Endurance, flagship Command Throne
Cold streams of data flowed silently across the holographic tactical table, outlining the energy storm that had abruptly erupted in the void ahead, followed by a devastating exchange of Fleet fire, like two torrents of steel colliding.
The Death Guard Fleet's formation stood like a silent rock, its fire precise and lethal, intertwining with the blazing flames of the Word Bearers' faith as they resisted the frenzied assaults of the twisted hybrids and Rangdan warships.
But Mortarion's gaze, hidden beneath his respirator and the shadow of his hood, did not linger on the grand panorama of battle.
His gray-brown eyes remained fixed on the flickering point on the tactical map that marked where the Law of Faith had forcibly torn through the enemy vessel's hull, and where golden light had vanished after penetrating its interior.
The signal bearing Lorgar's personal identifier had cut out the instant he breached the enemy vessel's thick armour of mingled biological matter and metal, lost to intense psychic interference and physical obstruction.
He had gone in.
Alone—no, with that handful of his most fanatical followers—he had plunged into the belly of the monstrous warship radiating the strongest, most ominous psychic fluctuations.
For a name, for a xenos who dared to "bargain," for that creed of his that demanded "purification."
Idiot.
An icy thought crossed Mortarion's mind.
Typical, utterly devoid of tactics, full of impractical divine radiance and a psyker's arrogance, placing himself in unnecessary danger.
This ran contrary to the logic of war Mortarion believed in: precise calculation, weighing risks against returns, and achieving strategic objectives at the lowest possible cost.
He should stay here.
*Remain aboard this flagship, protected by layers of armour and void shields, remain on this throne from which he could oversee the entire battle and weave