The Night Haunter, who had escaped unharmed after sixteen weeks of pursuit by Lion El'Jonson and slaughtered countless people aboard the Invincible Reason, was an enemy countless Dark Angels dreamed of killing.
Facing this specter, more troublesome than any enemy before him, Commander Auguston—who looked rash and brainless—had actually inflicted visible damage upon him.
Hugin saw it clearly. Auguston's sword had pierced in at the edge of the Night Haunter's abdomen and emerged beside his spine. A blow like that might have ruined an Astartes's pebble kidneys, but a primarch's anatomy was utterly unlike common sense.
But one thing was certain: Konrad had been wounded. Wounded for the first time.
As for the blood gushing from the wound in Auguston's helmet visor, it did not concern the Deathwing's Grand Master. If an Astartes could wound the Night Haunter, what did death matter?
If that glorious choice had been offered to Hugin, the Grand Master would not have hesitated in the slightest.
"I'm not dead yet. Is that all?"
Auguston's voice was mixed with the wet sound of spurting blood. One of his eyes, along with nearly half his brain, had been torn into pulp by the Night Haunter. Larraman cells and his power armor's emergency life-support system were racing to save his life.
Blood sprayed from his helmet and ran down his power armor. Standing in a pool of his own blood, Auguston charged at the Night Haunter again.
The Night Haunter staggered back several steps and pulled the power sword from his body. Agonizing pain surged along his nerves and into his brain, yet Konrad did not react at all.
"No. There was no such sword strike. You were wrong again!"
Rather than fury or hatred, a crazed delight rose upon the Nostraman's face.
He burst into laughter. The