I had an uneasy feeling...
Angron muttered quietly. He was sunk into the lounge sofa Guilliman had prepared for them, while mortal servants moved about beside the towering primarchs, waxing their armor to make it shine even brighter.
Mortarion, resting beside him with his eyes closed, heard this and opened them, staring at Angron.
"You don't have to go."
Mortarion paused before speaking again, sincerely saying,
"I think Guilliman would go easy on you. It's hard for all of us to face our other selves... but I think it would be even harder for you to accept."
"If I were you, I might choose to find a better battlefield and bury myself there."
There was no mockery in those words; they were Mortarion's genuine feelings. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to mince his other self into paste—at least that Mortarion still possessed the necessary manners.
But Angron, who had embraced the Slaanesh path... was harder to say.
Mortarion watched Angron take a deep breath, then another. Only after several consecutive breaths did the Lord of the Red Sands' tightly furrowed brow finally relax.
"No."
A determined light flashed in Angron's eyes.
"I need to face him—"
"I can imagine that if I avoid him, he'll only feel the thrill of victory. I can't concede in this regard, Mortarion. No one wants to lose to the person on the other side."
"Quite right," Mortarion said, nodding. He could not help admiring Angron's resolve. It was such a daunting task.
He recalled what Slaanesh had done to him... Mortarion felt goosebumps crawl up his spine. If Slaanesh had worn his own face back then... Mortarion truly did not know whether he could have endured it.
"And besides,"
Angron tapped his fingers uneasily, accidentally brushing against a passing servant. The primarch