"Look, there's actually an Emperor skeleton here. Tzeentch's design really is meticulous."
"Magnus, don't play with that thing."
Crack!
Magnus accidentally knocked the skeleton's head off. Though the Primarchs were displeased by his clumsiness, no one said anything.
After all, this was a fake Imperial Palace, a fake Golden Throne. Its very existence was the greatest blasphemy against the Imperium of Man. Magnus had merely taken the first step in destroying it.
Sanguinius and Mortarion, both bearing enormous wings, were particularly conspicuous in the Throne Room.
One gleamed with golden light, radiating holiness.
The other exuded poisonous fumes, corruption flowing from his censer onto the ground.
Yet Mortarion's actions had greatly aided the assault. Not even the most socially inept Primarch would criticize his ugliness to his face.
Instead, they did their utmost to suppress their revulsion toward corruption and cast approving looks at Mortarion.
Mortarion kept his head lowered, at a loss over receiving such friendly treatment from his brothers.
But soon, Jaghatai would steer the conversation toward someone else.
Roboute Guilliman arrived late. He seemed to possess an innate trait: whenever the direction of his advance had anything to do with Terra, he would inevitably be delayed for a while.
The moment he entered, Guilliman began complaining about the crude state of the Imperial Palace's administrative offices. He had assumed Tzeentch would flawlessly fill in the contents of every volume, allowing him to gain a more comprehensive grasp of the Imperium's situation.
But after taking a lap inside, he discovered that these ancient books had only titles on their covers. Their contents were completely blank.
"Oh! The blue one, Guilliman, is here." Jaghatai whistled, then said with a broad grin, "My brother, after fighting for so long, have you gained even the slightest familiarity with your Warp essence?"