When war came, everyone hoped they would not be the last to know.
But now, Fulgrim wished he had never known such a thing was happening. The Phoenician sat quietly on the chair the Central Hub had temporarily shaped, his expression calm as he gazed sideways out the window. Steve Rogers's voice, edged with anger, rang out at the front of the room.
"Again!"
Like everyone else, he was staring out the window, but his expression had lost its usual calm and restraint. "That bastard! I should've smashed him over the head with my shield when I had the chance back then!"
". Calm down, Steve," Roboute Guilliman had no choice but to say, trying to persuade him.
"No! No! I've had enough! I've lost count of how many times he's done this! I only discussed this with him not long ago, and once again, he didn't listen! Bastard!"
Hearing that, Vulkan turned his head and glanced at his brothers. He found that, at this moment, all of their expressions carried a certain degree of agreement. Clearly, although they had not openly echoed Steve's words, they definitely wanted to curse just like he had.
Not far away, the Adeptus Custodes, still fully armed, nodded calmly.
And outside the window, in the universe beyond, a storm was boiling.
Thick shadowy tendrils coiled and devoured every attack that arrived in the form of energy. He Shenyan's right hand trembled slightly, and he vanished from where he stood in an instant, reappearing above a gigantic humanoid creature with blurred features. From the darkness beneath his feet, more tendrils shot out, swallowing that enormous angel as though pythons were coiling around their prey.
"The taste is exactly the same as in my memories—though, strictly speaking, this is still the first time I've enjoyed