His voice arrived before he did. Dorn made his entrance like a gale striking a war god; merely standing there, he radiated such an outrageously unyielding presence that the air seemed to freeze solid.
A man of such stature needed no embellishment. Rogal Dorn was no longer merely a name, but an adjective.
"Dorn, when exactly did you get here?"
"I was here long ago, actually."
That utterly meaningless answer was the second thing Dorn said after appearing. Nobody knew when he had arrived, and all he would say was that he had been here long ago.
"Then when exactly was that?"
Dorn curled one corner of his mouth. Combined with his rugged face, it gave him the air of a man looking down on all challengers. Nobody knew what he was so proud of, but that was Rogal Dorn. Greatness needed no explanation.
"When the Iron Blood entered Terra's starport, I had already escaped. And all of it-was part of my plan."
Everyone exchanged glances. Mordred and Guilliman, Horus and the Emperor alike wore contorted expressions, trying and failing to keep straight faces while still desperately holding it together.
It was back. All of it was back. That damned feeling. As long as Dorn was present, whether he opened his mouth or not, he could plunge the atmosphere to freezing point.
Fortunately, Mordred, who embodied every Primarch's shortcomings, knew how to handle Dorn. With this stubborn turd of a rock and ridiculous human chatbot, you couldn't wait for him to speak. You had to ask yourself. "Brother, what exactly happened to you?"
"That is a long story."
"Then make it short, you bastard. Keep playing the aloof bastard and I'll beat the shit right out of you. Try me."
Dorn shook his head, indicating that even after ten thousand