"The Vengeance I promised you is right in front of you, Ghoul."
The man renamed Ghoul nodded silently, but he did not move at once.
Honsou was especially surprised by that. He recognized his face—this was the very planetary governor whose life Alfonso Tangris and Goyle Bedlaid had spared as some so-called "mark."
He actually didn't attack me the moment he saw me. By all rights, he should have struck the instant he laid eyes on me. Men with wills as firm as his are often the hardest to deal with. They're all tough bones.
Honsou stared at his face. He could see that the man's eyes were filled with hatred.
And he also knew that if a person's actions ran contrary to his original desires, then he was probably after something else.
"Why haven't you acted?"
The black-robed man asked, and after a brief silence, Ghoul replied, "I know you must have another plan. If I kill him now, it would be detrimental to your plan."
"If that's what you're worried about, there's no need. Even if you smash his head to pulp, I can still dig out what I need from inside it—though some things are indeed better asked face-to-face."
The black-robed man turned around. His face was still blurred, but Honsou felt a sharp sting.
"Warsmith Honsou, where is your Primarch?"
"I have no Primarch."
"No, you do. You are Fabius Bile's work. He created you with the genes of the Iron Warriors and the Imperial Fists. You were discriminated against, contemptuously called a mongrel. Perhaps physiologically, you truly are a hybrid, but you inherited the strengths of both the Iron Warriors and the Imperial Fists. That surprises me greatly."
Honsou listened to his judgment in silence, his heart oddly calm. Even he did not know where