Hannibal's Time Is Running Out

"Hannibal." The Emperor gazed at the only Primarch who had personally attended the War Council.

Hannibal felt a mountain-like pressure descend on him.

"Do you know why I had the Adeptus Custodes bring you back to Terra?"

Nimrod studied Hannibal. Compared with the psychic projections of the past, he could see far more detail.

An eerie green glow seeped through Hannibal's brown eyes, making him look like a ghostly shadow.

The corners of his lips were split open, and thick blood pooled in the upward-curving hollows.

As his lips trembled, rows of sharp, white teeth could be faintly seen.

Hannibal's cheekbones jutted out, bone spurs almost piercing the skin, their surface covered in pus-filled blisters the size of fingernails.

At his neck, cords of coiled muscle writhed like it was crawling with worms.

As Nimrod looked Hannibal over, he heard The Old Man in Yellow bark coldly.

"I once warned you, but you did not take it to heart."

"You kept xenos, and indulged them as they devoured humans."

A trace of astonishment showed in Nimrod's eyes. Images flashed through his mind from the Wheel of Fire: Hannibal dining with elegance. It was hard to connect the figure in his memories with the man before him now.

Back then, though he fed on xenos, he had been rational and carried himself with considerable grace. The man now had yielded to desire and lost all restraint.

[Hannibal kept xenos, likely to use them as food.

This had clearly crossed The Old Man in Yellow's bottom line. Having lived through the long Old Night, he would never permit xenos to bully humans.

The xenos species he could tolerate were those that were weak, benign, obedient to the Imperium's control, and posed no threat.]

As Nimrod pondered, all the Primarchs looked toward Hannibal