‘That is the folly.’ Guilliman countered, his eyes smouldering with ire, boring into this visage of Dorn. A daemon’s trick, perhaps. His own mind battering him.
‘Our folly. Our Father’s folly…’ there was something else; another suggestion he couldn’t bear to confront.
“We have the means, Roboute. Reunite our sons. Take back our galaxy. We are not Horus.”
He got the sneaking suspicion that his brother viewed him as a phantom. He’s relatively confident he’s not.
For the insolence and your arrogance the Emperor is wrong in his creation. Do you believe Him to be wrong?
( Father forgive this deception. But I must act the true part. )
Rogal looked well. A dutiful face as ever, yet Roboute couldn’t shake the disappointment.
‘We are.’ Roboute did not bother to make clear what part of Dorn’s words he agreed with. ‘And in that, I weep for your loss.’
The Thirteenth didn’t think the Seventh as real. A shade.
“Are we not our Father’s Will? Roboute, I understand, truly. No one more than I at what unchecked power can bring. To speak frankly and without going unnoticed, we are losing.”
His stone hard gaze is fixed upon the Primarch of the Thirteenth.
Many don’t speak of this, but the best way to gain an upper hand in negotiations is threatening murder-suicide by opening a Warp Rift in the middle of the enemy’s warship.
Then we will ensure any sacrifice is not bought cheaply, Custodian.
( In realising her station within the Custodes, he lightly bows his head. )
Where does your blade take you to next?
Such things are the twists and turns of War. In a Righteous vision, we may so advance heralding the flames of lives that have since quietened.
Where Humanity prospers, as do the ones whose footsteps in which we walk.