I hoped they could have a pleasant conversation with their other selves.
The ceiling lamps in the corridor cast layer upon layer of halos across gray feathers. Two extraordinarily similar primarchs strolled through them as a faint, ominous scent of blood seeped from the corners of the walls, gradually filling the entire corridor.
[I don't think they'll get along very well. After all, your acceptance of Chaos is far too low.]
Ghoul Sanguinius curled his lips, baring sharp fangs as he looked at the other Archangel with a half-smile.
An unreadable flicker passed through the Archangel's eyes.
For people like them...
Sanguinius said with a sigh,
And I have truly tasted the fruit of corruption. For the Imperium, the line between black and white is not so clear. Evil deeds can also yield good results, and I was once paid as the price.
Ghoul shook his head.
[What exactly happened to you?]
With a flippant step, he slowed down and circled behind the Angel, reaching out to touch those feathers—most of the outer layers were dull gray, while newly grown white down cowered beneath the long feathers.
[I never imagined... never imagined...]
A pair of wings?
Sanguinius raised a brow and shook out his wings.
A gift from the Warp. The way primarchs were lost between our two destinies was different. I do not know why you are unlike me.
[I imagine they caused you quite a bit of trouble... mutant.]
Ghoul spoke softly, but the trouble he meant clearly was not the Imperium's prejudice against mutants. It was another kind of trouble—a trouble shackled by glory and loyalty.
You cannot ignore everyone's pleas.
Sanguinius's tone turned cold.
People expect things of me, and I answer them. It has always been so.
[Tsk, tsk, tsk. Quite a troublesome burden.]
Ghoul