Within the core of the Law of Faith, inside a bridge of blinking indicator lights and heavy armour.
The Word Bearers had transformed this place into a towering sanctuary.
Its lofty, vaulted ceiling seemed to reach the stars. Built from adamantium and reinforced glass, it bore sacred images of the Emperor, the Holy Word of Colchis, and epic murals of the Legion's campaigns, all suffused with a holy, solemn radiance beneath concealed lights.
Scripture was engraved upon enormous pillars, and an everlasting, soul-soothing fragrance filled the air.
This was the spiritual sanctuary of the Word Bearers, the furnace of their faith. Now, it had also become a sacred gathering place.
Beneath the vaulted ceiling, the vast expanse of deck had become an ocean of steel and loyalty.
At the very front, below the dais, stood two Legions, utterly different in style yet radiating equally astonishing menace.
On the left stood Angron's War Hounds.
More than seventy thousand warriors formed an immense, somewhat rough-hewn formation. Their armour still bore the scars and soot of recent battle, left unpolished, making them look all the more fierce.
Most wore no helmets, revealing faces that were savage, zealous, or composed. Their heavy breathing sounded like the low wheeze of bellows in the silent sanctuary.
Their weapons had not been fully stowed; they held Chainaxes and Bolters in their hands.
They stood motionless, yet resembled a pack of vicious beasts that had momentarily sheathed their claws and fangs. Crimson lenses and eyes alike were fixed upon the dais.
Angron himself had not taken his place before the ranks. Instead, like the boldest vanguard, he stood alone at the very forefront of the War Hounds' formation, almost touching the base of the dais.
His mountain-like bulk stood ramrod straight, a sharp, enormous axe resting at his