Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

The twelfth beast was torn to pieces by Angron, its blood spilling in the hot sand. He held the mutated beast man's two horns and cracked them to both sides until the beast man's bloody scalp and half of his skull were torn off with great force.

Of course, maybe thirteen or fourteen, he didn't count.

Behind him was Onomamos, his mentor and the old man who was almost his father, and he and he were watching each other's backs. In today's battle, they fought side by side.

The roar of the beastman rang in his ears, turned into blood and entangled between his teeth, turned into a strong fishy smell, and flowed back into his racing heart.

Sometimes the beast in front of him seemed to have pointed ears, and sometimes it had the same hateful face as the high-ranking rider on the high platform.

He poured all his strength into the giant axe, which was almost a blunt instrument. The ax blade struck the beast man's left rib, cutting through the dark and sticky internal organs from the center, and the black iron cut off the purple-red ribs and skin. He cut into the red sand with a large splash of blood, and his organs fell into the red sand in piles.

Wails and roars vibrated from the throats of the beastmen and Angron at the same time, swirling smoke and dust.

"Angron!" Onomamos shouted, "Calm down!"

The giant's consciousness was whirling in his head, and he gradually re-divided his hand and the giant ax into two objects in his consciousness.

Different from the usual numbness, anger burned in Angron's heart, and strangely made him more awake. The smell of blood rushed from the tip of his nose to the bottom of his eyes, and he swung the giant ax until the beastman's blood stained the sand pit that was already soaked in blood.

The beast tide was gone, Onomamos was still behind him, breathing heavily, but still standing.

"What else?" Angron growled, "What else is about to be released?"

He knew that as long as their legs could support their bodies, the advanced riders would not give up.

The Maggot Eyes appeared high in the sky, and the host's dirty eyes flew down to the field. Angron's fingers trembled. If given a chance, he would immediately jump up and tear the machine into pieces. But he couldn't - because Onomamos was still behind him.

"What an excellent battle, friends, how do you evaluate the undefeated Angron, or our old bear Onomamos in Ulcham! Today our Angron Talk has an unusual temper. !”

The crowd erupted in cheers, and countless thumbs-up fists were extended, like a ridiculous ritual of stupidity. A wave of joy came from all directions, like electricity penetrating through his hands and feet. Today, he resisted the sentiment.

"But there is no need to be sorry, friends of Desia, because today's competition is not over yet!"

The sharp voice of the Maggot Eyes buzzed into Angron's hearing range, and his nails, which had been broken and restored many times, dug into the wooden handle of the battle axe.

"We also have a special gift that is worthy of your condescension and worthy of every particularly noble audience. The gladiators will show all their martial arts, howls of pain, tenacity and death for them!"

The weak slaves who were shackled layer by layer pressed their bony hands on the huge cold iron. The huge door was opened in the red sand pit, and two burly monsters similar to Angron came out of the prison behind the door. out.

The human skins hung weakly on the spikes of their black iron armor, and a pair of sharp iron horns stood up on their heads to form two opposing scimitars, stained ocher by the solidified blood. These are the two horns of Nuceria's vertical crown, symbolizing slaughter.

"Introducing to you, these are our star fighters, Ilknis and Turgidon from the Deep Prison!"

As two giant mutated beastmen walked toward the two gladiators on top of the mountain of corpses, the crowd cheered even more enthusiastically. Onomamoth's leather-clad arm touched Angron as he grasped the long handle of the weapon backwards.

"Deep Cell Fighter," Onomamos said. "The Butcher's Nail."

Butcher's Nails - Angron saw the cables hanging from the heads of the two Deep Prisoners. This eternal slave certificate of Nuceria, the metal spike that penetrates the scalp, penetrates into the brain like an iron parasite, churning everything left of a person in the skull into a mixture of blood and gray matter.

Endless pain will permanently drive the carrier of the Butcher's Nail, and all emotions except anger will be washed away. At first, the warrior will have no other emotions except bloodlust. Later, when the warrior's spirit dies prematurely, this craving will disappear. The blood will disappear as well.

"They can't knock us down, Onomamos," Angron said, casting a quick glance high into the stands.

He needs a time to start preparing. Sooner or later, when his brothers and sisters are ready, he will raise the flag of rebellion. He will.

"They're intimidating," Onomamos said. "And we're invincible."

Angron took a breath, blood filling his mouth. The "they" that Onomamos refers to are not the same person as Angron thinks, but Angron does gain more determination from it.

The old warrior tapped his shield with his sword, walked straight towards the deep cell warrior, and shouted loudly: "May you rest in peace, slave of fate!"

Angron waited for his one to approach, and then for the moment when swords and axes would be exchanged.

He observed, slashed, and the iron braid of the Butcher's Nail flashed past. The skull hanging on the black armor was chopped into pieces by an axe, and blood spattered. The left abdomen to the shoulder blade was chopped open, and he was injured at the same time. The Butcher's Nail reflected red light, Cut off, block, roar, spray out blood foam, and block Onomamos's fatal blow. He dealt with the enemy in front of him methodically, and his anger became the driving force for dissection, hidden deep in the trembling teeth.

The Deep Prison Fighter fell, and Angron threw away a piece of the beastman's spine that he had dug out in his hand, and squatted down to support Onomamos, who was injured to the point of being unable to stand upright, ignoring the crowd's cheers that shook the clouds. The old warrior needed rest, and Angron hoped that today's battle would be over.

But the maggot eyes are still circling.

"Dear viewers, have you all in Desia enjoyed today's gift? Our two warriors, beloved stars, tore two deep-dwelling fighters apart!"

The roars of joy gathered into a frenzy of collective consciousness, shaking the red sand that was full of blood.

"So, do you guys want to see, between our two warriors, who is the real darling of fate? Who can kill whom in a death duel!"

Onomamos struggled to raise his head in surprise, a clear understanding of fate flashed in his eyes.

He put his hand on Angron's arm: "I hope you will be favored by fate in the future battles, my warrior."

"No!" Angron suddenly roared loudly.

Kill his mentor, his companion, his father?

No!

He gripped the giant ax tightly, standing on the bones and blood sea of ​​corpses and roaring, staring straight at the high platform at the top of the arena.

It was only then that he realized that he had made a mistake - what a bullshit patient preparation, what a fucking patience and compromise, what a bullshit escape and retreat! Look what he got. If you resist, you will die. If you don't resist, can you live? Destiny's darling?

He has been a slave to fate for half his life! Did his companions survive? His despair cannot buy even a fresh life!

Deep in his bleeding heart, a thin thought emerged from the broken scars.

If he died here today, no one would suffer because of him. The brothers and sisters in the cave are his shackles, and he is not their shackles.

"Oh, our star baby is going to oppose us," Maggot Eyes sneered sharply, "Listen to what he has to say? 'No, this old man is my dear companion,' he is going to cry!"

What do I say? The High Rider is waiting for me to speak, Angron thought. Every syllable that comes out of my mouth is just fodder for the audience's amusement, so why should I waste my time talking!

He looked around. Before thought, his fighting instinct offered him a path that had been waiting there for many years, a path that had been clouded by reason and deep sorrow, and now it was so clear.

The bones that have not been cleaned today are a natural bunker, and the beastman's huge frame and hardened skin are the best shields. If he charges to the left, the spikes in the field will be the first springboard. He will find the space between the spikes to land and jump out on the strong wooden spikes. His jumping power is enough to let his fingers get stuck in and put sulfuric acid. The mouth of the pipe, as long as he pulls himself up the pipe quickly enough, the next landing point will be the unrepaired crack in the brick wall, and the next landing point...

Grandstand. The word popped into his head, but the stands were still not the highest point he could reach.

Along the walls of the stands, he could run faster than bullets, and the highest gilded platform was close at hand.

Is there any difference between the pointed-eared head that fell to his feet like the most fragile tumbleweed in the night yesterday and the slave owner on the high platform today that is greater than the difference between heaven and earth?

There was a vibration in his chest, and the rush of blood drowned out the jeers and cries of the crowd. He heard some trivial buzzing sounds, like the most annoying mosquitoes and flies, laughter and cruel catcalls sliding across his body, flowing into the bloody new wounds, turning into anger and melting into the flesh.

An old hand forcefully patted his arm. It was not the care of the elders for their descendants, but the strength of encouragement between warriors.

Onomamos looked at Angron intently. Angron didn't know what he saw in his brass irises. He only saw a kind of light shining in the old warrior's eyes.

Then Onomamos gave him a gentle pat. "Go ahead."

Angron roared angrily, and suddenly smashed the maggot's eyes with his axe, jumped out of the pile of corpses and ran quickly. With the crowd shouting in absurd excitement, within a second, he crossed half the court and jumped onto the nail pillar. Blood spurted out from the soles of his feet cut by the spikes and dripped in the air.

He grabbed the nail pillar and twisted his body, then kicked up hard, and the blood-stained high wall of the pit flew towards Angron. His fingernails scraped against the concrete surface.

The crowd's voice changed, "Execute him", "Kill him", "How dare he", their screams were finally filled with fear.

Angron's expression was distorted by the joy and sorrow that were born at the same time, and the beast's face was reflected in the twisted surface of the metal pipe.

If he died here today, he would have at least accomplished something that no one has accomplished in decades.

He turned over and jumped over the high wall, unaware of the pain of the laser penetrating his blood vessels. The wind from high in the arena blew through his hot blood, and the audience who were no taller than his waist fled in all directions. He was surprised that these high-ranking trash could be so small, and he couldn't help bursting into laughter.

The high platform fell back under his feet, "Nail", someone shouted tremblingly, "Shame", a word floated into his ears.

What is shame? Cowards who feed on the emotions of the weak are the disgrace of the world!

He had no time to tear apart the spectators who were feasting on human blood in the gladiatorial arena, not because of mercy - he had given up mercy today, and the extravagant emotion was crying in his arteries. He had no time to do anything, because the high-ranking knight on the gilded platform was about to escape.

His body shook violently, his joints cracked, and the bullet broke one bone, maybe more. Of course, he didn't count.

"Coward!" he yelled, jumping towards the golden platform like a wild beast. What a pity that the leader of the Tarc family is not here, and the king of Nuceria is not here!

Angron slammed into these slave owners who were as panicked as ants with all his strength, and their bodies turned into multi-section corpses under his axe. Blood rained down and minced meat fell, and more flesh and blood trophies gathered into piles. The dream of last night was brought into reality by him today. His giant ax was pulled back by the chain wrapped around his arm just before it slipped out of his wet hands. His fist penetrated into the dirty internal organs and crushed the head just as he did. Just like I did with that tribute last night.

A wave of weakness rippled through his body, and his body was breaking. The next moment, he fell to the ground, and blood flowed into the gaps in the high platform.

Angron grabbed a handful of the slave owner's flesh, bit it into pieces and spit it out, breathing heavily.

If he died here today, his message would be buried for the sake of the slave owner's face. But all the slaves can find that more than ten masters of the arena have never appeared again.

All the slaves could tell from the horror of the audience who the undefeated Angron killed in the end.

He took out the ax from the bones and looked at the last slave owner who was slumped in the corner with squinting eyes filled with blood. Then, Angron grinned.

"How many beasts have I killed?" he asked, then threw the ax and shattered the man's ribcage. "One more."

The speed of his confusion was accelerating, and dark shadows filled his brain. He thought of Onomamos, and then he found himself unexpectedly at peace. His anger was violently burned away, and the remaining ashes formed part of his severely wounded body. His wounds never truly healed, either physically or mentally.

High mountains, a blur of his childhood, are captured, he gets a name at the top of a pool of acid, Onoma Moss grabs the boy's hand, he falls to his knees, the chains bind his hands, the beast sheds its long Teeth, the broken leg of Kleist dancing on the blade, pain, some wails, twenty-four slaves died in the battle, broken red bones and blood, the stakes on him are getting higher day by day, flowers are scattered, gold coins are thrown , dead man, Yochuka huddled in the cave and shivered.

"Kill him, damn it, he's out of control!"

"He can't die! I bet three hundred gold coins!"

"Nail, nail him! He must pay his debt!"

"Wait, what are those?"

He barely discerned, recognizing the words of hate floating from the depths of darkness. Nail... No, he would not be a slave anymore. it's over. It's all over.

Angron dragged himself back to retrieve his battle ax and pointed the sharp fray on the blunt blade at his throat. The blood from his mouth stained the axe.

If he died here today, he would rest in peace. Although there are still regrets that cannot be made up for.

It seemed like fire was raining down from the sky. It seemed that visions of death had seized upon him. He took a shaky breath, the sounds and colors leaving him.

"Stop him! Quick!" A strange voice sounded, with the unique aura of a superior person. Angron could no longer laugh.

The next moment, lightning exploded in front of his eyes, and at the last moment before he lost consciousness, he slammed into his own axe.