I caught the scent of worry.
Ever since you returned from reporting the war dispatch, have you smelled it too?
Sanguinius calmly wiped the bright green fluid from his cheek. Necrons did not bleed, but this dripping liquid still stirred some desire for conquest within the Archangel.
Beside him, the visibly more irritable Ghoul let out a loud, mocking laugh. In battle against the Necrons, his troops could not raise morale by devouring enemy corpses, while the other Angel, Sanguinius, had expressly forbidden the Ghoul's forces from eating his own sons.
Compared to the Primarchs elsewhere, whose interactions were pure chaos, the two Sanguiniuses got along remarkably well. Perhaps it was because Archangel Sanguinius had once fallen as well, while Ghoul Sanguinius still retained some hope in his heart.
Darkness and light coexisted, building a bridge of communication between two Primarchs who appeared to have completely different personalities.
['Guilliman' is acting strangely.]
Sanguinius bared his teeth. He was starving, and the stimulation of blood here was far from sufficient. The war was too intense; most human soldiers had been directly disintegrated at the atomic level by all manner of high-powered weapons, leaving no trace behind.
Fighting Necrons was extremely unfriendly to the Blood Angels, who possessed a long tradition of cannibalism—they could play only a very limited role on this battlefield. Guilliman should not have sent them to the front lines unless...
Unless...
The Ghoul snorted out a breath thick with blood.
That madman!
Sanguinius curled his lips.
Though I would like to explain on behalf of those unfortunate Primarchs who became rulers of the Imperium that their madness may not have stemmed from their own personalities, I do not think the suffering you have endured needs explanations or answers.
I understand your plight. I think I can lend a