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Corax frowned in thought, his eyes running over the dataslate containing his new orders in spite of his perfect recall already committing them to memory. He had been occupied with organizing the gathering of his forces when the Astropaths reported that they had received new orders, so he had sent his equerry to hear them on his behalf, and return with a dataslate. The moment he laid eyes on them, it had left a bad taste in his mouth.
The World Eaters, He thought, turning the name over in his mind. He decided that he disliked it. It was so brutal, so needlessly violent. They were soldiers, yes, designed from birth to be perfect killers, but they were also so much more. They had a duty, to lift humanity out of their ignorance, and bring them under the fold of the Imperium.
He suspected the World Eaters cared very little for the betterment of humanity. He had heard…rumors, nearly as soon as the Emperor had found him. The World Eaters were the most recent legion to have found their Primarch before him, and much of the legion gossip centered around their reputation.
And they had garnered quite the reputation indeed. Corax had discounted most as baseless rumor at first, refusing to think so little of one of the Emperor's own gene-sons, one of his brothers. But the rumors never ceased, and he had slowly felt his faith in his brother erode. None of the others he had spoken with denied his deeds, and he could maintain his idealism for only so long.
Corax hadn't actually met his brother yet, but he had fought with a company of his legion, back when he still served directly under Horus.
Their brutality, their savagery, their sheer disregard for their own lives had shocked him. He was a Primarch, bred for war, and had conquered worlds in his fathers name, commanding the most lethal warriors the galaxy had ever known. And still they had shocked him.
He had spoken with Horus after they achieved compliance, desperately needing to know what drove his brother's warriors to such recklessness. It was then that he learned of his brothers legion, of his past.
A slave, forced almost from birth to compete in some vile bloodsport for the entertainment of the wealthy and powerful of his homeworld. Special implants had been hammered into his brain, robbing all emotion except hate from him, only granting relief when he gave in to its artificially induced bloodlust.
He had grown enraged on his brother's behalf, when Horus had told him. He was well acquainted with slavers. He learned of Angron's rebellion, and he couldn't resist drawing the obvious parallel to his own uprising on Deliverance.
Only, his own endeavor had fared somewhat more successfully. His anger faded as Horus spoke further, replaced with a dawning horror. The Butcher's Nails, as they were called, made any sort of coordination difficult, and his brother hadn't likely cared to organize a proper rebellion. He was angry, he wanted blood.
Angron and his band of former slaves roamed from city to city, razing each one they came across to the ground. But their enemies were better equipped, better organized, more plentiful. Little was spoken about the final confrontation itself, but from what Horus had gathered, Angron and his followers had been driven into one last, bloody battle, one they knew they couldn't win.
At the zenith of the battle, Angron had been teleported onto the Emperor's flagship. His warriors were not.
Corax believed in the Emperor. He believed in the Imperium, in the Great Crusade, and what it sought out to achieve. He truly did. He was also not blind to the irony of it all. He was a liberator at heart, and yet he brought countless worlds to compliance, whether they willed it or no.
It was necessary, he would tell himself, on those rare days when his doubts crept into his heart. And he believed it. Humanity needed to be united, to survive the untold horrors the galaxy offered. He trusted the Emperor. He trusted his father.
But no matter how he tried to frame it in his head, no matter how his enhanced mind tried to consider it, he couldn't fathom why The Emperor had acted as he did that day.
He had doted on Horus when he first found him. Corax understood that well enough, he was the first to be found. Russ, Vulkan, Ferrus, they had all engaged in various trials with their father beforehand. When he had come to Deliverance, he spoke with Corax at length long before even broaching the subject of joining the Great Crusade.
With Angron, there had been nothing like that. No trials, no words of praise for what he had accomplished, nothing. He had plucked his tortured son away from a fight he knew his fellow slaves would die in, and refused to send him back. He had not sent the Custodes, or even the War Hounds, as they had been called back then, down to the surface to save Angron's followers. It would have cost him nothing, simply a few words to give the order.
But he hadn't. Nor had he attempted to explain himself to Angron as he did the rest of his sons. He told him what he expected from him, and contained him in the flagship of the War Hounds.
Horus didn't know what transpired afterwards, but Angron had declared his new legion the Eaters of Worlds, and soon joined the Great Crusade, using sheer brute force to bring hundreds of worlds into compliance.
Corax had left Horus with a more complex understanding of their brother. Ever since, he had paid a close eye to the exploits of the XIIth legion. Nothing ever varied. Always full frontal assaults, sending his legionaries to the thickest of the fighting until any resistance gave way. The only tactical aspect of their warfare was thanks to their human auxiliaries.
Corax sighed, finally tearing his eyes from the dataslate, setting it down. The orders themselves were fairly simple, and sensible too. Mortix was a human settled world that had refused compliance when the Salamanders first made contact. Vulkan and his legion had been pulled away for an emergency, and so the compliance of Mortix was pushed back.
But it's time had finally come. Mortix was a crushing autocracy. Its "Cities" were more so enormous prison structures, sparsely dotting the surface of the planet, with huge swathes of flat, empty land in between.
The World Eaters were to assault the massive prison-cities directly, while the Raven Guard were to ensure there would be no coordination between the megastructures, jamming communications and raiding supply lines.
Corax was thankful. It was how his legion was supposed to operate. Perhaps that was why Horus arranged it so? To apologize. Corax scowled. The Battle of Gate 42 was still fresh in his mind, and if Horus thought this would assuage the memory of his dead sons, he was sorely mistaken. He loved his brother. He admired him. But he did not forgive him.
Mortix was doomed. Angron would lead the assault, and he had no illusions that his brother would spare any expense in its downfall. Still, he tried to find the silver lining. He would finally meet his brother, whom he had heard so much of.
I shall extend an offer of brotherhood, He decided. His brother had been wronged, by the slavers who owned him, by their father, by their brothers who stood back and gossiped behind his back. He would meet with his brother, and do everything in his power to help him see the value of the Imperium. And in his brothers.
Corax frowned. He was not looking forward to this. Compliance would be bloody, and he doubted Angron would care for the civilians who would be caught in the crossfire.
So be it. He had seen worse, in the service of the Emperor. Done worse.
Perhaps it might help him understand his brother a little more.
The Ravenlord spat on the ground, snarling over the torrential rain. The planet's moon hung high in the sky, but its light was clouded by the storm. In the distance, he could just barely hear the occasional fire of a Bolter, or the droning footsteps of the World Eaters Warhounds.
The last of the Prison-Cities had fallen hours ago. Mortix was fully compliant. Although I fail to see how, when there's hardly anyone left to comply, He thought bitterly.
As he had expected, the World Eaters had shown no mercy. But he hadn't been prepared for how eager they were in the execution of their orders. They found some sort of primal glee from the slaughter, likely pushed by the Nails embedded in their brains.
And then there was his brother. Gods, his brother.
He still hadn't met his brother. The extent of any coordination between the two of their legions was a brief holocall between himself and the captain of his brothers flagship, a human woman named Lotara Sarrin.
It wasn't until the battle for the final city, that he finally laid eyes on the Lord of the Red Sands, the Red Angel. His brother, Angron.
Corax had arrived near the middle of the battle, as the sky was lit red by lasfire. He had ordered his Legionaries to hold back, and secure a line around the city. There was little they could that the World Eaters could not, and all they would accomplish is add further flames to the fire. Even more chaos was the last thing Mortix needed.
Even so, he ordered his bodyguards, his Shadow Wardens to follow him into the city, navigating around the broken citadel with their jumpacks. He was determined to meet with his brother before this world was brought to heel.
As they flew above the battle, his brows furrowed, the more and more he saw of the carnage below. The World Eaters were in complete domination of their opposition. It could hardly even be called a fight. But still, they made reckless decision after reckless decision. They fought as if their own lives mattered less than the ending of their enemies. It disturbed him.
Corax and his sons moved unnoticed through the city. The heavy rains, the rush of the battle, the night sky all made staying out of site a trivial matter.
I could have taken this world, he mused. I could have taken it, with just my Raven Guard. Mortix was plagued by heavy storms almost constantly, and the vast differences between the few Prison-Cities made coordinating a planetary defense already a difficult affair. There was no need for the World Eaters to come here. They could have properly liberated it, bringing Mortix into compliance while putting it in the hands of the people taken advantage of by the Autocracy.
No chance of that now. There would be far too few survivors to form even the vestige of a government, let alone a stable population. The survivors would be redistributed to the nearest habitable world, and eventually, the Administratum would arrange for the repopulation of Mortix.
For now, though, he pushed all thoughts of the fate of Mortix from his mind. He had observed the battle for long enough. He may not be able to save this planet, but he could end its suffering quicker.
"With me," He voxed to his sons, and took them down into the heart of the battle, where he knew he would find his brother.
Their landing kicked up a small cloud of dust, throwing their enemies into disarray and obscuring their view. He brought his bolter up, taking clean shots, one after the other. Each pull of his trigger birthed a small explosion of gore, as the bolt exploded. By the time the last of his sons had landed, nearly two dozen corpses lay scattered around them in various pieces.
The World Eaters were close, but hadn't quite reached their position just yet. Corax contemplated pushing on to meet them, but decided against it. They were at the heart of enemy territory, and had somewhat secured the square they had landed in. He was patient. He could wait.
Corax frowned. There was nothing that should raise any alarm. His helmet wasn't reading any hostels in the immediate vicinity. But something was clawing at him to move.
He sensed a rumbling beneath his feet. It took him a fraction of a second to realize what was happening. "Up into the air!" He shouted, and the Shadow Wardens obeyed.
Just as they leapt up, firing off their jump packs, some sort of mechanized battlesuit emerged from below, breaching the ground. It was larger than a dreadnought, nearly three times the size of Corax himself. It was vaguely humanoid, although obviously bulky. It was also heavily armed.
"Surround it!" Gherith Arendi voxed. He was the captain of his wardens and was quick to appraise the situation. Corax valued his quick thinking, but there would be no need to take on this fight. Not them at any rate.
"Belay that," Corax ordered. "The World Eaters come."
They rushed into the square, like sharks smelling blood in the water. Dozens of legionaries in blue and white armor, shouting in glee at their new foe. Corax scowled, perched on a still intact rooftop. No doubt more lives would be lost trying to take the mech down. They could simply wait, call for a warhound. A single one would make quick work of this.
He prepared to leave, when a mighty roar split his ears, and he finally laid eyes on his brother for the first time.
Angron was a beast, wrought in golden armor. He hurled himself at the metal colossus, digging his twin axes in deep, and toppling it to the ground. He ripped the axes out, slamming them again and again trying to breach the giant.
Corax looked on in equal parts fascination and horror at Angron's savage dismantling of the battlesuit. His legionaries were with him, swarming every inch of the suit like ants in a sea of white and blue.
And red, of course. There was always red, where the World Eaters went.
Angron tore himself off of the battlesuit, having reduced it to a hull of beaten metal. He whipped his head around, searching for the nearest fight. With one last roar, he pushed onwards, his sons following desperately behind him.
Around the square, the battle was dying down, coming to an end. The last of the opposition were throwing their weapons down, running for their lives even as they were cut down.
It left a poor taste in his mouth, just as the rest of this campaign had. Corax sighed. "Gherith?"
"My lord?" He asked.
"This battle is over," The Ravenlord declared. "The city has fallen, and still my brother pushes on, seeking a fight in desperate men fleeing for their lives. What am I to do as his ally in this campaign, as his brother? Finish the slaughter as quickly as possible, and get it over with, or pull away, leaving this mess to Angron?"
Gherith remained silent, as he knew he would. It was not the place of a simple legionnaire to rebuke a Primarch, even one such as Angron. He waved a hand dismissively. "Never mind. We shall scour the city for any trace of survivors not caught in the fighting, and get them on board the Shadow of the Emperor."
Gherit nodded, and stood by, the rest of his Wardens waiting for his signal. He jumped off the roof, activating his jump pack and once more taking flight throughout the city. His enhanced eyes scanned the battlefield, looking for pockets of survivors, taking in more of the carnage.
He had entered the city hoping to give his aid to his brother. It was clear he had no need of it, and likely wouldn't want it. Fine, then. He would still accomplish something in this slaughter. He would save lives, as few as they may be.
And when the fires of the city began to fade, and the World Eaters began to slowly crawl out of the ruin they had made of the city, he would have words with his brother.
He found Angron once more as he was regrouping with the rest of his legion outside the city walls, and he felt a pang of pity when he laid eyes on him. His brother looked like a completely different man from the one he had glimpsed on the battlefield.
The gladiator's eyes were empty, dead as the city he had brought low. He moved sluggishly in the aftermath of the battle, as if lost. The Nails, Corax realized. They gave him a sense of pleasure, of joy while in battle, and now that the fighting was over it had been ripped away from him.
His anger abated for a moment, before renewing itself with a vigor. Nuceria, Corax thought with a grimace. That cursed world had stolen his brother, mutilated him, and left him a monster. One who enjoyed being a monster, for he couldn't enjoy anything else.
Angron laid eyes on Corax for the first time, and grinned wickedly. Corax noticed his teeth were made of iron, and each one filed to a deadly point. Another wave of revulsion went over him. "So you would be my newest brother then, eh?" He emphasized the word brother, as if mocking him.
Corax refused to rise to the bait. He nodded instead. "I am Corvus Corax, Primarch of the Raven Guard, the Deliverer."
His brother snorted. "Did you pick those out yourself?"
He frowned. "No, I did not. But if you wish to talk of names, brother, I have heard more than a few in regards to you. The Red Angel is the most recent to find its way to my ears."
"Bah!" He scoffed. "Stupid name. Never liked it."
The Ravenlord bit his lip. "It's a good name. I meant to honor you."
Angron laughed. "Honor me? What honor? You've seen my handiwork, don't lie to me. I spotted you and your little pigeons flying above our heads. A good name," He mocked. "The Imperium already has an Angel. On him, now, then it might be a good name. A pretty little thing clawing at some scrap of dignity. That would suit our mutant brother rather well, don't you think? No, if you want to honor me, Deliverer, then use a name that suits me. The Lord of the Red Sands, my sons call me. The Eater of Worlds."
He smiled in satisfaction. "Now those are names to fit men like us. It doesn't try and pretty us up, hide what we are."
"We're liberators, Angron," Corax interrupted, his anger rising. "We are made to lift mankind out of the darkness and into the light of the Imperium."
"We are made to kill well and kill quickly. Put a banner on as many worlds as we can. Don't delude yourself," He sneered.
Corax pushed his anger down once again. He has been spurned by our father, by our brothers. Enslaved since birth. Of course he would be bitter. He changed the subject. "Mortix has been brought to compliance," He said.
"Truly?" Angron grinned. "That's a relief. I was worried my men might be slaughtered by the rubble behind us. They'll rest a bit easier, I think, knowing they have nothing to fear from dirt."
Corax ignored the jibe. "It was messy. Disorganized. Unnecessary. This world could have been brought into the fold of the Imperium months ago, with enough survivors to populate it, and far less losses."
Angron snorted. "What of it?"
"Our brothers think you a Beast, Angron!" Corax fired back hotly. "You throw your men into the thick of the fighting time and again for no purpose, you show little care for civilians, you shove the very same nails onto your sons that your slaves did you!" His brother's grin fell, and was replaced with a glare. "I know of the nails, yes! All of our brothers do. What happened to you was a sin, brother, but it is not an excuse. Why? Why give them the same curse forced upon you? Why do you not fight for a galaxy where a child will never again have to fear a fate such as yours?"
Angron stepped forward slowly, towering over Corax. "I've heard the names used for you, as well. Ravenlord. Deliverer. Liberator," He snarled. "You fancy yourself some savior? You think to reprimand me, for what my legion chooses to do to themselves?" A look of horror crossed Corax's face. "Oh yes, they choose to bear the nails. Every one of them. You seek to reprimand me, for how I treat this crusade of our fathers? I don't care. I never wanted any part of it to begin with, don't think you can scold me for how I command my legion."
"Our father handled your finding poorly, of that there is no doubt," He admitted. "But that is even more of a reason to prove him wrong. He thought you were broken on Nuceria. A dead man walking. You should leap at the chance to prove him wrong!"
His brother laughed. "And how should I do that? He's right."
"Pardon?" Corax asked in disbelief.
"You wish to know why I fight how I do? Why I don't care what you or any of our brothers think?" Angron grinned once more, baring his teeth. "Because you don't matter. None of you do. My brothers died on the sands of Nuceria, along with my sisters. And so did I. I fight in this crusade because there's nothing left for me. I don't care about humanity, or whatever noble goal you claim to fight for. Fighting gives some measure of peace, however small, and the Imperium gives me a fight."
He wishes to die, Corax realized. "You cannot say there is nothing here for you, Angron. I am your brother, and it pains me to know of your suffering."
"Really, now?" Angron sounded amused. "I must be blessed, to have one such as you for a brother. Tell me, liberator, how many millions have you enslaved since you were found, hmm? Or did they all welcome you with open arms, holding their hands out with a smile on their faces while you stripped their planets bare? How many wrists have you clapped irons on? Or can a noble soul like yourself not bear to do it yourself?"
"Do you think I enjoy all that we do?" Corax roared. "Do you think I don't have doubts, that I don't have questions? I don't delude myself as you say, brother, I know the Imperium is no utopia. But we can make it one. You have served longer than I. With all the horrors you have seen in the galaxy, surely you see humanity cannot survive fractured as it is? There is much I do not like about how the Great Crusade operates, but it is what is best for humanity."
Angron shrugged. "Good for you. I don't care what lies you tell yourself, and I don't care what you think of me. Dress it up however you like, you're just another one of the high-rider's dogs. As am I," He finished bitterly.
Corax reigned in his anger with a deep breath. "You make it so hard to sympathize with you, brother. I only wish to help."
He snorted. "There is nothing you can help with. I don't want your help."
Corax stared at his brother for a moment, before speaking. "Then I shall take my leave alongside my legion," He sighed. "You refuse me at every turn, you mock me, you insult me. All I wanted was to help you brother. But I see that it was in vain."
"Good," Angron said. "Now leave. There are other worlds to take, other battles to fight."
Corax turned his back on his brother without another word. He heard his guard follow behind him. This was a waste, he thought again. He had hoped to learn something from Angron. To help him, in some way. To understand him.
And I did, he thought bitterly. His brother was dead, killed the moment their father teleported him away from Nuceria. All that remained was a walking corpse with a death wish.
Corax had come to Mortix determined, his heart full of hope, and even a little nervousness at meeting his brother. He left the planet angry and bitter, and with a heart full of pity for a dead brother he never truly had a chance to meet.
Perhaps things might be different, had he not landed on Nuceria. Perhaps Angron would have been the greatest of them all, surpassing even Horus and Sanguinius. Perhaps they would have taken Mortix as brothers, bonding over the campaign.
It didn't matter. It would never be, not now. He had been enslaved his entire life, and probably saw the Great Crusade as another set of chains. He wouldn't even be wrong, in a sense.
His brother should have led a life of honor and glory. Now, he never would.
Despite everything, he couldn't find it in his heart to hate his brother for his choices. He only wished that he could find some peace.
If nothing else, he deserved to die free.
So, this was just a quick thing I wrote so I wouldn't get burned out. A nice little palate cleanser. It's late, so I won't write a long AN like I normally do. I originally was gonna do one last short scene of Corax reflecting on his thoughts of Angron in the aftermath of Isstvan III, but I felt it would be redundant. Oh, and this is definitely not my last Warhammer fic so stay tuned. If you like RWBY, I'm writing a fic about Mercury and Emerald right now, so give it a look!
Please, feel free to leave a comment, I'd love to hear your thoughts as well!