Chapter 244 Ariadne’s Ball of Thread
“Damn it, why did I encounter an unknown reason again this time... Sigh! It’s actually a red... dog... no... face... I hope An... persists ...Choose...Hurry up..."
Hurry up?
He blinked and subconsciously tightened his grip as he was told, and then he found that he touched a "thread" in his palm, just like Ariadne's thread in the ancient myth, an invisible "thread" " Gradually "proposing" it with him forward, like something emerging from the water, and like passing through a maze of ten thousand years in a single glance.
The familiar and close voice faded away, as if there was another female voice calling his name loudly.
Someone is trying to take him back.
He thought.
I want to persist.
I must persist.
My heart will be like pure steel, carrying forward the past and linking the future.
——————
Where is this?
Before his feet touched the ground and the fog dissipated, Angron Petra smelled the special and unbelievable smell of death, blood and betrayal of genetically modified humans.
The "thread" that guided him just now also disappeared.
Now he holds his ax in his palm, the weight of the weapon is heavy in his hand, and the power source vibrates with a reassuring response.
Should it be said or not, the thread connecting Angron Petra to the "point" where he came from becomes stronger and more perceptible with every action and choice he makes. , and also made the wandering conquering king more and more confident in his actions.
What he sees and hears every time he appears and the fluctuations in human emotions still arouse his sympathy and empathy, but his iron heart gives him the logic of calm analysis, which allows him to better Distinguishing the "positive order" and "negative chaos" in emotions is like dividing a glass of suspension into two layers: the same thing but clearly separated.
It took him a long, long time and the cost of countless lives to learn how to use his power properly, and this journey through time and space seemed to be re-tempering and annealing for him. His power Although not as good as before, it is more pure, clear and ingenious.
He heard a voice covered in blood echoing in the ruins and blood mist of the battlefield. It roared, this kind of fighting is shameful! No virtue! No amount of praise and praise of wealth, land and holiness can hide that it is just to rob others and deprive others of their freedom! Worthless! Glory, honour, and conquest are as meaningless! This is selfish evil for the sake of one's own desires! This is the crusade that drives the fool! This is not the fight I want!
No glory! No conquests! Never be a slave!
There is only one thing in this world worth fighting for!
What does it mean to kill aliens and aliens? You should go and fight with your kind, this is a fair fight!
Do you understand? ! I'm free now, free!
At first, the Iron-Hearted Benevolent One didn't say anything when he heard the roar of the voice, but gradually his brows furrowed.
"It does seem that you have your own seemingly noble reasons, but," Angron Petra said softly, "Who wants to fight this? If everything is meaningless. , Who are you fighting for? For whom are your weapons roaring, and for whom are you plundering lives and blood? Is it unjust to deprive freedom and wealth, because I want to gain justice and freedom by retaliating against an individual? Is it meaningful and not evil to take away the lives of others and even similar people in the name of others? - So, have you ever thought about what you were fighting for after you died there? "
The voice of the Supreme Tyrant of Iron Heart gradually became sharper and heavier, "Your reason sounds bluffing at first glance, but it is simply untenable, because it is a drive imposed on you, and you have given the painful whip to someone." A cover-up rhetoric that makes you instinctively feel better."
He straightened up and began to walk around the ruins, leaving his tall form completely exposed to the barricades and the hills of more Space Marine corpses. in the ruins.
“You have never understood what it is that you are fighting for. Only you think that it is 'freedom' and 'fairness'. This really cannot be blamed on you, because you have been... from the beginning... I didn't get the chance to understand their nature. I'm sorry, and I'm even more sorry that I couldn't let you see them, but I should be able to do something this time so that you can be 'free'. "
Yes, Angron Petra knows where this is.
Istvan III.
————
He travels through bombings, battles, cousins and the murder of humans.
Every step he takes is very steady. Anyone who tries to get close to him will be bounced away by the barrier formed by the powerful mind. This phenomenon makes more Space Marines who are fighting notice him.
Beautiful royal purple with gold, sons of Fulgrim; twilight and aqua are the children of Mortarion; and some fight alongside them, against others wearing the same splatter The milky white and blue power armor full of blood are loyal iron - no, loyal World Eaters.
Angron Petra's eyes swept across the broken, blurred, bloody mouths that clenched the blue-green earth. It's really strange that no one realizes the meaning of this pattern so that it can be openly painted on the shoulder armor of soldiers?
The loyalists watched him warily and hovered around him.
“Who are you?!”
Someone asked.
He didn't answer immediately, but he knew there must be some meaning to his presence here.
"Father...?"
His eyes turned to a section of ruins, and the red-haired demigod immediately knew why he appeared here and now.
At the base of the wall there, there is a tenacious warrior leaning on it, slowly losing his life by the second.
This conclusion can be drawn immediately by just glancing at the missing half of his body, the intestines flowing all over the floor, and the white stubble of bones poking into the air, and Angron Pei Terra also judged more painfully that the strength and size of this section could very well have only been cut by his genetic father's own hands.
The soldier whose face was stained with blood was staring at him closely with his only remaining eye. The dying man's unusual willpower concentrated on maintaining his short existence.
He should be dead, but he's not.
——
Angron noticed that his only remaining hand held a bolter tightly.
He had no doubt who the gun was intended to shoot at.
Behold, Angron Tark, this is the support given to him by the weak and the glory that you spurn.
Are they really weak and meaningless?
——
"Father...? Is it you...?"
The centurion exhaled his last few breaths with blood from his throat.
"I'm here, Koragg." Angron replied as softly as possible. The reason and calmness in his voice made the World Eater warrior's remaining eyes shine.
He took off his helmet, revealing the face of a leader, the red hair and the delicate horned crown of a sage, and leaned over the body of his dying child, paying no heed to the gasps, exclamations, or cries of the others.
He saw the opponent's hand holding the gun slowly let go.
The bloodshot one eye desperately and disbelievingly searched his hair and scalp for any trace of those implant regulating valves-those things that looked like cables.
"No..." The centurion inhaled desperately, the tremor of death had come, and that would undoubtedly be the last breath of air he took.
“Nothing…Great…Father…”
The centurion breathed his last, tired, slow breath.
His eyes are looking at the sky quietly at this moment, without reluctance, confusion or sadness. The darkness is still there, but hope still exists, which is good——
His eyelids slowly The ground closed——
Until Angron put his hand on his chest.
(End of this chapter)