When Angron burst out from behind the warriors of the War Hounds, the air throughout the corridor seemed to freeze.
Angron wasted no movement. He stepped forward and bore straight down on Fulgrim like a savage hound that had broken its chains.
Fulgrim did not retreat.
He stood where he was, tilted his head slightly, and looked past the two axe blades at Angron's face, the curve of his lips unchanged.
The purple-and-gold armor on Fulgrim's body shimmered with a soft halo beneath the lights.
"Angron, my brother." His voice was as soft as velvet.
As Fulgrim spoke, he raised his blade and pointed its tip at the approaching Angron.
"You've finally arrived. I've been waiting for you for a long time."
Angron did not answer.
His face was taut, its contours rough and hard, every scar weaving a hideous web across it.
His eyes stared straight at Fulgrim. There was no furious roar, no frenzied hatred, only a silent wariness.
He stopped a few paces from Fulgrim, his axes crossed before his chest.
He seemed to be studying and weighing him up, like a predator sizing up its prey.
"Don't be so stiff, my brother." Fulgrim tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over Angron's tense face, his mocking tone almost affectionate.
"Smile a little more, Lorgar's dog..." He drew out those final words, soft and lingering.
Angron answered Fulgrim's taunt with a crushing downward blow.
His battle axe split the air like lightning, trailing a pressure wave that tore through everything as it came straight down toward Fulgrim's head.
Boom!
Amid the tremendous crash, the sword and twin axes clashed in the blood.
The instant Fulgrim raised his sword to block, rippling patterns of light spread over the purple blade, channeling Angron's mountain-shattering force away along its length.