It proved that even a daemon primarch who seemed to have let go of everything and sunk into indulgence and pleasure had weaknesses and soft spots of his own.
For Fulgrim, the Gorgon of Medusa was his greatest weakness.
No matter how many illusions and lies he used to deceive himself, he could not change one fact—on the battlefield of Isstvan V, it was he who had used his own sword to sever Ferrus's head.
He would never forget the almost tangible fury Ferrus had displayed after hearing his roundabout attempt at persuasion.
The Iron Hands had always been known for their extreme calmness and precise calculations. Their warriors rarely lost control on the battlefield, and Ferrus was even more so.
Lorgar's biting mockery had indeed dragged Fulgrim out of that self-abandoning state of not caring about anything, but he soon discovered an even bigger problem.
That was... he seemed to have gone too far.
Having transformed into his original form, Fulgrim could release himself completely. Especially here, deep within the Warp, at the heart of Slaanesh's Six Circles, his power was undoubtedly being thoroughly amplified.
With a single casual slash, Lorgar was sent flying again. He felt as helpless as a lump of clay being kneaded at another's whim.
Only then did the Great Word Bearer realize that the "fifty percent chance of victory" he had envisioned was far too optimistic.
His physical strength, his psychic arts, and his understanding of the primordial truth were utterly useless before Fulgrim's naked violence.
Lorgar felt the bone-deep killing intent of his brother. Clearly, tearing open the scar called Ferrus had sent the Fallen Phoenix into a violent rage.
He struggled to his feet. Cracks had already appeared across his armor, and only Illuminator still shone with light.
A healing psychic spell