Yes, He Raises Primarchs

188. Yes, He Raises Primarchs

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An eagle cried above the vast galaxy. Its wings spread wide, tracing a beautiful silver thread through the void.

Rogal Dorn.

The Khan stood before the floor-to-ceiling observation window. Her usually pearl-white armor was already stained with blood. One hand gripped the treasured blade at her waist, its glass-bead tassel swaying before the weapon amid the heavy stench of blood.

Jagatai Khan's face was weathered by wind and frost, the cold wind carving deep lines into her features.

She still held fast.

The Khan sighed.

I underestimated him.

Blood energy churned. Mortarion, familiar with Chaos, was certain that they had entered some domain of the Blood God—

Yet sensing Khorne here was utterly absurd. When had Rogal Dorn formed such a close Warp connection with the Blood God?

The Primarch of life and death cautiously walked through the fortress, as though it had been painted in blood. More bizarrely, there were no daemons of Khorne here, only unsettling blood.

Dorn?! Dorn?!

Vulkan called out. Her armored boots struck the ground with crisp footsteps as they moved forward, forward, and onward, until—

Before the only tightly shut door, Mortarion exchanged a glance with Vulkan.

Then Vulkan placed her hand upon the door, while Mortarion was already prepared to throw the censer of poisonous smoke in his hand inside.

—Creak.

That was Rogal Dorn, yet he did not quite seem like Rogal Dorn.

Within the stone hall drenched in crimson, the Primarch stood like a statue, leaning on the massive Chainsword Storm's Teeth. What appeared to be dried fragments of internal organs clung to the Chainsword.

Its once brilliant golden-yellow finish had long been soaked in blood. Amid the clamorous, filthy scarlet, Dorn slowly raised the communicator in his other hand, his back still turned