190 Number Twelve the Hedonist

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He was still holding on.

The Benevolent Fool Vulkan sighed. The green dragon was enormous; Vulkan had already been the largest among the Primarchs, and after receiving Grandfather Nurgle's blessing, she had swollen like a great tree in a swamp.

Thick, murky tears clung to the corners of her eyes. The flames in her eyes had long since gone out; Vulkan's year-round tears had finally extinguished them.

Beside Vulkan, her equally bloated children followed at her side, like amphibious creatures dwelling beside a swamp dragon.

I can feel him.

Angron grinned, the Lord of Excess's smile wildly uninhibited, the corners of his mouth seeming almost torn apart.

Yet even so, the light flickering in Angron's pupils against the black of his eyes was gentle and warm. Purple stars twinkled within them; anyone who met his gaze would immediately fall into that tender sea of stars.

Only those played with by Angron knew that the gentleness veiling his eyes was one of the world's lies.

...I like this flavor.

The Lord of Depravity, Angron, said softly. Bare-chested, he stepped toward where Dorn was hiding. With the Primarch's footsteps, the various copper and silver ornaments piercing his body jingled.

These glittering little things were not merely decorative. The Primarch could use them to expand the range of his emotional control. At the same time, these small beads hanging from flesh were paired with the ornaments worn by the other warriors of his Legion. Whenever the Primarch wished, these ornaments would fall into the same state—an expression of the ultimate empathy Angron pursued.

Vulkan looked sorrowfully at Angron. Pus-filled tears slid down from the corners of her eyes as she muttered,

You can't torture him, Angron.

I—know.

The favored prince beneath Slaanesh drew out his words. Angron found it somewhat boring. In