The blazing plasma bolt did not strike Perturabo in the face directly. His armor's automated defense system deployed an iron mask to shield him from the blast, leaving only melted metal clinging to Perturabo's face.
Seeing the Primarch attacked, the Lamenters Terminators could no longer remain still. They wanted to rush to Perturabo's side and protect him, but Rogal Dorn stopped them. "This is between them. None of you are to interfere."
It was hard to imagine Rogal Dorn capable of such emotional intelligence. Standing beside him, Helbrecht heard something more in Rogal Dorn's words.
Relief.
Rogal Dorn was relieved that he did not have to endure such suffocating conversation with his own sons.
Perturabo wiped his face with one broad hand, only making it dirtier. He looked at Drau with a complicated expression and said coldly, "This is your choice? To stand against me?"
"I am not standing against you. I am merely carrying out my father's teachings."
"Good." Perturabo replied, with no telling whether he was pleased or enraged. Then he continued, "In that case, prove the results of your learning to me."
As his words fell, Perturabo violently spread the Iron Wings behind him, unleashing the overwhelming pressure of a Primarch.
At that moment, Drau felt that he was not facing Perturabo alone, but a doomsday legion composed of millions of artillery pieces and heavy armor. His hands, gripping the halberd-axe and the runic lash, trembled slightly before tightening around them. He poured his disappointment at Perturabo's current state and his fury over ten thousand years of loyal service into the halberd-axe and whip.
The daemon within the halberd-axe shrieked, delighted by those emotions. The runes on the whip flickered, and those emotions solidified their form in reality.
Then Drau cracked the whip, producing a thunderous sonic