Magnus desperately widened his single eye, even reaching up to rub it and blow away dust that did not exist.
Fake. It had to be fake.
He swiftly took stock. Within this shadow prison of the Imperial Palace, no fewer than six Primarchs loyal to the Emperor stood before him.
The last time so many had gathered so neatly, Magnus remembered, had been at the Council of Nikaea. Back then, the Emperor had assembled a host of Primarchs to vote on the Thousand Sons' abuse of psychic powers.
He remembered being forced to defend his sons' actions at that council. He had vehemently declared that everything he and the Thousand Sons had done was justified and correct. He had even cited Plato's allegory of the cave to mock the accusers led by Mortarion.
His arguments had been flawless, yet his brothers had neither understood nor accepted them. Even his father had stood against him, directly ruling to restrict the use of Psykers.
Within the Imperium, no one other than Astropaths and Navigators was permitted to wield psychic power.
Magnus caught the familiar, loathsome stench. Even after ten thousand years, he would never forget it.
It was the rank reek of a savage giant wolf from some barbaric world, steeped in the stupidity of uncivilized ignorance.
"Leman Russ!!"
The moment that scent rushed into his nostrils, the Crimson King instantly lost his temper. Enemies meeting were especially quick to anger. Though their hatred had begun as a misunderstanding stoked by Horus, the blood feud between him and the Wolf King had long since become irreconcilable.
"My brother, we have been deceived by these lackeys of the false Emperor. This is a trap! Go first—I'll cover you!"
"Your sons may already be dead. They were allowed to come here and activate the