Just Right

Guilliman sat there and finished the biscuit.

He brushed the crumbs from his hands, his gaze sweeping over the brothers present, the curve of his smile still lingering.

Then he picked up the teacup on the table and took a sip.

The tea was hot, freshly brewed.

Malcador set down the teapot and looked at him for several seconds before saying, "You look like you've been dragged through the mud for three days."

"More or less."

Guilliman set down his cup, his voice calm. "That thing could fight. Better than I expected."

Lion leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping the tabletop in a steady rhythm. "How many times did you kill him?"

"Once."

Lion's fingers paused. "Only once?"

Guilliman looked at his expression and could not help laughing. "What, did you want me to kill him a few more times?"

Lion considered it, then shook his head. "Not worth it. If something can be handled once, don't drag it into a second time."

"That's a fitting standard."

Guilliman raised his cup and took another sip.

Sanguinius had been listening quietly at the side. Now he spoke, his voice gentle yet perfectly measured. "That thing truly was far stronger than any Orks we have encountered before.

When it merged with Gork and Mork in the Warp, I felt it.

That power was more primal and more violent than even the Tyranids before it.

For you to suppress it alone already proves that you have advanced further than when you were in Nurgle's Garden."

Guilliman turned to look at him. The corner of his mouth shifted, but he said nothing. Still, there was a hint of satisfaction in his eyes at receiving his brother's recognition.

Angron was eating meat in the corner. He looked up, his voice rough but even.