"Don't even think about it."
Lorgar's voice fell coldly, less a verdict than a declaration.
Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, his right wrist jerked, and his fingers clamped tightly around the sword hilt he had only loosely held before.
With a deep rush of air, he ripped the scripture-adorned two-handed greatsword from the scabbard at his waist—a weapon that seemed made more for solemn ceremony than slaughter!
The ancient runes engraved on its blade seemed to glimmer as it left the sheath.
There was no elaborate opening stance, no warning, not even a moment for his opponent to react. The blade traced a clean, vicious arc straight toward its target, cleaving at Basilio F's long, stooped neck!
Fast! Precise! Ruthless!
There was nothing flashy about the strike, yet it displayed the Primarch's strength, speed, and battle instincts honed through countless trials to their fullest. Its purpose was singular: end the threat before his opponent could mount any effective response.
"ROOOAR!!!"
The piercing, inhuman roar came not from Basilio, but from the silent, horrific creation beside him.
At the very instant the greatsword swung, the monster lashed back.
Its reaction speed was astonishing, utterly at odds with its twisted, ungainly shape.
It neither dodged nor circled around. Its enormous palm, covered in surgical seams and fitted with metal claws and energy conduits, hurtled like a battering ram toward Lorgar's sword wrist and upper body, carrying a fetid gust and the teeth-grating scrape of metal!
It struck where he would have to defend, trying to turn offense into defense and force back the lethal blow—or at least buy its "master" a single instant.
The air compressed abruptly with an explosive crack.
Yet Lorgar's movements never faltered. He did not even look at the descending hand. His golden eyes