Guilliman's voice was steady, filled with an irresistible authority.
The Daemon roared.
Everyone could hear the Daemon's screams. They were not deadly, but they were piercingly harsh.
Krowe could hear them too.
He could even make out what the Daemon—Antar—was shouting.
Antar screamed a name: Anathema. He repeated it over and over. Anathema, Anathema, Anathema.
His screams were filled with fear and unease.
Krowe had never seen anything like this before.
Ever since the Grey Knights had paid a heavy price to seal Antar within the Black Sword, he had always mocked them without restraint.
He had tried to tempt every Grey Knight assigned to guard the Black Sword, seeking to break free of his seal.
This was the first time he had revealed such fear.
Krowe looked at the Primarch, a flicker of astonishment appearing on his face.
As expected of the Emperor's son. Even those arrogant, unrestrained Daemons feared his very existence.
"What do you want to know, son of Anathema?" A voice came from the Black Sword. Gravely wounded and then frightened, Antar had finally realized who held the sword.
He was a Primarch long mythologized and forgotten, the Emperor's son who carried Anathema's power.
Antar had not returned to the Warp for a very long time.
He knew little about the real universe.
Krowe never spoke with him, and Antar had no way to read his memories.
Otherwise, he would never have been brazen enough to act so arrogantly before a Primarch.
These terrifying beings were far from as simple as they appeared.
They possessed the essence of the Warp. Once they embraced it, they would gain power beyond that of other Daemons.
"What do you know, Daemon? I need to know everything you know," Guilliman said in a deep voice.
"What can you give me?"