"Mm."
Corax stood in the command chamber aboard the Shadow of the Emperor, forever shrouded in darkness, his gaze resting on the mortal corpse dangling from Kroge's hand.
The corpse was still warm. A clean cut marked its neck, and its blood had drained away, pooling on the gray metal floor in a cooling patch of dark red.
The dead man's face was calm, even bearing a trace of peace, as though he had found release.
Corax watched for a long time. His eyes, hidden in shadow, betrayed no emotion—no approval, no regret, no anger, no pity.
He merely watched, as though looking at a tool that had been returned to its proper place.
"The Word Bearers have overreached, Father," Kroge said, his voice heavy with suppressed anger.
He set the corpse casually on the floor, straightened, and waited for the Primarch's instructions.
"Mm," Corax replied again, offering no further comment.
He turned, shifting his gaze from the corpse to the silent cogitator terminal in the center of the command chamber.
His voice was as flat as ever. "I want to speak with Horus."
He paused, his gaze turning to Zorge, who stood beside Kroge.
Corax's gaze lingered on him for a moment before he spoke. His tone remained level, but now carried a note of unmistakable approval. "You did well."
"Thank you, Gene-Father." Zorge bowed his head slightly, his voice steady, without the pleasure of claiming credit or any display of false modesty.
He simply accepted the assessment, as though receiving confirmation that a task had been completed.
The Law of Faith. Lorgar's study.
Lorgar sat in his broad chair, several intelligence summaries bearing the highest level of encryption spread before him. The paper gleamed a cold white beneath the dim light, every word upon it bought with