The air froze, as though even the foundations of Terra's ancient Palace trembled beneath the Primarch's silent fury.
It was no mere anger, but an icy maelstrom of desecrated faith and betrayed loyalty, powerful enough to freeze the stars.
"The Inquisition..."
Dorn's voice was low and cold.
"They have overstepped their bounds. They have defiled the authority granted to them by the Emperor and turned their razors upon loyal throats."
"No filth or trickery can conceal the truth. The webs they believe they weave in the shadows are sullying the Imperium's noble ideals. Loyalty that is not absolute is absolute disloyalty! Only death can absolve any act of disloyalty!"
He rose, his towering figure casting a shadow that seemed capable of swallowing the entire room.
"Gather your warriors, Helbrecht. Remain vigilant. Until I give the order, you are not to act rashly."
Dorn's command brooked no argument, carrying the absolute authority he wielded on the battlefield.
"I must speak with the Lord Regent about this. And while I am there, I will see how these insects in the shadows are gnawing away at the foundations within the Imperium's heart."
"As you command, Father!"
Helbrecht dropped to one knee, anger and absolute trust burning in his eyes.
He knew that when the Primarch's wrath descended, even the Inquisition's deepest nests would be torn out by the roots.
Within the magnificent Regent's Hall, Guilliman was buried in mountains of administrative documents.
The burden of the Imperium had never lightened. When Dorn's unmistakable footsteps, heavy as mountains, sounded outside the door, Guilliman sensed that a storm was coming.
The doors swung open, and Dorn strode up to the great desk where Guilliman handled his paperwork.
There were no greetings, no pleasantries. His granite-hard face bore a cold fury that could suffocate mortals.
"Thirteen."