At the center of the silver chamber, Hannibal opened his eyes.
There was no confusion after his dormancy, only an icy, lucid sharpness in those deep-set eyes.
He slowly rose from the floating platform, his lean, powerful body encased in fitted, pure-white armour. Its lines flowed like a blade, silently proclaiming strength and control. The air seemed to grow still at his awakening.
"My lord." An attendant guard of Rangdan Overlord rank stepped forward, the tip of his Shock Lance lowered.
His armour was white as well, but compared with Hannibal's, it looked bulky and contrived.
Hannibal raised a hand. The gesture was slight, yet carried an unquestionable command to stop. The guard immediately fell silent and withdrew, as though pulled by invisible strings.
His gaze passed over the guard and settled on the enormous curved screen ahead.
Against a backdrop of deep darkness, the dark-green points representing the First Legion's fleet were being surrounded and squeezed, little by little, by countless blackish-green markers representing the Rangdan fleet, like the talons of a vast claw slowly closing.
The distances between the points kept shrinking, the encirclement growing inexorably denser.
"It is done." Hannibal's voice was calm, as though stating an outcome long since ordained. "They cannot escape."
On one side of the screen, a casualty report appeared automatically, so concise it was almost cruel.
Hannibal's gaze swept over the names and figures:
Third Warmaster: fallen. Killer: human Primarch, Lorgar Aurelian.
Fourth, Fifth, and Seventh Warmasters. Status: souls annihilated. Cause: forcibly linking to and controlling the consciousness of the human Primarch "Saladin." Successful, at the cost of the complete erasure of their own existence.
His gaze lingered on the final entry for half a second. His expression did not change.
Sacrifice was part of war, provided the return outweighed the investment.