35: Did They Really Get Fired Up? Like Fire

Sanguinius smiled and tossed away his sword.

His smile was beautiful—the kind that might appear both in religious paintings and in certain unmentionable folk paintings. He threw the sword gently, with such a slight motion that it looked less like throwing a weapon and more like letting sand slip naturally through his fingers.

But if you looked at that sword, you would know what lay hidden beneath his smile.

The sword had broken, with only a third of its length remaining. Both edges were jagged, its blade was pitted all over, one side of its guard had snapped off, and even the solid counterweight at its pommel had been crushed by some force into a ridiculous shape.

What kind of battle could reduce a weapon forged by Perturabo to such a state?

Roboute Guilliman lowered his gaze to the broken sword in his hand and, to Sanguinius's surprise, smiled as well.

Like his brother, he threw away his sword—but his movement was far from gentle, and his posture was deliberately misleading.

He made a show of throwing it at Sanguinius, but instead flicked his fingers and tossed it behind him. Then he lunged forward, wrapped the Angel in an embrace, and brought both hands to his back.

Sanguinius gave a delighted chuckle, planted his left foot heavily to steady himself, then thrust both hands forward and caught Guilliman by the shoulders.

After several seconds of deadlock, they released each other and retreated in unison. Then they charged again with matching steps. Their hands met with a thunderous crash, bones creaking and skin tightening—and the grapple had only just begun.

The turning point came after several exchanges, when Sanguinius found an opening.

In the tiny, almost negligible instant when his brother drew breath, he pressed in close. Without the slightest hesitation,