Back in the present, the golden radiance of psychic energy slowly receded from Lorgar's mighty frame like an ebbing tide.
He stood atop the wreckage of the Aeldari Phantom Titan he had destroyed with his own hands. Beneath his feet lay twisted fragments of wraithbone, still crackling with sparks.
Smoke and dust swirled around him, creating a brief pocket of eerie silence.
Lorgar did not look toward the battlefield around him, where fierce fighting still raged. Instead, his gaze remained lowered, fixed on the enemy remains he had just pulverized with overwhelming force.
Yet his gaze seemed to pierce the material wreckage, reaching into some deeper, more unsettling dimension.
"A trap that can imprison a Primarch..."
An icy voice, brimming with malice, seemed to echo in his mind once more.
It was the final, curse-laden message that the Aeldari had transmitted through psychic energy before dying.
Lorgar's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. His mind raced like the most efficient strategic logic engine, analyzing the potentially vast implications behind those dying words.
The Aeldari excelled at prophecy and deception. They would not make an empty threat. Those words lodged in his thoughts like a poisoned thorn.
"A trap that can imprison my brother Angron?" he murmured, his voice so low that only he could hear it.
Angron's courage and strength were beyond question, but his fighting style favored crushing his enemies head-on. Against the Aeldari's elusive psychic tricks and spacetime traps, he was indeed at greater risk.
If the Aeldari were willing to pay any price, even deploying certain relics of ancient times...
Then the danger Angron faced would far exceed anything Lorgar had imagined.
That thought instantly sharpened Lorgar's gaze to a knife's edge. I must reach Angron as soon as possible! I must make certain he is safe!
But before