"Ah... Akurduana... how pitiful..."
Fulgrim's voice echoed through the corridor, languid and elegant, as though he were lamenting a withered flower.
He walked slowly to Akurduana's side and looked down at the Legion warrior he was proudest of.
Golden flames still burned across Akurduana's body, licking his skin with a sizzling hiss. The smell of scorched flesh hung in the air.
He lay curled on the floor, trembling slightly from the agony, but he clenched his teeth and did not let out a single groan.
Fulgrim slowly raised the weapon in his hand—the sword his brother Ferrus Manus had forged himself. Its blade gleamed coldly beneath the dim lights.
He brushed the blade gently over Akurduana's body, his movements as delicate as if he were caressing a precious work of art.
The next second, endless purple warp power surged from the blade, engulfing the golden flames like a tide.
The golden fire struggled briefly against the purple energy, then went out like a snuffed candle, leaving only a few wisps of smoke curling into the air.
"Father..." Akurduana lay on the floor, his voice hoarse and weak.
His face, once as beautiful as a work of art, was now severely burned.
His pale, smooth skin had been charred an ugly black, splitting in several places to expose the tender red flesh beneath.
His once-silken hair had been burned away, leaving only a few blackened stubs clinging to his scalp.
His eyebrows and eyelashes were gone. His entire face looked like that of a rag doll dragged from a fire.
Akurduana looked so hideous, so wretched, a stark contrast to his usual flawless appearance.
"...This was my oversight..." he said with difficulty, his voice filled with deep guilt and regret.
"No, my dear child..." Fulgrim crouched, reached out, and gently stroked