"Lorgar! Russ! You! What are you trying to do?!"
Turing staggered to his feet, bracing himself against the floor. Bone-splitting pain shot through the part of his left arm that Leman Russ had gripped, while sparks flickered at its mechanical joints with an ominous crackle.
He jerked his head up. His mismatched eyes were filled with shock, fury, confusion, and, buried deepest of all, a sting he could not understand.
He glared at Leman Russ, who had just subdued him and now stood half a step back in a guarded stance, then whipped his gaze toward Lorgar, who had stood motionless to one side throughout. His voice shook, hoarse with emotion and pain:
"We're brothers! You... why... why are you doing this to me?! Are you trying to kill me?!"
Lorgar stood several meters away, his posture straight, his face as still as the waters of an ancient well.
He did not immediately answer Turing's roar. He did not even meet his eyes, merely turning his head slightly as though glancing from the corner of his eye at the two figures watching everything from the far end of the long table.
"Lorgar." The Emperor's voice sounded at that moment, calm and majestic, without the slightest fluctuation of emotion. Yet it clearly carried over Turing's furious shouting and the charged tension in the room, reaching every ear.
"If you have doubts, if you cannot bring yourself to act, or if you still harbor unnecessary... illusions, then you may leave this to me."
Those words were like an icy decree of pardon, yet also a final ultimatum.
They gently placed the choice in Lorgar's hands.
The air throughout the Hall seemed to grow heavier still.
The Adeptus Custodes adjusted the angles of their halberds almost imperceptibly, their golden armor radiating menace beneath