The brief, deathly silence in the comms channel was shattered by a savage, furious roar.
"Saladin!!! Traitor!!!"
Angron's voice came through the communicator like the roar of a monstrous beast. Every word carried palpable fury and an almost insane bloodlust, against a backdrop of shrieking, buckling metal, muffled explosions, and the terrible sound of something heavy being smashed apart over and over.
Clearly, Craston's indistinct but hate-filled final cry, together with the sounds of a blade piercing flesh and a body hitting the floor, had been enough—even in fragments—for Angron to understand instantly what had happened at the other end.
To that Primarch, elaborate conspiracies and reasons for betrayal meant nothing. What mattered was that an Astartes Commander who had appealed to him for help had been stabbed through from behind by his own Gene-Father while Angron was "listening."
And the man who had stabbed him happened to be connected to Angron's closest brother, Lorgar.
This was betrayal in its most absolute form, the most unforgivable crime.
"Just you wait! Saladin! Bare your neck! I'll tear apart your Fleet! Your traitor whelps! And rip out that maggot of a tongue along with them!!!"
"War Hounds! Change of target! The Lord of the Yellow Sands! Saladin! And every breathing traitor under his command! Tear them to pieces! Leave none alive! Kill!!!"
The transmission cut off abruptly amid deafening fury, countless bestial roars, and explosions in the background.
Whether Angron had smashed the communicator himself or the War Hounds' communications jamming had severed the signal, no one knew.
Saladin stood where he was, his face expressionless.
Kras's warm blood still dripped slowly from the tip of the scimitar in his hand, blooming into little dark-red flowers on the cold, polished deck.
He casually tossed the communicator at his feet, splashing a few