Uh, uh, uh, please don't gross Guilliman out.
(Warning: Based on character relationships from GW's original works, this chapter contains vaguely homoerotic descriptions of Ferrus and Fulgrim (???))
[Why?!!]
The pale sunlight streamed through the windows, falling over the devastated hall. The crystal chandelier had long since crashed to the floor, shattered everywhere. Scattered bullets rolled across the polished marble floor, slowly coming to rest amid pools of blood.
Ripples spread across the still pools of blood as a massive, furious, utterly uncompromising roar echoed through the hall.
[Why?!!!]
[Why?]
Behind a hastily constructed barricade, Angron panted and bared his teeth in a grin. The Lord of Carnage's mouth was split at the corners as he clutched his chest and struggled to breathe, blood gushing through his fingers—
Damn it, Fulgrim's technique was simply too good. That Primarch's sword seemed to possess a soul of its own.
Angron grinned, savoring their countless recent exchanges. Unfortunately, he was somewhat tired. Every psychic assault had revealed nothing but flawless white walls, as calm and perfect as the Phoenix herself.
Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such perfect prey... Angron wanted to capture Fulgrim alive. The purer the virgin, the more wanton she became after falling. He would offer this masterpiece to desire and make her suffer in the hell of greed.
As he imagined Fulgrim's collapse, vigor and drive climbed up Angron's spine once more. He greedily licked his lips, casually pulled a syringe from his waist, aimed its needle at his second heart, and prepared to reward himself with another dose—
[You can save it, Angron.]
An utterly cold voice rang out. Angron instinctively shuddered and looked toward the side hall's entrance, where the World Eaters stationed there had fallen into commotion.
[You disappoint me, Angron. I do not consider wasting time indulging yourself