The Primarch put on his helmet. The Armour of Hope and the Wings of Despair looked utterly sacred.
There was little difference between Guilliman's height and the Lion's, a considerable improvement over before.
When he had changed from Guilliman back into Alpharius earlier, his feet had hung in midair, unable to reach the soles of his power boots.
"Don't worry, brother. I'm certainly not your equal, but I think I'm more than enough to face Angron." The Faceless One's warp essence could not reproduce someone with perfect accuracy.
Clearly, this "reassurance" did nothing to help.
The Lion immediately realized the truth. Guilliman had never returned. Someone had merely taken a bite out of him, just as had happened now.
"We've always understood our duties, the duties we originally had," Alpharius said.
The First Legion had always carried out extermination missions, the final safeguard should the Imperium and the Adeptus Mechanicus turn against each other, a blade intended for destruction.
The Sixth Legion was the disciplinary legion.
The XIX Legion were the true "assassins." The Raven Guard Primarch could easily lead his men into the shadows and vanish.
As for the Twentieth Legion, or at least Alpharius's portion of it, their purpose was less assassination through disguise than playing someone else while remaining themselves at heart.
Their mission had always been to immediately become another legion the Emperor needed whenever an unexpected emergency arose.
They had merely been posing as Ultramarines all these years.
Because the Emperor needed an Ultramarines "Legion."
The Lion asked his final question. "Then, could you... become those two...?"
"If the situation calls for it, I can. It's just a little troublesome."
The Lion looked at Azrael. He had aged considerably. Who knew how many centuries had passed outside? So much had changed.
The lord of the