Continue.
The words stopped scrolling, replaced by a projection. A bloody tableau slowly unfurled across the silver wall at the front of the Round Table. It was still, but it already showed the Primarchs more than enough detail.
Horus Lupercal's heart clenched in that instant. Then the image began to move.
Aximand—the Aximand known as Little Horus—had fallen to the ground, the abdomen of his Power Armor split open by a sword blade. Blood trickled out, and his intestines and other organs were all exposed.
He lay on the ground, his mouth open, seemingly gasping weakly. Half the skin of his face was gone as well, the flesh beneath laid bare, trembling faintly in the air.
Tarik Torgaddon held a sword in his right hand, drenched in blood. He wore half a shattered helmet, and his wide-open left eye was blood-red.
He stood back-to-back with Garviel Loken, the two of them covering one another, killing any enemy that tried to harm the other. They were still standing, but both were already covered in wounds.
And Ezekyle Abaddon?
He was crawling—crawling with terrible difficulty. Inch by inch, he dragged himself toward their father's corpse. A monster with wings on his back and cheeks smeared scarlet with blood was holding their father, murmuring to himself.
As he looked upon this scene, the hatred igniting in Abaddon's eyes seemed capable of burning the entire world away.
He crawled forward, bit by bit, until he touched his father's remains—even through his Power Armor, he could feel that the body had no warmth left at all.
The winged monster stared quietly into The Void and paid him no mind, so Abaddon began to act. He was terrified, but not because he feared losing his own life. He feared being killed before he could fulfill his