.
People changed, and Hogg clearly thought he was a person.
He'd called the Archangel over for one reason: one of them had ideas, the other had a plan, and together they meant a bright future for the Imperium. Besides, their previous collaboration had already proved that the Angel had excellent taste—at least, he was more normal than Hogg.
They weren't lacking in technical skill. After Trazyn had taken the blame for Guilliman and begged forgiveness, Hogg had already copied that heretical technology from the half of Guilliman he'd been left with. Don't ask why there was only half. If you must ask, blame the fact that Rambo's fridge was too small to fit his good brother in whole. The fact that Rambo hadn't cut him in half lengthwise showed that he still had some sense.
Of course, these were minor issues. To Hogg, a body was as easy to fix as modeling clay. So what if he'd cut off both thighs? One wad of Immortal Hogg's phlegm, and they'd be stuck back on in under three minutes.
"Then why isn't Guilliman using his original body? Why is he using a Cat-folk to beat the Necrons senseless?" That was Sanguinius's first question. The Archangel stared at Guilliman, standing stock-still in the corner, and genuinely couldn't figure out why.
"Oh, that? I've always thought scars were a man's pride, so when I repaired his thighs, I deliberately left him with one. But the scar didn't look very good, so I had Little Pony give him a psychic tattoo. It's right at the top of both thighs."
Hogg's explanation was clearly unreliable. The Angel stepped forward and yanked open the linen robe Guilliman was wearing. There, on his thighs, was a tattoo: graceful lines, perfectly drawn, in a slightly pink hue, circling