Mortarion was rarely rendered this speechless.
By now, he had no feelings left. Pain, despair, numbness, suffocation? No. He just wanted to laugh.
Laugh at the fate that had brought him here, laugh at how absurd this galaxy was.
The Pale Lord slowly blinked, then raised his right arm. As the Primarch's thin arm lifted, a bone-white scythe appeared in his hand, emerging from the mist with his movement.
+Guilliman.+
Mortarion spoke softly. Beside him, Guilliman merely took half a step back and steadied himself, drawing the sword at his waist. Golden light flashed in his eyes, and blazing flames rose from the silver-white blade.
+It seems we were thinking the same thing.+
Mortarion continued. Mist immediately surged around his feet, spreading into a domain in an instant.
+To be honest, for a moment just now, I felt my anger rising—+
Guilliman did not blink. Golden light, dancing like a wildfire, spread out around the Primarch.
+At the thought that countless worlds nearly fell into the same plight as Pluto...+
Guilliman's voice lowered. For what seemed like the first time, this tirelessly dutiful king felt rage burning inside him. Though it did not show on his face, Guilliman could feel his reason being consumed by the crackling flames.
At the thought that the Emperor had even been willing to risk plunging most worlds of the Imperium directly into war... Guilliman felt goosebumps crawl up his spine.
He would fight anything for his Imperium, for his people. Whoever sought to destroy it would be destroyed.
+Sanguinius... I assume you have no lingering attachments either.+
+Indeed, I do not.+
Sanguinius had originally been standing to one side with his arms folded, wearing a false smile as he squinted at the swelling mass in the distance—
The Dark King was clearly rising from