A massive beam of light struck the planet's surface like a celestial meteor. In an instant, the fragile planetary defenses shattered into pieces. What once stood as orbital shield systems, plasma artillery towers, and escort fleets were now nothing more than scorched ruins.
Against the overwhelming destructive power of the Imperium Caelestis Navy's weapons, the pirates and mercenaries were like a panicked swarm of ants. They could fight, of course—but their resistance was meaningless.
From the gaping sky, Kenthelion descended.
Leading eight Emperor's Shadow Guards and twenty-four Royal Guards, he enveloped them all in a swirling aura of Aetherion energy—a psionic light shimmering like condensed auroras. In a flash, they dropped from orbit, pierced the atmosphere like falling stars, and landed amidst the chaos of battle.
"What is that...?"
Croco, a stubborn mercenary captain, gawked. Before him stood a golden giant descending from the heavens. He didn't know who this being was—but instinct told him one thing for sure: this was the end.
Kenthelion wore an Aurelius-Class Warplate, imperial golden armor that gleamed under the smoky sky. Standing nearly five meters tall, his body was a fusion of genetic perfection and war machine. In his left hand, he wielded the Emperor Sword—a relic blade charged with psionic energy, glowing like a miniature sun.
"Warning!"
A shout from one of Croco's guards rang out in panic.
As the Shadow Guards and Royal Guards landed, the maroon-armored sentries quickly reacted. They raised their weapons and formed ranks—but it was futile.
"Kill all aliens!"
Kenthelion's voice rang clear, authoritative, as if spoken from the heavens themselves.
In an instant, his elite forces spread out across the battlefield. Spear-wielding guards clad in maroon armor embossed with the Imperium Caelestis emblem surged forward. Every thrust and swing of their vibro-blades felled dozens of foes. Bodies burned, were sliced apart, and flung through the air like ragdolls.
Most terrifying were those wielding high-level psionic powers. With a single wave of their hand, they turned enemy squads into clouds of blood mist. The gladiatorial arena transformed into an altar of redemption, filled with flames and screams.
---
At the center of the arena, Kenthelion approached two fallen figures: Angron—the Twelfth Primarch—and beside him, the old, severely wounded gladiator Oenomaus.
Calmly, Kenthelion knelt and channeled Aetherion energy from his hands into their bodies. Golden-blue light spread like warm water, merging with open wounds, repairing torn muscle tissue and soothing shattered nerves.
In his mind, Kenthelion murmured,
"Oenomaus..."
He recognized the name. In his memories—now inhabited by fragments of the Emperor of Mankind's consciousness—Oenomaus was the wise gladiator who once guided young Angron. Not just a mentor, but a father figure deeply respected by the fiery Primarch.
"You'll be alright," Kenthelion whispered, his words carried by Aetherion directly into Angron's mind.
At that moment, a long-buried memory flared within the Primarch.
"Father?"
Angron's voice trembled with doubt, then surged with emotion. He rose, his massive, three-meter-tall frame shaking. His steps were resolute, a boiling mix of rage and longing.
Without warning, he charged at Kenthelion and... hugged him.
Yes, hugged him—a rare gesture from a war beast known only for anger and suffering.
Kenthelion nearly stumbled.
His "normal" body—although enhanced and upgraded countless times by systems and supradimensional technology—was no match for the raw sincerity of a Primarch's embrace.
"What the hell is this... A giant musclebound Primarch calling me 'father'? And worse... I might not even be able to take him if he loses control!"
Kenthelion stood frozen, his mind blank for a few seconds as he tried to process the absurd reality.
Yet deep down... he knew. This was more than a hug. This was the beginning of something far greater.
And he must not fail.
Kenthelion did not forget his purpose.
He embraced Angron—not just to mask the awkwardness, but because within his heart stirred a genuine affection. Not instinct... but resolve. If he must be a father, he would be the best father a Primarch of iron blood ever knew.
He was Kenthelion. The incarnation of the Emperor of Mankind.
Though he had never truly been a father before, today... he had to pretend. And like all good lies, he wrapped it in love that looked real.
> "Father... I want to lead my comrades to overthrow the slave masters. I hope you—"
Before Angron could finish, Kenthelion answered with a gentle smile.
> "I will do anything to help you, my son."
His tone was sincere. That smile... a classic fatherly smile. Warm. Heroic. Deceptive.
Because being a father, to him, was a mission.
---
Then Angron stood and raised both arms, his voice echoing across the arena:
> "Gladiators! We are fed up with the tyranny of the slave masters!
We were born from blood, raised in darkness...
But we will die as free men!!
Humans will never be slaves!!!"
> "FOR THE EMPEROR!!!"
His roar shook the earth.
And as the echoes of that speech still vibrated, from another side of the arena—
BOOM! An explosion rocked the entrance.
> "FATHER! WE'RE HERE!!"
Dozens of towering figures clad in blazing red armor stormed in. They were a storm of flesh and steel—muscular, powerful, and... deafening. Each wielded chain swords, magnetic axes, and fiery spirits. They shouted one word:
> "FAAAATHERRRR!!!"
Angron froze. His red eyes widened.
> "...Since when did I have this many kids?"
He stared at them as if watching a parade of aliens from an alternate reality. Their bodies looked similar. Their energy was the same. But... since when did he have adult children with horned helmets and shoulders as wide as a battleship's hull?
Before him, the crowd looked like angry, living, twisted melons and cracked dates.
Kenthelion smiled, patting Angron's shoulder like a wise mentor.
> "They are the result of Project Genesis Astartes.
I created them from your genes. Technically...
They are your children."
Inside, Kenthelion smiled with satisfaction.
> "Hehe... I deliberately brought them together. Angron must be so confused. Rarely do you see a traitorous Primarch this devoted. Not even in the real world."
---
Amid the chaos, Croco—the mercenary captain—watched Kenthelion stand in the battlefield's heart like a god amidst flames.
His eyes bulged.
> "W-wait… that's... the Emperor of the Human Empire...!"
His legs gave out. He collapsed to the ground, trembling violently. It felt like death was standing on his ribs.
Kenthelion turned. His gaze pierced Croco like a superdense plasma beam.
> "Is he... your slave master?"
Kenthelion's eyes glowed golden, pupils filled with Aetherion. That light was more than light—it was judgment.
"Yes," the alien Croco answered with a trembling voice.
After hearing Angron's response, a red-armored World Eaters Legion guard stepped forward. With overwhelming strength, he dragged Croco before Kenthelion.
"Angron, your ability is to absorb others' painful emotions," Kenthelion said while pinching Croco with one hand.
Speaking as he did, Kenthelion unleashed spiritual energy to extract Croco's soul. Forcefully, he drove the soul into the fiery sword held in his other hand.
"His soul will be trapped in this blade forever, burned by an unquenchable flame."
In no time, Kenthelion demonstrated mastery over Aetherion energy. Stripping a soul from a body was as simple as pouring water.
"Kahn, bring me these three weapons: Blood Son, Blood Father, and Hate Furnace."
Kenthelion looked at Kahn beside him. Without hesitation, Kahn produced the weapons. Blood Father and Blood Son were massive chain axes. Their blades were forged from the teeth of the Mica Dragon, a monstrous creature from the death world Luther McIntyre IX, and their handles made from unmatched adamantine. The Forge of Hate was a high-tech plasma pistol.
Angron lifted the weapons, weighing them comfortably several times before firmly gripping them.
"You may leave after you finish killing Angron. Of course, bring your brothers with you."
Kenthelion had no intention of staying long. His main forces still fought in the outer regions, and he only brought one squad for this mission. The goal was clear: to take Angron away.
"I understand, Father," Angron replied while continuing to slaughter enemies from afar.
Trained from birth with psionic powers able to sense and absorb negative emotions nearby, Angron transformed empathy into strength. Not a weakness, but an advantage that made him a compassionate leader.
Unfortunately, The Old Seer arrived too late.
"Hmph," he sighed coldly. "If only he'd come sooner..."
Kenthelion exhaled heavily, remembering Angron's tragic past. But this world was different. That tragedy would never repeat. Angron remained a kind older brother.
"But what about the Butcher's Claw?"
Yang Cheng pulled a slaughterer's spike nearly embedded in Angron's head from the ground. He pondered ways to torture the alien further.
"Take that human slave away, and once Angron has his revenge, bring him too."
Kenthelion issued his order calmly before boarding his ship again. Of course, Oenomaus went with them. The poor gladiator would spend his twilight years in the capital of the Terra Aeterna Empire.
"The courage that devours worlds!"
Kahn charged after Angron onto the battlefield, his heart blazing with excitement. Ahead of them, their genetic father had fully recovered—standing tall and terrifying. Now, Kahn could finally boast in front of the Smurfs and the rest of the Space Marine Legions—especially the Ultramarines—that he had a father. Something not everyone could claim.
As the alien war cries echoed endlessly across the field, enemies on the planet fell one by one. When the battle ended, Angron was retrieved once more by Kenthelion.