Mortarion's Mathematical Ability

"Ferrus."

Fulgrim's words made Fogrim's expression stiffen slightly, his lips trembling.

"You mean Ferrus?"

"Of course!" Fulgrim gripped the Forgebreaker Warhammer and demanded in a low growl, "What would Ferrus say if he saw the Phoenix of the Purple Court of old fallen into such a state?"

"I never regretted killing Ferrus," Fogrim said quietly.

Fulgrim froze for a moment. "I wasn't asking—"

"I never regretted killing Ferrus!"

Fogrim's voice suddenly rose. His four arms danced like blooming flowers, twin swords, whips, and claws weaving into a kaleidoscope as they pressed toward Fulgrim.

Fulgrim's expression hardened, and blazing forge-fire surged from the Forgebreaker Warhammer.

The twisted, serpentine blade in Fogrim's left hand shrieked as it came down, colliding with the Forgebreaker Warhammer. The exploding energy illuminated everything within several hundred meters as brightly as day.

Fulgrim's arm went numb, cracks spreading through his bones. He felt as though he faced an ancient god more powerful than an entire Titan Legion—a god who had deigned to enter the dimension of mortals. Yet it was not the god who suffered for it, but reality itself.

When Sanguinius, Leman Russ, and Guilliman had fought him in the gladiatorial cage, none of them had used their full strength.

"He deserved to die!"

Fogrim's voice was sharp as a blade.

"You bitch. I fought beside Ferrus. I forged weapons with Ferrus. We bled together, and we swore oaths together."

"And you? You bitch, you merely peeked into my memories. When have you ever seen Ferrus?"

The deadly whip lashed down. In an instant, Fulgrim's armor was torn open, and the barbs ripped away chunks of flesh. Agonizing pain swept through Fulgrim's body.

This whip was not merely a weapon of war; it was an instrument of torture through and through. It was coated in toxins