The almost divine indifference that had appeared on Lorgar's face as he exerted his pressure receded swiftly like a tide, giving way to his usual calm, commanding expression.
His golden eyes rested calmly on Mortarion, as though that brief, fierce psychic onslaught had never happened.
"In that case," Lorgar said evenly, his voice betraying no emotion yet brooking no argument.
"I'll trouble you to discipline your son properly. Make him understand that he should not interrupt a conversation between Primarchs without permission."
His words were clear and direct, leaving neither Calas Typhon nor Mortarion any room to save face.
Lorgar did not care in the slightest how those words might grate on Mortarion's equally obstinate, twisted sensibilities.
He truly had nothing to fear.
He appeared to have entered this steel fortress belonging to the Death Guard with only Hercules, Anastasia, and Seras, but behind that composure lay absolute confidence in his strength and meticulous preparations.
Hercules stood like a silent mountain, radiating a palpable sense of physical pressure simply by being there.
Anna's diminutive figure, meanwhile, was eerily calm. No one knew what she was truly capable of.
Seras was like a shadowy blade poised to strike, his gaze keen.
Seras: The three of us are just too strong.
These three, together with Lorgar himself, formed a spearhead capable of cutting down commanders and seizing their banners amid vast armies.
Moreover, in the cold void beyond the Endurance's viewports, the Word Bearers' fleet stood ready for battle.
And closer still, at a tactical distance invisible to the naked eye, a warship belonging to the War Hounds hung silently in space, like a vicious wolf lurking in the shadows.
Angron and his Legion warriors were probably already ravenous for battle, waiting only for a word from their brother Lorgar before becoming