would not have hesitated several times about you during the Great Crusade."
"Unfortunately, the Gods determined that your existence would hinder their corruption of other Primarchs, and they manipulated fate to turn you into a slave."
Ten thousand voices intertwined, the Emperor's tone almost flat as he corrected Angron.
It was the Gods who turned Angron into a slave; the Emperor never viewed Angron as a slave.
Angron was merely a tool; the Emperor hoped he wouldn't overthink it.
Angron's eyes were wide with rage; if not for the Momotaro Maruko suppressing him, he would have rushed forward and choked the Emperor.
"I know, you hate me—no, not you; you no longer have the capacity for hatred."
"It is humanity that hates me; how many people did I kill ten thousand years ago? How many worlds did I slaughter?"
The Lord of the Red Sands gritted his teeth and questioned:
"You don't care about me; you treat me as a tool, but what about the mortals?"
"The souls of the dead hate me, and those who escaped my grasp still curse me."
"What will be their feelings when they see me return to the Imperium?"
"It doesn't matter; you were equally not respected by mortals ten thousand years ago." The Emperor's voice overlapped as he answered Angron's question: "What matters is that in my prophecy, the Red Angel will lead humanity to find the path to the future."
This was a prophecy the Emperor had made earlier when he communicated with Alexander.
In this prophecy, the Red Angel, Angron, would be the key to guiding the fate of the galaxy.
"I know nothing of the galaxy's fate."
Angron replied coldly:
"I have only two fates for myself."
"Either you execute me, or I will go to the planet with the most slaves and lead them in rebellion against their masters until everything is destroyed."
The moment Angron finished speaking, he suddenly fell silent.
Then the Emperor also seemed to fall silent for a moment.
Then both of them simultaneously looked at Alexander, who was sitting in the corner, munching on a dorayaki, watching the Emperor and Angron argue.
They both seemed to have just remembered that Angron's control was in Alexander's hands.
The Momotaro Maruko was his tool.
The choice of whether to kill Angron or use Angron was not Angron's own, nor the Emperor's, but only in Alexander's hands.
"And you?"
Angron's voice was hoarse:
"What kind of Honored God are you? As cruel as the Emperor? As without choice as the Emperor?"
"I am not a God." Alexander stuffed the dorayaki into his mouth and stared at Angron as he replied.
He was indeed thinking about how Angron would guide the fate of the galaxy.
Angron was not Sanguinius or Konrad Curze, possessing extraordinary prophetic abilities.
The ability the Emperor bestowed upon him was essentially the ability to heal minds.
How could this ability guide the future of the galaxy?
After pondering for a while, Alexander felt he might have fallen into a trap of thought.
Perhaps the key was not Angron's ability, but Angron's own… value?
The Emperor probably had similar thoughts to Alexander.
His words just now were cold and emotionless, seemingly pushing Angron to return to the Imperium and serve it.
But he spoke too stiffly, almost as if provoking Angron to make a different choice, to make Angron place his hope in Alexander.
In fact, in Alexander's view, there was no option for Angron to return to serve the Imperium anyway.
The Momotaro Maruko that Khârn fed Angron had a time limit; it only lasted for thirty minutes.
A Momotaro Maruko without a time limit was frighteningly expensive.
Although there were other ways to continue controlling Angron later, they were never as secure as the Momotaro Maruko.
It would be better to…
"I have a compromise."
A slight smile appeared on Alexander's lips: "I can let Angron die, ending your bitter life."
Saying this, Alexander glanced at Angron, then turned to look at the Emperor: "Or I can let Angron dedicate his value to the Imperium, to humanity."
"Angron, are you willing to enter my pocket?" Alexander asked with a smile.
Angron was stunned for a moment, and then, a moment later, Angron perceived some of Alexander's inner thoughts, perceived Alexander's emotions, and understood the general function of the four-dimensional pocket on Alexander's belly.
A slight smile appeared on the Lord of the Red Sands' lips.
This choice seemed much better to him.
Although he didn't know where that pocket would lead, in Angron's view, even death was better than being the Emperor's tool in this world.
"I accept." For the first time in his life, the Lord of the Red Sands decided his own fate; even if this fate might be complete death, Angron still accepted it.
The Lord of the Red Sands walked up to Alexander.
Alexander nodded slightly at him, grabbed Angron's arm, and pulled him into the four-dimensional pocket.