Master Hogg was busily pounding meatballs, while the Archangel and Little Pony were working just as hard.
In another world, using the General-Purpose Bliss Angel STC construction module they had dug up, Sanguinius had a blast playing god with his creations. Together with Hogg, he had made a blasphemous army of dolls that had once struck terror into their enemies, along with a collection of bizarre melee weapons.
Getting killed by a Chainsword or blown apart by a bolt round was nothing unusual on the battlefield. At worst, you died. You either returned to the Golden Throne or went butterfly-stroking through the Warp's cesspit, looking for a boss who'd bring you back in a lottery.
But if you were beaten to death by robots with the appearance of female Primarchs, using those bizarre little toys, or died from a club to the head, you wouldn't rest in peace—not unless you were a Slaanesh worshipper.
Even being a Slaanesh worshipper wouldn't help. Being executed by these soulless Angels of Bliss brought no pleasure at all. Their killing was purely cold, without honor or the slightest emotional fluctuation. There was no change, no permanence. Demons would rather face the Tyranids than fight these hunks of metal.
You could let loose however you wanted in another world. You could even give Horus a Lion Jonson with a third leg and four massive breasts, and it wouldn't bring shame on you back home. But their own product couldn't be made so carelessly.
Hogg had once slammed his fist into a toaster and produced that blasphemous monstrosity because he couldn't control his thoughts. To deal with that, they had to prepare the body's shell in advance, then refine and fuse it afterward.
To ensure their creation looked reasonably human, the Angel became Hogg's personal designer.