"Father, this is Khârn. Something has happened."
Angron stood on the Bridge of the Conqueror, studying the holographic tactical star chart with his full attention and methodically issuing orders to the task forces under his command.
As Angron worked at peak efficiency to eliminate the remaining Drukhari resistance on the battlefield, recover valuable wreckage, and guard against a final counterattack from the Webway, a communication request marked with the highest emergency priority from his personal adjutant forced its way into his thoughts, overriding the routine battle reports he was processing.
Behind his Crimson Faceplate, Angron's coolly gleaming eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
He raised a hand, briefly halted his conversation with the navigation officer beside him, and swiftly opened the encrypted channel.
Khârn's voice sounded different from his usual battle-hungry, feverish roar. Now it was unusually low and strained, with an almost deliberately restrained steadiness.
"Speak." Angron's voice emerged through his respirator grille, brief and direct, betraying no unnecessary emotion.
Against the low rumble of engines and hum of instruments characteristic of the Conqueror's Bridge, his voice sounded exceptionally calm.
The other end of the channel fell silent for a moment, as though Khârn were choosing his words or confirming some fact he could barely bring himself to utter.
Then Khârn spoke again, more clearly than before, and more heavily:
"It's the Death Guard... Calas Typhon. He... fell in battle. Just now, as our Joint Purge Operation was nearing its end, aboard one of the Death Guard's Strike Cruisers."
"Kallus is dead?" Angron's tone barely changed as he repeated the name and that unwelcome word.
He showed no shock, fury, or disbelief. He was simply confirming the information.
He swiftly recalled what he knew of Calas Typhon: captain of the Death Guard's First Company, one of Mortarion's most trusted commanders, a