To be honest, Sanguinius was in pain right now.
A great deal of pain.
At this very moment, the Angel of Baal felt an unprecedented gloom in his heart.
As for the reason?
Well.
"Good strike!"
A pale giant shouted at the top of his lungs, bare-chested, his muscles bulging terrifyingly like granite. He split his mouth in a grin, and the iron-black crown that replaced his jaw gleamed with a dull light.
"Not good enough."
Lion El'Jonson said as much.
The Lion's white hair streamed through the air, his face blurred by high-speed movement, the hem of his onyx-green-and-black robe snapping sharply. He held his sword in one hand and was launching a fierce assault on the giant.
"Ha!"
The giant laughed boldly. "Then, in your opinion—Brother Leon, what counts as good?"
"Victory."
A barely perceptible smile rose on the Lion's face, but Sanguinius saw it clearly. The Archangel did not feel happy because of his brother's joy. In fact, it was quite the opposite.
Right now, Sanguinius even hoped that the giant named Sion would give Lion a little taste of suffering.
Who challenged someone to a duel the moment they met?! Leaving aside the fact that Sion had returned to the Imperium with an entire vast Legion and a complete world, in Sanguinius's view, even if this brother had come back empty-handed, he ought to have been welcomed.
Yet Lion El'Jonson had refused the banquet, friendly conversation, and discussions of various affairs—his first choice had been to invite the other party to a battle with real blades and real guns.
Sighing in distress, Sanguinius turned his head. Beside him stood a small giant clad in pitch-black armor. He was obviously an Astartes, but what he wore was neither Power Armor nor a Walking Titan.
"...What exquisite forging