"Tell me, what do you keep all those Space Marines and fleets for? Why do you turn every battle into a duel?"
"Where are your tactics? Your schemes? Every time, I have to possess you to help you out."
Inside a cabin aboard the Law of Faith, Lorgar looked at his utterly ruined armor, growing impatient with the Emperor and Malcador's incessant nagging.
"Shut up, you old fossils."
"You're giving me a headache."
"If you're so capable, fight them yourselves."
"And hurry up and send me some officials. Colchis doesn't have enough."
Lorgar paid little heed to the Emperor and Malcador's nagging. He casually propped his sword on the weapon rack beside him, then leaned back on the stool in front of his desk, quietly watching the Emperor lecture him from the other side of the screen.
"You are humanity's sword, but that doesn't mean you have to fight every battle yourself."
"You have your Primarch brothers with you. Stop sending them away and let them take part in the fighting, will you?"
"And your Fleets, your Legion..."
"Didn't I let Angron and Curze get a few swings in to scratch that itch? Curze was fine, but Angron was bored out of his skull," Lorgar said with a shrug.
"Lorgar, you're monopolizing two Primarchs. That's slowing the Great Crusade's original schedule."
"What can I do about that? If you can persuade Angron to leave, good for you. Don't come to me..."
"Understand, old man...?"
The Emperor could not help feeling a headache coming on as he listened to Lorgar.
It was not as though he had never tried. He had sent Angron thousands of messages asking him to form a separate crusade Fleet, but every one had vanished without a trace.
When he opened a private channel to Angron, the