The defeated Calas Typhon raised his brow slightly as one end of the wrinkled banner on the wall fell down.
In a tiny, dim corner of a village beneath the Imperial Palace, where no primarch or Underking would ever notice, dissatisfaction and resentment gathered, eventually turning into drunken groans.
Karras's gaze remained fixed on that banner, faded beyond recognition. Sevatar had insisted on hanging something stupid in this little bar, scrawled across it in crude blood:
"WORK OR DIE."
There were several small holes beneath the banner. No one knew who had spat on it.
"So you went after all."
A shadowy voice sounded, twisted like its master. Karras sneered and swaggered into the little bar they had rented out.
"At least I had the courage to face it."
The mocking expression never left Karras's face. He walked straight past Dante, the Blood Angel sprawled on the floor with a bottle in his arms and grief written across his face. Under the dim bulb, Sevatar watched Karras from behind the bar with a half-smile. He had been the one to offer that greeting.
"The usual? Or something else?"
Welcome to the Legion Commanders' Club, also known as the tireless second-in-commands of those idiot primarchs. Barbarus poison liquor was always available here—drinking it would kill you, but that was fine; Karras would summon Mortarion to revive you—along with Baal blood wine, which gave you horrific heartburn; Prospero sweet wine, which existed about as little in this bar as Prospero itself; and Macragge vintage, the most normal option, used here in place of water.
And there was also the mysterious special offering: black liquor (???).
Karras merely sat down in his usual seat and expressionlessly watched Sevatar toss him a flat metal flask. The liquid inside made the inner walls hiss as