Guilliman studied Corax's face, so pale it scarcely seemed alive. His fathomless black eyes seemed to draw in the light around them.
Doubts churned within him, along with his revulsion at Mortarion's past sins. The devastation wrought by the Death Guard during the Horus Heresy remained fresh in his memory.
But Corax's faintly cruel expression, and his proposed final solution involving "Russ," ultimately overcame Guilliman's hesitation.
"Very well, brother."
A trace of weariness crept into Guilliman's voice.
"Go find Dorn. See him, and have him speak to Trajann Valoris, the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes, while you're there. Mortarion is being held in the Custodes' prison beneath the Palace."
He wasted no time on pointless arguments, especially at a moment when their very survival was at stake. Every force they could mobilize was precious.
And the XIV Legion, if Mortarion could truly bring his Progeny back to atone...
That would indeed be a force they could not ignore.
But he had no time to examine all of this now. The Tyranids were approaching, and large-scale deployments required his coordination.
Materiel, supplies, personnel allocation.
Planning all of these demanded a tremendous amount of Guilliman's energy.
After all, troops could not simply be withdrawn from every region.
In a manner Guilliman could not comprehend, Corax became a streak of shadow and leaped straight out of the office window, vanishing in the blink of an eye.
At the Imperial Fists' base on Terra, Dorn was busy planning the details of their defenses.
A sudden chill swept through the surroundings.
He keenly sensed something approaching, and quietly clenched his iron fist.
Clang.
Dorn suddenly swung at a patch of shadow, which erupted in a faint shower of sparks and a muffled crack.
Corax emerged from the shadows, the Power Claw on his hand