In high orbit above Nuceria, Angron's lieutenant frowned as he watched the planet below slowly drown in layers of spreading blood-red haze.
Though he knew it was improper, he could not help voicing his concern—earning displeased glances from nearby Word Bearers.
"Lord Lorgar Aurelian… are you sure this is truly necessary?"
He could not understand how slaughtering an entire planet would remove the Butcher's Nails from Angron's brain.
Lorgar didn't even turn his head. His answer was firm and absolute:
"No problem at all. This is a path Angron must walk."
"…"
Hearing this, and looking down at Angron—who had been killing nonstop for days yet remained completely uninjured—the lieutenant hesitated, but ultimately chose to observe a little longer.
If the situation truly became dangerous, he told himself, then even at the cost of angering Lorgar, he would forcibly extract Angron.
With his decision made, the ship fell silent again. Everyone stared intently at the lone Primarch raging across the planet's surface.
As for the fate of everyone else on Nuceria?
No one aboard cared.
To Lorgar, they were ignorant heretics—fit only to die.
To Angron's lieutenant, mass killing was normal; the World Eaters Legiones Astartes had already butchered many worlds during the Great Crusade.
---
The slaughter lasted for over a week.
In that time, Angron displayed the full extent of a Primarch's physical might. He was like an enormous, tireless meat-grinder—ripping apart every living thing on the planet with his bare hands.
By now, Nuceria was nothing but a world painted red. Land and sea alike were coated in viscous blood. Limbs, organs, and shredded flesh formed a pulped red paste that covered the entire globe.
A deep crimson radiance began to rise from this sea of gore, slowly coiling around Angron's body and obscuring his form.
Lorgar's eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
'It's time.'
He raised his right hand, revealing a quail-egg-sized blood-red crystal. After admiring it for a moment—with a touch of envy—he proclaimed:
"Let the ritual begin."
His brother, Angron of Nuceria, was about to shed his pain, claim exaltation, and transcend into something far beyond mortal limits.
The crystal dissolved into a streak of bloodlight and, crossing the vast distance instantly, branded itself onto Angron's skull before he could react.
"AAAAHHHH!!!"
His roar erupted like a semi-material shockwave—detonating outward with the force of a nuclear blast, clearing everything around him.
Across the corpse-paste coating the planet, twisting sigils began to surface.
Just like Arik Taranis before him, Angron had entered the process of Daemon Primarch Ascension.
The difference was scale: Arik had used tens of thousands of Thunder Warriors as the foundation for his ritual. Angron had slaughtered hundreds of billions of humans and uncounted beasts. In sheer numbers, he surpassed Arik—but in overall quality, there remained a gap.
Still—quantity had its own power.
As the ritual unfolded, a hazy silhouette pierced the material veil and appeared inside Angron's mind.
The lead performer had entered the stage.
To be perfectly honest, Orsaga had little personal interest in Angron. He regarded the Primarch with mild indifference.
But out of habit, he still asked casually:
"Want to be my hound?"
Unlike the other Chaos Gods—who loved false promises, vague temptations, and tricking mortals into unpaid labor—Orsaga was always direct.
A few words said everything.
Agree, and you serve. Refuse, and he brainwashes you.
No need for theatrics. He asked only to maintain the appearance of "polite procedure."
Even Angron—deep in madness—blinked in stunned confusion. Orsaga's blunt approach caught what little remained of his rational mind completely off guard.
At that moment, the ritual's power finally manifested. Angron's frenzied mind was forced into clarity. Thought and memory reassembled.
He was truly awake.
Orsaga yawned impatiently.
"Hurry up. I'm waiting for your answer~"
Inside his mental realm, Angron was overflowing with question marks. He had only just recovered his sanity and could not grasp what was happening.
With a sigh, Orsaga flicked a thread of information directly into Angron's consciousness—laying out the truth of the situation in simple, unavoidable clarity.
Moments later, Angron absorbed everything.
Never in his life had his mind felt so clear. His memories aligned; his anger, despair, and guilt sharpened into painful awareness.
After a long silence, he dropped to one knee.
"Your Majesty… I will serve you.
But I beg you—save my sons."
The brutal, raging Angron—who had often killed his own World Eaters in uncontrollable fits—felt overwhelming guilt now that his mind was restored.
He had forced them to install the simplified Nails; he had led them into becoming half-human monsters.
Hearing this plea, Orsaga simply nodded.
"Very well."
He snapped his fingers.
A flood of knowledge entered Angron's mind—a complete surgical method capable of removing the simplified Butcher's Nails from his Legionaries.
"Thank you for your generosity," Angron whispered.
And with that, he accepted the power of the ritual fully.
His body and soul began to shift—
The Primarch of the World Eaters ascended, at last, into a Daemon Prince.
....
🔥 Can't wait for the next chapter? Read ahead! 🔥
If you're loving the story, you can unlock 90+ ADVANCE CHAPTERS right now for just $4/month on my Patreon! Not only do you get a massive backlog to binge-read, but you also directly support my daily translation work. ❤️
👇 Grab your early access here:
🔗 [patreon.com/user?u=79514336]
(Or simply search for Translator-Sama on Patreon!)