Not only Lox—even Guilliman, when he met his brother's gaze, felt his heart stop for an instant. Even his breathing grew deeper and faster.
Only Guilliman knew that, in that brief moment, Lion El'Jonson had directed most of his oppressive presence at him. They had engaged in an invisible clash of wills.
Yet the result was obvious: the Lord of Ultramar had come up slightly short in sheer presence.
The Lion was among the most skilled of all the primarchs at war and slaughter. In close combat, Guilliman believed Lion had the better odds.
But if they truly wanted to determine a winner, they would have to settle it with real blades in actual battle.
After all, eighty percent of primarchs believed they were stronger than eighty percent of their brothers, while the remaining twenty percent believed they were stronger than all of them.
Two high-ranking Dark Angels commanders followed at the Lion's side: Deathwing commander Holguin and Dreadwing commander Redloss.
Holguin held a six-foot two-handed greatsword, and his shoulder plate bore an ornate crossed-swords emblem. Redloss, meanwhile, gripped an enormous battle-axe. Compared to the Deathwing commander, he possessed a far rougher and more unrestrained air, his savagery and ferocity plain to see.
Guilliman looked at Lox. "Come with me to meet Lion. And Glod, you two stay at my side."
Lox froze. Why was he being asked to welcome the Lion King? And he was only a projection.
"We forged an alliance. Lox, you and I are allies, and on Macragge, our status is equal." Guilliman spoke earnestly. "Naturally, you will meet Lion with me. Do not worry. My brother is not a narrow-minded man."
"Wait!"
At that moment, the Space Wolves who had been lingering nearby suddenly sprang out. Fafnir, at their head, called out to the primarch.