Chapter 236 The Miracle of the Mountains and the Oath of the Red Sand
When Angron Petra finally made up his mind to walk into the cave.
His body also seemed to be split into two halves of ice and lava by what he saw before him.
His heart pounded beneath his extraordinary sternum with some kind of destined joy, and his stomach felt as heavy as if it were filled with frozen acid, burning him from the inside.
The ten thousand years of experience in this vast, dark, and terrifying galaxy and the memory of meeting a certain brother not long ago were telling Angron loudly at the same time.
He would soon have to make a choice.
And not just once.
Because, although he has never met these people, he already knows who they are.
Fifty-six scarred slave gladiators were huddled tightly in a deep corner of the cave, their bodies wrapped in blood-stained rags from earlier dead, each struggling to survive. They stood up in the cold and hungry, grasped their weapons tightly, and pointed the tips of their weapons at this unusually tall and luxurious uninvited guest who walked in from the snow and wind.
"Who are you?! Are you a lackey or one of those nasty High Riders?! - No, it doesn't matter anymore! You are not one of ours! Go to hell!"
A hoarse female voice spoke in Nucerian with a heavy accent. What arrived faster than the words was a sharp spear thrust towards him at a fatal speed.
Angron stretched out his hand and stopped her attack with a speed that could not be caught by human eyes. He grabbed her leg - the sharp, blood-stained spear was tied with an adamantine chain. The Huntress's stump, her leg no doubt artificially removed, was then crudely strapped to its current weapon.
The reason why Huntress was able to quietly attack him from the corner was because the weapon that replaced the original position of her removed limb also came with a small anti-gravity engine, which obviously intercepted The person who took her limbs thought he had a rather interesting idea of turning a living person into a flying spear, and obviously didn't care how long the huntress with her limbs could survive like this, or whether it was easy to move around.
He grabbed her leg tightly, but with a force that would not hurt her. This was possible because his palms and fingers covered with exquisite and strong gold armor were so The land is wide and huge.
The Huntress's follow-up attack did not come as he expected.
He looked up.
His shining eyepieces were two sapphire-colored dots in her dark, shiny eyes.
A suspicious and frightened expression slowly began to twist her muscles and appeared on her dirty, exhausted face that was originally indifferent to death.
At that moment, Angron Petra suddenly realized that this woman should be very familiar - at least she must be familiar with someone's arm-to-palm ratio, strength and movement habits during a battle or competition. ——The body of the original body is so special that it is absolutely unmistakable even through a layer of metal armor.
"Is it you?" Her voice had a tremor, an incredible tremor, which at first sounded almost like surprise or surprise. But the attentive 12th Primarch immediately realized why her voice trembled: betrayal, the deepest betrayal.
At the same time, as Angron tried to use his powers, he also realized a worse problem that he had been strangely unaware of before: his own subtle and soothing ability seemed to follow the wind and snow. Most of it disappeared during the trek - or, in other words, it became as childish and primitive again as when he first started to master it.
A chill ran down his spine and into his gut, not even the power armor's temperature regulator working.
The blizzard outside the cave is still howling.
In the cave, he, she, and others were all holding their breath, waiting for his answer.
How many possibilities for the next line of dialogue can a Primarch calculate in a single breath?
Angron didn't know, but he was certain that one of his brothers might be amazed by the number of possibilities he was calculating in his mind at that moment before he answered.
Then these cold and exquisite calculations were hit by the searing wave of magma pouring out of his mind.
He opened his mouth.
I am not sure whether my vocal cords are driven by my own free will.
"Angron," he said.
His voice rumbled through the helmet's grille and echoed through the caverns of the rock, like some kind of miniature thunder.
There seemed to be the sound of crystals and bones breaking from a distant place, maybe a combination of both? Some kind or creatures screamed fate in the void. The final sounds of these three words melted into the cold, sour air like a sigh, and he saw faces on each face - some were middle-aged, some were childish - there were no faces of old gladiators here anymore - The red sand has already devoured most of them for the rest of their lives in advance - showing expressions of despair, anger, or hatred for the betrayers -
They tragically Howling and roaring, weapons were raised against him.
The Huntress writhed and struggled wildly in his grasp, attacking him with whatever she could: hands, feet, the chains that bound her weapons, or her teeth, even if they They can only leave slight traces on the surface of the original body's full armor, which can be wiped away with just one wipe.
"Angron Petra," he said.
The air froze, and the attacks and struggles stopped for a moment.
"Angron Petra." He repeated again, and at the same time he felt something painful and sharp covering the previous chill, burning up his spine and waist. .
Finally, the older man among them exchanged glances with the Huntress.
The tip of the weapon was slightly downward in a silent tacit understanding and signal, but it was still not put down.
"Cleist."
The huntress finally stopped struggling, she raised her head and said to the tall golden-armored giant.
Based on Angron's experience with mortals and the changes in the muscles in his hands, it was 80% likely that she had regained a certain level of sanity, enough to talk, so he let her go and looked at her carefully. He rotated the sharp spear on the top of his stump, inserted the tip into the ground, and then stood up straight in front of him.
"Kleist." He nodded to her gently.
She stretched out her hand to brush away the remaining frost, snow and water drops on his body, and the golden armor carved with piety and love emerged.
Kleist wrinkled his nose in disgust, "You look like those nobles we want to kill, shiny, expensive, and well-protected. That's not the Angron I know."
"But the Angron you know obviously doesn't have this name, does he?" He tried his best to add some soft emotions, and chose his most soothing voice to speak, which obviously had some effect, female The hunter hesitated and nodded.
“He—our Angron, his name is Angron Tarke.”
This name caused a ripple in Angron Petra’s heart , a kind of pain, extreme pain, moreover, extreme horror and disbelief. They are so intense that they arouse a kind of nameless rage against all oppression and injustice written into genes, just like a The first lesson a young child learns is to kill his own kind for the pleasure of others.
Kill! Kill! Kill!
Make everything red!
But he is Angron Petra. The Twelfth Primarch, leader of the Iron Hearts, and the proudest son and disciple of Julius Robert Omar. His brothers and heirs must still be waiting for him to return.
This cognitive spell that had been written into his mind since his adoption and education finally succeeded in suppressing the corrosive acid-like anger and murderous impulse, and his muscles returned to their proper state. state.
"So who are you? Are you Big Angron?" A boy among the slaves looked at him with his eyes that were too big due to hunger and exhaustion. He looked especially like this at this moment. A child.
He looked around again.
Most of these escaped slave gladiators were malnourished, hungry, shivering from the cold, and had almost no armor. Rags and chains constituted their body coverings. Some of them were even teenagers who had not yet grown into youth. If Without a miracle, their sixteenth summer would never have come.
"I am the miracle that someone owes his brothers and sisters."
Anggron answered.
Took off his helmet.
“I’m here to fulfill Hongsha’s oath.”
(End of this chapter)