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CONTENTS

CoverBacklistTitlePageWarhammer40,000TerraPartOneWeaponsAmongtheOccludedStarsALegion’sGraveyardWherePastandPresentMeetVengefulSpiritEzekarionVindictaPartTwoOutrunningtheStormAGardenofBonesGhostsoftheWarpSacrificeTemplarsVoidWarHammerandAnvilLordofHostsSilenceTerraAbouttheAuthorAnExtractfrom‘NightLords:TheOmnibus’ABlackLibraryPublication

eBooklicense

WARHAMMER40,000

Itisthe41stmillennium.FormorethanahundredcenturiestheEmperorhassatimmobileontheGoldenThroneofEarth.Heisthemasterofmankindbythewillofthegods,andmasterofamillion

worldsbythemightofhisinexhaustiblearmies.HeisarottingcarcasswrithinginvisiblywithpowerfromtheDarkAgeofTechnology.HeistheCarrionLordoftheImperiumforwhomathousandsoulsare

sacrificedeveryday,sothathemaynevertrulydie.

Yeteveninhisdeathlessstate,theEmperorcontinueshiseternalvigilance.Mightybattlefleetscrossthedaemon-infestedmiasmaofthe

warp,theonlyroutebetweendistantstars,theirwaylitbytheAstronomican,thepsychicmanifestationoftheEmperor’swill.Vastarmiesgivebattleinhisnameonuncountedworlds.Greatestamongst

HissoldiersaretheAdeptusAstartes,theSpaceMarines,bio-engineeredsuper-warriors.Theircomradesinarmsarelegion:theAstraMilitarumandcountlessplanetarydefenceforces,theever-

vigilantInquisitionandthetech-priestsoftheAdeptusMechanicustonameonlyafew.Butforalltheirmultitudes,theyarebarelyenoughtoholdofftheever-presentthreatfromaliens,heretics,mutants–and

worse.

Tobeamaninsuchtimesistobeoneamongstuntoldbillions.Itistoliveinthecruellestandmostbloodyregimeimaginable.Thesearethetalesofthosetimes.Forgetthepoweroftechnologyandscience,forsomuchhasbeenforgotten,nevertobere-learned.Forgetthepromiseofprogressandunderstanding,forinthegrimdarkfuturethereisonlywar.Thereisnopeaceamongstthestars,onlyaneternityofcarnage

andslaughter,andthelaughterofthirstinggods.

DRAMATISPERSONAE

Inalphabeticalorder

AMURAELENKABlackLegionwarrior,bornofCthonia.MasteroftheFleshHarvest.FormerMedicaeQuintusoftheSonsofHorus.TenthoftheEzekarion.

ASHUR-KAIQEZRAMAHBlackLegionwarrior,bornofTerra.SorcererandvoidseerofthewarshipVengefulSpirit.SixthoftheEzekarion.

CERAXIAMistressoftheArsenal,bornofSacredMars.FormerMechanicumgovernessoftheNiobiaHalooutpostatGallium.SeventhoftheEzekarion.

DELVARUS,‘LORDOFMONGRELS’BlackLegionwarrior,bornofNovusPrincipa.WarchiefoftheRiven.

EZEKYLEABADDONBlackLegionwarrior,bornofCthonia.MasteroftheBlackLegion.CommanderofthewarshipVengefulSpirit.

FALKUSKIBREBlackLegionwarrior,bornofCthonia.CommanderoftheAphoticBlade.FirstoftheEzekarion.

ILYASTERFAYLECHDeathGuardwarrior,bornofBarbarus.ApothecaryoftheDeathGuardoftheKryptaruswarband.

ISKANDARKHAYONBlackLegionwarrior,bornofProspero.LordoftheAshenDead,andBladeofAbaddon.ThirdoftheEzekarion.

LHEORVINEUKRIS,‘FIREFIST’BlackLegionwarrior,bornofNuvir’sLanding.CommanderoftheWarGod’sMaw.FifthoftheEzekarion.

MORIANA,‘THEWEEPINGMAIDEN’Humanprophetess,bornofJaragh.TwelfthoftheEzekarion.

NAGUALDaemon,bornfromtheSeaofSouls.BoundtoIskandarKhayon.

NEFERTARIEldarhuntress,TruebornofCommorragh.BloodwardtoIskandarKhayon.

SARGONEREGESHBlackLegionwarrior,bornofColchis.PrelateoftheLongWar.SecondoftheEzekarion.

SARONOSWarpGhostswarriorofunknownorigins.CaptainofthewarshipTartaranWraith.

TELEMACHONLYRAS,‘THEMASQUEDPRINCE’BlackLegionwarrior,bornofChemos.LordoftheShriekingMasqueradeandChampionoftheBlackLegion.FourthoftheEzekarion.

THAGUSDARAVEK,‘THELORDOFHOSTS’DeathGuardwarrior,bornofBarbarus.WarlordoftheKryptaruswarband.

TOKUGRADaemon,bornfromtheSeaofSouls.BoundtoAshur-KaiQezramah.

TZAH’QMutantbeastman(Homosapiensvariatus),bornofSortiarius.StrategiumoverseeraboardtheVengefulSpirit.

ULRECHANSONTYN

IronWarrior,bornofOlympia.ChampionofThagusDaravek.

ULTIO,‘THEANAMNESIS’Advancedmachine-spiritreigningoverthewarshipVengefulSpirit,bornofForgeCeresonSacredMars.

VALICARHYNEBlackLegionwarrior,bornofTerra.MasteroftheFleetandcommanderofthewarshipThane.EighthoftheEzekarion.

VORTIGERNBlackLegionwarrior,bornofCaliban.LordoftheBlackLionsandcommanderofthewarshipWithBladeDrawn.NinthoftheEzekarion.

ZAIDUVOROLASBlackLegionwarrior,bornofNostramo.SubcommanderoftheShriekingMasquerade.

TERRA

TheGodshateus.Itrulybelievethis.Theyneedus.Weare their fuel.Our thoughts anddeeds arewhatgive themlife.Theyareus,inthemostliteralsense.Everynightmare,everywound,everydeath – it all feeds them, it all fuels them, forms them.And no, they are notindividual,reasoningentitiesasasentientsoulcouldevercomprehend.Theyareunreasoning forces, emotion and action given etheric shape, burning foreverbehindthecurtainofcorporeality.Buttheyhateus.Iamconvincedofit.My brothers do not agree with me in this matter. Lheor believed they weremindlessandwithoutintent,thattheycouldnothateusbecausetheycouldnothate,nor love, anything. Ilyasterbelieves theyaregenerous–evenkind–butonemustknowone’sowndesireswhendealingwiththem,andseethestrengthin even themost cursedgifts that theygive.Telemachon sees themasdistant,fascinating creatures, preferring his own intimate and secret forms of faith.Sargonbelieved,withallthefanaticismofanyferventworshipper,thattheGodsgrant uswhatwe deserve, notwhatwe desire.He used to insist that it is thepurposeofourexistencetoliveuptowhattheGodswishustobecome.Thatourbloodandsweatmusteverbespentinreachingthepotential that thePantheonseeswithinus.Even my dear, misguided brother Ahzek believes that they are presences –rational, irrational or otherwise – that can be outfought and out-thought.Ahriman’sbeliefcouldcharitablybecalledoptimism,orharshlyconsidered tobeignorance.Isuspectitisthatterribleandcompellingblendofboth:naïvety.ButIamconvincedthattheyhateus.Theylaughatourdreams.Theymockourambitions. They fight us to enslave us, knowing they need us. They cravechampions for their causes, elevating us, offering more – always more – toachieveourgoals,onlytoabandonusanddestroyuswhenweactagainsttheirwhims. This is more than simple malice. Malice is crude and practically

instinctive, a thing even beasts can comprehend. No, this is spite, and spiterequiresconsciousness,emotion,thecapacityforbitternessandwrath.ButtheyreservetheirfiercesthatredforAbaddon.Oh,howtheydespisehim.Theyhungerforhim,fightingeachotherforthehonourofattractinghisironcladsoul into their clutches. The Pantheon hates him the way parasites or addictsresentthatwhichsustainsthem.WithoutAbaddon,theyhavenohopeofvictory.Ifhewouldonlychooseoneofthem,ifhewouldonlycommithisdestinytooneoftheGods,itwouldbringtheGreatGameofChaostoitsfinalmoves.ButthenAbaddonwouldlose.HefightsnotforthePantheon,thosecreaturesthathatehowtheyneedhim,nordoeshecareabouttheirGreatGame.Hefightsforhimself,forhisownambitions,andforthebrothersathisside.HefightsfortheLegions cast aside by theEmperor.He cares about the Imperiumwebuiltwithourblood,sweat,boltersandblades–andhewantsitback.Hecaresaboutreturning to thegodling thatgaveus life and seeing theEmperorbleed for allHis failures.Hecaresaboutbrotherhood, theunityof thedamned, thewrongsthatweredonetoallofus.AndthereinliestherootoftheGods’spite.Theybeseechhim.Theybeghim.Theybetrayhim in spite and then crawlback in thehope that hewill bow tothem.But the power is ultimatelyAbaddon’s, and that iswhat theGods can neverforgive.Hisgreatest strength is alsohisdeepest flaw.Becausehewillnotbow to thePantheon,theywillforeverbetrayhimandworkagainsthisultimatetriumph.Itis said thatAbaddon’s destiny is an ouroboros, the serpent devouring its owntail, as the Pantheon chases a submission hewill never give, and he chases atriumphthatmaynevercome.AndsoItellyouthis,astrueasIhaveeverbeeninmyentirelife:Abaddon’sentire existence is devoted to breaking the cycle. We, his brothers, are hisinstrumentsinforcingfateontoanewpath.And thus, I am here. Captured, if you believemy gaolers, though I came totheirdoorandsurrenderedmyweaponsofmyownwill.Iamstillblind.Strange, the thingsyoucanbecomeused to.Thedarkness thatstolemysightweaves treacherously around my other senses, tainting them, leaving themunreliable.Eventimeisatraitor.Itnolongerplaysfaithfullythroughmymind.Eyelessandchainedinplace,theonlywaytomeasurethepassingoftimeisbythebeatofmytwinhearts.Yetthatrhythmbecomesdeceptivewhensilenceis

one’sonlycompanion;minutescanmalformintohours,yethoursmaypassaswaywardmoments.HowlonghaveIbeenhereonTerra?HowlonghaveIcalledthiscellhome?How long has my only company been the archival servitor that shares thisspace?Whydoyounotspeak,Thoth?Becauseyouwillnot,orbecauseyoucannot?Ihearthesoftrhythmofyourbreath,soIknowyouarenotfullyautomated.Yetyourquill scratchesonandon,committing thesewords toparchment.Youaremind-reaved to a state of simplicity, perhaps,mono-tasked to avoid themoralthreatIrepresent.Isthatit?Iamwastingmybreathwiththesequestions.I know what your masters want. They wish for more, always more, morerecollectionsandreflectionsofanerathatwasmythtotheirsocietythousandsofyearsbeforeanyofthemwereborn.Iamnotwithoutpride. Iamnot immune to the temptation to lie, to reweavepastfailuresandinjusticesasvictoriesforthesakeofmyownesteem,tosaythatthe Black Legion’s rise was so inevitable, so born in righteousness, that weascendedwithnothingbuttheacclaimandaweofourbrothersandcousins.Yetforallmyfaults,Iamnotapettysoul,andthereisnogaininspinningliesforImperialears.This, then, is the truth. The Black Legion’s history is drowned with blood,muchofitourown.IfitwaseasytodespisethedyingSonsofHorusfortheirtreacheryandweakness,itwaseasierbyfartoloathetheirreincarnationforitsstrengthanddefiance.Putsimply,werefusedtodie.Andoh,howourbrothersandcousinshatedusforit.HowtheytoreacrosstheEye,huntingusforthetwinsinsofdrawingbreathandseekingtofightfate.Sometimeswefoughtthem.Often,wefled.Thosewerenotdaysofpride,butnorwere theydaysofoutrightdefeat, forevenaswefled fromthevengeanceandjealousiesofourkindred,therewerethosethatsoughtusoutwithamindtofightalongsideus.Ourranksswelled,timelessnightbytimelessnight.Atfirstalmosteveryrecruitwas another exile, another wanderer, another disgraced or disgusted soul thatcametousinsearchofanewbeginning.Somewishedtocleansethemselvesofthepast and standbeneathanewbanner.Somewished to tasteoncemore thepurposeofbrotherhoodaftertheendlessbattleswithintheEyehadbrokentheiroldbonds.Somesought todeceiveus.Theywerepurged, fed to thecreaturesthatwrithedinthedarkoftheVengefulSpirit’sdeepestdecks.

Soon we recruited not lone warriors or squads, but warbands and warships.Timeandagain,AbaddonscatteredusacrosstheEyeindividedforces,bringingwordofhis return tohisbeleagueredLegion,offeringamnestyandalliance toany that wished to join with us. Most of our new loyal brethren were thesurvivorsof theshatteredSonsofHorus.Theycameforone reasonaboveall:survival.AdyingLegionontheedgeofextinctionwassuddenlypresentedwiththreeofthemosticonicsymbolsofitsformerstrength.TheLegionWarsragedon, yet here was Ezekyle Abaddon, here was Falkus Kibre and here was theVengefulSpirit.Suchanechooftheirbrightpastwassurelytheirgreatestchanceofsurvivalinarealmthatstillhungeredfortheirblood.ExilesandidealistsfromeveryLegionjoinedus.VortigernbroughthissolemnandwaywardLostLionwarband intoour ranks.AmuraelEnkacamenext–abrotherwhohashadeverychancetobetraymeacrossaneternityandyetneveronce wavered in his loyalty. Then Chariz Terenoch, the Wonderworker, whoforgedthebladeIcarriedafterthedestructionofmyaxeSaern.Hewasthefirstofmy formerbrothers among theThousandSons to surrenderhisRubricae tomymastery.ThencameZaiduandhisvilecannibals,whoinevitablyfellintoTelemachon’sfavour,followedbyDelvarusandhisbrutalSecondborn,onceLegionbrotherstoLheorandformerlytheguardiansofthegreatwarshipConqueror,flagshipoftheWorldEaters.None of our foes could overwhelm the Vengeful Spirit head on. Nor wasEzekyle content to exist for survival’s sake and let only stragglers and exilesswear oaths of fealty. He wantedmore. He wanted a Legion. Not one of theeighteenLegionsoftheGreatCrusade;hisvisionwassethigher,foundedintheprinciplesofrebirth.HewantedthefirstandonlyLegionoftheLongWar.Astribalconquerorshavedonesincetheagesofantiquity,weofferedourfoesa choice: serve us or be destroyed. Those that chose to swear allegiance toAbaddonwerepermittedtojoinourfleetorgarrisonourstrongholds,withsomeof those humbled warlords even joining Ezekyle’s inner circle. Few chosedestruction,thoughtruetoourword,weletnonesurviveoncetheyhadchosendefiance.Throughbloodandfireweraisedourselvestoaplaceof, ifnotpride, thenatleastlessdireshame.Wecommandedafleet.Wewerethelordsofthousandsofwarriors,eachonesharingourambitionstobemorethanwehadbeen.Thoughwewerestillhuntedbyourrivals–andnonepursuedusmorebitterlythanthelast living Sons of Horus who spat at us for corrupting their legacy – we no

longerlivedwiththebladeofextinctionagainstourthroats.Abaddon’s aggression bordered upon obsession, almost into the realm ofmadness. He committed us to battle after battle, not only to crush those thatoffereddefiancebut also tocome to theaidofbeleagueredwarbands thathadswornoathsofalliance.TheSonsofHorussufferedworstofall,stillplaguedastheywereby the shameof theirdefeat atTerra.Manywere the timeswe torethrough the formations of predator fleets hunting Sons of Horus warbands,fightingthembacklongenoughfortheirpreytoeitherfleeortostandwithusagainsttheirattackers.Therewaspreciouslittlelucktothis.Abaddoncourtedtheservicesandloyaltyofsorcerersandseersabovealmostanyotherrecruits.Ashur-Kai,calledforsolongtheWhiteSeerandnownavigatoroftheVengefulSpirit,foundhimselfinaposition of incomparable value. Norwas he alone – a coven of prophets andoracles formed, and whenAbaddon’s seers whispered, he took heed of everyword.And it worked. Ezekyle Abaddon, who had been First Captain of the XVILegionandarenownedherooftheImperium,becameachampiontotheSonsofHorus.Unprecedentednumbersof themabandoned thegreenceramiteof theirold Legion and adopted the colourless distinction of our nameless warband,fightingagainbeneathhisbanner.Firstforsurvival,andthen,asweallbelieved,forsomethingmore.Thatmostpotentandpureofmotivations.Revenge.Vengeanceboughtatanyprice.I, too, had changed. I no longer suffered the nightmares of wolves. Thesomnolentreflectionsofmyburningworldhadreceded,andwiththemfadedthehelpless hatred that had tasted a little too much like fear. Memories of greywarriorsnolongerhowledthroughmymind,justasGyrenolongerwalkedbymysideorguardedmyslumberingform.GonewastheFenrisianaxeIcarriedinto battle. Gone too was my armour of cobalt and polished bronze. TheceramiteIworewascolourless,edgedindullmetal.Iwasremade.NolongerasoldieroftheGreatCrusadeora hereticofafailedrebellion,IwasawarrioroftheLongWar–asIhavebeeneverydaysince,asIwill be untilmy final breath. Perhaps that last gasp of lifewill bewithin thisverycellanditshalltasteofthisstagnantair.Idon’tknow.ThisiswhatIdoknow.I am he who tells of the rage of angels. I am the emissary that speaks theblasphemiesofafalsegod’sexiledsons.

IamIskandarKhayon,calledKhayontheBlack,BreakeroftheCrimsonKing,Raider of Graves, Lord of the Ashen Dead, Third of the Ezekarion, LordVigilatoroftheBlackLegion.Iamthejudgeofmybrothers’sinsandthetakeroftraitors’heads.Iamwhatmybrotherneededmetobecome–now,asever,Iam his blade at the throats of his foes. I am a blinded, tortured prisoner inInquisitorialshackles.IamtheHeraldoftheCrimsonPath.Theseedsofourconquestwereborn in thefallowgroundofAbaddon’sownambition,butwecannot ignorethewhips thatcrackedagainsthisback.Letusspeak,then,ofMorianaandThagusDaravek.Daravek, thebattle-kingandLordofHosts, remainsmygreatest failure.FewothershavecomeasclosetokillingourdreamsofvengeanceasThagusoftheDeathGuard,attheheadofhisarmada.And as for Moriana… Look for that name in your own ancient records,inquisitors. You will find her there, secreted within the deepest shadows.Doubtlessherpresencespreadthesamepoisonamongyourrootsthatitspreadamongours.Let this archive chronicle the beginning ofwhat the Imperiumnow calls theFirstBlackCrusade.Iwill tellyouof therootsof thewarandthefirstbloodybattlewhenat lastwebrokefreeofourwarp-wroughtprison,whenanancientknight-king fell intodarknessandwhenmybrother sought toclaim theswordfatedtoendanempire.Iswear toyouonwhatever tatteredscrapsremainofmysoul,everywordonthesepagesistrue.

Fromshameandshadowrecast.Inblackandgoldreborn.

‘…DaravekThagusDaravekhebledushebutcheredusevenEzekyledidn’tknow the threatwecouldn’thaveknown it isKhayon’s faultKhayon is toblamemy brotherKhayon he could not do it he could not do as hewasordered Khayon was blind he could not see the traceries of fate and hewouldnotbelieve…’

–from‘TheInfinityCanticle’,sequesteredbytheholyorderofHisImperialMajesty’sInquisitionasanUltima-grade

moralthreat.Purportedtobetheunedited,ravingconfessionofSargonEregesh,Lord-PrelateoftheBlackLegion.

WEAPONS‘Khayon,Iknowyou’rehere.Icansmellyourmongrelstink.’Daravek’svoicewas a rustedhacksaw, a thingof flaky corrosion and rottingedges.‘Showyourself.Letusfinishthis.’Hewastalkingagreatdeal,almostalwaysasignofdesperationinawarrior.Idaredtothinkthatcontrolofthesituationwas slippingthroughhisfingers,andchallengingmelikethiswastheonlywayhecouldtrytoreasserthisdominance.Around us, above us, sirens were crying out their warnings. They had beendoingsoforseveralminutes.InDaravek’sdefence,hehaddoneverywelltolastthislong.ButIhadhim.Atlast,Ihadhim.TonightIwouldbringhisbonestomylordAbaddon.ThagusDaravekwasanimmense,bloatedmonster,swollenbythefavourofhispatron Gods. Wet filth crusted the overlapping plates of his battle armour,sealing theseamswithundefinedbiomechanicalvileness.Theceramitearoundhistorsoandoneofhislegswaswarpedwithdiseasedswellingandfusionoftheflesh within, and horns of bronze thrust through punctures in the mangledarmour.Thebronzespineswereveined,somehowalive,andbleedingvascularpromethium.Thevulture’swingsthatroseinraggedmajestyfromhisshoulderbladeswerespindly,tremblingthingsdespitetheirsize,thefeathersandtatteredbonesburninginheatlesswavesofwarpfire.Ghosts,or thingsthat lookedlikeghosts,reachedoutfromthoseflames.‘He is here,’ Daravek said, deep and low, as he paced. His jaundiced eyesdriftedfromwarriortowarrioramonghiseliteguard.Blooddecoratedhisfacefromtheslaughtersofar.Itbubbled,slowlydissolvingontheactivebladeofhisaxe.‘Iknowheishere,ridingwithinyourbones.Whichoneofyouwasweakenoughtofalltothemongrelmagician?’EvenasIclenchedmyconsciousnessawayfromtheriskofdiscovery,evenasIdissolvedmyessencethinnerthanmistandthreadeditthroughthebloodofmy

host body, I felt a stab of irritation at the word ‘magician’, uttered in GothicheavilyaccentedbylifeinthehighlandsofBarbarus.Butnowwasnotthetimetoamendthewarlord’signorance.‘Wasityou,Symeos?’heaskedoneofhiswarriors.Themetalchambershookaroundus.Statues to incarnationsof theUndyingGod and theShiftingManytrembled, given shivering life by the assault on the fortress. Symeos tilted hishelmedhead,bearinghisthroatbeforehismaster’sblade.‘Neverinlife,LordDaravek.’Daravek levelled his axe at another of his closest brethren. Some of themshared thesametraitsas their liege lord– thewarpedbloatingofpreternaturaldisease,theencrustedcorruptionofoncepristinebattleplate.Thisonedidnot;hewascadaverous inadrier,moreghoulish sense.Therewas somethingparchedabout him, something that spoke of undesecrated tombs beneath the earth,decoratedwiththeuntoucheddustofcenturies.‘Ilyaster?’Daravekasked.‘Wasityou,brother?’‘No,mylord,’Ilyastersaidwiththeuglyraspthatservedashisvoice.Hewasunhelmed,andthewordswereacarrion-scentedbreaththroughblackenedteeth.Daravek swayed to the next warrior. To me. His eyes met mine, his toxicrespirationcaressingmyface.‘Tychondrian,’hesaid.‘You,brother?’Iwasalsounhelmed.Isnarledthroughjawsthatcouldbarelycloseduetothelengthofmyunevenfangs.‘No,lord.’The fortress gave another titanic shudder around us. Daravek turned away,laughing, truly laughing. ‘You could all be lying, you worthless wretches.Nevertheless,thedayisfarfromdone.Wemustgetintoorbit.WewillgowhereAbaddon’smongrelcannotpursue.’

Iwas instrumental in thebirthof theBlackLegion,yet the truth is that Iwasabsentformanyofthebattlesthatformeditsgenesis.Whilemybrotherswagedwarandfought tosurvive, Iworked inan isolation thatbordereduponexile. IcannotsaythatIneverresentedAbaddonforthis,butIhavealwaysunderstoodit.Weeachplaytheparttowhichwearebestsuited,andhedidnotneedanothergeneral,oryetanotherwarrior.Heneededanassassin.This is not a rare role for souls of great psychic strength among the NineLegions. We possess talents and masteries that make murder something of aspecialty.Inarealmwheredeceptionandassassinationareplaguedbyamillionunnatural considerations –where stealth and a sniper rifle are next to useless;

where physical laws scarcely apply; where every single foe is preternaturallyresistanttovenomandpoison–thosewiththepowertoremakerealitymakethefinestmurderers.Use of theArt,manipulating thematterof souls, allows one to bypass suchlimitations.Awarriorwhomay never best his brotherswith a blade can binddaemonstohiswill.Thesamewarrior,whomaybemediocrewithaboltgunandbearnoawardsforeithervalourormastery,canrewritethemindsofhisfoestohisownwishes.Amarksmanthathaslearnedeveryscrapofintelligenceabouthistargetmaytrytopredicthisfoe’sactions,butasorcererthathasseenintohisenemy’s soul knows every iota of lore without needing to resort to crudeguesswork. And if you give credence to such things, the sorcerer may havewalked thepathsof fateandseenahostofpossible,probable futures,andcanmanipulateeventstobringaboutthemostdesiredends.YetifIammakingthissoundeasy,Iamdoingadisservicetotheslayer’scraft.Most of these undertakings are monumental. Many are impossible without acovenofalliesandapprentices,bothofwhichIhaveusedinabundanceacrossthemillennia.Sometimes,however,Iworkalone,andthosesorcererscapableofsuch featsmust be psykers of immense strength. I do not say this lightly.MyreputationamongtheNineLegionshasbeenhardearned,andtherearepreciousfewsorcerersable tomatchme inmight.Mostof those thatcan tend towastetheir talents in the unreliable impracticalities of precognition and prophecy.Atragicwaste.Somesaythebestbladesarethosethatareneverdrawn,andthereiswisdominsuchaphilosophy.Butpowermustbewielded,testedandtrained,lestitwitheronthevine.YouhaveheardmespeakofAhrimanbefore.Iknowyouknowhisname,fromhis many predations upon the Imperium. My brother, my naïve but mostadmirablyhonestbrother,AhzekAhrimanoncetoldmethathealoneamongtheNineLegionsstoodabovemeintalentwiththeArt.Itwastypicalofhishabitforblendinghumilitywitharrogance,tosaynothingofmanipulation.Icannotspeakfortheveracityofhiswords.Inthelongyearsofmylife,whilealmostallofmysorcerousrivals liedead,a fewof themcameclose tokillingme.ThereareotherswhomIwouldneverwishtoface,andstillothersthatcarryreputationsequalto,orgreaterthan,mine.InourLegion’searlyyears, Iplayedmypartasexpected.Mynewduties forAbaddonrequiredabreathtakingamountofpreparation,andIadheredtotheserequirementswithunfailingfocus.Iwasneverswiftinmywork.Iwas,however,verythorough.WhenAbaddon

needed haste, he sent warriors or warships to do his will. When he neededprecision,whenhewantedapointmadeoralessonlearned,hesentme.WhenAbaddon first toldmehe requiredDaravekdead, Iknewnot toexpectanydeepconversationalinsightastohowhewishedmetoachievehisgoal.Itwasalwaysmyplacetostudythetarget,toascertaintheconsequencesofvariousmethodsofdeath and tobringabout a resultmost favourable toour emergingarmiesandthewarrior-monarchthatledus.Abaddon expects results.Anyoneof theEzekarion requiring thepainstakingforce-feedingofinformation,unableorunwillingtocomposebattleplansinhisownright,wouldbediscardedordestroyedasuseless.Thesamestandsforthechieftains,subcommandersandchampionsthatfilltheofficerranksbeneathus.This serves a twofold purpose. First, although he leads the Black Legion’sgreatest battles and oversees our function, in this mannerAbaddon forces hisrankingofficersandelitebodyguards toconstantlyadaptandacton theirowninitiative.Thesecondpurpose,nolessvital,isoneoftrust.Bythisdelegationhisclosestbrothersknowtheycarryhistrust.TherestoftheLegion,andtheentiretyoftheEyeitself,knowsthisaswell.TheEzekarionspeakswithAbaddon’svoice.Eachoneofuswieldshisauthority.Youcannotoverstatetheexultanteffectthishasonmorale.It wasmy duty asAbaddon’s silent blade that broughtme to the fortress ofThagusDaravek,WarlordofThis,MasterofThat,ButcherofThemandadozenother titles that I refuse toconsign toparchmentevenall thesemillennia later.Oneof themmatteredmorethantheothers,andthat is theoneIshalluse: theself-styledLordofHosts.Hechallengedusat every turn, awarlordwhowanted to rivalAbaddon,andthushewassentenced todeath.Ouremissaries tootherwarlordswouldarriveonly to find that oaths had already been sworn to Daravek. Our fleets wouldtranslateintoasystemonlytosailintooneofDaravek’smanyambushes.We of the Ezekarion, and the armieswe commanded, had been bleeding theLegions for some time,carving themapart aswe fought forour right toexist.NoneretaliatedwiththesameferocityastheDeathGuard,andnowarlordwasaswilful,orasdangerous,asDaravek,theso-calledLordofHosts.Thetitlefit.Onmorethanoneoccasionhehadgatheredfleetscomprisedofwarbandsfromseveral Legions, tasked with the purpose of resisting our rise. Yet always heavoideddirectconflictwithAbaddon.Alwaysheremainedonestepaheadofus,refusingtocomewithinrangeoftheVengefulSpirit’sguns.

Foreveryvictoryweearnedthroughtherunningbloodofhiswarriors,hestoleonebackinkind.Hehadtodie.IwasAbaddon’s instrument. It tookmonthsofwatching,waiting,hidingandscrying to locate his sanctuaryworld, and Iwas blessedwith fortune aswell.Traitorswithinhisranksstoodreadytoworkwithme.Icouldnotfail.Iwouldnotfail.Notthistime.Daravekandhiswarband laid claim to aworldof calcifiedpain.Despite themadnessof thosewords, theyareneitherweakpoetrynorastrainedmetaphor.Theplanet’scrustwasformedoftorturedbreaths,fearfuldreamsandtheechoesofhumanandeldaragoniesthroughouteternity,allofitbleedingfromthewarpandrenderedintoacoldlandscapeofknuckly,misshapenbone.ThiswouldhaveleftmeenrapturedduringmyfirstyearsinsidetheEye.WhenIwalked theworld’s surface, however, Iwasneither breathless nor awed.Mymindwaselsewhere,tangledinotherdifficulties.ThiswasmyfifthattemptonDaravek’s life. As useful as I was to Abaddon, his patience was not withoutlimit.‘Kulrei’arah,’ Nefertari had informedme before I left to undertake the duty.Thatwasthenamethisglobehadoncecarriedaspartoftheeldarempire.Wehadnonameforit.Itdidn’tdeserveone.Ifyoutouchedtheosseousgroundwithbareskin,youcouldfeelthesenseless,red reflectionsof thedreamersand suffererswhose torment formed thisplace.Evenwithout touching thebonyearthyoucouldhear themurmursrisingfromitscracked,marrow-stinkingsurface.What wracked imagination had conjured such a planet into being?Was thisDaravek’spsycheatinsidiouswork,shapingittohisdesires?Orwasitmerelythe Eye’s etheric discharge taking form – the warp’s excremental run-offchangingaworldwithoutanyguidingwill?Andyet,asdaemon-hauntedworldsareweighed,theclimateandlandscapeofthisnamelessspherewerepracticallytame.OnSortiarius,thehomeworldofmyformerLegion,itrainstheboilingbloodofeveryliarevertodrawbreath.Intheseason of storms, this sanguine tempest is often acidic enough to dissolveceramite. Some say this isMagnus the Red’s rebellious subconscious at play,scourging himself for his past treacheries. I cannot speak to the truth of thematter,butitsoundsappropriateformyfather,asconflictedasheis.Patchesofthisnamelessworld’ssurfacehad,throughpreternaturalcorrosionorunrest,beenreducedtodesertsofbonedust.Itwaswithinoneoftheseoceansofskeletal powder that Daravek’s fortress lay, half-buried in the dust of eroded

nightmares. Its crooked spires reached skywards, surrounded in a fog oftoxichemical mist. Monstrous industrial mouth-vents along the sides of eachtowerbreathedthepoisongasacrossthesurroundingdesert,offeringyetanotherlineofdefence.Despite this, thebastionwas still aplaceofpilgrimage to thebeastmen and mutants that populated the world – their bodies, given over tovarying degrees of rot, lay across the desert in their scattered thousands. Thislatter element fascinated me. What would bring these creatures on such apilgrimage, into the face of an almost certain death? What did they believeawaited themwithin the fortress’walls, those few thatwere strong enough towalkthroughthepoisonmisttoreachit?Irecoveredseveralofthecorpsesforeducationalpurposes.Speakingwiththeshardsof their souls, I ascertained from theirpiouswailing that they left theirsubterranean tribesandmarcheduponDaravek’scastleofcorroded iron in thehopesofelevationintohisranks.Hewouldhardlybethefirsttotryandpervertthegene-seed implantationprocess to functiononmutants, adult orotherwise,buttalesofsuccessinalteringtheEmperor’soriginalritualisedprocesswere–andstillare–asrareasyoumightimagine.AftereachsummoningIwouldsheathemyjamdharaknife,hurltheshriekingghosts back into the warp’s winds and incinerate the remains to erase anyevidence of my investigations. Avoiding detection was paramount. Slowly,invisibly,Ibeganmyinfiltration.IttookalmostayearofpsychicpermeationbeforeIwasreadytokillDaravek.Everythinghadtobeprecise.Ithadtobeperfect.Icouldtakenorisksthistime.IstillwonderifIactedtooswiftly.

The creature’s name was a gathering of syllables that I would struggle topronounce aloud, despite speaking several hundred linguistic variants ofhumanity’s proto-Gothic root tongue. This creature, whose thoughts were aturmoilofbestialinstinctandslaveringloyaltytoitsarmouredmasters,toileditslifeawayinthefortress’darkdepths.Heretheonlysoundsinexistencewerethebraysandyellsof themenialsraising theirvoicesabove theceaselesscrashofcoal-firemachinery.Thiswasthecreature’slife,frombirthtodeath.Inthisdarkrealm,thecreaturemovedamongitskindred,clutchingarustedandbrokenmachinestrut,almosttwometresinlength.Itthrustthisprimitivespearthroughthebackofasecondcreature’sneck,rippeditfree,thenwieldeditasaclubtoshatterthefaceofathirdslave.Thisthirdunfortunatefelltotheground,raisingitsarmsfutilelyasitwasimpaledthroughthechest.

The spear was now bent, rendering it useless. The creature left it in itskinsman’schestandturnedtotheothersdrawingcloserinthestinking,crashingdarkness.Itcouldkilloneofthem,perhapstwo,butdozensofredeyesgleamedbackinthegloom.Jaggedwar-shrieksandmorehuman-soundingcriesofangerandfearsoundedoutthroughthedark.Thecreaturedidnotfightitskinsmen.Itturnedfromthem,tookthreerunningsteps and hurled itself into the pounding, rattling mechanics of the closestmachine station. The pistons slammed. The gears ground. The creature’s finalthought, not surprisingly, was washed red with panic and pain. The machineslowedmomentarily,thenchewedthroughtheobstruction.Thishappenedagainandagain.Oneof thecreatureswoulderupt intosuddenviolence,killingwithoutwarning,strikingdownthoseatitsside.Severalsimplythrewthemselvesintothejawsofstrugglingmechanicalengines.Within the space of a single minute, eleven of the machines had stalled,jammedbydenseclogsoffleshandbone.

Inoneof thespires,a legionaryoverseeing theworkofhigh-level functionaryslavesstaredunblinkingataconsolethatstartedtoflashwithredwarningsigns.Hewasalreadydyingwhen the console’s alert runesbegan flashing, sufferingcatastrophicischemicshockasa carnivalofmessyembolismssavagedhisbrain.TheSpaceMarine–awarriornamedElathDastarenn–remainedstanding.Hestood slack-mouthed, dead-eyed, and keyed in several codes to deactivate theconsole’s warning sigils, silencing the terminal from reporting its findingselsewhere.Ibelievehe said somethingmumbledandmeaningless ashis synapses flaredthose final times. Whatever the wordless murmur was supposed to mean, Icannot speculate. Bodies, and the brains that drive them, do strange things astheydie.

ThelegionaryholdingtherankofArmsmasterceasedspeakinghalfwaythroughaddressinghissquad.Hedrewhissidearminaslowsnarlofarmservos,placedtheboltpistol’smouthagainsthislefteyeanddischargedaboltdirectlyintothefrontofhisskull.

Atop one of the gunship platforms, a crew ofmutant thralls braved the toxicgases with rheumy eyes and blood-pocked rebreathers, working to refuel aThunderhawk.Oneofthemunlimberedacrudeflamerfrombeneathhercloak,aweapon shedidnot have the clearance topossess.Shehad spent several days

building it piece by piece, despite lacking the intelligence to do so, and nowbroughtitforthtobathehercompanionsinaroarofsemi-liquidfire.Sheignoredherflailing,dyingherdmates,evenwhenoneofthemcrashedintoherandignitedhergas-soakedclothing.Aflamenow,shepushedthenozzleofthe jury-rigged short-burst flamer against the refuelling port of the groundedgunship, but nothing emergedwhen shepulled the trigger.Her last actwas tothrust her burning arm directly into the hole that opened into the promethiumtank.I saw the explosion just under aminute later fromwhere Iwatched, severalkilometresawayonalowridge.

On several other towers, anti-aircraft cannons rotated and lowered, no longerscanningthelowatmosphereforthreats,insteadtrackingtheflightpathsofthefighter wing patrolling above the ramparts. The servitor-brains inside theseturretswouldlaterbefoundboiledaliveintheirsuspension-fluidcradles.Longbefore that, however, they spat volley after volleyof cannon fire into the sky,bringingdownmostoftheirownaerialdefences.The primary cannon – an anti-orbital annihilator fusillade – detonated in themiddle of this treacherous display due to its fifty-strong crew ofmono-taskedservitors acting without orders, overriding all fail-safes and overloading thepoorlymaintainedpowercellsset intheweapon’sfoundations.Thethreetech-priests tasked with overseeing the primary cannon’s function had slaughteredone anotherwithoutwarning or reason, acting in cold and calculating silence,effectivelyabandoningtheirservitorwards.Isawthisexplosionaswell.Itwasconsiderablybrighterthanthefirst.

Powerbegan to fail across the fortress.Partly thiswasbecauseof slavecrewsturning on one another. Partly it was due to the sabotage of several powergenerators.Andpartly itwasbecauseoneofDaravek’sownelitewarriors, thelegionary’sarmourheavingtocontainthedisease-bloatedfleshwithin,hadfusedseveral melta charges to his own body and detonated them at the tri-cortexplasma locomotor thatcontrolledcoolant for the fortress’entire reactordistrictbeneaththeplanet’ssurface.

Anuprisingbegan in the fortress’depthswhena legionarypowereddownanddeactivatedtheprisonercells,floodingthelowerlevelsofthecastlewithwarpspawn,devolvedmutantsandmortalcaptiveswhowerebeingkeptasfood.Thelegionarycuthisownthroatwithhischainswordbeforehewitnessedthefruits

of this labour, and thevox speakers inhisgorget thatdemanded reportsheardnothingbuthislastbreathsgurglingthroughhisdestroyedvocalcords.

Several legionaries rampaged through the warband’s barracks and armouries,butchering their unprepared brethren and slaughtering arming slaves. Each ofthese wayward warriors was inevitably killed in turn by his brothers, but notbefore each had done what damage he could. Within each victorious squad,anotherwarriorwould then turn on his brethrenwithoutwarning, unloading aboltgunatpoint-blankrangeintothebacksandheadsofhisbrothers,orcarvinglimbsfrombodieswithapowerswordbeforebeingfinishedbythesurvivors.Dyingdaemonsclawedtheirwayfromseveralof thesecorpses, theirsoullesslivesextinguishedonthefloorbythebodiesofthosetheyhadpossessed.OthersIsimplyabandonedwheretheyfell,movingmysensesandconsciousnesstothenextwarriorswhose souls I had spentmonths studying in preparation for thisnight.Onebyone,deathbydeath.

Iremembereveryman,womanandchildwhosemindItouched,whosebodyIpuppeteered, whose flesh I gouged out hollow as a haven for a daemonicparasite,purelybecauseofwhat Iam.A legionary’sbrain is sculpted to retaineverythingfromthemomentofhisawakeningasaSpaceMarinetothesecondofhisdemise.Far from the fortress, I was sweating in my armour and chanting, endlesslychanting,hunchedintheconfinesofacrawlholeIhaddugwithmybarehands.Evenwithmyconsciousnessfreeofmybody,IfeltmyphysicalformreactingtothepressuresIwasplacinguponitwithsuchaprotractedpsychicsending:theacheofmyover-bentspine;thetickleofsalivarunningfrommymovingmouth;thepainfulspasmsofmytwitchingfingers.Monthsandmonthsofpreparationhadledtothismoment.Soulbysoul,beingbybeing,Imovedthroughthefortress, touchingsomemindsasamerecaress,amplifyingtheirbasestinstinctsandspurringthemtobloodshed.Others,thoseIhadsilentlyandunknowinglypreparedoverthemanymonths,Iplungedmyselfinto, knife-like and savage, tearing their consciousnesses intomist, overridingthefunctionoftheirmusclesandboneswithmywill.EvenamongthoseIhadbeenspyinguponformonths,hollowingoutfor thisspecific purpose, resistance was tenacious. I was weary and their souls werestrong,andratherthanwastetimeseekingtoovercomethemIwouldmoveontoothers.Iwastoofocusedonmyworktokeeptrackofeveryfailedattempt,but

inmore thanonedistrictof thefortressmyattempts to rally theslavesagainsttheirmastersfailed,asdidmyattemptstoforcetheDeathGuardtobutchertheirslaves.Itwasworking,though.Bulkheadsthatledtoavenuesofescapeweresealedandoverriddenwiththeirmechanicalprocessesshot.Corridorswerecollapsedwithexplosives.Gunshipsthatmanagedtoliftoffwerebroughtdownbyfirefromthebattlements.Sectionbysection,districtbydistrict,thefortresswascastintodarknessandpitchedintodisorder.Ayear’swork,allculminatinginasingleevening.Thejawsofthetrapslowlyclosed.Itwasnotperfect,butbytheliesoftheShiftingMany,itwasclose.Sodamnclose.Soon it was time to hunt Daravek. I sank my unseen claws into one lastpreparedandvulnerablemind, tearinghisshrieking,violated thoughtsfreeandbindingmyowninplace.Isettledintothisnewhost,gatheredmystrengthandwaited.

Daravekwasbynomeans easyprey, andhewas anythingbut a fool.Hehadreacted with precision and competence, moving through the fortress himself,quelling the uprisings through the brutality of his axe and by ordering entiresections of the fortress sealed, flooding them with alchemical toxins toextinguishanylivingresistance.Itmighthaveworkedhadthesectionsactuallybeensealed,butmanyofhisunitleadersandsubcommandersweremind-eatenwrecks that failed to comply with his orders, or were murdered by theirsubordinatesbefore theycouldact. Inmanycases, theyweredeadbefore theycouldevenreceivehisorders.But despite allmypreparation, Iwasbuilding anuncontrollable fire in hasteand with imperfect tools. Daravek felt my nearness. He knew what washappening, knew this was the payment for resistingAbaddon’s past approachand offer of alliance. He had seen this before. Not on this scale, not to thisdegreeofprecision,butheknewthehandthatheldthisblade.‘Khayonishere,’hehadsaid.He halted his massacring advance in one of his ritual chambers, demandinganswersfromtheremainingbodyguardsathisside.Theyenduredthiswithstoic,regalloyalty.When his eyes locked to mine, I felt the toxicity of his breath against mymutatedface.‘Tychondrian,’hesaidtome.‘You,brother?’

I snarled a denial through a fanged mouth that the warp had mangled andreshapedintosomethingofabsolutelethality.‘No,lord.’He laughed.By thePantheon, hewas enjoying this. ‘You could all be lying,youworthlesswretches.Nevertheless,thedayisfarfromdone.Wemustgetintoorbit.WewillgowhereAbaddon’smongrelcannotpursue.’Thechamber shookoncemorewith thediscord Ihadorchestratedacross thefortress.Daravekturnedawayfromme,levellinghisgazeuponthenextwarriorofhisinnercircle.AllIhadtodowasshiftmystance,lengtheningmyshadowbeneaththeflickeringglareoftheoverheadlightssothatittouchedDaravek’sinlightlessunion.Iforcedmypsychiccommandintothatpatchofconjoineddarkness.Now.

Prosperine lynxes, extinct with the annihilation of my home world, were ill-named for comparative purposes.Before their destruction, theyhad resembledthe equally extinct Ancient Terran tigrus-cat or the sabre-toothed smyladonrather thananyother feline:hugelymuscled,bulkywith strengthand speckle-striped innaturalwarning towardoff other predators.However, they eclipsedeven those prehistoric beasts in size. A Prosperine lynx’s great head, with anarsenal of spear-tip teeth, would reach the height of a Legiones Astarteswarrior’sbreastplate.ThatiswhatleaptfromThagusDaravek’sshadow.Clawsfirst,thebeastmeltedoutofthedarknessandlaunched,roaring,ontothewarlord’sbackinamoveofimpossibleagility.In shape itwas a Prosperine lynx, but in form itwas purely daemonic. Thiscreaturepossessedneither fleshnorblood,and its fur–blackandstripedwithlightergrey–wasclosertosmokethanhair.Itsclawswerethelengthofgladiiandformedfromvolcanicglass.Itseyeswerethekindofwhitethatburns.Iwasmovingthemoment itstruck.Ispuntothewarriornext tome, ignitingthelightningclawsIworeasgauntlets.Icould–should–haveslaughteredtwoof the other bodyguards before they could react, but I was slowed by theunfamiliarmightoftheTerminatorwar-platearoundme.Norwerecumbersomelightning clawsmyweapon of preference. I carved through the closest DeathGuardonlyforthebladestolodgewithinthecorpseforpreciousseconds.WhenIdraggedthemfree,mychancetoslaughterDaravekwaslost–thoughhestillthrashed beneath the daemon-cat’sweight and fury, his other bodyguards now

movedbetweenus.Realitybleacheddowntoflashesofinstinctandinsight,cutting,weavingaside,swinging left and right with the cumbersome claws. Despite my gougingTychondrian’sconsciousnessfreeofhisflesh,hisbodystillresistedmycontrol.HehadbeenstrongerthanIexpected.Thatmademeslow.Tychondrian’s body was a limping, bleeding ruin by the time I reachedDaravek. Scarce seconds had passed, but it was an assassin’s eternity, whereeveryheartbeatcounted.Thetasteoffailurewasalreadyrunningitsbitterwayovermy tongue. Iknew, facing theembattledDaravekashewrestledwith thethrashing, snarling lynx, that I lacked the strength to finish him from withinTychondrian’sshreddedform.Nagual,Isent.Evenmysilentvoicewasravaged.Tychondrianwasdying,thedistractionofweaknessratherthanpainfloodingthroughhisfadingmusclesandslowing his internal organs. I was down on one knee, unable to forcemyselfbackupasthebodydiedaroundme.Nagual…Finishhim…Master,thelynxsentbackinacknowledgement.Not a word in truth, just a ripple of awareness, yet the lynx was strugglingalone. Daravek gushed a flood of alchemical flame from his wrist projectors,bathing the creature that thrashed upon his back and shoulders like a livingcloak.Nagual’ssmokycorpuscaughtfire,andthebeastvanished.Suddenlyunbalancedwithoutthedaemon’sweight,Daravektookamomenttoturnandstabilisehimself.Inthesamesecond,thedaemonicfelineroaredfrommyshadow,leapingouttocrashintotheDeathGuardwarlordoncemore.Cannotkillalone,sentNagualashisfangsscrapedsparksacrosstheceramiteofDaravek’sshoulderguards.Hisclawsfoundbetterpurchase,tearingmangledshreds of armour plating free and ripping through themeat beneath, yet eachsavagewoundsealedalmostassoonasitwascarved.Preyisblessed.GiftsfromtheUndyingGod.GiftsfromtheShiftingMany.Cannotkillalone.I couldn’t rise. I couldn’t shoot. The arm I raised did not end in a double-barrelled bolter clutched in an armoured fist; it ended raggedly at the elbow,severedmomentsbeforebyoneoftheotherbodyguards’blades.‘Khayon.’Daravekspatmynamefromhisbleedingmouth,advancingonme,stepbyslowstep.‘I.See.You.’The daemon’s snarls turned frantically feline as Daravek gripped Nagual’sbitingfaceoverhisshoulderandbegantosinkhisfingersintohisskull.Master!ItoremyselffreeoftheuselesshuskthathadbeenTychondrian,sufferingthe

disembodied vulnerability of an unseen etheric form.Mybody,my true body,waskilometresfromhere–hunchedandchantingandutterlyuseless.Intheairaroundme,Ifelttheshiverythreatofshapelessdaemonsdrawntomyunboundspirit,hungeringforthetasteofahumansoul.Notimeforcaution.I closed myself around Daravek, seeping through the cracks in his armour,sinkingintotheporesofhisskin,drivingintothemeatofhismind.Possessionisamong themost desperate and difficultways to attack a soul. It rarelyworkswithoutintensivepreparation,andhesensedmeatonce,assurelyasifIheldablade to his throat. Immersionwithin a soul comeswith a horrific sharing ofoverlappingsensesasthebrainplayshosttotwosouls,awakeningthemindwithpainfulhissesofmeshedmemoriesandsendingburningstabsofsensory inputalongoverburdenedopticnerves.Notthistime.Daravek’sspiritwasiron.Tryingtopuppethisfleshwastoshoutintoastorm;Iwashopelesslyoverwhelmedagainsthisstrength.Herepelledmefromhis flesh through forceofwill, andhurled thedaemon-cat away throughforceofmuscle.Hewasbloodiedandbattered, cutoff from the survivorsofhiswarband,hisfortressfallingaroundhim–yethestilllived.Heturned,payingnoheedtotheblood he vomited down his chest-plate, disgorging internal filth through thegrateofhisteethandseekingme,wild-eyedandraving.No.Notseekingme.Seekingmyally,thetraitornowrevealedinhismidst.‘Ilyaster.’One of his inner circle still lived. Ilyaster, that patient and parched creatureserving as Daravek’s herald, standing as ever with his liege lord’s scythe ofoffice in his hands.He toowaswounded from the fray, hisCataphractii platemauled and spitting sparks from its back-mounted power generator. I had nottouchedhim,norhadmydaemonfamiliar.Ilyasterpulledtheceremonialweaponfromthecorpseofthebrotherwarriorhehadjustbeheaded,andraisedittowardoffhisownlord.‘You.’Daravek’smouthranwithblackbloodasheregurgitatedtheaccusation.‘Youbetrayedme.YousummonedAbaddon’smongrel.You!’Theshadow-lynxadvancedfromoneside,Ilyasterfromtheother,woundedbutdetermined.Now.Ithadtobenow.Daravekcoulddestroyallthreeofusifhewasallowedtoretakecontrolofthebattle.But I had nothing left. I hurledmyself into him oncemore. He repelledmewithouteffort,asdefiantlyasthoughhissoulwerewardedbysteel.

Weakening by themoment, I drove back into hismind, thinningmyself intonear-nothingness,offeringnosolidpresenceforhimtorepelathirdtime.Ididnotneedtomasterhisflesh,merelystealamomentofopportunity.No assault this time. This was attunement, a harmonising with his body’smortalprocesses. I flowed throughhisphysical form, ridinghisblood, feelingthesingingstingofadrenalineandelectricalimpulsesfromhisnervoussystem.Pain.Iwilledpulsesof flame todancealong thecobwebofhisnerves, forcinghismusclestocontract,toclench,tospasm.It was enough. Enough to loosen his grip on the axe, enough to paralyseDaravekthespanofasinglebreath.The daemon-beastwas a hammerweight of taloned shadow againstmy faceandchest.Theceremonialscythewasalanceblowcrackingintomyside.Ifeltmyself falling to the ground, weighed down by the body I had suffusedwithsuffering.Feed!Thedaemon’ssnarlscamewitheachjarring,reavingblowofhisclawedpaws.Feed!Blood!Meat!Life!IwasDaravek in thatmoment. Everywordwas a thunder crack againstmyshattering skull.The daemon, theminion ofAbaddon’smongrel assassin,wastakingme to pieces. I could notmove.My armourwas shattered bymy ownceremonialscytheinIlyaster’shands.Andyet,Iwaslaughing.Daravekwaslaughing.Ihadnopowertocompelhimtosuchareaction.Khayon.Ispokemyownname,forcingmyspiritintocohesion,keepingmyselftogether.IamKhayon.IamKhayon.Memoriesflashed,acid-vileintheirintensity,ofwarriorsIhadnevermetandwarsIhadneverfought.Strangelyitwasthis,ofallthings,thatDaravekhatedme for most. This voyeuristic sharing of his thoughts; this defiling insult oflivinginsidehisskull.Andyet,eventhen,hissnidelaughterechoedallaroundme.Hebackhanded Ilyasterhard enough to shatter theotherwarrior’sbreastplateandmovedfortheimmensedoorsleadingtothefortress’teleportationchamber.Ihadtostophim.Ihadtokillhim.ButIcouldnot.Icouldnotholdmyselfinsidehisform.Hewouldnotletme.Hehurledmefromhisfleshwiththeeaseofamanwavingasideaninsect.Myshockonlymadeiteasierforhimtoshedmyconsciousnessfromhisown,andhedidsowithsilentpsychiclaughter.

Almost,Iskandar!Almost,thistime.Herepelledmewithsuchbrutalitythatallsenseandsensationfledfromme.Isawnothing,sensednothing,andmerelyplungedthroughblackness.Attheendofmystrength,onlyoblivionawaited.

Foratime,Ididnotexist.Foratime,Iwaspastconsciousness.Inthatdeepandtimelessblack,Irememberonlyonething:whenitbegantoend.Therecamethesensation of fangs, jaws that closed together in the nothingness.Weapon-teethsankintowhateverwasleftofIskandarKhayon,bitingdownintothematterofhislostsoul.Jaws that arrested my endless fall, that held me in a bladed, impalingembrace…andthatbroughtmeback.

I woke with the arrhythmic drumming of my twin hearts straining insidemychest,andagaspofbitterairspearingitswayintomylungs.Myvisionreturned,butslowly,victimtosmearsandhallucinatoryblurs.When my muscles ceased spasming, I managed to rise on unsteady feet,appalledat theweaknessofmy limbs.Sweatgreasedmy flesh inadisgustingcoat. Blood had trickled from my eyes, my ears, my nose, my gums. ThepressureinmyskullbegantoeaseasIsuckedingreatheavesofair,fuellingmylockedlungsandoverworkedhearts.Nagual emerged from the shadow cast bymy crouching form, licking bloodfromhisobsidianteeth.Master?thedaemonlynxasked,asifIwerenotstandingrightbeforehim.Isitdone?Iwassodrained,IcouldnotbecertainIwasevenreachingoutsidemyownhead,letalonetomydistantdaemon.Ishedead?Thegreatcatturnedbacktowardstheburningfortress,kilometresawayandfarbelowusinthedesertbowl.Thepreyfled.Couldnotkillalone.Hadtosaveyou,master.Yoursoulwaslost.Breathless, exhausted, I exhaled into the namelessworld’s reekingwind andlookedupat thestars,whereThagusDaravekandhis survivingbrethrenweresurelysafeaboardoneoftheirwarships,nodoubtalreadysailingtoyetanotherhiddensanctuarythatwouldtakemeyearstofind.Defeated,afailureforthefifthtime,Ilookeddownatthelynx.IwouldgotothefortressandclaimitforAbaddon.IwouldfindoutifIlyasterstilllived.Andthen,afterthislatestloss,Iwouldgohome.

AMONGTHEOCCLUDEDSTARSAbaddonwasalonewhenIreturned.Hewatchedthesmoke-wreathedstarsasIapproachedhim,lookingoutattheescortshipsholdingaperimeteraroundtheflagship.Wewerehiding.Thefleet–whatlittleofitthatIcouldsee–layatanchorintheverydeepest nothingness, shrouded in a regionof theEye’sdensestmists.TheVengeful Spiritwas vulnerable, protected only by a clutch of destroyers,frigatesandlightcruisers.Weweremorefortunatethanmanyotherwarbands.Abaddonhasalwaysseenvalueinsorcerersandrecruitedthemtoourcausebyanymeansnecessary.InarealmwhereNavigators are hopelessly lost tomadness and somanywarshipssailonlybyhurlingthemselvesintothetormentedoceansandtrustingthewhimsofthePantheontobringthemintonewhuntinggrounds,ourvesselswereguidedbythosegiftedintheArt.Thoughfarfromafail-safemethod,useofsorcerousvoid-guides was the best – and indeed the only – way to keep our fleets incohesion.MybrotherandIstoodinoneofthespinalobservationalspiresoverlookingthedark vista of theVengeful Spirit’s backbone battlements.Outside of battle, hewasoftentobefoundhere.Astimehadpassed,asourarmieshadgrown,astheassaults to steal the Vengeful Spirit had increased in number and intensity,Abaddon became evermore awarlord of theEye rather than the simple, bluntinstrumenthehadbeenasFirstCaptainoftheSonsofHorus.Andyet.AndyetEzekyle himself diminished inways few eyes outside theEzekarionseemed tosee.Themalady thatstruckhimburnedslowinhisblood,eatingathim month after month. He grew distracted, insular, listless. The life in hisgoldeneyesneverfaded;ratheritseethedandturnedsour.Hehadbeguntogrowapartfromthoseofushehadbroughttogether.He led us, still. His lapses and distractions had not yet threatened to

compromisehisleadership,butthemorefeverishandgaunterhegrew,themoreuneasysomeofusintheEzekarionbecame.Soonenough,hestoppedsleeping.SleepisrarelyaconcernforthewarriorsoftheLegionesAstartes.Weareabletosubsistonmerehoursofsuchhealingresteachweek,andwearecapableoflongperiodswithoutitentirely,albeitwithastrain upon our physiologies. Yet Ezekyle claimed he no longer sought therespite of slumber at all. Instead he was almost always here between battles,staringoutintotheteeminghalf-darkbetweentheEye’soccludedstars.Sometimes I could almost sense what tore at his thoughts. Something?Someone?Apresence,voicelessbutfarfromsilent,existedsomewhereoutthereinthedeeperdark.Itcalledtohim.Orthreatenedhim.Orcursedathim.Icouldnottell.I could not tell if it was even real or simply some echo of his own aura,refractingacrosstheinfinite.TolookintoEzekyle’ssoulwasalwaysamatterofdiscomfort.Hewas but oneman, alone and unbreakable, but his soul swirledwith thousands of other voices forever pressing against his being.Was one ofthemstrongerthantheothers?WasthatwhatIwashearing?Hehadalwaysrefusedtoenlightenme,andnothingIcoulddoeverpiercedhisaura.Iwonderedifheevenheardthepresencesonaconsciouslevel.Hedidnotseemto.Iconfessthathisdistractedstoicismhasalwayschilledme–thewarpitself, the galaxy’s own reflection, cries for his attention and yet he resolutelyignoresit.Thepressuresofsuchanexistencemustbebeyondreason.ThenightIreturned,helookedravaged.Wewerealonebutformygreatlynxofshadowandobsidian,whichprowledaroundthechamber,thefluxedheavensreflectingon the surfaceofhispearlescenteyes. Ihadnotyet seenanyofmybrothersexceptAbaddon–mostwereawaywiththeotherfleets,fighting–andEzekyle’ssummonshadcomethemomentmybootsstrucktheVengefulSpirit’slandingdeck.Abaddonworehisbattleplate–oncethedarkwargearoftheJustaerin,thoughin the unreliable timelessness since the destruction of Horus Reborn he hadalreadymadeseveralmodifications.AnotheraspectthatsetAbaddonapartfrommany of our brothers was his refusal to rely on armourcraft slaves. Abaddonrefusedtoletanyonetendtothemaintenanceandmodificationofhisblackwar-plate.Thetrophiesthathungfromhisarmourwereall thosehehad hammeredinto place himself. The trinkets and charms were those he had carved orfashioned.The repairedpatches and sectionsof reinforcementwere eachdone

byhisownhand.Alegionaryhasnochoicebuttoletmachinesandthrallsaidinhisarmouring,whentheceramiteplatesmustbemountedanddrivenanddrilledintoplace,butthatwasthelimitofAbaddon’stolerance.Heturnedtome.Lifeseemedtopourbackintohisfeatures.‘Iskandar,’hesaid.Hewasbathedinthelightofthepoisonedyetpurifiedstars.Despite his throaty Cthonian drawl, he spoke my name with the Tizcanpronunciation.Ihavealwaysappreciatedthegesture.‘Backatlonglast.’‘Where is thefleet?’ Iasked. ‘Bloodof theGods,Ezekyle,wearepracticallyaloneinthevoid.’‘Engagedelsewhere.Engagedseveralelsewheres,infact.’Herelatedthewhysandwheresofourforces.Wewerescatteredtothewarp’swinds,engagedinadozen theatres ofwar at once. Falkus andhiswarband– theAphoticBlade –were bringing destruction to Denarcus. Lheor and Zaidu were reinforcingCeraxiaattheThylakusExpanse.Vortigern,TelemachonandValicarwerealsoprosecutingconflicts elsewhere.Our forcesweredividedaspartofAbaddon’sendlessambitions,raidingsomefoes,negotiatingwithothers–theendlessandfragile cobweb of warfare and diplomacy was being woven even here in ourwarp-shapedprison, and the swiftest, hungriestof itsweaving spiderswasmygolden-eyedlord.Ashespoke,theProsperinelynxpaddedtohissidethewayatamedhab-felinewould trail after its owner. Abaddon ran his unclawed fingers through thedaemon’sspectralfur.‘Nagual,’hesaidingreeting.Nagual’srumblingpurrsentshiversthroughthedeck.‘Ilikethisonefarmore,’Abaddoncontinued.‘It’smuchmorehonestthanyourwolfeverwas.’Iwasnotsurewhathemeant,andratherthanletmereply,hegesturedwiththeTalontobidmebeginmyreport.‘Mybrother,’Isaid,‘IlyasterFaylechandhisbrethrenawaityourwelcome.’‘Good.’Abaddonnodded,hisbulkyfigureframedbythehazyvoidoutsidetheobservationdeck’sblastwindows.‘And?’Iwenttooneknee,aknightofyorebeforehisliegelord.‘AndIfailedyou.’His breathing became a rumble, the promise of thunder to come. ‘ThagusDaravekstilllives.’IdidnotthinkEzekylewouldkillme.Ididnot,however,expecttoleavethisencounterunscathedorunscarred.‘Helives,lord.’‘Is there some aspect of my leadership thus far, Khayon, that leads you tobelieveIlookkindlyuponfailure?’

‘No,lord.’‘Andfailureofthismagnitude?’hesaidslowly,openingandclosinghisclawedhand.‘Youaremyblade,Khayon.Whatuseisan assassinthatcannotkill?’Ialmostshamedmyselfbyarguing,insistingthatDaravekrepresentedmylonefailure.While this was true, pleading the case would have been unforgivablypathetic.Abaddonrestedasingleclawpointagainstmyforehead.Itwouldtakeameretwistofhiswristtoflaymyfacefrommyskull.Ihadseenhimdoittoothersinthepast.HeworetheTalonalmostall the timenow.Rarewere theencounterswhen one could address our overlord without the light of a distant sun or achamber’s lumoglobes reflecting off the wicked scythes lengthening from hisfingers.They scraped togetherwithdry raspswhendeactivated.They spat theunstable sparks of an ancient, arcane power field when alive. Horus hadconsideredtheTalonasymbolofhisofficeasmuchasatoolofwar.Abaddonconsidered it simply a weapon to be wielded, but he was not blind to thesymbolismofwearingatrophyofthatparticularpatricide.‘Report,’hesaid.‘Tellmeeverything.Andgetup,fool.Youarenoknight,andIamnoking.Wearebrothershere.’I roseashe lifted theTalonaway,bitingbackmysurprise. I could sense theangerburningoffhim thewaya sunbleedsheat, buthe seemed tooweary tocare.Ilookedathimcloselyforthefirsttimesincearriving.Asubtlestraintautenedhis features. He looked more than unhealthy – he looked plagued. Hisdeteriorationduringmyabsencewasundeniable.Ihadtosaysomething.‘Ezekyle–’Ibegan,onlyforhimtowavemyconcernaway.‘Reportfirst.’Ididashecommanded.ItoldhimofmymissionandofthepreparationsIhadtaken.ItoldhimofthefinalnightofbattleandoftheDeathGuarddefectorsthatIlyaster–ourwoundedally inDaravek’s ranks–hadbroughtwithhim. I toldhim of the assets won and the number of foes destroyed. I told him of thedesecrated bodies impaled upon the battlements that I had left inmywake: alesson towarbands of theNineLegions that our offers of alliancewere to betakenasseriouslyasourthreatsofvengeance.And,lastofall,ItoldhimofthefailedtrapthroughwhichThagusDaravekhadfled.At the conclusion, Abaddon said nothing. He looked down at his Talon, thegreatclawclosingandopeningoncemore.Outsidetheobservationdeck’sblastwindows,Icouldseethemurkyformsofseveralcraft,afewofourowngravely

depletedfleetatanchorwithinthemalleablevoidofEyespace.Icouldn’tmakeoutanydetailsatthisdistancebutIknewthat–liketheVengefulSpiritandlikeour own ceramite – their hulls were black, darkened through psychic fire,atmospheric descent and the charring of battle damage. Black not simply toreplace the colours that we had once worn, but to eclipse them. Black toacknowledgeourshame.Black tosymbolise freedomfromthepast, todeclareourloyaltytononebutourselves.‘Icannotdoit,’Ifinallysaid,breakingtheuneasysilence.HechuckledasifIspokeinjest.‘Isthatso?’‘Icannotkillhim,Ezekyle.Ihavetriedwitheveryiotaofmystrength.Icannotdoit.’Abaddonlevelledhisgazetomine.‘Heisstrongerthanyou?’‘No.’Therewasnoneedto lie. ‘No,he isnot. Iwouldfeel that,andIwouldadmit it, were it true.’ I trailed off, unable to explain it to either of oursatisfaction.‘Youhavereturnedtomeinfailurefromamissionthatyouassuredme,mostzealously,wasdestinedtosucceed.Isuggestyoudobetterthanstutteringhalf-answersthroughclenchedteeth,Khayon.’‘I cannot kill him,’ I said again. ‘When I try, he brushesme aside. It is likefightingthetidewithnothingbutshoutedwords.NomatterhowIhidemyself,he senses my presence. No matter how I strike at him – subtle, slow, swift,vicious–hebanishesmyefforts.’‘Soheisstrongerthanyou.’Abaddonshookhishead.‘YouTizcans.Whenwillyou learn that there isnoshame inadmitting thatothersmayknowmore thanyou,orpossessgreaterstrength?’Idaredtostepforwards,feelingmytemperflare.‘Itisnotamatterofstrength.Ifitwere,thenheandIwouldfight,Ezekyle.Wewouldbelockedinacontest,one seeking to overpower the other. This ismore than that. He laughs atmyefforts. He throws me aside the way you would cast off a cloak. I have noanswers,brother.Ihaveneverfeltanythinglikeitbefore.’I watched as he turned and walked away frommewith a slow orchestra ofgrindingservo-joints.Once,thischamberhadbeenanobservatory.Aplacewithnopurposeinwar,ifsuchathingcanbecountenancedonaLegionesAstartesflagship. A hololithic table stood in the centre of the room, damaged fromprevious battles but still functional. Abaddon used his free hand to trigger apreparedsequenceofimages.Hecalleduphololithsofeachofthevesselssworntoourcause;notmerelythesubfleetaroundtheVengefulSpirit,buttheentirety

ofthattowhichAbaddoncouldlayclaim.Istaredatthevisuallitanyspreadbeforemeinavistaofflickeringlight.Thiswasmorethanafleet.ThiswasaLegion’sarmada.Wehadcomesofar,yetwehad so far still to travel. I suspect that looking at such signs of progress gaveAbaddoncomfort.Iwascontenttoseehimdistractedbyanythingthatturnedhisanger from me, even this anaemic, hollow irritation that was far from thedisappointedrageIhadexpected.‘Youmusttryagain.NootherwarlordhasasmuchofourbloodonhishandsasthatBarbarandog.Daravekmustdie.’‘Asyoucommand,lord.’Helaughedatmyneutralreaction,andIwasgratifiedtoseeevenaflickerofhisformercharismaresurfacing.Yetheeithersensedmythoughtsorhadgrownadeptatguessingthem,forthesmileswiftlypassed.‘Youarewatchingmeas if Imayshatter intopieces.Enoughofyouruselessworrying,Khayon.’Finally,hespokeofit.Iwouldnotletthischancepass.‘Youlookwearypastallendurance.Whydoyounotletmehelpyou?’‘Helpme?’ Themirth in his eyes soured further. ‘I send youwhere you areneeded,todowhatmustbedone.Youaremyblade,brother,notmynursemaid.’‘AlloftheEzekarioncanseethatsomethingiswrongwithinyou,butIamtheone that sees how deeply it has taken root. You are plagued by something,somethingIcanalmostseeandhearmyself,evenasithidesinthewarp’swinds.Itgrowsstronger,itsburdenuponyouheavier.’He realised then that Iwas not going to let this lie, as I had on all previousoccasions. Perhaps I would have been content to trust him and refrain frompressing the matter had he not appeared so eroded and gaunt upon my mostrecentreturn.‘Thispresence,’hesaidslowly,andsuddenlyhelookedhungry.Starved,even.‘Thisvoicethatyousense–haveyoupursuedittoitssource?’‘Ihavetried,’Iadmitted.‘Athousandtimesandmore.Thereisnothingthere.Nosource.’‘Khayon.’Hisvoicewasagrowl,alowbreath,apurredthreat.Itwasasoundmore suited to the jaws of a beast than to the mouth of a man. ‘You areoversteppingyourauthority.’EzekyleAbaddonistheconsummatesoldier,andheembodieseverythingthatawarleadermustbetothrivewithintheEmpireoftheEye,butheisnotwithouthis flaws.Onemust alwaysbecarefulwhendealingwithhim.Thewrath that

makes him awarriorwithout peer boils beneath the surface of his skin at alltimes, ever ready to erupt. And his patience withmewas scarce enough thatnightalready.‘Ioverstepnothing,’Ireplied.‘Speakingthetruthtoyouismyduty,Ezekyle.JustastheMournivaloncecounselledHorusLupercal.’He sneered at themention of his primarch father’s informal and grotesquelyinsufficient guiding council. ‘The Mournival failed. I know that better thananyone,forIwaspartofit.’‘Itdid,’Iagreed.‘Andyouwere.ButIdonotintendtoletthesamemistakesoccur a second time.Youwere ignorant then,Ezekyle, and your placewas togivecounseltoadeludedfool.Weareallfarmorethanwewereinthatageofmoronicoptimism.Whathauntsyou,brother?Whatisitthateatsawayatyourpsycheandsoul?’I thought I had him. He had warned me against pursuing the matter, but Itrusted that thewisdomand sincerityofmywordswould finallypenetrate thearmourofhissecrecy.‘Youaren’taninsolentsoul,Khayon.Itisn’tinyournature.Insubordinationissomethingyoumustbedriven to,not something inyourblood.Why, then,doyoupersistwiththis?’‘IknowwhatIsense.’I saw another flicker of temper at the edges of his eyes. ‘Your nebulousconcernsarebornoftheveryfactyouhavenoideawhatyouaresensing.Ifyouknew,youwouldn’tkeepasking.’‘Then tellme,Ezekyle.Tellmewhat lies in thewarp’scry.TheEye itself isshrieking your name.Unborn daemons drift around you in a halo of torment.Whatisoutthere?Whatcallstoyou?’I knew, the moment his eyes met mine, that I had overstepped. His mouthhardenedintoathinline.HeidlystrokedtwooftheTalon’sbladestogetherwithawhetstonerasp.Nagual growled, sensing my unease across the symbiotic bond. You haveangeredhim, thebeast sent tome, forever simplistic inhisemotions.Hissoulboils.Abaddon’scoldgazedriftedtothedaemon.Becauseofthegrowl?Becausehecould sense what the creature was saying? An interesting possibility –unwelcome,butinteresting.Silence,Nagual.‘That is your father speaking, sorcerer,’ said Abaddon. ‘You speak with the

vanitythatMagnustheRedbredintoyourbones–thatsenseofknowingmorethan anyone else, of knowing best. The arrogance of believing that you aloneknowwhattodowithwisdom.Youseesomethingyoudon’tunderstandanditblistersyourmindbecause,inyourarrogance,youaresocertainthatyoualonecandealwithit.’‘Itisnotthat,’Ivowed.‘Iwishonlyforyoutotrustme,totrustallofusamongthe Ezekarion.We are your counsel and your bloodwards.We are the voicessworntoalwaysspeakthetruthbeforeyou.’Heroundeduponme,lookingdownwithcoldangerbarelyheldback.‘Youarethe only one that accuses me like this, Khayon. You are the only one thatwhispers your doubts andpours them intomy ears.You are the only one thatscratchesat thewallsofmymindanddemandsentrance,desperate towitnessmyeverythought.The otherstrustme,butyoualonedonot.NottheproudandwiseIskandarKhayon.Whyisthat?’Hedidn’t letme answer.He silencedmewith a gesture and continued, ‘Youstareatmewithsuspicion.AndIwilltellyouwhy,sorcerer.It’sbecauseyouareafraid. Afraid that I will fail you as our fathers failed us. Afraid that afterrediscovering brotherhood I will be deceived into abandoning it once more.AfraidthatthemadnessthatclaimedHoruswillseepintomyskullandleavemethesamepreening,deludedhuskhewastowardstheendofhisrebellion.’Isaidnothing.Therewasnothingtosay.Todenyevenoneofhiswordswouldbetoinsultbothofus.Hehadspokenmythoughtsasifhehadreadthemfromaparchmentpage.‘If you wish to speak to me, Khayon, speak from wisdom, temperance andtrust.Speakfromignoranceifyoumust.That,at least, ispalatable.Butdonotspeak from fear.’ He shook his head in something approaching disgust. Thatsimplegestureshamedmefarmorethanhisaccusations.‘Sometimes,brother,Iswearthatyouhaveforgottenhowtohate.Allthatremainsissuspicionandfear.Iwillhavenocowardsatmyside.’Itookastepcloser,feelingmyteethclench,feelingmyhandsclosingintofists.Iamnocoward.Iknifedthewordsintohismind,notbyintentionbutbysheerforceofbelief.Hetensedattheirimpact,andafteramomenthesmiled.‘Perhapsyouaren’t.’Theraggedharshnesslefthisvoice.‘YoutrulybelieveIneed your aid, brother? That I am so fragile I will fall victim to the samedelusionsthatruinedourfathers?’Idaredasmile,thoughtherewaspreciouslittlejoyinit.‘ItismorethatIhaveahealthyloathingof thecreatures thatcall themselvesgods.Thewarpisalive

aroundyou,Ezekyle.Isensethat,withoutadoubt.’He fell silent after that. I can recall it with crystalline clarity even all thesemillennialater,thewayheweighedthedecisionbeforespeaking.Totrustmeortochastiseme?TobelievethatIwassincereinmyconcerns,ortobelievethatIwasfoolishandfearful?‘Verywell,Khayon.Iwillgiveyoutheanswersyouseek.WewillspeakofthiswhenyoureturnfromMaeleum.’I stared at him, seeking to keep pacewith this sudden shift in his thoughts.Maeleum?Whatmadnesswasthis?‘Whysendmethere?’‘WhydoIsendyouanywhere?’hecountered.‘ButthereisnoonetokillonMaeleum.Thereisnothingthereatall.’‘Youthinkso?’HistonewasneutralenoughthatIcouldn’ttellifhewasbaitingmeorhonestlyasking.Iwas surely correct, after thecasualties sustained in the rebellionagainst theEmperor, and the losses suffered in the massacres that took place within theLegionWars.TheSonsofHorushadbledandbledandbled,mostoftenatthehandsoftheirformerallieswhopunishedthemfortheirdesertionatTerra.Andasforthesurvivors,mostofourwarriorsandofficersalikeweredrawnfromtheSonsofHorus,whohadfollowedAbaddonandFalkusback to theircrusadinghomeaboardtheVengefulSpirit.Howmanycouldtrulyremainontheiradopted,desecratedhomeworld?Maeleumwaslifelessnow,thetombofadeadLegion.ButAbaddonhaseverknownmorethanhereveals.Eventhenhehadeyesandearseverywhereacross theEye,sequestered inplacesanddeliveringmessagesunknowntoeventheEzekarion.‘IamtakingtheVengefulSpirittoliftthesiegeattheAnvidiusConjunction,’hesaid, painfully calm, painfully reasonable. ‘And thus, I need you to go toMaeleuminmystead.’Notamissionofmurder,then.Somethingworse,somethingtowhichIwasfarlesssuited.

For a number of reasons, I was rarely our Legion’s chosen emissary. ThatdubioushonourwasmostoftenreservedforTelemachon,andinthoseearlydayshewasbothwarlordandherald.ItwasanhonourthatIwasgladtoconcedetohim,fortheroleofdiplomatwasoneIdespised,thoughIdidonceaskEzekylewhyhesorarelyselectedme.‘There is more to forging alliances than intimidation and threat. You’re too

cold. Too detached, too guided by reason. Too…’ and here he paused. ‘TooTizcan.’‘Thosearesurelyvirtues,notflaws.’AbaddonlookedatmeasifIhadprovenhispoint.And so others were far more commonly chosen. Ezekyle would send themaheadofourmainfleet,bringingtermstorivalwarbandleaders,requestingtheirallianceor their surrender.Asonemight imagine, theseconsularmissionsmetwithvaryingreceptions.Intheverybeginning,Telemachon’sarrivalwasoftenasourceofamusement.Abaddonwas believed dead and theVengeful Spirithad sailed away into thattremulousspacebetweenhistoryandmythology;thusTelemachonwasseenasamadsoul,awarrior trapped in thepast,bringingwordsof impossibledoomtouncaringwarlords.Those thatremainedunconvincedweresoonilluminatedbythe presence of what they had previously believed impossible: the VengefulSpirittearingthroughtheirfleetsorrazingtheircitieswithblissfulease.Most recently,withsomanywarbandsgatheringbeneathDaravek’smercilessgazeinoppositiontoourrise,thereceptionsouremissariesreceivedwereevermorehostile.My previous ambassadorial effort had ended in abject failure. Ezekyle hadorderedme tomakeovertures to thewarbandofKorosanMyrlath, oneof thefewremainingSonsofHorus,Abaddon’sownformerLegion.‘Iwillseeyourwilldone,’Ipromised.‘No,Khayon.’Abaddonwasquiteserious.‘Idon’twanthimdead.Youaretogoasanemissary.’I remembersayingnothingforseveralseconds. Ineededtimetoprocess this.‘IsthisanexampleofdryCthonianwit?’Iasked.‘No,brother.Notthistime.’Andso,emboldenedbymylord’s trust, Iswallowedmyreluctanceandmadethejourney.Itwentpoorly.Theycapturedmedespitemypeaceable intentionsandhauledme before their overlord’s throne. There I was paraded and mocked beforeKorosan’scourt.Ifeltthekissofabladeagainstthebackofmyneck.Itsthrummingpowerfieldspatsparksofsearingenergyagainstmycoldarmourplating.‘Wemeetatlast,assassin,’KorosanMyrlathgreetedme.Ilookedupasfarasmyexecutionersallowed.Theykeptmeheldlow,forcingmetoremainonmykneesbeforetheirlord’sthrone.Imanagedtoliftmygaze

toKorosan’samusedstare.Timehadchangedhimas ithadchangedallofus,andhe tooworehis sinsonhis skin.Hehad fused tohisarmour,becomingathingofbiomechanicalarrogance,hisceramiteweepingstinking,bubblingbloodfrombetweenitsplates.‘TodayIammerelyanemissary,’Ireplied.This delighted him, despite being the truth. ‘Of course you are, Khayon. Ofcourse you are. Do you have anything of worth to say before we see yoursentencecarriedout?’Hedidnotrisefromthethroneofrusting,twistediron.Iwasnotcertainhecouldrisefromit.Heseemedboundtothethronewherehisarmourhadbondedtothecorrodedmetal.‘IwasnotawarethatIwasontrial.’‘No?ButThagusDaravekwillpayrichlyinplunderforyourhead.’‘So you have already bent the knee to the tyrant,’ I replied, forcing intomyvoiceamirthIdidnotfeel.Thisearnedachorusoffreshlaughterfromthegatheredwarriors.Sensingtheirmasters’amusement,thebeastmenandmutantsaroundthethroneroomeruptedinto an orchestra of bestial noise. I waited until the howls and roars faded. Icoulddonothingelse.‘Abaddon’s pet assassin,’ Korosan grinned as he spoke the words, ‘accusingothersof tyranny.Whatgrotesque irony is this?Speakyourmaster’smessage,slave,andthenweshallbedonewiththisfarce.’‘Abaddon’smessage remains unchanged,’ I replied. ‘Daravek seeks servants.Abaddonseeksbrothersinarms.Forswearyouroathstothetyrant.SailwithusandtakerevengeupontheImperium.Joinus,ordie.’Korosansmiled,showingtwolayersofteeth.Hisarmour,oncecastinthegreenof the Sons of Horus, was lost to a stain of verdigris and crusted over withcoloniesofbarnacles.Aswordwasdrivenpoint-deep into thedeckbefore thethrone. Itshiltwasofhuman ivory, itsblade somekindof sharpened, shiftingstone.Hekeptonehandontheweapon’spommelatalltimes.Icouldhearthefaintscrapingsoundasheranhisarmouredthumbupanddownthegrip.‘You’requiteserious,’thewarlordsaid,‘aren’tyou?’I resisted theurge to fightagainst the twowarriorsholdingmeonmyknees.‘Whollyserious.Mylordhasnowishtodestroyyou.’Morelaughter.Iignoredit.Thistime,sodidKorosan.‘Nowishtodestroyme?No,perhapsnot.Hewishesonlyformetobowtohim,asHorus’heir.’That was the moment I realised I was dealing with a fool. I felt suddenlyblessedthatIwouldnotbecallingthisblind,proudcreature‘brother’.Hewas

unworthyoffightingatourside.‘Iamnoslave.Everywarriorinhistoryhasfoughtunderawarchief’sorders.Every soldier born has followed an officer’s commands. Even generals obeykings. I will not listen to your childish mind fumble and misunderstand thebenefitsofunityandbrotherhood.Thisisyourlastchance.Mylordwouldhaveyouasanally.’‘HewouldhavemespurnmyoathstothetrueLordoftheEye,’Korosansaidwith a sneer. ‘And I will shed no tears of regret over disappointing yourweaklingmasterwithhisstolenTalon.Wewillreturnyourdismemberedcorpsetoyourpreciouslord.Thatshallserveasmyanswertohisgenerousoffer.’Hegesturedtooneofthewarriorsbehindme,theoneholdinghisbladeagainstthebackofmyneck.‘Ectaras.Doit.’Isaidnothingasthebladerose.Thecrowdroaredtheiracclaim.I heard the whining protest of the descending blade. I saw the filthy, gore-mattered deck beneath me. There was no poetic thunderclap of the sword’simpact, no revelatory flash ofmy life awakened frommemory to play out astheatrebeforemyeyes.Theswordfell.Idied.AfterIdied,Iopenedmyeyes.ThecommanddeckoftheVengefulSpiritwasjust as I had left it, with my brothers and sisters of the Ezekarion and ourgatheredslaves,awaitingmyreturn.Imournedthelossof theRubricaewhosearmouredhuskIhadstolenandpossessedformyjourney.PoorZaelornowlayheadless in themidstofKorosan’scourt.Surely theywoulddefilehis remainsoncetheyrealisedtheemptyshellwasn’tmycorpse.‘Well?’Telemachonaskedme.Iignoredhim,turningtoAbaddon.‘Negotiations,’Iadmitted,‘wentpoorly.’Abaddonseemedunsurprised.Isuspectedthen,asIhavesuspectedeversince,thathedidnotwishKorosantostandwithusatall,butappearancesoffairnesshadtobemaintained.HehadsentmeknowingKorosanwouldrefuseme.Hisresponsewastypicallyfocused.‘Killthem.’And so we did. We committed our burgeoning fleet to the skies aboveKorosan’sworld,torainfireuponnineteenthousandwarriors,thralls,slavesandminions.Korosanhimselfwastakenaliveatthebattle’send.AbaddongavehimtotheAphoticBlade,whoimpaledandcrucifiedhimupontheirbattlestandard.ServitorsintravenouslyfedhimthebodilywasteofourLegion’sslavestokeephimalive.Hesurvivedforfivemiserablemonths.

Suchisthepriceofdefiance.

In the observation spire on the night of my return from Daravek’s namelessworld,Ezekyle’sassuredgazefinallymademeabandonallattemptstoargue.Asfarashewasconcerneditwasalreadysettled:IwasboundforMaeleum.‘Yourreturnistimely,headded.‘TheViridianSkyisrefuellingandrearmingtoprepareforpassagetoMaeleum.Transferaboardonceyouleavehere.’The Viridian Sky was Amurael’s ship, and one of the fastest in our fleet.Amurael Enka had been a Son ofHorus, even down to sharingmany geneticfacialmarkerswiththefallenprimarch,muchlikeAbaddon.ThathadoncebeenseenasanomenofgreatfortuneintheXVILegion.Lessso,now.AmuraelwasalsothenewestoftheEzekarion.Myvoicehadbeenoneofthefirmestinfavourofhisinclusion.‘Amurael is a far finer ambassador than I, especially ifyouwish someone tocarrywordtoanySonsofHorusremainingonthatpatheticcryptofaworld.’‘You always assume the worst,’ he chided me. ‘This is no mere emissaryexpedition.Far-pointtelemetryprobeshavewarnedofavesselmakingplanetfallonMaeleum.’I breathed in through my teeth. Telemetry within the Eye was disgustinglyunreliable.Someofourprobes–deployed inabundanceacrossourexpandingterritories – functioned via cores of surgically implanted astropathic minds,othersoperatedthroughpulsesofecholocationinaplanet’satmosphere.Intruth,telemetrywasofhardlyanyuseinthetruevoideither,butitwaspronetogivingreadings of raw madness in this realm where the warp and reality blendedtogether.‘Telemetry,’Iventuredcarefully,‘tellsagreatmanytales.’ItwasnotthefirsttimeIhadsaidthis.Itwasnotevenclosetothefirsttime.Abaddon’ssmilewasslowandsevere,thejawsofatrapsqueezingclosed.‘Inthis instance it tells a tale that aligns with Ashur-Kai’s vision dreams, and Irefusetoignoreprovidenceonthatscale.’I did not share the valueAbaddon placed on prophecy either.Not then.Notnow. I didn’t ask what my former mentor had seen in his visions. It didn’tmatter; whatever it had been would have been couched in metaphor andexaggeratedsignificance,nodoubt.‘Iwillgo,’Isaid,surrenderingtotheinevitable.Abaddon watched me with a nameless expression that betrayed none of histhoughts.‘Wewillspeakofyourconcernsovermysoulwhenyoureturn.You

havemyword,brother.’Itwasenoughfornow.Inoddedmycompliance.‘AndtrynottodieonMaeleum,Khayon.Ineedyoualive.’The Cthonian sense of humour is born from lives spent in near-feral gangsinhabitingthelawlesstunnel-communesofprofitless,used-upminenetworks.Itis best summedupbya themeofblunt, drygrimness. It is notquite sarcasm;ratheritisclosertoadeliberatetemptingoffate.Ihaveneverfounditparticularlyamusing.Somethingflashedbehindhisstare.Ifeltitinthesamemoment–somepullonthe threadsof thevoidoutside the ship,acaressofanewpresencewithin thenebula – the same way mortals would sense the opening of a door in theirchambers.We both turned to the vast window, looking out at the gas-wreathed stars.Abaddon’steethshowedasarowofivoryknives.Inthesamemoment,afemalevoice sounded from the mouths of the black iron gargoyles fashioned intocrenellationsalongthechamber’swalls.‘Ezekyle,’saidtheVengefulSpirittohermaster.‘Eightshipshavetranslatedin-system.TheExaltationishailingme.’‘TellTelemachon thathe is just in time.’Abaddon lookedatmeashespoke.‘AndinformhimthatheisgoingonajourneywithAmuraelandIskandar.’I resisted the urge to sigh. As I said, I have never found Cthonian humourparticularlyamusing.

ALEGION’SGRAVEYARDMaeleum.The flames of atmospheric entry cleared away from the cockpit windows torevealarealmofcorrodedmetalasfarastheeyecouldsee.Deadshipshunginthesky,belly-rippedandhull-torn, lingering like swollenclouds ready to shedrusted-iron rain.Noengineskept themafloat, nordid anyauspex sweeps singbackwithanysignsoflife.Theydriftedintheunhealthysky,immunetogravity,pulledfromorbityetunwantedbythegroundbelow.Iconfess,thesightstolemybreath.ThishadbeenthevanguardofthefleetthathadlaidsiegetoTerra.Nowourgunshipveeredaroundthesemonumentstolostwars,thesecarcassembodimentsofhowfarthemightyhadfallen.The planet was deep within the territory claimed by our confederation ofwarbands,thoughwehadlittlecausetodefenditandevenlesscausetoreturnthere. In keepingwith Abaddon’s wish that we look to the future rather thanmourn the past, he treated Maeleum with both contempt and indifference,dependingonhismood.The landscapewasa stainof industrial cancer. Ihadbeenexpectinga ruinedcity.WhatIsawwasawasteland:acontinentofrustingwreckagespreadbelowusacrossthebombardment-wreckedgeoscape,withgroundedwarshipsthathadonceservedashivesandhabitationspires.Somany daemonworldswithin the Eye seethe physically, even tectonically,with theirmasters’whimsandunder thepressuresof thewars that rageacrosstheirsurface.ButMaeleum,blightedhavenoftheSonsofHorus,wasaplaceofmemoriamanddecay.Allweapons,allplaces,alllivingbeingshaveareflectionin the warp, no matter how fragile or faint. Maeleum emanated an aura offunerealrot.ThiswaswhereaLegionhadcometodie.‘GodofWar.’Inmyshock,IbreathedLheorvine’sfavouritecurse.Telemachonstoodbymyside.Theturbinesuponhisbackhadlongsincefused

to the rest of his armour, and the silver faceplate that hidhis ravaged featureswasnowboundtotheskinandskullbeneath.Hismetallicfaceshowedneitheremotionnorexpression,resemblingthepristineandperfectfeaturesofayoungking’sburialmask.Afairreflectionofwhathisfacehadoncebeen.Yearsbefore,Abaddonhadgiventhefirstofhisloyalbrothersagift–shardsofsilver from the broken blade that had once belonged to Sanguinius, the fallenprimarchof theBloodAngelsLegion.The shardswere beyondprice; floodedwithagonisinglypotentpsychicresonance,fuelledbythewoundsthebladehadinflictedover themanydecadesand thrummingwith thedeath-screamechooftheprimarchwhohadbeenholdingitwhenhewascutdownandslaughtered.IusedmyshardsintheforgingofSacramentum,theswordborntoreplacemylostFenrisianaxe,Saern.Lheorhadarrangedforhisshardstobefashionedintotherazoredteethofanewchainaxe,aweaponhehadthenlostwithinaspanofmeremonths.ForallIknowitmaystillliesubmergedinthechokingswampsofthemoonNarix,wherewelockedbladesyetagainwiththeWordBearers.Andwithhis shards,Telemachonhad fashionedanew face.The faceplateofhis helmet was blue-veined silver with eye-lenses of opal, lit crimson fromwithin.WhenIlookedathim,IsawthewastelandofMaeleumreflectingfilthyandorangeacrosshisargentfeatures.‘The years have not been kind to this world,’ he said in his honeyed voice,unflawedbyprocessingthroughhishelm’svocaliser.‘NorhavethegunsoftheLegions.’Iwondered: had he been here those years agowhen the Emperor’sChildrenraided Maeleum for plunder, to pluck the corpse of the First and FalseWarmasterfromwhereitlayinstate?SometimesTelemachonhadalludedtohispresenceinthatbattle.Othertimeshedeniedit.Aswemadeourapproach, Icould tellhewasat leastpartiallymovedby thesight,hisauramuted,hisgazesweepingsilentlyovertherevealedvista.Ididnotdespisehimthen,atleastnottothedepthsthatwouldfollow.Thiswasbefore the yearswhere the two of us sought in futility to end the other’s life,beforewedividedtheBlackLegionwithourbitterness,bringingourbrotherstocivilwar. Soon the declinewould begin. Soon themistrust between uswouldstart to fester. But that day, as we made planetfall, the old grudges from histreacheryattheSiegeofTerraandmysubsequentmanipulationofhismindwerefadingwounds,allowingustheluxuryofindifferencetooneanother.Strangely,ofthethreeofus,itwasAmuraelwhowastheleastaffectedbythesightofMaeleum’s landscape.Tohim thiswasahomecoming, a return to the

world he had fought for anddefended against the otherLegionswhile he stillwore the green of the Sons of Horus. Yet as the gunship descended over hisadoptedhomeworld,hemerelyshowedhisjaggedteethinasmile.Oursurpriseamusedhim.‘Maeleum was never a place of beauty,’ he said. ‘Little changed with itsabandonment.’The gunship streaked over the rust wastes, bearing down on the coordinatesgiven up by our telemetry beacons.Amuraelwas at the controls, seeking oneparticulardownedshipamongthefallenhorde.‘There,’Amuraelsaid,sightingitfirst.Astrikecruiser.ALegionesAstartesstrikecruiser,noless.Theship laywithin thegraveithaddugfor itself,half-buriedandforlornyetnotentirelystrippedofitsmajesty.Thewarship’sfinalmomentswereillustratedin the rotten earth of the wasteland, where it had left a chasm carved by itsploughingcrash.Ithadimpactedlikeagougingspear,notafallingneedle,andhadrippedopenawoundinMaeleum’sjunkyardfleshastestament.Itwasn’toneofours.IknewthatmuchthemomentIsawitscorpse.Whatlittleremainedofthevessel’ssuperstructurewasnakedofallegiance.Itswreckedhullshowednosignofmarkings–atleastnonethathadsurvivedthecrash,thefieryatmosphericentryortheabradingwindsoftheEye’swarp-stungvoid.ThusitbelongedtonowarbandIcouldname.That was perhaps less noteworthy than it seems to Imperial minds. ThewarbandsoftheLegions,andthosethatdeclaredindependencefromtheLegionsthathadsiredthem,wereforeverbedeckingthemselvesinnewiconsandsigils,marking new leadership, new ways of waging war, new victories. The life-revilingPurgeweredrawn fromextremistsamong theDeathGuard.TheSteelBrethren were wayward brothers of the Iron Warriors. The Sanctified wereblood-maddenedsonsofLorgar.Andonandonitwent.Yetthisshipwasmorethanunmarked,itwaspracticallyunchanged.TheEyehadn’tmanagedtotwistitshulltoreflectthesinsofthewarriorswithin.Thethreeofussharedaglance.Noonehadanyanswers.‘Comeinlow,’Telemachonadvised,‘andlandintheshadowofthatcruiser.Iftherearesurvivors,I’drathertakethembysurprise.’‘Thatwillmakeforalongwalktothecrashsite,’Amuraelremarked.‘Ihavenootherpressingengagements,’saidTelemachon.Aswemadea landingapproach, itwasamatteroffindingsomewherestableamidstthedead-hulkrustyards.Retrosfired,slowingourdescent;welookedout

ofthecockpitwindowsuponawastelandthatshowednosignofsociety.Insteadit echoedwith the cries andgunfireof battles lost long ago.Ourvox-networkwasworthless,cracklingwiththebabbleofghostsandNeverborn,nowordsofwhichwecouldbesureweresentientatall,letalonedirectedatus.Thegunship’slandingclawscrunchedintotherottenearth.Wemadereadytodisembark.Amuraelcheckedhisbolter,slammingthemagazinebackintoplace.I could sense the thoughts unfolding behind his eyes. It reminded me ofAbaddon, who held a similar expression whenever he oversaw a battle plan,givingordersthatadaptedandreactedtothemovementsoftheenemyforces.Iledthewaydowntheassaultramp.Thegunship’screwwereRubricaeboundtomywill,performingthedutiesofgunnerswiththevoiceless,patientserenitythatmyautomatonsdevotedtoeverycommandIgavethem.Defend.Isenttheorderintothehollowhelmsthatservedastheirminds.Theanimated suits of ceramite armour readied bolters and blades, ready to standeternalvigilifitcametosuchafate.Theymadeforperfectguardians,providingnosorcererwasstrongenoughtowrestthemfrommywill.Idoubtedtherewereanywarbandsleftonthisworldtothreatenthem.I tookonlyfourof themwithme,beckoning themwithawordless telepathicpulse.Amurael’swarriorswalkedwiththem,asmallsquadofhischosenmen.They kept their distance fromme. I had always kept companymorewithmyownashendeadthanthelivingwarriors,butitwasstrangetome,howtherankandfileoftheBlackLegionperceivedme.IwasevermoreremovedfromtheminmydutiesasAbaddon’sblade.‘LordKhayon,’theygreetedmewithvariousmurmurs.Ireturnedthegreetingswithacurtnod.Nefertarialsodeignedtoaccompanyus,emergingfromthegunship’sinterior.Sheworehercrimsonsuitofoverlapping battleplate,spinedandspikedandcastfromthealienresin-bondedmaterialsherspeciesfavoured.Ihaddonepreciouslittleresearchintotheoriginsofherarmour–norwassheeagertoenlightenmewheneverIasked–sothetwoofuswereleftcaringonlyforitseffectiveness.Itwasconstructedwithpocketsofbuoyantgaseswithinitsresinouslayerstomakeit preternaturally lightweight, a design philosophy born of her kind’s inhumaninventiveness.Shetouchedasilvermedallionpieceinthehollowofherthroat,activatingthejewelledmicro-force field generators embedded in the scarlet suit’s overlayer.Kinetic barriers of Imperialmakewill groanwithmachine thrumsor insectilebuzzing. In contrast, Nefertari’s armour produced a whispery sibilance, near

silent.‘Itoldyounottobringthatthing,’Amuraelsaidtome.‘Sheisuseful,’Ireplied.‘ItwillattracttheNeverborn.’‘She can handle the Neverborn.’ I turned to Nefertari. ‘Scout ahead. Returnwithwordofwhatyoufind.’She favouredAmuraelwithacruel,disgustedsmile,andspreadherwings tostretchthem.Amomentlatershepulledtheminclosetoherback,brokeintoarunandkickedoff fromthegroundon the thirdstep.She leaptskywards.Herwingscrackedopen.Assimplyasthat,shewasgone.Telemachonwatchedherascent,hiseye-lensestrackingthebeatofherwings.Amuraelscarcelyglancedherway.‘Allying with that creature is the most disgusting perversion,’ he said. ‘Itamazesmethatyoutolerateit.’Thiswasnotanuncommonrefrainamongmybrothers.Itdidn’tmatter thatIwashardlythefirstamongtheNineLegions’warbandleaderstoallywithaliensinside theEye, or even to possess one asmy champion.Mutants, chem-born,daemons…Awarbanddrewitschampionsfromwhereveritdiscoveredefficientandwillingmurderers.But itwasNefertari’s breed that revoltedmybrethren.Shewasthedaughterofaspeciesthathad,initsarroganceandignorance,givenbirthtotheEye.LingeringremnantsoftheeldarracewereconsideredfavouredpreyformanyLegionwarbands.‘She is useful,’ I repeated. ‘And she haswon every duel she ever fought forme.’‘Shewouldlastallofthreesecondsonabattlefield,’hepointedout.‘Thatcouldbesaidofmanywarbandchampions.AndIwouldnevercommithertoabattlefield.Sheisakiller,notawarrior.’Telemachonfinallyturnedawayfromherrecedingshapeinthesky.‘Let’sgo.’Wewalked,followingthetinysilhouetteofmysky-bornebloodward.

Seeingtheshipcloserbroughtnoanswers,onlymorequestions.Wewatcheditscorpsefromthelipofthecanyonithadgouged.ItstilllookedImperial.ItstimeintheEyehadevidentlybeenimpossiblybrief.Whilethecrenellated,cathedral-likewreckagelittleresembledtheglassspiresofmy home – Tizca, the now-dead City of Light on long-lost Prospero – I stillfoundthattheImperium’sstarkGothicarchitecturehelditsownbleakmajesty.Nefertari did not. When she returned to us after her scouting flight, my

bloodwardofferedherperspectiveonthemeritsoftheGothicaesthetic.‘Even your voidcraft are repulsive.’ She spoke her own tongue in a sibilantmurmur.‘Canyourspeciesshapenothingofbeauty?’Iletthatpass.Shewasalwaysdifficultwhenshehungered,andI’dnotletherfeedinsometime.‘Whatdidyousee?’Herwings rippled, sinewscrackling, then foldedclose toherback. ‘Wehavebeenbeatenhere.Yourkindarealreadypresentintheravine.’‘Mykind?’‘Elayathahirvey,’shesaidinhermellifluoustongue.Iknewtheexpression;itsliteralmeaningwas‘deformedbarbarians’.‘Legionaries,’IclarifiedforAmurael’sbenefit.Nefertari spatvenom-darkened salivaonto the ivoryground.Herpierced lipsmangled intoasneer. I foundherrevoltingly inhumanat thebestof times,butwhenhergauntfeaturestwistedintothosesubtlyalienexpressions,echoesoftheancientxenos-hatestirredinmyheart.‘YourformerLegion-kin,noless,’shesaid.TheThousandSons.Here.Prey.By my side, the beast that wasn’t a beast gave a low, throaty growl.Nagual’s sendingwasawordless thought, aconcept rather than language.Thelynx turned that pale gaze down to the distantwreckage and licked his sabre-fangs.Hemovedlikeaglidinglie,thewayashadowghostsacrossasurface,notlikeanatural-bornbeastatall.Prey,hesentagain.Perhaps.Becalm,Nagual.‘Howmanywarriorsdidyousee?’‘Isawonlyasinglegunship.Small.Smallerthanours.’AThunderhawk,then.‘Itseemsthiswreckisattractingagreatdealofinterest.’Nefertarismiled,entirelyunlovely,showingtoomanyteeth.Aswedrewawayfromtheothers,shespokeinlowtones.‘Youaregildingyourexileingrandeurit does not deserve. Your precious Ezekyle is no longer even subtle in hiscommands, is he? “Go here, Iskandar. Go there. Go wherever I wish, killwhomever Idemand, so longasyou remainoutofmysightandcease staringintomysoul.”’‘You know nothing,’ I said. Abaddon had promised me answers upon myreturn.Iwouldholdhimtothat.‘IknowIcarelittleforwhatpatheticmysteriesliewithinthisfatandrupturedcarcassofcoldmetal,’shereplied.Hervoicewasasdryasthewarship’sdesert

grave.I was in no mood for her mockery, nor would I let her irritation stain myfascination.‘Khayon.’Amurael called tome, summoningme back. Imoved towhere hestoodwithhiswarriors,watchingthewreckthroughmagnoculars.Hiscolourlessarmourwasdustedgreybythedesert’sgrittybreath.Flecksoftheblackbeneathshowedinpatcheswherethedusthadnotyettakenhold.Hiswarriorsmovedawayfromme,believingtheywerebeingsubtleaboutit.MyfourRubricaeremainedmotionless.‘Movement?’IaskedAmurael.‘Movement,’heconfirmed.HisskinwasalmostasdarkasLheor’s,withbonyprotrusions at his cheekbones and brow ridges.Whatever handsomeness he’dpossessedasahumanwasdestroyednotonlybyhisascensiontotheLegionesAstartes, but by the osseous alterations to his skull since coming to theGreatEye. The small spines pushing through his face cast him in the image ofsomethingmythical and daemonic. Iwonderedwhat sinswere in his heart toshapehimso.Amuraellockedhishelmetbackintoplacewithasnakehissofairpressure.Hisfaceplatewasasnarlingvisageofboneandceramite,bestiallycrownedbydarkbiomechanicalhornscurlingbackfromhistemples.Wehaveanexpressionforsuch warp-wrought changes on our flesh and armour: ‘The Gods know hisname’.We use it for those that have attracted the Pantheon’s attention andfavour.Itisnotalwaysacompliment.‘Well,’hesaid,‘let’sgointroduceourselves.’

FewworldswithintheEyeareassereneasMaeleum,sincesofewareasdeadasMaeleum.Inarealmwhereceaselesstidesofpsychicenergymanifestasavatarsof warring gods alongside their embattled mortal followers, Maeleum was aplaceofhauntedpeace.Itwasaworlddestroyed,itsfortressesbrokenopenandempty,itspeopleslaughteredorsimplygone.ThephilosopherinmefounditaneffectiveifcrudesymbolfortheSonsofHorusthemselves,whohaddancedontheknifebladeofextinctionforsoverylong.IhaveheardtalesthatinsistAbaddonreturnedhereafterslayingHorusReborn,and there he competed against rival captains in pit fights and honour duels,eventually emerging victorious and leading the fallen officers’men awaywithhim,proudtomarchunderhisorders.Perhapsthereisthetasteoftruthinthat,thoughIneversawsuchathing.Imay

havebeenelsewhere,intheexileofmyworkasEzekyle’sunseenblade.Ihavelearnednottoruleoutanystory,nomatterhowunlikelyitsounds.Butwhat Iwitnessedwasaltogethermoreproud,moredefiant,but somehowmoresorrowful.I have spoken of the warbands that we crushed in battle, and of those thatsurrenderedwhentheywitnessedtheVengefulSpirit’sgunsrippingthroughtheirfleets. I have told of thosewarbandswhose fortresseswe defended ourselves,comingtotheiraidintheknowledgethatweweregainingappreciativealliesornew,gratefulrecruits.TheBlackLegion’sriseisfilledwithmoreofthosetalesthanevenIcan relate.Talesof thosewillinglybending theknee,andoppositestoriesofthosesubmittingwithsupremereluctancebeforecomingtorealisethattherewasstrengthinthisnewunity.These tales are exactly what one might expect in such an ascension. Thischroniclewillgainnothingforrelatingtheminyetmoredetail.Buttherewereothers.Otherexilesfromthisveryplanet,wearyofekingoutanexistenceintherustandashthatremained.Theywerethewarriorsthathadheldontothebitterend,untotheveryedgeofextinction,callingthemselvesSonsofHorusnomatterthattheirfoesmurderedthemforit.WeencounteredthemaboardvesselslostorcrippledintheEye,allpersonneldead or in Legiones Astartes hibernation through activation of their sus-anmembranes.Wemetthemonbeleaguered,war-rivenwarshipslimpingtowardsus, seeking sanctuary in the Vengeful Spirit’s great shadow. The exiles, thewanderers, the unlucky – all of whom drifted away fromMaeleum, little bylittle, inaslow,desperatediaspora.The last inhabitantsofadyingworld, theyfinally sought something more than survival. That brought them in search ofAbaddon.It is no exaggeration to say that these Sons of Horus were among ourmostfervently loyal recruits.WhenIsay thatweare theLegionof theLongWar, Ispeak of our rebirth and of our lord’s belief that blood and gene-line areirrelevant.Whatmattersisthehateinawarrior’sheartandtheskillwithwhichhewieldsablade.ButIamalsospeakingofthoselast,lostsouls.TheyweretheoneswhoenduredthefinaldaysoftheXVILegion,andtheyknow,betterthananyother,whatitistoclingtoolongtotheechoesofthepast.Amuraelwasoneofthesefinalexiles.Whenhehadapproachedusyearsbeforeaboardhisship,theViridianSky,aswiftdaggerofafrigate,hesailedtowardsuswith weapon decks cold and void shields lowered. At the time, seeing thisapproach from where I stood on the Vengeful Spirit’s command deck, I had

laughedattheboldnessofthemanoeuvre.Abaddonhadnot.‘That’sMedicaeQuintusEnka’sship,’mybrotherhadsaid,assurprisedashewaspleased.TogainanApothecaryofAmurael’srankwouldbeasavagecoupforourwarband.ItistruetosaytheNineLegions,lockedintheEye,havefargreater trouble recruitingandsustaining theirnumbers thanweeverhadwhilereinforcedbythefleshharvestsoftheGreatCrusade.Amurael had come aboard with over four hundred warriors and thrice thenumber of tech-priests, Legion servants, skilled serfs and Cybernetica warmachines.At the head of this ragged host,Amurael had approachedAbaddonand the Ezekarion on the landing deck and cast his bolter to the floor byEzekyle’sboots.Iwasn’t alone in considering this a sign of submission.We all believed it asymbolic gesture of surrender – Abaddon was already welcoming his formerLegionbrotherintothefleet–untilAmuraeldrewthepowerswordsheathedathishipandthumbedtheactivationrune.Ezekyle,lessplaguedbyhisunspokenburdenthen,hadbaredhisrune-scratchedteethinagrin.‘Aninterestingwaytogreetanoldcommander,’Abaddonsaid.Amuraelcarvedtheair,looseninghiswrist.Helookedbattered,woundedandweak.Nodoubthe’dhadtofighthiswayfromMaeleumtoreachus,bleedingeverystepoftheway.Yetstillhestooddefiant.‘Ifyoucanbestmewithablade,CaptainAbaddon,youwillhavemyloyaltyandtheloyaltyofmyfollowers.’Onecouldnothelpbutadmirehistenacity.Aftertheduel,astheViridianSkywasbeinghauledinbytugsandoverseenforrepair,AbaddonsummonedAmuraeltoagatheringoftheEzekarion,thosesoulstrustedmostbyourlord,whosevoiceshepromisestoalwayshear,andwhoarepermittedtocallhimbyhis informalfirstname.Amuraelwassworninasourtenthmember,thoughourwarbandalreadynumberedinthetensofthousands.‘I sailed from Maeleum,’ he confessed at that conclave, held in Lupercal’sCourtbeneath the fadedanddustybannersof theGreatCrusade.Thiswas thechamber in which the First and FalseWarmaster had conducted his councils.Abaddonhadsealeditofffromtherestoftheship,allowingitsuseonlyfortheEzekarion.Ibelieveheenjoyedthegesture’sironicsymmetry.‘What remains on Maeleum?’ asked Falkus, who had abandoned the worldhimselfyearsbeforeinhisquesttofindLheorandme,bringingustoAbaddon’sside.‘Almostnothing,’Amuraelhadreplied.‘Onlyourshame.’

We walked the war-salted earth of that junkyard world, ankle-deep in scrapmetal, every step a grinding clatter. Nagual stalked at my side, bleeding intoshadows and emerging elsewhere, choosing his own path through the rubble.Even with the daemon’s feline grace, metal shifted and strained beneath hisweight.Whenyoustanduponaworldwithin theEye,everything feelsalive.Theairitself is blended with the warp’s etheric elements, rendering psychic senseslamentably unreliable. I felt the presence of living beings nearby only in thevaguest,most sourcelessway, asuseless ashearingvoices in themistwithoutsensinganythingofdirection.Amurael led the way, the searchlight on his backpack cutting across theruinscape,illuminatingthedetritus.Hesoongaveupscanningoursurroundingswithhisauspex,whollyunsurprisedat the flawed readingshewasgetting.Heremainedentirelyunfazed,walkingconfidentlyaroundandthroughthecorpsesofslainwarships.Bunkers and silos amidst the wreck-waste offered glimpses of sanctuaries,though even these were damaged, scorched by incendiaries or bleached andmangledbyfardeadlier,toxicweaponry.Whenwereachedtheenemygunship,shelteredintheoverhangingshadowsofthewreckedvessel,Itookthelead.‘Donotfire,’Ivoxedtotheothers,‘unlessfiredupon.’WhatdidtheThousandSonsseeasweapproached?Asmallcoterieofwarriorsemerging from the ruined, rusted earth,withno signofhow theyhadarrived.Each of us wore battle-riven armour with trappings of corroded gold. Ourbattleplatewasblack,banishingoldcoloursandoldallegianceswiththetotalityofaneclipse.WedidnotcallourselvestheBlackLegion.Thatnamecamefromthosewefacedacrossthefieldsofbattle.Itwasacursemorethanarallyingcryinthosedistantdays.‘BlackLegion!’theywouldhowlinmockery,withallthedisgustofcallingusorphans,traitors,scum.ThegroundedThunderhawktraineditsgunsuponus,cannonswhirringastheyrotated.IadvancedonthefirstoftheThousandSons,awarriorinflowingrobesandcarryingastaffcrestedwithcrystals,showinghimmyopenpalms.‘IamIskandarKhayon,’Itoldtheleaderofthismodestbluehost.His brethren drew closer. Every one of themwas a Rubricae, silent in theirobedientvigil,boltgunsclutchedtotheirbreathlesschests.‘IskandarKhayon died atDrolKheir,’ theirmaster replied.Howmany timeshadIheardthosewordsnow?EvenLheorandFalkushadhearditandbelieved

it,beforewewentsearchingforAbaddon.Wearying.Soverywearying.‘IamIskandarKhayon,’Irepeated,asIalwaysrepeataftertheaccusation.‘No,youarethethingthatwearshisface.’Iremovedmyhelmetthen,hopingitwouldpromotetrustratherthanconvincehim to abandon his misguided belief. Barefaced in the dusty wind, I lookedbetweenthelonelivingsorcererandhisashendeadsentinels.Heseemedtobealonebutforhisslave-warriors.Eventhefootstepsintheworthlessearthtoldofhis recent arrival and lacked the turmoil thatmanywarriorswouldhavemadewiththeirtread.MyownRubricaemarchedtomyside.Ihadbroughtonlyfourwithme,eachoneamovingstatueofscorchedblackandcharredgold,theircobaltpaintlongburnedawayandtheirKheltaranhelmetscastinglongshadowsundertheweaklight of thisworld’s two pallid suns. Behind them, Telemachon,Amurael andAmurael’s squadofwarriors kept their bolters low, awaiting the results ofmyattempted diplomacy. Nefertari said nothing and did nothing, except silentlyhunger.‘I see Khayon’s alien at your side,’ the Thousand Sons legionary said, ‘butwhereisKhayon’saxe?WhereisGyre,histutelary?’‘Yourdoubtsareirrelevant,’Isaidwithasmile.‘IamIskandarKhayon.’ThesorcererinclinedhisT-visoredhelm.‘Youmaythinkyouare.Iwillleaveyoutoyourdelusion.Whatdoyouwanthere,BlackLegionnaires?Salvage?’‘No.’Igesturedtotheruinedhulk.‘Answers.’‘Thenweseekthesamething.’‘Perhapsso,’Iagreed,‘butthisisourdomain.Andyou,mycountryman,standwithinmyLegion’sterritory.’‘A nameless, mongrel Legion,’ the sorcerer said. That accusation, so verycommon, had long since lost its bite. A few of Amurael’s warriors sharedgrindingchucklesacrossthevox.‘Indeed,’Iagreedoncemore.‘Andifyouleavenow,wemongrelswillletyoulive.’Thesorcerersaidnothing.PerhapsheknewIwaslying.‘Areyouherealone?’Iasked.‘Ioweyounotruth,traitor.’‘Whatofyourvesselinorbit?’Ipressed.‘Wesawnothinginthesystem.’‘AsIsaid,Ioweyounotruth.’I felt myself smiling again, this time with markedly less warmth. ‘You are

comingacrossasquitehostile,friend.’‘YournameisspokenoftenamongourLegion–Khayon,theRaiderofGraves.AmItobelieveyouwillletmeleaveherewithmyRubricae?Thatyoudonotintend to steal them like the harvests of ceramite and ash you have alreadyreapedfromsomanyofmybrothers?’‘Youhaveamerefourteenwarriors.IamnotsostarvedforpowerthatI’dkillyouforthesescraps.’Hislaughwasabitterthing.‘Howmercifulofyou.’‘Idon’trecogniseyou,’Isaid,referringtotheEye-bornchangesofhisarmour.‘Bywhatnamedoyougonow?’‘I am Aklahyr.’ I sensed the ripples of his aura shift, emanating a grimamusement.‘IfyouweretrulyKhayon,thenyouwouldknowme.’Nowthathehadrevealedhisname,Ididknowhim.LikesomanyThousandSonsofficers,myselfincluded,hehadbeenascholarasmuchasawarrior.‘Aklahyr the Erudite,’ I said. ‘Banner-bearer for Bejarah’s Company. I readyour treatise on the significance of iambic pentameter in Kantori summoningverse.’‘Thosedaysarebehindme.Behindusall. I serveThagusDaraveknow.’Hishelmdippedslightly.Inshame,thatheservedtheLordofHosts?Injudgement,thatIdidnot?‘Iknowthename,’Iadmitted.Hegaveagruntedexhalationthroughhisvocaliser.‘Indeedyoudo.’‘Whyareyouhere?’Iasked,onelasttime.‘Thisisourdominion,Aklahyr.’He was helmed and his expressions were hidden, but I could feel derisionradiatingfromhim, flavouringhisunseenaurawithdisgustanddoubt. Icouldfeelhowthiswasfated toend.Hedidn’tbelieve that I intendedhimnoharm.Morethanthat,hehatedme.Heachedtoswinghisstaff.‘You should guard your emotions better,’ I chided him. ‘They betray yourviolentintent.’Trinketsandtalismansrattledagainsthisrobedarmourplatingasheshiftedhisstance,levellinghisstafftowardsus.Hisvoicewasaresignedmurmur.‘Letusgetthisoverwith.’‘Verywell.’The Prosperine lynx snarled by my side. I gestured for him to hold back.Nefertarilikewisesteppedforwards,butIshookmyhead.Warbandleadersoftenallowedchampionstoduelbeforeabattle–foramusement,formorale,forthechanceofattractingtheeyesoftheGods–butAklahyrwasalone,andIhadno

wishforNefertaritofightinmyplace.IdrewmyswordinplaceoftheaxeIhadlostyearsbefore,thatFenrisianbladelongagobrokenbytheclonedsonofafalsegod.Sacramentumgleamedintheday’ssicklight.Whatfollowedwasbriefand,withduerespecttothedead,ratheruninspired.Once it was done, I scoured his Rubricae. Bathing them in psychic flame, Iburned the blue from their armour plating and withered their tabards andloincloths to charred remnants, repainting all fourteen ceramite husks throughsacredincineration.Oncestrippedoftheirformercolours,thepackofvoiceless,mindless warriors fell into dignified lockstep with the four Rubricae alreadyattendingme.IamKhayon,Itoldthem.Iamyourlordnow.Allisdust,theychorusedbackintelepathicwhispersasdryastherustaroundus.NefertaricrouchedoverAklahyr,runningherfingertipsacrosstherentsinhisarmour.Shebreathedslowly,slantedeyeshalf-lidded,herinhumanlywhitefleshdarkening with a hue of ruddy health. I knew her revitalisation wouldn’t lastlong,notwiththesufferingofonlyasingledyingsoul.Iwouldneedtolethergorgeherselfsoon,elsethesoul-thirstmightleaveherweakenedandlessusefultome.One by one she sniffed her stained fingertips, taking the scent of Aklahyr’sblood.Sherefusedtotasteit,fearingcorruption,andyetshegougedherfingersback into the torn-open armour, rooting around, firing his dying nerves andamplifyinghisfinalspasms.‘Nefertari.Enough.’Shehesitatedatmyorder,ontheedgeofdefiance,beforereluctantlyfinishingoffpoor,stubbornAklahyrwithaswipeofherflensingknifeacrosshisthroat.The sorcerer’s spasms finally ceased. If it matters for the purposes of thisarchive,hisfinalthoughtsweretocurseme.Amurael, who had been watching with bored regard, keyed a code into hisnartheciumgauntlet,deployingabonesawandseveralcarvingknives.‘Outoftheway,alien.’Sherose,stretchingherwingsagain.‘Iamnotgoinginsidethatmausoleumofcoldmetal,’shesaid,gesturingtotheship.‘IthasbeentoolongsinceItastedthefreedomofthesky.’Sucha futilelypoeticsentiment.Shewanted tohunt, tosee if there remainedanythingworthbleedingonthishuskofaworld.Iwavedahand,grantingher

permission.Shelaunchedupwards,takingtotheairinagustofswirlinggrit.Amurael had crouched in her place by the dead Thousand Sons legionary,preparing to harvest Aklahyr’s progenoid glands. His bonesaw gave a highwhine.‘Thiswon’ttakelong,’heassuredme.‘OnelesssorcererattheLordofHosts’side,atleast.’Ilookedoverathim.‘Daravekhauntsusevenhere.’‘True.’Amuraelbegancarving.Bloodarced.‘Youreallyshouldhavekilledhimwhenyouhadthechance.’

The shipwas deadwithin as well as without.Wewalked its powerless halls,witnessed its annihilated statuary, held uncaring vigil over its slain crew.Myhopessankthedeeperwetravelled, for thedevastationwasalmost total. Ifwehadcomehereforsalvage,wewouldhavebeendestinedtoleavedisappointed.Thefact thestrikecruiserwouldneversailagainwasbeyondcontestation,butscarcelyametreofitshullwasleftunscarred.Yetsalvagewasnotourconcern.AsIhadtoldAklahyr,wewantedanswers.Even a dead ship isn’t silent.Buckledmetalwhines under pressure. Leakingfuelandcoolantwillhissandfizzandtrickleanddrip.Footstepsreverberatefora kilometre or more, echoing back along avenues of mangled metal, theirrhythms distorted, until the senses are half-convincedwhole armiesmarch upaheadintheshadows.Thecruiser’s layoutwasperfectly familiar tous,amirrorofsomanyLegionwarships constructed from the same Standard Template Construct. Yet myuneasegrew,chamberbychamber.Haveyoueverreturnedtoafamiliarplace,anoldhavenperhaps,oraplacethatburnsstronginyouthfulmemory,onlytofinditssoulhaschangedwiththepassingoftime?Wepassedthroughagrandmonasticchamberwithgapingholesthathadbeenbacklit windows of stained glass. Whatever scenes they had depicted wouldremain a mystery, now shattered into millions of coloured diamonds thatcrunched underfoot. A row of golden statues had become a toppled, defeatedphalanxamidstthedetritus.Agreataquilaofpalestone,oncemounteduponthewallwithgreatwingsoutstretched,wasrubbleatourfeet.Andeverywherewerebodiesclad increamrobesrippedbyclawsand turnedblackwithblood.The corpseswere far frompristine.Eachonewas somewayfusedintothedecksorthewalls,partwaythroughtheprocessofbeingabsorbedintotheworldthatwasnowtheirtomb.

Ikneltbyoneofthehumancorpses,takingafistfulofitslaceratedrobe.Thesigilontheclothwasacrudelysewncross,allfourtipsflared.‘TheBrethrenoftheTempleofOaths?’IspokeoftheVIILegion’selite,thoserare guardians that stood as sentinels over Rogal Dorn’s own flagship, thePhalanx.Amuraelusedhisboottorolloneoftheotherbodies.Thesamesymbolshowedonherhoodedrobe.‘Legionthralls,’heagreedinwordthoughnotintone.‘Andthat’stheBrethren’scross,’headdedwithreluctance.Itstillfeltwrong.ThesewereLegion-serfs,yetthesymbolontheirbreastswasonewehadneverseen in suchwidespread context. Thesewere the halls of a LegionesAstarteswarship,yettheywerebedeckedbyparchmentslistingbattlesandbenedictionsIhadneverheardof,againstalienfoesIhadneverseen.InstockpiledarmourieswefoundLegionweaponrythatsimilarlyeludedeasyrecognition.ThePhobosboltgunsandpatternsofpistolsthatmybrothersandIstillwieldedweretreatedherewiththereverenceofmuseumrelics,cradledinstasisfields,someofwhichhadsurvivedthecrash.Other,sleekerdesignsofweaponrywererackedinplaceor scattered across the chambers alongside shattered suits of that rarest ofwartimetreasures:LegionesAstartesMarkVIIbattleplate.This last aspect twisted my innards most of all. The wargear had all thehallmarksofmass-production,downtothearmourers’marksengravedupontheceramite.YeteveninthetimeofshamewhentheThrone-loyalLegionsscouredmybrothersandmefromtheImperium,chasingusintotheethericprisonoftheEye,thispatternofarmourhadbeenscarceintheextreme.Anditwasblack.Allofit,black.NottheconflictingyellowandblackoftheBrethrenoftheTempleofOaths,studdedwithImperialvictorywreathsandthefist symbol of their Legion. This was all straight black, draped in knightlytabards,adornedbychains.ItwasAmuraelwhogavevoicetothequestionpressingagainsttheconfinesofmyskull.‘Khayon,’hesaid,turningabroken,unfamiliarbolterinhishands.‘HowlonghavewebeengonefromtheImperium?’

SometimesmyInquisitorialhostsaskmetoexplaintheunexplainable.OverthecourseofmycaptivityIhaverelatedtheformandfunctionofmanyaspectsthatdefine life in the Empire of the Eye. Within that realm where physical andcorporeallawsgotodie,temporalstabilityisanothermaddeningcasualty.Timeexistsonlyasafracturedidea,differentforeveryoneofus.

IhavefoughtbesidewarriorsoftheLegionsforwhomtheImperiumitselfisadistantmemory,eventoeideticrecollections.Itdoesn’tmattertothemwhytheLongWar began, nor even how itwill end.They have been fighting it for aneternity.Itisalltheyknow.Ontheoppositesideofthesamecoin,IhaveknownwarriorsforwhomTerraisscarcely a memory at all – the same adrenal rage that flowed in their veinsduring the Siege still beats through their bodies now. For some of them,chronologically speaking, ithasbeenmeremonthsorahandfulofyears sincetheirexilebegan.Asformyself,IhaveundertakenmissionsonmyLegion’sbehalfthattookdaystosucceed,onlytoreturntoAbaddonandtheVengefulSpirittolearnthatyearshadpassedaboardourflagship.Thereverseisalsotrue.MorethanonceIhavewagedwarintheBlackLegion’snameforyears,evendecades,onlytofindthatpracticallynotimehaspassedatall.Buteventhisisseekingtodefinetheundefinable.Wearespeakingofaconceptthatcannotbetamedwithwords.Thetruthisbothsimpleanddevastatinglycomplex.Thetruthisthatmostofusnolongercareabouttime.Itmeansnothingtousanymore.Markingthepassageof days and months and years is almost impossible.We fight when we mustfight.Wekillwhenwemustkill.Weeatanddrinktosustainourselves.Wesleepwhenourbodiesforcesomnolenceuponus.Thereisnoroutine,noharmoniousschedule of order.Webreathe and bleed and breathe and bleed.There is onlyexistence,momentbymoment.Youarealiveoryouaredead.And that is the truth our Imperial counterparts most struggle to understand.WhenwelockbladeswiththeSpaceMarinesofloyalChapters,andtheypourscornuponusforabitternessthathaslastedtenthousandyears.Whenwehavelittleideawhichthin-bloodednewbornconclaveofhypno-indoctrinatedsoldiersis hurling itself against uswith oaths theEmperorHimselfwould have foundinsane.Thetruthisthatitisnoancientgrudgerollingonthroughthecobwebsofold,oldminds.Ourhatredisstillhot.Ourwoundsarestillfresh.Ithasalwaysbeenthisway,anditshallalwaysremainso.Timecannotdilutethevenomthatflowsthroughourhearts,fortimenolongerexists.IcouldnottellyouhowmanyyearshavepassedformesinceIfirstsetfootona warp-touched world within the Eye. Sometimes it feels as though I wasbreathingTerranaironlyweeksago.SometimesIfeelincalculablyold,weigheddownby the pressure of conflictingmemories; things that feel as though theyhappenedtoothersouls,inotherlives.

Timeisamortalconceit,aproductofthematerialuniverse,andweareboundbynosuchlaws.

Wefoundthefirstwarrior’sbody.Hehaddiedinbattle,notkilledinthecrash.Whatever daemonic forces had swept through this ship like an ill wind, thisblack-armoured warrior had claimed several of them with bolter and blade.Ichorous residue marked the deck and walls nearby, where daemons haddissolvedafter thedestructionof theirphysicalforms.Thesamebloodmarkedtheteethofhischainsword.Thedeadwarriorworeacross-markedtabardoverhisarmourplating,thesigilmatching that of the slaves we had seen earlier. A length of chain bound thesword to hiswrist, either simple good sense to keep hold of aweapon in thechaosofmeleeoranodtothegladiatorialpit-gamesfoughtonthemostprimalandbloodthirstyworlds.Or by the most bloodthirsty Legions. This was a common enough customamong theWorldEaters.Even formerXIILegionwarriorsamongournumberstillheldtothetradition.‘Whogoesfirst?’askedAmurael.Afewofhiswarriorsstoodnearby,redeye-lensestrackingtheshadows,thethrumoftheiractivebattleplateasubcurrentofgrowlingsound.‘Iwilldoit,’Isaid.Icrouchedbythebodyanddrewmyritualjamdharadagger.Thehelmetcamefree easily. I began to carve, scalping the corpse as though Iwere some tribalprimitiveclaimingabattletrophy.MybrotherFalkusandhisAphoticBladearekeencollectorsoftheskullsoffallenchampions.Isupposetheprincipleismuchthesame,butIhadnotasteforsuchgrislyplunder.Ibrokeopentheskullforthecoldfeastwithin.Once life has left a body, decay sets in at once.A corpse’s internal cohesionbreaksdown,thebindingparticulatesandprocessesnolongerholdingtogether.Despitenovisiblesignofrot,IcouldtastetheonsetofentropywhenIchewedthatfirstmouthfulofbrain.Iswallowedandproceededtoforcemywaythroughtherestofthebittermeal.ThenIclosedmyeyes.Iwaited.Notlongafter,IhadtheanswersIsought.

WHEREPASTANDPRESENTMEETTheycalledthemselvestheBlackTemplars.Ilearnedthis,andsomuchmore,withthatfirsttasteofbrainflesh.How much ink has been committed to parchment in detailing the myriadwarlike uses of Legiones Astartes enhancements? So much is made of ourcapacity for perfect recall, of saliva glands that produce hydraklorik acid, theimperviousnessofourreinforcedbonesandthemightofourlayeredmuscleandsinew. Far less is spoken of the biological gift that turns cannibalism fromheathenritualintorevelation.Thegene-seedorganresponsibleforthisgiftistheomophagea–called,intheoldest scrolls, theEighth Step of Supremacy, or ‘theRemembrancer’. It takesrootwithinourbodies,attachingtothebrainandnervoussystemthroughfusionto the spinal column and digestive tract. Though we are gene-forged to stealsustenancefromalmostanyorganicmatter,eventhefleshofourfallenenemies,it’s through the omophagea that we also devour our foe’s memories. Nerveclusters in our stomachs carry pulses from the digesting meat to our minds,whichthepost-humanbraininterpretsasinstinctandinsight.Abeast’s flesh transfers itsawarenessof itsexistence,of its surroundings, itsstruggles,itshungersanditsdangers.Yousensethenearnessofitspredatorsandthe taste of its prey. A human’s eyes show a blighted palette of a thousandimagesoverthecourseoftheperson’slife,includingthatsoul’sverylastsight.Thebrainmakesforthefinestmeal.Itoffersunparalleledinsightfromagalleryof stolen emotion and memory. You see another being’s memories as if theywereyourown:unreliable,oftenhazy,occasionallyexcruciatinglyvivid.Theirinstinctsoverlayyours, your emotion and reasonentwineswith thoseof a lifeyouneverled.It takes discipline to suppress the narcotic qualities of this merging. Thesensationcanbecomeanaddictionalltooeasily,foritofferspleasureaswellaspower.IntheThousandSonswehadcouchedtheact inritualandsolemnity–

praising thewarrior-scholarvirtueof ‘knowingyourenemy’,andquelling anyguiltypleasureinthe cannibalisticact.Of course, such feasts of flesh are hardly uncommon when any warbandemergesvictoriousover another – look even to the Imperium’s own recordofsupposedly loyal Chapters, especially those of the Blood Angels Legion’sgenetic descent.FleshEaters.BloodDrinkers.Howdobandsofwarriors earnsuchnames,Iwonder?But I amgetting ahead ofmyself.Thosewere names stillmany years in thefuturefromthenightaboardtheshatteredwarship.Thatnight,mysensesswamwiththereflectedshardsofanotherlife.

Irunthroughaforest,cooledbythedapplesofshadebeneathahighsun.Therockinmyfistisreddenedwiththedarkbloodthatbleedsfromabrokenskull.IstareupatthestarsfromwhereIlieinthelonggrass,andI wonder:whereisTerra?WhichstarwarmstheEmperor’sThroneworld?IstandbeforeawarriortallerthananyotherIhaveeverseen.HetellsmethatIamchosen, thatIamtocomewithhim.Thebladeofmybronzeknifebreaksagainsthisarmourplating.IscrapemyfingernailsbloodyasIfight.Hetellsmethisisgood.Hetellsmethathechoseright.Isitwithinastonechamber,where thewallsand floorandeven theair isascoldasice.IspeakwordsofmumbledreverenceasIbrushsacredoilsupontheteethofanunpoweredchainsword. Iperform this ritewithmybare fingertips,addingthebloodfrommycutstotheunguents.Irisefrommyrestraintthroneaslightblastsintothedroppod.Mybolterkicksinmyhands,roaringattheinhumancreaturesthatthrowthemselvesagainstus.Their chitinous hides burst apart beneath each impacting shell. Impure gorestreaksme, streaksallofus,paintingourarmourwith foul flesh, stainingourtabards.IamshoutingasIkill,andthewordsarelikesunlightandlifeandtheadrenal thunder of blood running hot in battle. The words embody me, mybrothersandtheheroeswestrivetoemulate.Thewordsareeverything.Nopity.Noremorse.Nofear.I kneel before my marshal, lowering my head to the hilt of my downturnedsword.Ibreatheintheduskyscentofmyrrhfromthesmokingincensebraziers,and I speak my vows of loyalty, of virtue, of courage, of zeal. The Chaplainwalksbeforeus,leadingthechantedchorus.Ifeelhiseyesuponme,watchfulfor

flawsinmydemeanour,listeningforanywhisperofinsincerity.Hewillfindnoflawsandhearnolies.Iamworthyofthishonour.Iwillnotfailmy brothers. I will not fail my Lord Dorn. I will not fail High MarshalSigismund.IwillnotfailtheImmortalEmperor.I stand before my arming thralls within my private sanctum. Armour drillswhineandlocktightinsidethesocketsalreadysurgicallygougedintomyflesh.Iamdressedinceramite.Weightedbyit,renderedcompletebyitssacredburden.Myswordispressedintomylefthandandchainedinplace,inviolatelyboundtomyforearm.Aroundme,theserfschantmynameinmonasticbaritone.I stand on the bridge, arrayed with my brethren before Marshal Avathus’throne.Westareintothetaintedvoidahead,whererealitypuckersandrupturesinthegripofunrealforces.Thisistheprisonintowhichourancestorscastourtraitorousforebears.Westandbeforetheverymouthofhell.I fight in thecollapsingcorridorsofadyingship.Myweaponsaresundered,myarmour isbroken,mybodyreducedtoredruin.Creatures–daemons, theyaredaemons,theycanonlybedaemons–clawatme,bearingmedown,pullingmeapartwhileIstilldrawblood-tastingbreath.Nopity.Teeth fasten to the flesh of my face, biting in, grinding down, straining,scraping,cracking.Noremorse.Ipushthecleavedremnantsofmyswordupintoquivering,fattyflesh.Nof–

I was myself once more, metabolising the stolen memories. Telemachon andAmuraelindulgedtheircuriositiesaswell;Icouldseethemworkingthroughtheingested lives, trawling through the recollections for slivers of deeper insight.Telemachonwashelmed,ofcourse,but I couldseeAmurael’s features tickingwith involuntary muscle responses to the emotions and traumas of the deadBlackTemplar’slonglife.‘Angevin,’hesaid.‘Thewarrior’snamewasAngevin.’IhadfeltthesamesenseofidentitywhenIfirsttastedthememories.‘TheycameintotheEyewillingly,’headded.‘Scoutingandexploring.’‘Hunting,’Telemachonamended.‘Huntingus.’‘WehavetowarnEzekyle.’Ihadnotintendedtospeakthosewords,butnowthey were spoken, the truth of them bit deep. ‘If these Templars stand vigiloutsidetheEye,itmaychangeeverything.’

Telemachonshookhishead.‘Nomatterhowmanyofthemarewaitingforus,nomatter if theymeet uswith everywarship in the Imperial Fists fleet, theywon’thaveenoughironinthevoidtostopusbreakingfree.’‘Perhaps not,’ I conceded. ‘But they would have enough to leave us deeplyscarred.DoyoubelieveAbaddonwishes to losehundreds, even thousands,ofthewarriorswehavesopainstakinglyrecruited?’‘Tosaynothingofthecasualtieswe’llsustainwhenAshur-KaiguidesusoutoftheEye,’Amuraelwarned.This,too,wastrue.Nofewwarbandshadlostvesselsin thedesperate storms that ragedat theEye’s edge.Ourprisonwasviciouslyadept at keeping us caged. ‘If we emerge piecemeal in the face of an enemyfleet…’Amuraelletthewordshang.‘Guesswork,’Telemachonrepliedsmoothly.‘Preparationandconsideration,’Ireplied.Khayon,avoicebreathed,andmyspinetightened.Amurael spoke up, supporting my words. I was not entirely certain of thespecifics of what he said. Telemachon replied. I do not know what he said,either.ThevoiceIwashearingbelongedtoneitherofthem.Khayon.Nagualpaddedcloser,clawsscratchingthedeck.Hebaredhisfangsinaslowgrowl.Whocalls,master?Idonotknow.TelemachonandAmuraelwerestillconversing, theformerdoingsowhilehetookbloodandfleshsamplesfromthefallenTemplar,thelatterspeakingwhileexaminingacompactbutblockypatternofboltpistolIhadnotseenbefore.Khayon.Iroseslowly,lookingtowardsthearchwaymouthofthewesterncorridor.Thecrashhadbrokenthisportionoftheship,leavingthedecksloped,leadingdownintoyetmorepowerlessdark.Khayon.IheardTelemachon’sarmourpurrasheturnedtome.‘Whatailsyou,assassin?’Ididnotturntolookathim.‘Someoneishere.’I heard the echolocation clicks as Amurael reactivated his auspex. I feltTelemachonstaringatme,thoughheremainedsilent.‘Nothing,’Amuraelconfirmed.Khayon.‘I sense a presence,’ I said. ‘Nearby.Within the city, orwhatever the closest

settlementiscalled.Itknowsmyname.’‘Male?Female?’Amuraelasked.‘Isitevenhuman?’‘Icannottell.Itislessthanawhisper.’Andthiswasso.Ifyoucanimaginetheimpressionoflipsmoving,mouthingyourname,withoutbreathtogivesoundtoavoice.‘Yourmiserablealien?’Amuraelsnortedthequestion.‘Shehasnopsychiccapability,’TelemachonansweredbeforeIcould,andhisrichvoicecarriedaseedyreverencethatmademyskincrawl.‘Hersoulisfartoodelicate.’‘ItisnotNefertari,’Isaid.‘Whoeveritis,Iamnotevencertaintheyarealive.Thisisaworldofmournfulechoesandunquietghosts.’‘Thenignoreit,’wastheswordsman’ssuggestion.Khayon.Khayon.Khayon.Icouldnotignorethis.Forsomeoneorsomethingtogainaccesstomymind,eventobrushmysurfacethoughtslikethis,spokeofabeingwithconsiderablepowerandsignificantintent.Trapornot,Iwasgoingtofindtheanswertothismystery.Ireachedafterit,findingnothingbutmist,mist,mist.‘Itiscomingfromdeeperintheship.Or…no.Frombeneaththeship.’IlookedtoAmurael.‘Arethereanysubterraneanfortressesnearby?’The former Sons ofHorus legionary took amoment to answer, and his auraflaredwithuneasylight.Somethinginmywordshaddiscomfitedhim.‘Several.’ Amurael’s eyes met mine. He wiped the smeared evidence of hisinvestigativecannibalismfromhismouth.One of his legionaries clarified. ‘Lord Khayon,’ the warrior said, ‘theMonumentumPrimusisonlythirtykilometresfromhere.’I hesitated.That possibility had simplynot occurred tome. ‘We are near theTombofHorus?’‘Yes,LordKhayon.’Khayon.Thepresencewasaneedlingcaressinsidemyskull.Khayon.Khayon.Khayon.Iclenchedmyteethagainstitsunwelcomelytantalisingtouch.Irosetomyfeet.‘Showmetheway.’

The ship had fusedwith the earth, amalgamatingwith the fortress complexesbeneaththesurface.Herewasanotherworldentirely,arealmoffalloutbunkers,interconnected trench mazes and subterranean chambers. The Black Templarsstrikecruiserhadspearedintothegroundandswiftlyfounditswreckageboundinthemutatedgripoftherealmbelow.

EverywhereIlookedcorrosionwasrife,thedecayoftheworldabovecreepingdownhereininfectionsofrotandrust.Powerlapsesplungedwholeportionsofthe complexes into darkness, andwhat light remainedwas strained andweak,flickeringontheedgeoffailure.ThetruthofMaeleumwasjustasuglyas thelie, for soon enoughwewerewalking through chambers and corridors litteredwithindustrialdetritusandthehalf-eatenbodiesofslainhumans,beastmenandlegionariesalike.MostofthedeadLegionwarriorsworethearmouroftheSonsofHorus,lefttorotwheretheylay.ThepurpleandpuceoftheEmperor’sChildrenwasalsoinevidence,alongwithshadesmarking restingplacesof fightersdrawnfromtheotherLegions.Mostof thesebodieshadbeengougedopenbyfleshsmithsandApothecaries,theirprogenoidsharvestedintheheatofbattlesfoughtlongago.The charnel-house smell penetrated my armour and sank into my senses. Icouldfeelitinmypores.Icouldtasteit,thatsourmeatstink,onthebackofmyteeth.Amurael’swarrior,Dejak,ledusdeeper.Myretinaldisplaytrackedthedepth,anditwasn’tlongbeforemyfragiletelepathicthreadtotheRubricaeaboardourgunshipthinnedandsevered,leavingthemunbound.Theywouldfulfiltheirlastorders, but I couldn’t reach them to see through their eyes or issue themnewcommands.NorwasIabouttostopandachievethenecessarymeditativefocustore-communewiththem.Dejakstoppedatajunction,hishelmpanningacrossalong,arcingbloodstainalongabolt-puncturedwall.Nothingaboutitseemedanydifferenttotherestofthebiologicalmesswe’dseeninthecomplexsofar.Telemachon and I glanced at one another. ‘This smear of sanguine filth isnotableinsomeway?’IaskedDejak.IsuspectedthatLheorwouldhavemadesome irritable remark about fine Cthonian art. As much as I wished for hispresencehereratherthanTelemachon’s,Ididnotmisswhatpassedforhiswit.‘It’sasigil,lords.’Dejakwalkeddowntheleft-handcorridorwithoutbotheringtoilluminateusastowhatexactlyaboutthebloodsmearinformedthisdecision.HewaswithAmuraelattheheadofthesquad,deferringtohislord.Wefollowedoncemore.Telemachon’sclawedbootsclickedandscrapedwiththepercussionofeachofhisfootfalls.‘Agangsign,Isuspect.’Hismellifluousvoicemurmuredoverthevox,tomealone. ‘A marking of territory. An echo of what once was, on now-deadCthonia.’‘Mostlikely.’Iwasnotcertainwherethisconversationalgambitwasgoing,but

IknewTelemachon,andIknewitwasleadingsomewhere.‘Lekzahndru,’ he purredmy namewith theGothic twist of his former homeworld.‘Tellme,’headded,beneficentandsmooth,‘ofDrolKheir.’Bolterscrashinginarrhythmicpercussion.Energisedbladesthunder-clappingagainstburningwar-plate.Bloodrunninghot,steaminginthecold,marshyair.Lifebecomingvapour,redsmokecurlingfromrivenceramite.‘Thereislittletosay.’‘And yet,’ said Telemachon, ‘somany of our cousins among the Legions dohavesomethingtosay,andtheyallsaythesamething.’IskandarKhayondiedatDrolKheir.‘Itwasabattle,’Ireplied.‘Avastone,butnotagloriousone.’‘Howso?’‘Whydoesthismatter?’Hisfascinationwasunjustified.Severalwarbandsfromvarious Legions had banded together against several others and waged waracross theever-shiftinggroundofadaemonworld,warring for territory.Whatelsewas there to say?Battlesof thatkind tookplaceeveryhourof everydaysomewherewithinEyespace.DrolKheirwasunremarkablebeyondtheimmensecasualties sustained,when theDeathGuardhad rainedalchemical toxinsupontheiralliesandenemiesalike.‘But,’Telemachonpressed,‘whosesidewereyouon?’Iwasscarcelylisteningtohisirrelevantpurring.Somethingonhisarmourdrewmyeye.‘Hold,’ I commanded. He turned back to me, his impassive, beautiful silverfaceplatemeetingmygazeandtargetinglocks.ItoreTelemachon’ssidearmfreeofitsleatherholster,pullingitintomyhandwithadragoftelekinesis.Iturnedtheornateboltpistolinmyfist,lookingatthecuriousdecorationhangingfromthepolishedgoldgrip.Tokensandcharmswerecommononourweaponsandarmour,butI’dneverseenhimwiththiskeepsakebefore.Afeather.Asingleblackfeather.Itoreitfromthefinegoldenchainthatboundittothepistolgripandcrusheditinmyhand.‘Isthisfromherwings?’Idemanded.‘Butofcourse.’‘Youdiseasedcreature.Stalkingher.Watchingher.’‘Andmore.’Theonyxofhiseyesflashedwithreflectedlight.Telemachonwassmiling.Hisfacemaskdidn’tchange,butIsensedwhateverwasleftofhisfacebehindthesilvertwistinginmirth.

I ground the remnants of the feather beneathmy boot. In the samemoment,Nagual ghosted silently from the shadows behind Telemachon, his musclesbunchingwiththeurgetoleap.No,Isenttomylynx.Iwillendhim.Mymindinferredthetigrus-lynx’sviolenteagernessaswords,though as ever no words were spoken. His jaws parted slowly, readyingvolcanic-glasssabre-teeththelengthofswords.No,Nagual.Histhoughtscurdled,becomingafusionofexpectantsensation:therendingofceramite beneath unbreakable claws, the hot rush of human blood upon thetongue…Nagual. I sent the command as a blade to break through the beast’s closingmind.Obey.He heeded me, but only just. Only because he had to, lest he risk mydispleasure.Imissedmywolf, lost toHorusRebornall thoseyearsbefore.WhereNagualhadhunger,Gyrehadpossessedintelligence;whereGyrewasagiftedhuntress,Nagualwasaraveningdestroyer.Hehadhisuses,butIwasincreasinglycertainthatIwouldbanishhimsoon,justasI’dbanishedeveryotherfailedsuccessortothewolfIstillmourned.All of this transpired in the merest of moments. I looked from my lynx toTelemachon,andthewordsIspokewerenottheonesIhadintendedtospeak.‘Doyouvalueyourlifesolittle?’Iaskedhim,surprisingmyselfwithmyownhonesty.‘Thishungerforherwillbethedeathofyou.’Theswordsmantiltedhishead,regardingmethroughhisbackliteye-lenses.‘Isthatconcern Ihear inyourvoice,Lekzahndru?Can itbe thatyou fear formywell-being?’Loyalty to Ezekyle’s vision had so far prevented our mutual distrust frombecomingdisgust.Wehadsworntobebrothersandnevertoharmoneanother,an oath taken at Abaddon’s behest when we first carved the Legion symbolsfromourarmour.Telemachonhadstolenseveralartificerslavestoartfullypainthisarmourblack.Ihadsimplycharredthepaintfrommyownandblackeneditwithconjuredwispsofwarpfire.Wewerefarfromourlordnow,butmyadherencetohisvisionwasinviolate.IbelievedinAbaddon’sambitions;Iwouldnotbreakwithhis trust.I tossedthepistolbacktoTelemachon.‘Thesamerules thatgovernyouandmedonotapply toNefertari,’ Ipointed

out.‘Ifyoucontinuetoantagoniseher,shewillkillyouregardlessofouroath.’‘Andyoufearbearingtheblameforheractions?’Damnhim,Icouldhearthesmileinhisvoice.‘Ah,no,itisn’tthat.Whatyoufearisfarmoreterritorial.Itmakes your skin crawl, doesn’t it? The chance shemay come to treasuremyattentions.You fear that theYoungestGod looks throughmy eyes, seeking toswallowhersoul.’Istaredathim,attheargentandflawlessfacehepresentedtobrotherandfoealike.Wordseludedmeforseveralseconds.Howwasonesupposedtoreacttosuchbaiting?‘Spareme thedeluded twistsofyourbrokenmind,’ I said. ‘Idonot interferewith the preening, wailing things you call minions. Do not meddle with mycoterie,either.’‘Asyouwish,Lekzahndru,’herepliedsmoothly.HereachedtorunhisfingersthroughNagual’sstripedgrey-blackfur,butthedaemongaveathroatywarningsnarl.Telemachonpulledhishandback. ‘I see,’ the swordsman said,perfectlycalm.Icouldfeelhimsmilingagain.Amuraelwaswatchingus,aswerehiswarriors.TheservosinAmurael’snecksnarledasheshookhishead.‘Ifyou’refinished,brothers?’Chastened, I fell in behind him oncemore. Greasy amusement still radiatedfromTelemachon’saura.Ifeltitasanitchagainstmyskin,impossibletoignore.Partofmyirritationwasthathe’dspokentheplaintruth.IfhebaitedNefertariinto crossing blades with him, the blamewould fall onmy shoulders for notcontrolling her. Abaddon tolerated her only because I had made it clear Iwouldn’tcastheraside.Shewastoousefultome.I wouldn’t let myself consider Telemachon’s other insinuations. His sickcravingforherwasbornofhishungerforsensation,anysensationatall,andthegod that flowed in his bloodstream cried out to devourNefertari’s eldar soul.Beingneartohercausedhimpain.Eventheslowcreepofagonyshecausedhimelectrifiedhisnerveswithpleasure.Wretchedparasite,Ithought.Master?Mysimple-mindedfamiliar’ssensesmetmine.Notyou,Nagual.TheFacelessMan?Howmany times had I imprinted Telemachon’s name upon what passed forNagual’smind?Eachattemptwasanexerciseinfutility.Yes.TheFacelessMan.

The FacelessMan.How apt. To his ownmen, thewarriors of the ShriekingMasquerade,TelemachonwasmostoftencalledtheMasquedPrince.IpreferredNagual’stitle.I will end him, the great cat promised me. Flicker-flash sensations hissedthroughmythoughts–thesaltyheatofrunningblood,theuselessthrashingofpreywithmyjawslockedarounditsthroat…No,Nagual.Breathethecommandanditwillbedone.Astemptingasitwas,Ididnothingofthekind.ThefirstchamberofworthwereachedwasamongthemoretragicsightsIhaveeverwitnessed.Deepwithinthecomplex,Amuraelledusintoanapothecarionthat far exceeded any military medicae centre in both grandeur and purpose.Colossal vault-tanks rose like fortress walls, all instrumentation and consolecircuitry pulled apart and riven by chainblades. The archive banks, wherepricelessgeneticmaterialhadbeenheldinstasis-lockedstorage,werelootedanddestroyedindeliberatespiteratherthanbytheincidentaldamageofwar.Everycontainerthathadonceheldvitalchemicalcocktailsofpreservativefluidswassmashed and dry, now home to hives of insect vermin making their lairs inmachinesthathadoncegrantedtranshumanlife.Agene-seedrepository.Irecognisedtheplace’spurposeassoonasIsawit.Theimportance of these hallowed halls is burned into the very marrow of everyLegionwarrior.Telemachonsimilarlyneedednoelucidation.Helaughedsoftlyuponentering,thesoundslowandwetandentirelysincereat thedevastationof thispricelessplace.Amurael had been Medicae Quintus within the Sons of Horus – a rankingofficerbyanyjudgement.Hewalkedthroughthechamberasifinthegripofadream,nodoubtseeingtheshadesofwhathadoncebeenoverlayingthetruthofwhatwas.Heexaminedshatteredmachineryanduselesstools,sayingnothingasheexplored.‘Wasthisyourlaboratory?’Iaskedhim.‘No.Minewasalwaysaboard theViridianSky.Thewarriors ofmy companynever risked storing our gene-seed reserves on Maeleum, even before theEmperor’sChildrencamefortheWarmaster’scorpse.’Somethingoccurred tome then that hadn’t before.When theChildrenof theEmperorraidedthisworldanddefiledHorus’corpseforuseintheirbastardisedcloning foundries, they surely wouldn’t have resisted plundering the XVI

Legion’sgene-seeddepositories.Twicetheinsult.Twicethedesecration.‘There’snothinghere,’Amuraeldeclared.‘Let’sgo.’Nagualwasbusy,breathingcorrosivesmokeintoacolonyofslug-likecreaturesthat crackled and popped as they dissolved.He licked the resulting sludge upwithoneswipeofhistongue,swallowingnoisily.Tome,Isent.The lynx obeyed, his eyes glowing with the absorption of more daemonicmatter.Wewalkedonthoughtherusteddark.AndtothinkIhadbeenconcernedabout playing ambassador on Maeleum. We were not emissaries. We werepracticallythieves.Thievesinarealmwhereeverythingofworthhadalreadybeenstolen.

Ajourneythatshouldhavetakenusnotimeatallinsteadtookoveraweek,inthetime-lostwayonejudgessuchthingsintheEye.Somanyofthetunnelshadmutatedclosedorfallenintoruin,wefoundourselvesconstantlydoublingbackandseekingalternateroutes.Addedtothat,thelabyrinthinecomplexesbeneaththeearthshiftedwhenyoudaredtakeyoureyesfromthepassageahead,leadingin conflicting directions again and again. Truly the warp had riddled its waythroughthestoneofthisworld’scoreandtwistedtheplanettoitsindiscerniblewhims.And all thewhile,Khayon,Khayonechoed inmy skull.Never louder, neverquieter,neverweaker,neverstronger.Just…there.Ourarmoursustainedus,feedingnutrientsbackintooursystemsandinfusingus with synthesised chemical feeds to maintain alertness and health overprotracteddeployment.Theleatheryfleshofthedead–eventheirbones–wouldofferussustenanceifwechosetoindulge,butwewereafarcryfromstarvation.Telemachon sampled those cold delicacies purely out of choice. I made nocommenteachtimeIsawhimremovingthelowerhalfofhisfaceplatetodoso;eating the unburied dead was something most of us had done in times ofdesperation, and there was no denying that necessity had become preferenceamongmanywarbandsbanishedtotheEye.ByImperialstandards,suchfeastsaretheleastofoursins.IlearnedthattheentiretyofMaeleumwasconnectedbeneaththesurface,withfreeholdsandsubterraneanfortresseslinkedbytunnelsandtrenches.Thedeeperwemoved,themoreevidencepointedtoabandonmentratherthanannihilation.Signsofconflictlessened,replacedbysignsofdesolation.Thebodieswefound

had expired from hunger or thirst as often as those torn open by raiders’weapons.TheEmperor’sChildrenhadn’tpenetratedtothedeepestlevelsinhugenumbers.Whentheyhadpassedthisfar,itwasasslaversandplunderers,eagerto get their spoils back to the surface. Thus, they had sacrificed an invader’sthoroughnessforapirate’sprudence.Evensomeofthearmouriesweren’tlootedfully,thoughtheweaponswefoundtherewereinvariousstatesofdysfunction.One of the wonders we discovered in the depths was a great transit route –powered down and empty now – with an underground conveyor rail tunnelbetween one fortress and another. Themutants that thrived down there in thelightless deeps prayed to the powerless rail-engines as iron gods, beseechingthemtoawakenfromtheirslumber.IcouldnotguesshowmanygenerationsofLegionslavesandserfshadinterbredundertheEye’sinfluencetoproducethesesorrycreatures.Ipitied them, thoughmore for theiruselessnessand ignorance than fromanysympathy. Amurael and the others ignored them. Telemachon found themdelightful,hunting themthewayabeastwouldhuntherdsofweakerprey.Helaughedjoyouslyasheracedawayintothedarkness,returninglaterwithbloodspattersdryingacrosshisarmour.Nagualachedtogivechasetothemaswell. Iallowediteachtime, ifonlytodistract my lynx from pulsing his hungry insistence that he would killTelemachonifIbutasked.IwonderedifNefertari,aloneonthesurfaceallthistime,hadfoundsimilarprey.Amuraelfocusedonlyonthegene-seeddepositories.Hedidn’tholdmuchhopeof locating actual genetic material, knowing that all of it would have beendestroyedor longsincerottedwithinfailedpreservativemachinery.Instead,hesought to rekindle what systems he could bring back to a semblance of life,seekingdataaboveall.Heworkedwithhiscustomaryfocus,drainingwoundeddata-archivesofanyloretheycouldbecoaxedintosurrendering.I was tempted to ask if he was delaying our journey, taking these alternateroutestoriflethrougholdapothecarions.Khayon, thevoicecaressed the insideofmyskull,aconstantwhisperagainstthebackofmyeyes.Khayon.Khayon.Khayon.‘Whatareyoudoing?’IsnappedatAmuraelatonepoint.‘Compilingamonograph,’hesaid,ashewatchedaninformationfeedinloadingintohisnarthecium’s storagecoils. ‘A treatiseoneveryaspectof theLegion’sgene-seed.Thisisarareopportunity.Iwanteverywordeverwrittenabouttheprocess, frombasicschemaandflawedexperimentationall thewaythroughto

stablemodification.’‘Wecanalreadymaintainwhatwehave,’saidTelemachon.‘Barely,’Amuraelrepliedwithoutlookingupfromhisvambraceconsole.‘Ournumberswon’tfallifwe’rediligent.’Amuraelstilldidn’tlookup.‘Theywillovertimewhetherwe’rediligentornot.Butthisisn’tonlyaboutthegene-seedsupplieswealreadyhave.’‘Names,’ I said, interrupting their burgeoning disagreement. ‘Ezekyle is notonlygatheringgene-seeddata,heisgatheringnames.ThenameofeverySonofHorusenteredintotheLegion’sarchivesasconfirmeddead.’ThiswastypicalofAbaddon’sprecision.Hewascompilinganarchiveofwhostilllived,tallyingthefallenandsurvivorsalike.ItwasthebestwayofknowingwhatpercentageoftheremainingLegionwasalreadysworntous,sailingaspartofourfleet.Therestwouldbehunteddown,andrecruitedorkilled.Amurael’snodtoldmethatIhadassumedcorrectly.‘Iwasmadeforgreaterdeedsthanadministrativearchiving,’saidTelemachon.‘Beswift.Thisplaceboresme.’IttookanothertwodaystoreachtheTombofHorus.

Thesarcophaguswasempty.WhereonceHorushadlaininstate–armscrossedoverhischest,handsgrippingthehiltofWorldbreaker–therenowstoodagreatcoffinofemptycrackedmarble.Itsproportionswereappropriatelymassive,onlymakingitsemptinessmorepitiable.Thegoldleafinscriptionsweregone,brokenbybootsandhammers.Toweringwindowsofstainedglass,oncebacklitinthissubterraneansanctuary,wereholes in thehighwalls,while thescenesofgloryand rebellion they had once depicted were reduced to diamond rubble thatcrunched beneath our boots. Skulls that had once been the trophies ofinnumerable conquests were particulate bone dust, swirling slowly in thestagnantair.Amurael’smenwerecommandedtowait.Wewentinalone.Khayon, the whisper brushed against me once more. Still sourceless, stilldirectionless.Once this fortress had been called the Monumentum Primus. Now it was aruinedcastledeepwithinMaeleum’scrust,shapedfromslave-hewnrockandtheerodingbonesofmonstrouswarpserpents.Ihavebeen inplaces that stankof tawdry,uselessprayer, and IhavewalkedworldswhereIwas theonly livingbeing,yetnofaneorcathedralever felt socrass as that crypt, and no prison or place of lonely pilgrimage ever felt as

desolate.I was not surewhom I despisedmore – those that had prayed here as foolskneel before an altar, or those that had defiled this tomb out of blasphemousambition.The cryptwas lifeless but far fromempty.Wraiths gatheredhere inworship,etherealandnearsilent.Hereweretheshadesofkneelingbeastmen,theiraviancryingandbestialbrayingstolenbytime,rendereddowntobreathyimpressionsof the sounds oncemade by living throats.Herewerewarriors in the viridianbattleplateof theSonsofHorus,standinginausterereflectionorduellingovertheirfather’sbones.Herewere invadingEmperor’sChildren, laughing,killing,executing.Hordes of fighting warriors. Hosts of worshippers. Moments in timeoverlapping,conjuredbythespiritualsignificanceofthishallowedground.‘Iskandar,’Amuraelsaid,lowandsolemn.‘Ifyouwould.’Inodded.WithagestureofmyhandIbanishedtheunquietdead,pushingthemanifestenergyfromthisvastchamber.Itwaslikescatteringahandfulofsandtothewind.Devoidofthoseechoes,thechambergrewtrulysilent.Alonenow,weapproachedthesarcophagus.The body this coffin had cradled was years gone, first hauled away like ahunter’skilltobedissectedontheuncleanslabsofIIILegionbutcher-surgeons,then recovered by Abaddon and the very first of his Ezekarion after thedestruction ofHorusReborn.What remained of theWarmaster’s corpse – thegeneticplunderthatwasallFabiusBilehadleftintactfromthelootedcadaver–was housed safely within the Apothecarion Apex aboard the Vengeful Spirit,stasis-sealedandguardedbyahundredofourSyntagmawar robots, linked totheAnamnesis’consciouscontrol.Youmightthink,ignorantlybutnotunfairly,thatHorus’geneticsamplesalonewould be enough for us to engineer an endless supply of the nineteenbiosynthetic organs necessary for implantation to create Space Marines fromhuman boy-children. This is not so, no matter any individual Apothecary’sgenius. The Emperor himself envisioned the process, which speaks to theintellect required to first bring it into being, and put it into effect with theimmensetechnologicalimpetusoftheThroneworldanditsunprecedentedaccesstorelicsoftheDarkAge.Even now in the Imperium, an Adeptus Astartes Chapter can be renderedslowly extinct by the theft of its gene-seed, despite its medicae-warriorspossessing all the information and support necessary to re-engineer new

progenoidglandsandcreatenewSpaceMarines.Indeed,suchdefilementisoneof theNineLegions’ preferred punishments; nothing drives aChapter to suchdesperation,nortarsthemwithsuchshame,asthetheftoftheirfuture.And as for theLegions themselves?Wouldwe raid our thin-blooded cousinsanddescendantsintheImperiumifwecouldrendernewgene-seedorganswithease?Wouldweslaughtereachotheroverfragmentsofloreortithefortunesinservice and materiel to the Mechanicum’s daemon-forges if we could simplyengineermiracleswithout their priceless expertise?Webinddaemons intoourwarmachinestokeepthemfunctioning.Weforgenewamalgamatedhorrorsofdaemonicfleshandcoldmetaltoreplacetechnologywecannolongermaintain.Rememberthis,forcontextispreciousinthecomprehensionofthistale.Forallthat we mock the Imperium in the way you make a virtue of small-mindedignorance, we too have lost so verymuch. Perhaps evenmore. Your mastershavesealedknowledgeawayfromyou,incineratedit,orithasbeenlostthroughthenaturalpassageoftime.We,ontheotherhand,havewatcheditslipthroughourfingersevenwhenwetriedtokeepitclose.NowhereexemplifiedthisbetterthantheshamefulcryptonMaeleum.Oneof theghostsrefusedtodisperse.Itwatchedthethreeofusapproaching,turningold,oldeyestoeachofusinturn.Ifeltthefallofitsjudginggazeuponmelikeathreat,abladestrokingagainstmyarmour.Howlonghaditbeenhere?Had it always been here, evenwhen this sepulchre had been inhabited by theWarmaster’s deluded sons, only taking shape in the vacuum left by theirabsence?The spirit was human, though its soul was boiling with the memories andemotionsofaccumulatedcenturies.Whoeverithadbeeninlife,ithadwitnessedsightsand livedanexistence far inexcessof thoseallotted toa typicalmortalspan.Itsform,thatwhichwecallacorpuswhenspeakingofwarp-bornentities,wasstableandunchanging.Itslonghairwasdarkandragged.Itsskin,muchlikemine, was the dusky melange common among civilisations that rise in theequatorialregionsofworldslikeTerra.Itworeatraveller’scloakoffadedblack,and simple, travel-worn clothing. Tears stained its cheeks, tears of white ink;thosefourtrailsofsorrowweretattoosoftinyscripturefromthecornersofitseyes.Itwas–orhadbeeninlife–anunmutatedhumanfemale.Ireachedforthewarpghostadozenmetresaway,fingerscurledasiftocrushitsthroatwithtelekinesis.TheairwhirledwithanunseenbreezeinanswertotheenergyIsummoned.Thespirit’shairtrailedinthebreeze.

Telemachon hesitated in his approach. I heard the fibre-bundle cords in hisarmoured collar purr as he tilted his head. Amurael halted a half-step after,looking between the apparition and the scanner display on his nartheciumgauntlet.Atmy side,Nagualwatched the spectrewithglowing eyes, his jawsparted.Venomdrippedfromhissabre-teeth.Khayon,camethewhisperonelasttime,andtheghostsmiled.‘IskandarKhayon,’ said thewraith, itsvoicecompletelyhuman. ‘TelemachonLyras.AndAmuraelEnka.’I lowered my hand. The rising wind died. The three of us said nothing,confrontedsuddenlybyahumanwomanwherenolivingbeinghadanyrighttobe.‘YouwilltakemetoEzekyleAbaddon.’Shesaiditnotasacommand,butasifshewerespeakingofamemory.Amemorythathadn’tyethappened.‘Andwhywouldwedothat?’Iasked.‘BecauseIbringhimawarning,’shereplied,perfectlycalm,‘andIwilldeliverhimafuture.’AmuraelandTelemachonmerelystaredather.Iwastheonetoaskthequestiononourtongues.‘Whoareyou?’She toldus.Shegaveusa singlename, thoughotherswouldgranthermanymore titles across the years to come. And that was how I met Moriana, theWeepingMaiden,OracleoftheDespoiler,ProphetessoftheBlackLegion.

VENGEFULSPIRITWebroughtMorianabeforeAbaddon–notasthemessengersheclaimedtobe,butastheprisonershetrulywas.ShewalkedbetweentwoofmyRubricae,andnomatterhowpreparedshewas,shestillflinchedatthewallofsoundthatmetuswhenwewalkedontothebridge.ThefleetwasatmusterbythetimeweboardedtheVengefulSpirit.Evenaswetranslated in-system, other vessels were breaking into the sanctuary of ournebula, engines running hot, seeking to fall into anchor formation around theflagship.IheardAshur-Kai’svoicelongbeforeIsetfootontheSpirit.Isensegreatunrestaroundyou.Hispsychic tonewasusually touchedbyhisformerroleasmymaster,yetnowitwasdis colouredbyurgencyandconcern.Explain yourself, Sekhandur, he sent, using the variant of my name from itsclassicalGothicroots.Whyarethetidesoffatecrashingagainstyoursoul?Asdramaticasever.IshouldhaverealisedhewouldsenseMoriana’spresencethemomentwetranslatedin-system.WebringacaptivefromMaeleum.Thatwouldexplainthewarp’sturmoilaroundyourvessel.Wehadbeenslowedonourreturn,true.IwasnotevenclosetobeingasgiftedatnavigatingthroughthetumblingtidesofEyespaceasAshur-Kaiwas,thoughIhadreturnedasswiftlyasIwasable.Yousounduneasy,mybrother.All isnotwell,Sekhandur.LheorvineandZaiduareabouttokilloneanother,apportioningblamefortheirlossesatThylakus.Valicar,CeraxiaandVortigernhave returned bloodied by fleets sworn to Daravek.We encountered our owndifficultieswithhisminions,aswell.Canyounotseetheship?I could. On the oculus, the Vengeful Spiritwas clawed prow to stern withsuperficialdamage,theextentofwhichdidnotworryme;thesimplepresenceofitdid.Ithadbeenduellingvesselsthatwerestrongenoughtobreakthroughitsshields.

Tellmeeverything,Isent.Just get to the command deck. I heard the age-old commanding tone of myformermentorinthatorder.Youwillseeforyourself.And so I did.Awall of sound, theuproar of rage and recrimination,washedoverusasweenteredthebridge.Thebridgeafterabattlewasusuallyaplaceofcelebrationand,notuncommonly,drunkenorecstatictortureofenemywarlords.Theircorpses–orsoon-to-becorpses–werehauled intoplaceamongthewarbanners hanging from the strategium’s roof, and warriors engaged in raucouscontestsof strength,vowsofbrotherhoodorviolentdisplaysof adrenal joy tocelebratethevictoriesthatbroughtthesenewtrophies.I have been told that Imperial Space Marines sombrely reflect after theirtriumphs, kneeling in monastic reverence before statues of their idols andworshippingrepresentationsof theirheroes–asomewhatdifferentaesthetic tothepitfights,thehowlsandthecheersthatfollowourvictories,wherebraggingisanartandawarrior’sreputationisall.YetthesensationIwalkedintoonthebridge that day was thicker, somehow fouler than usual. The frustration ofhundredsofbeatenwarriors,theiremotionsmeshing,createdapsychicechooftheirdefeatthatsettleduponmelikeafuneralshroud.Tokugrawasthefirsttogreetme.Ashur-Kai’sdaemon-crow flutteredtoalightuponmyshoulder,regardingmewitheyesthathadseenstarsbornanddie,andhadshinedwithamusementallthewhile.Boy,itgreetedme.I hadnot been ‘Boy’ toAshur-Kai for centuries– thedaysofmyadolescentapprenticeshipwerelongpast–butTokugrareferredtomebynothingelse.Nagualsnarledatthecrow.Thetwodaemonfamiliarsglaredatoneanotherinbestialdislikebefore,asever,thecrowtookwingandputdistancebetweenitselfanditswarp-kin.Thecommanddeckwasalivewithheavingbodiesandshoutingvoices.MostoftheactivitycentredaroundtheraiseddaiswhereAbaddon’s thronesatunused.Warriorswereyellingaccusationsandrefutations,demandinganswersfromeachother,anddemandingthatothersheedtheirwords.‘Stayclosetome,’ItoldMoriana,andthreadedthesamecommandthroughthemindsoftheRubricaethatguardedher.We passed beneath Ultio, the Anamnesis, in the chamber’s very heart. Sheturned gracefully in the pale azure fluid of her suspension tank. She was thecalm heart of the storm, serene in her amniotic haven amidst the shoutingmasses.Thecognitioncablestendrillingfromherheadtothemachineryatopher

life-support prison swayed gently in the artificial womb-fluid, forming aserpentinecrestwhereeachindustrialsnakecarriedherthoughtsthroughouttheship’s receptive systems. The fluid was clean, constantly filtered and infusedwithnutrientsbythehummingmachinessetinthetallglasstank’sfoundations.Shestaredforwards,scarcelyseeingwithhereyesatall.Hervisionwasspreadacross the many thousands of gun-imagifiers and hull-scryers set along theVengefulSpirit’sbattlements.Whenshespoke,hermouthmovedbutproducednobubblesintheartificialwomb-fluid.Herwordsintonedacrossthebridgewithavoicenotwhollyunlikethewayshehadspokenbeforeherimmersion.Sister,Isenttoher.‘Ezekyle,’ she said, the black stone vox-gargoyles in the chamber’s rafterscalling out above the multitude. ‘Iskandar, Telemachon and Amurael havereturned.’In life, she hadbeen Itzara, a youngwomanofTizca. In death, she had firstbecometheAnamnesis–machine-spiritattheheartofthewarshipTlaloc–andthen, gaining strength and identity upon fusion with a new vessel, she hadbecomeUltio,theheartoftheVengefulSpirit.Shewastheshipitself,anditshullwasanextensionofherbody,itsarmourplatingherskin,itsplasmareactorsherorgans.She swirledahand through the fluidofher tomb-cradle,notquite awaveofgreeting. Her thoughts were a ceaseless process of trajectories, damagecalculations and a deeply resonant awareness of the souls aboard the ship shecommanded.Itwaspainfultotouchamindlikethatfortoolong.Tooinhuman.Abaddon watched from the raised dais where his throne was set, though heconsidered the command throne to be littlemore than pageantry, sitting on itonlywhenreceivingemissariesorsupplicantsfromotherwarbands.SargoninterceptedmebeforeIcouldreachthethrone.Heworetheblackenedceramite we all wore, though his was bedecked in tattered scrolls I had nointention of reading. The monkish surplice he wore over the battered powerarmourwas pockmarked andwar-torn, its painstakingly inked scripture ruinedbyscorchholes.He looked young, barely more than a Legion initiate, his smooth skin thetypical duskiness of thoseborn and raised in theCityofGreyFlowers on thelong-lostdesertworldofColchis.HehadlackedvocalcordssincelongbeforeIhadmethim,purportedlylosingthemtoacutthroatintheSiegeoftheImperialPalace. For several years he had relied exclusively on the hand gestures ofLegionesAstartes battle-sign and using his simplistic psychic efforts to speak

throughthemouthsofanynearbycorpses.Timehadchangedthemethod,ifnottheneed.Hisshoulderguardswerewarp-fashioned things, horned daemonic faces of bio-ceramite leering from thearmour plating, slavering bloody spittle, occasionally lashing their too-longtongues at the air. It was through these faces that he spoke, both voices ingutturalharmony.‘Iskandar,’ the two faces spoke. Neither of them looked atme – for reasonsbeyondme, both were always blindfolded with layers of chains. They lickedtheirfangedteeth,chitteringtothemselvesbetweenwords.‘Sargon,’Igreetedhim.‘Whatisallthis?’‘Revenge,’hesaid,leadingmeonwards.‘TheGodshaveasenseofhumourifthis madness is anything to judge by. Half of our fleets limped back to themuster. Every captain and warlord brings the same tale – Legion resistance.OrganisedLegionresistance.ThagusDaravektookyourlatestattemptonhislifepersonally.’Isaidnothing,notwishingtospeakyetagainofmyfailure.‘You should have killed him, Khayon.’ Sargon’s youthful features remainedgentle as he gripped a howling female beastman by the back of the neck andhurledheroutof theway.Herherd-kin scatteredbeforeouradvance. ‘Worse,’Sargon continued, ‘he savaged the War God’s Maw and the ShriekingMasquerade.LheorvineblamesZaidu.ZaidublamesLheorvine.’Ihadnochancetoanswer.Heblindlybackhandedanothercrewmemberaside;the servitor toppled into those nearby, and we pushed through the crowdtogether, where most of the Ezekarion had gathered around Abaddon’s daissurrounded by dozens of their warriors. Here, the feeling of frustrated defeatblanketingthechamberreacheditsapex.ZaiduwasfacingLheor,aheadofbayingpacksoftheirmen.Zaidu,bedeckedinskullsonchains,hisarmourscrapedbareofcolour,wasaclawedandavianmalformationofaman.Talonedfeetscratchedtheplasteeldeckingbeneathhim.The turbinesonhisbackwhined,poweringupwithhisacidic thoughts.Everymovementhemadewasasuddenjerkoratwitch,addingtotheauraofravenousenergyheexuded.The laughter through his sleek helm was a staccato croaking. ‘Your words,Firefist,theyareachild’spulingwails.’‘Don’tcallmeFirefist.’Lheor’sdark,patchworkfaceshowedrowsofglintingmetal teeth. Shivers ran through him, not a sign of fear but of physiologicaldesecrationandsimpleblood-need.TheNailswerebitingintohisbrain–hewas

strugglingtokeepcontrolofhimself.Zaidumanagedtocackleandgrowlatthesametime,evidenceofthemutationwithin his throat. ‘Your words,’ he said again, ‘they are the bleating of aweakling.’Lheor roared, spit flying from his metal teeth. ‘I lost men because of thiscreature’s cowardice.’ He levelled his chainaxe at Zaidu, but his words wereaimed atAbaddon. ‘We lost the battle because of this harpy.Letmekill him,Ezekyle.’Abaddonstoodhalfwayupthestairs leadingtohisthrone.HelookedgaunterthanevenwhenIhadlastseenhim,hisjaundicedfeaturesspeckledwithbloodfromwhoknewhowmanyhours,daysorweeksbefore.‘Calmyourself,’ouroverlordcommandedwithatiredsneer.NeverhadIseenhimlooksoexhausted.‘You’refrothingatthemouth,Lheorvine.’‘Iwanthishead!’Zaidu’s replywasa laughing screech thathadall thecharmandhumanityoftalons rakingover sheetmetal. ‘TheMasqueradedid all thatwas askedof us,LordAbaddon.Firefist’swarriorsfailedtoholdtheirlines.TheWarGod’sMaw,theyareweak.Daravek’smenkilledthembeforewecouldreachthem.’Lheordrewhishandback,readytoslamhisaxebladeintothedeck.No! I sent inanurgentbladeofpsychicwarning.Todriveaweapon into theground before a brother was to initiate a blood challenge – a Cthonian gangritual that Abaddon had allowed, even encouraged, to spread through ourwarbands.Lheor’s face twitched as his cranial implants reactedwithboilingheat to theunwantedpressureofmysilentvoiceinhismind,butitwasenoughtoforceamoment’s hesitation. He lowered the blade. The watching crowd bayed theirdisappointment.Telemachon shoved pastme,moving to Zaidu’s side, and the jeers turned atoncetocheers.Thecrowdscentedbloodnow.‘Say nothingmore, brother,’ Telemachon ordered his lieutenant. ‘Let’s cut tothetruth,shallwe?’Zaiduimmediatelynoddedinwordlesscompliance,remainingathislord’sside.Lheorlookedbetweenthetwoofthem,stillstrainingtoholdhimselfbackwiththeleashofAbaddon’swishes.‘Lyras.’Lheormadethenameanaccusinggrowl.‘YourdogcostusthebattleattheThylakusExpanse.’Zaiduindeedsaidnothing,atleastnotaloud.Icouldhearthefaintclickofvox-

relaysfromhishelm,aswellasTelemachon’s.‘In my absence, Subcommander Vorolas is invested with my full authority,’Telemachonsaidcalmly.Hisaurarippledwith thefirststirringsofexcitement,ofanticipationfinallyripening.LheorkepthiseyesonTelemachon. ‘Wehavepict-feeds,gun imagifiers,voxarchives and sworn oaths that stand testament to your bastard subcommanderfailingtoreinforceusandleavingmyvanguardtodie.’Ah,howfamiliar,Ithought,thoughmybloodwasrunningcold.Ididnotlikethe prickling amusement radiating from Zaidu. It was a piss-stain of smugsatisfaction souring his aura. This unfortunate scene had the ripe stink ofpremeditation.‘Iunderstandyourdispleasure,’Telemachonreplied,asreasonablyasIhadeverheard him sound. ‘And I trust Subcommander Vorolas’ account differs fromyours?’Zaidutwitchedoneshoulder,followedbyatic-jerkofhishead.‘Wefoughttoget to them,LordLyras.Howwefought!But theWarGod’sMaw, theyknownothingoftactics.Theycannotholdtoabattleplan.Theyadvancedtoofar,toofast. Firefist’s men, they were already taking savage losses by the time wereachedthem.’Lheor’s response to thiswas, byhis standards, rather calm.He spat onto thedeckbeforeZaidu’sboots,theacideatingthroughthemetalfloor.‘You’re a liar, Zaidu.’ Lheor followed the disrespectful gobbet with moreaccusations. ‘A liar, a coward and your word isn’t worth a damn here. I amLheoroftheEzekarion,andIsayyoulie.’He looked to Abaddon for support, but none came. I stared at Abaddon’spassivity – and in that moment, the die was cast. Lheor threw his axe. Ithammered into the deck before Zaidu’s boots. The Raptor cackled his nastyexcuseforlaughter.Telemachon’sauraflaredwiththecaressofrich,snidedelight.Hewastheonethatsteppedforwards,hishandsonhissheathedswords.‘Ihearyourwords,mydearbrother,and likeyou, Iamof theEzekarion.AsSubcommander Vorolas’ commanding officer, I accept the challenge in hisplace.’Lheor spat again. He wiped his mouth with the back of his gauntlet. ‘Ichallengedyourpet,Lyras,notyou.’‘Indeed?’ Telemachon turned fractionally to Zaidu, and their two helms benttogether in melodramatic affirmation. ‘Do you see the axe on the deck,

SubcommanderVorolas?’Zaidu’s reply came as a reassuring hiss. ‘I do, Lord Lyras.’ The theatricalinnocenceinhisvilevoicewasbeyondgrating.‘Then Iaccept thechallengeonSubcommanderVorolas’behalf,’Telemachonrestated.‘Suchismyright,ashislord.’Tohiscredit–orrather,inanunsurprisingsignofhisownzealotry–Lheordidnot hesitate. He drew the saw-toothed flensing knife at his hip and steppedforwards,facingourwarband’sfinestwarriorwithanakedgrin.‘Is thatwhatyouwant? Icarenotwhosebloodruns for this,Lyras.Yoursorthatscreamingdog’s–it’sallthesametome.’In the years to come, Iwould often think back to thismoment.The sight ofLheor advancing on Telemachon, our warband’s finest bladesman, carryingnothing but a skinning knife in his hand. Lheor is long dead now, fallen onMackan,asIhavesaidbefore.ButthisisthemanIremember,thegrinningandconfidentwarriorthatfacedtheperfectswordsman,carryingonlyadagger.Ezekyle?Isenttomylord.Dosomethingbeforethismadnessgetsfurtheroutofhand.Abaddonwatched and said nothing.He lookedweary beyond reckoning, buthiseyesmetmineandhenodded,finallygivingmethesignalIneeded.IdrewSacramentum,andsheflashedsacredsilverinthestrategium’ssicklight.‘Enough.’ My command was both spoken and driven into the minds ofeveryonepresent.Thebeastmenwhinedandloweredtheirheadsinsubmission.ThewarriorsregardedmewithamixtureofreluctantobedienceandresentmentthatIhadsteppedforwardstobreakthepromiseofbloodsport.Telemachondidnotlookatme.‘Youhavenorightinterfering,Lekzahndru.’Lheor shared the sentiment. ‘You can have his pretty burial mask, Khayon,onceI’vecarveditfromhisskull.’I cut the air between them with Sacramentum’s shining length. ‘You,’ IaddressedTelemachon, ‘areduellingnooneonanyone’sbehalf.You thinkmeblindtothistransparentploy?Andyou,’IaimedmybladeatZaidu,‘mayexpectmysummonslater.Ifyourefusetospeakthetruthinthismatter,ZaiduVorolas,Iwilltearitfromyourmind.’IlookedbetweenZaiduandLheor.‘Nowbothofyou,backdown.’Zaidu obeyed at once, moving away with Telemachon, but Lheor did not.Spittle gleamed on his chin, and he watched their retreating forms withbloodshoteyes,stillgunninghischainaxe.‘Coward.’ He drooled the word with a stalactite of saliva, then shouted it

louder,settingoffanotherchorusofcheers.IpulledLheoraside,dragginghimbythepauldron.Youfoolishbastard.Hewincedatthesilentknifeofmyvoice,cursingmeandsnappingback,‘Getoutofmyhead.’‘Youfoolishbastard,’Isaidaloudthesecondtime.Aboveus,Ultiodriftedinhertank,hernudeformasilhouetteintheamnioticfluid of her artificialwomb. Several of the Syntagma stood nearby – thewarrobots and cognitively enslaved cyborgs she commanded were bristling withweaponry. The human andmutant crew knew to stay clear of hermechanicalenforcers. To the beastmen clans that served us, the Syntagma were machineangelsthatobeyedtheship’ssoul.Lheorbaredhisironteeth,hisfeaturestwitching.Aparticularlypainfulspasmforcedoneofhiseyestoscrewclosedandhismouthtopulltothesidefortwoheartbeats.‘You’relecturingme,youuptightcur?TheShriekingMasqueradecausedmorecasualtiesamongmywarriorsthanthatGods-cursedDaravekyoufailedtokill.Zaidu is lucky I broughtmy grievance beforeAbaddon instead of killing himbackontheThylakusbattlefield.’Luckhadnothingtodowithit.OneofthewaysAbaddonpromotedunitywasbyoverseeingdisputesandduelsbetweenchieftainsandwarlordshimself,ratherthan letting them slaughter eachother out of his sight, according to their ownwhims.Asubtletouch,butoneofthemanywaysinwhichhesoughttoimposelaws over our chaotic way of life. If nothing else, I admired hismonarchicalintentions.‘Zaidu isbaitingyou,’ I said toLheor. ‘I cannot imagine thatyoudonot seethat.’‘Isee it.’Lheorsuckedhissalivabackthroughhis teeth.‘I’mnotblind.ThatNostramanwretch,I’llpullhisheartsfromhischestand–’‘Andifthatchallengehadbeenallowed?’Iinterrupted.‘TelemachonwillfightinZaidu’s place. IfEzekyle hadnot orderedme to act, brother, youwouldbelockingbladeswiththeMasquedPrincethisverymomentinsteadofreceivingalecturefromme.’‘I’d rather have the duel.’ Lheor’s left eye screwed shut as his cheek gaveanotherwrenchingspasm.Angerstillrippledfromhiminanunpleasantbreathagainstmy sixth sense, but it was lessening now, a tide on its way out. ‘TheMasquedPrince,’Lheorsaidinagrowl.‘Ha!I’dcuthimtopieces.’

I stared at him for several seconds, amazed, truly amazed, that he honestlybelievedwhathewassaying.Deluded or not – and hemost certainlywas if he thought he could outfightTelemachon–Lheorwascalmingdown.Thatwasgood.ThatwasallIneededfor now. I turned back to seekMoriana, only to see her slipping free of myRubricae,movingforwards,adarkserenityspreadingthroughthecrowdaroundher.This lone, unaugmented human strode towardsAbaddon, strode pastmutantsandmonsters andwarriors, andwewatched her as if enspelled. Surprisewaswrit plain across many of my brothers’ faces. Even the mutants and brayingbeastmen,whohadbeensoeagerlyprayingforbloodshedtoeruptbetweentheirmasters–fortherewasnofinerentertainmentthanseeingtheirbettersbleed–fellsilent.MorianawalkedtothebaseofAbaddon’sdais,andthereshestoodastallandregalasahumancouldamidstahordeofmonstersandmutantsandgene-forgedwarriors,theleastofwhichstilltoweredaboveher.‘EzekyleAbaddon,’shesaid,hergazeliftedtohis.‘Maywespeak?’He stared at her, and I will never forget how he showed no surprise at hermanifestation.IdonotknowifheknewherfrombeforeourexiletotheEye,norifhehadbeenexpectingher,butIdoknowthattherewasnosurpriseinhiseyeswhenshestoodbeforehim.Perhapshewasmerelytoodrainedtoreact,butIdonotbelieveso.Therewassomethingelseatworkthatday,perhapsthefatethatourseersandprophetsprattleofatsuchlength.‘Speak,’AbaddonbadeherwitharippleoftheTalon.Morianaspoke.Shetoldmygatheredbrothersandsisterswhatshehadalreadytoldme,AmuraelandTelemachononthegraveyardworldoftheXVILegion.

BackonMaeleum,shehadclaimedtobeaseer.Morethanthat,shesworeshehadforeseenourarrivalwithinHorus’tomb.MorianahadbeenonMaeleumforsometime,drawnbyitsspiritualresonanceand its place at the crossroads of fate. She claimed to know nothing of thedownedBlackTemplarsvessel,andherauraflickeredwithtruthwhenshemadethat claim. She likewise knew little of those black-clad warriors herself,deflectingourirritationbyinsistingshehadfarworthiertalestotell.We let her speak. As she did so, she led us from the crypt, back to thewreckage-strewn surface and onwards into the wilderness of the eternal rustyards.All thewhile shespokeofhowherdreamshaddrivenher into theEye

itselfandthentoMaeleum.‘IbringawarningtoAbaddonofarivaltohisthronebythenameofThagusDaravek.Morethanthat, Ibringwordof theImperiumas it is,not theempirethatyouonceknew.’Thepossibilityofdeceitwas foremost inourminds,yethowcouldwe resistsuchlore?Sheansweredourquestions,someclearly,somewithevasions.TheImperiumshespokeofwasarealmunrealtous.InthecenturiessincewebroughtfiretotheskyabovetheImperialPalace,ournamesanddeedswerenotjust consigned ever deeper into history, they were increasingly woven intomythology.Knowledgeoftherebellion–aconflictshecalled‘theHorus Heresy’,thefirsttimeIeverheardthosewordsspoken–wasevermoreguardedandsequestered.Imperial authorities twisted what had happened in the war when theyacknowledged it at all, and it was far more common to suppress any factsthrough sanction and even execution.Worlds deemed too tainted by the truthweredeclared forbiddenground,blockaded fromtradeand transit, struck fromastrocartographic charts and severed from astropathic communion untilgenerations had passed. Some were even cleansed of life and resettled byharvestsofcolonistsanditinerantpilgrimpopulations.Hope and ambition were no longer the currencies of mankind. In an age ofspreadingpeace,thetruthwasbecomingmyth.Thepeopleofhumanity’sempireturned their devotion to soulful adherence in prayer and duty, while theImperium’sarmiesforgothowtheyhadoncewarreduponeachotherandinsteadturned their weapons outwards, to the xenos races that had retaken theirterritoriesafterthefailedGreatCrusadehaddissolvedincivilwar.I listened in absolute awe. Nothing in the mists of her aura suggested anydeception.Ifanything,sheseemedtobetakingcarewithherwords,forfearofoverwhelming us or provoking incredulity. Iwished for nothingmore than totearhermindapart,ransackinghermemoriesforallshehadseenandallshehadfelt within this new Imperium. The only thing that stopped me was simplecaution– shewasadamant that shemustmeetwithAbaddon, and Iknewmylordwouldneedtomeetthisoutlanderforhimself.Moriana spoke on.Whole worlds had been reshaped, their continents givenovertograveyardsandnecropolises,mourningnottheslainoneithersideofournearlyforgottenwarbutthemorerecentdeadofthelastseveralhundredyears:theinnocentmartyrsoftheGod-Emperor’sfaithfulflock.TheGod-Emperor.

TheGod-Emperor.Languagecannotconveytheeffectthosewordshadonme.IwilldoallIcantoexplainit,knowingthateveryexplanationiswrong,fornowordcraftcantrulyshapeanimpressionofwhatIfeltthefirsttimeIheardthattitle.‘The God-Emperor,’Moriana said again, when Amurael asked her to repeatherself.Hehadstoppedasifstruck,histhoughtsrunningsoacidlyrancidthatIfeltthempressingagainstmysenses.Telemachonhadbeen exultant, roaringhis laughter to the sky, sogrippedbyeuphoricrevelationthatI thoughthis twinheartsmightseize.Ifyouhaveeverwalkedanasylum’shalls,youknowthatlaughter.Itissomethingbeyondmirth,beyondelation.It isarelease,adamthatbreaksinthebackofthemindtoletmadnesspourforth,preventingthebrainfromdrowninginpoison.TheGod-Emperor.ItriedtorepeatMoriana’swordsbutmymouthrefusedtogivethemshape.Iwaslaughingmyself.Telemachon could barely breathe. The laughter sawed in and out of hisfaceplate’svocaliser,wheezingandwet,hackingas ifhe’drupturedsomethinginhisthroat.Amuraelstooddumb,tryingtoprocesswhathehadheard.Tryingandfailing.YetMorianawasfarfromfinished.Shespokeon,tellingusoftheCultoftheEmperor Saviour emerging from the disorder of the rebellion’s aftermath.Uprisingsofthiscultwerecommonplaceoncountlessworlds,subsumingwholesystems in this tide of new belief. The Emperor, revered as the source of theAstronomican, allowed travel between humanity’s scattered worlds. TheEmperor,MasterofMankind,BaneofAliens,theonetruedeity.Agod.TheybelievedtheEmperorwasagod.Iknewhowandwhythishadhappened,evenbeforeshesaidanotherword.Ithappenedasitalwayshappens,asanyscholaroftheirownspecies’historycantellyou:ithappenedbecausethehelplessmasseswerefearful,andbecausethepowerful wanted unchallenged control. Every religion rises for the samereasons – the lower tiers of a society crave answers and comfort, needingrewardsinanafterlifetojustifytheharshnessandgrimnessoftheirlives.Andtopreventuprisingsinsearchofbetterexistences,theirrulersinstituteacreedthatkeepsthemassesobedientandcompliant.Meekness, obedience, submission…These becomevirtues that the oppressedmustembodyinpursuitofagreatergoodoralaterreward.Tostandagainst theprevailingbeliefbecomesnot justphilosophybutheresy.

Heresyworthyofexecution.Andsocontrolismaintainedbythestrongovertheweak.‘TheGod-Emperor,’Ifinallymanagedtosay.Therehavebeenmanytimesinmylifesince then that Ihavecursed that titleorcringedathearing itcriedbyHis deluded followers.But that day, damnme formynaïvety, Iwas laughingwithTelemachon.Acruel, spurnedmirth,not theamusementof thevictorbutthe bleak joy of the beaten. That laughter was a purging, like shedding anuncomfortablesheathofskin.‘Much of the Imperium already adheres to the word of the sect as gospel,’Morianacontinued.‘TheTempleoftheEmperorSaviourhasafarwiderreachand deeper roots than the petty cults that flowered during your rebellion. TheLectitioDivinitatuswasachild’sbedtimecandlecomparedtothesunlightofthebeliefsnowgrippingtheImperium.’All these thousands of years later, deep in what scholars name the DarkMillennium, the Ecclesiarchy grips the whole Imperium in an inviolate hold.Morianaspokeofitsriseasaninexorableascension,onlyahandfulofcenturiesbeforeitsformal,finaladoptionastheImperialCreed,backboneoftheAdeptusMinistorum,statereligionoftheImperiumofMan.And all of it, all of it, founded from the very beliefs that the Emperor hadsoughttodestroy.Justas theEmperorhadbeenbetrayedbyHis sons, so toohad the foolbeenbetrayedbyHisownempire.Blindandrudderlesswithoutitsmonarchtoguideit,theImperiumwasdevolvingintosuperstitionsandhalf-truths.Nowonderwewerealreadyclosetobeingmyths.‘TheWordBearerswon.’Telemachonwasonhishandsandkneesinthedust,blood trickling from his unmoving silvermouth. He laughed and heaved andvomited and laughed, speaking between dragged breaths and violentconvulsions.‘TheWordBearerswon.Theyeatdirtanddrinkshame.Theychantprayerstotheunwantedtruththroughbloodiedlips.Theylosteverything.Andyettheystillwon.’‘I didnot fight for theWordBearers’ vision,’Amurael snapped. ‘Noneof usdid.Ouridealswerehigherandworthierthanthepedanticsofdivinity.’He lookedatmeas if expectingmysupport. I couldnotgive it.What idealscouldIclaim,truly?Ihadfoughtintherebellionbecausetherewasnochoice.TheWolves razed Prospero and stole the choice from us. I waged war uponTerrabecausemysidewaschosenforme.‘Whatofyou?’IaskedMoriana.‘Youareolderthanyourphysicalform.Your

soul is far older thanyour flesh.Youhave lived for centurieswithin this newImperium,haveyounot?What,then,ofyourbeliefs?’She stared atme,measuringmeby some silent criteria. I could tell from theflaringcoronaofher aura thatmywordshad surprisedher. I felther thoughtsshifting,followingthisnewpath.‘I believed the same,’ she admitted. ‘Formany years I believedHim to be agod.Iwasinstrumentalinspreadingthebeliefmyself.’Images,memories,swirledslowlybehindhereyes.Beforetheycouldresolve,shesomehowfeltme lookingwithinher skull.Awallofmist swarmedacrossmy sixth sense. I hadmet no othermortalwho could defend themselveswithsuchswiftnessandease,butI’dseenenoughtoconfirmmysuspicions.‘Youstillbelieveit.’‘IknowwhatIknow,’shesaid.Hervoiceturnedmelancholybutironcladinthesame moment, all doubt gone. ‘A god or not, His power renders Himindistinguishablefromdivinity.’‘Thisisnotthekindoftheosophicdiscussionourliegelordenjoys,’Iwarnedher.‘No?Andyetyou’ll takemetoAbaddonwhetheryouwishitornot,becauseyouknowhewouldneverforgiveyouforleavingmehere.ThereismorethatIcannotsaynow.SomuchofwhatIknowisonlyforAbaddontohear.’‘Forhisearsalone?’‘Forhisearsfirst.’‘Youexpectustoallowthat?’She endured my doubt with a priestess’ patience. ‘You’ll have to accept it,Khayon.Notonlyhereandnow,butinthemanyyearstocome.’There was no unkindness in those words, yet they made my skin crawl.Telemachon was still coughing and chuckling. ‘Perfect,’ he was saying.‘Perfectionitself.’Ihadtohelphimtohisfeet.‘Medic,’hecalledoutmockinglytoAmuraelasIliftedhimtostand.‘Ifailtoseewhat’ssoamusinginallthis,’saidAmurael.‘Theperfectjest,’Telemachonreplied,agrininhishoneyedvoice.‘Don’tyousee?Weareallpartoftheperfectjest.’

Allof this, she toldAbaddonand thoseofusgatheredon thecommanddeck.Telemachonwas speaking softly among a group of his ShriekingMasqueradewarriors.Lheorwascalm,stunnedtosilence.Amurael lookeddisgusted.None

of us moved, none but Ultio, who turned in her amniotic sanctuary, lookingdownacrossthecrowdatonewarriorinparticular.‘Ezekyle?’sheasked.Hervoicewasamurmurfromthemouthsofahundredbrassgargoylesintherafters.TheVengefulSpirititself,prowtostern,shudderedinsympathywithherconcern.Shewasaweapon,abeastofwar,andshefearedforthesoulofhermaster.AbaddonwatchedMoriana,hiseyesglassy,mouthpartedtoshowaglintofhisfiled, rune-etched teeth. He inclined his head, a reassurance for the ship’smachine-spiritandabidforMorianatocontinue.Theprophetessspokeon. Iwillnot relayeverythingshesaid;muchof ityoualreadyknowfromImperialannals,andagreatdealmoreholdsnorelevanceallthese thousands of years later. To us, it was madness strung together insentences.Toyou,itwouldsimplybehistory.EvenasIrelatethedetailsnow,myrecitationconveysnoneofhermomentsofindecision or the halts within her speech. Moriana has never been a naturalspeaker. A listener, perhaps – it has been my experience that she hearseverythingspokenanduses it toheradvantagewhenthe timeisright.Butshelacksademagogue’seasycharismaorapreacher’s ferventconviction,andyetwe all stood rapt as she ministered to us with the unwelcome truth. Theimperfectionsinherdeliverythatdayonlyaddedtohersincerity.Thehesitationsinhercadenceasshesoughttherightwordsonlyreinforcedtheimportanceofwhatshehadtoconvey.Andsowelistened,drawnintothespellshewove.Oneofhermostcompellinghabitswastospeakwithoutmeetingherlisteners’eyes, her head tilted just so, her gaze unfocused, as though she was used torelyingonsensesbeyondsight.‘I feelyouranger,’Morianacalledout tousassheneared theend.Hervoicewascrackedanddry.‘Iseeyourbrokenbattleplateandthedriedbloodofyourwounds, and I am here to share a warning beyond the words I have alreadyspoken. I have walked the many webs of fate. The greatest threat to yourascensionriseswithyounow.Hehearsthesamecalltounitythatyouallhear.Hefollowsthesamegoals,alongfardifferentpaths.YouknowhimasThagusDaravek,theLordofHosts.’Itwouldbeanexaggerationtosaythateveryeyeturnedtomeinthatmoment,butmanydid.TheEzekarion,privytoAbaddon’splans,alongwiththeirclosestwarriors–theyallglancedtowardsme.Atmyside,Lheorgaveadirty,gruntingchuckleatthesuddenshiftinattention,whileIheardTelemachon’smellifluouslaughterfromacrossthechamber.

‘ThagusDaravek,’Morianarepeated.‘Ineveryfuturewherehelives,EzekyleAbaddon does not. In every future where he unites the Legions, theVengefulSpiritburnsinthevoid.IfheleavestheEyeandstealsyourfatefromyou,thenyournewbornLegiondies.’Thebridgedissolved into immediate uproar.Moriana raisedher hands to bidthecrowdbesilent,thoughhereffortswereuseless.Theroarswenton,addingtothepercussivethunderofweaponsbeatingagainstarmourinmilitantrhythm.Iheardand feltnopaucityof rage in thatbellowingcry. Itunnervedme inaway little else could, for it laid bare the arrogance with which we drapedourselves.Wehadgrownsostrong,sousedtoourownvictories,thattheideaofdefeathadbecomeanathema.Perhaps,justperhaps,italsoresonatedalittletoomuchlikefear.IlookedbacktoMoriana.Abaddonhaddescendedtoherside,andheliftedtheTalonhigh,lightningsnappingbetweenitsbladedclaws,bringingthegatheringtoaswiftsilence.Hedidnotneedtosayaword;thegestureitselfwasenough.Morianathankedhimwithanod.‘KillThagusDaravek,’shesaidtohim.‘KillhimandtakeyourplacebeneaththegazeofthePantheon.Thisisyourdestiny.’Thatwordagain.Howitplaguesthistale.Destiny, I sent to Amurael in irritated disgust, but Ashur-Kai overheard mypsychicderision.Hepulsedhisdisapprovaltomefromhisraisedplatformabovethe bridge,where – as thewarship’s voidseer – he guided theVengeful Spiritthroughthetorturedheavens.Donotlectureme,Isentbackbeforehecoulddoso.Hisattemptstoconvincemeofthemeritsofprophecyhadalreadyfailedoverseveralcenturies,andhisreprimand was easy to ignore now. Prophecy. Destiny. Fate. Ah, the infinitepowerofhindsight.Prophetsorprophetessesmayspeakwhatevertheywish,andapplyitlikeasoothingsalveoverthewoundsofanyevent–oncethemomenthasalreadypassed.Prophecyisunreliableatbestandtheembarrassingartistryofcharlatansatworst.Abaddon,silentallthistime,finallyspoke.HesaidthatwhichIhadhopedtohear,theonlywordsthatmattered.‘You speak of the Pantheon’s gaze, but I will never bow to the forces thatdeceivedHorusLupercal.’Morianalookedupatourlord,ferocityinherdarkeyes.‘ButThagusDaravekwill.Andhewilltakeyourplaceonthepathsoffate.’I felt like spitting.Surelymybrother couldnotbedragged inby superstitionandnakedmanipulation.

‘Ezekyle,’Isaid,‘mustwelistentothis?’Sargonlookedaghastatmyinterruption,asdidAshur-Kai.BothwereclingingtoMoriana’severyword.Abaddongesturedformetoholdmytongue, thoughtherewasnoangerthere.‘Letherfinish,Iskandar.Let’sseewherethisleads.ThagusDaravekhasbeenathorninoursidefordecades,prophetess,butwhydoyousofiercelydemandhisdeath?Whatdoesheintendtodo?’‘He intendswhatyou intend,EzekyleAbaddon.Thatwhichcalls toyoualsocallstohim,andalreadyhemakesreadytoclaimitbeforeyoucan.Despiteallofyourambitions,youareleftwithasimplechoice–wieldtheswordthatyouseeinyourdreams,orbekilledbyit.’

EZEKARIONIknowthecadenceofthatbeatingheart.Iknowthesmellofthatskin,thetangofthosebionics,thescentofthoseconsecratedweaponoils…Inquisitor Siroca. We meet again. Welcome, dutiful agent of the Throne.Welcometomyparlour.Pleaseforgivemefornotofferingyourefreshment;thewardedchainsthatstealmysixthsenseandbindmetothispillarhavesavagedmyabilitytoplaythekindlyhost.I feel your gaze upon my eyeless face as keenly as these hexagrammicrestraintsthatsearmyflesh.Youhavecomeforanswers,nodoubt,buttowhichquestions?No.Saynothing.Lettherebenopretencebetweenus.Iknowwhereyouhavebeenandwhatbringsyoubackbeforemenow.Your scrabbling,delvingeffortsintoyourorder’sdeepestarchiveshavedredgedupmentionofMoriana,justasIwarnedyoutheywould.Youarebeginningtobelieveme,areyounot?Youarebeginningtobelievethewordsofanarch-heretic.Morianaisoneofthosenamesthatslitherthroughtheveinsofhistory.Isitthesamewoman?Canitbetrue?CanitbethatoneofthefoundersofyoursacredInquisitionistheverycreaturethatwhisperedpropheticpoisonintomybrother’sear? Can it be that the inceptor of your precious ideals chose later in herunnaturally long life to abandon them?Was she a warrior-handmaiden of theEmperor who saw the light, or an archaeoscientific vizier in one of Hislaboratorieswholookedtoolongintothedark?Both?Neither?Someonebeforeyouhasbeenseekingtruthintheshadows.Wheredidyoufindthis lore, InquisitorSiroca? Inwhosearchiveswere thesewordshidden?Yourmaster’s perhaps. The man or woman that taught you and trained you, themercilesspredecessorthatfashionedyouintotheweaponofImperiallawIsensebeforemenow.Verywell.Keepyoursilence.Iwillspeakon.

We made ready for war in the wake of the prophetess’ words. The fleetmustered.We left garrisons at ourgrandest fortresses and arranged thebarest-bonespatrolsontheedgesofourdomain,buttheheartofoursanctuarynebulaplayed home to almost every able vessel in our armada, from the vastestbattleshiptothesleekestfrigatetothebulkiesttroop-conveyor.TheEzekarionoversaw thisgreatgathering,whileAbaddon– inamove thatshockedallofus–sealedhimselfawayinseclusionwithMoriana.Theofficers’ perspectives on thisweredivided.Ashur-Kaiwas captivatedbythe new seer, aching to speakwith her, his scarlet albino gaze shiningwith ahungernodifferenttothatofastarvingmansuddenlypresentedwithafeast.Hecravedher insightandwantednothingmore than to followthepathsof fateatherside,learningallthatsheknew,seeingallthatshehadseen.‘Ezekylehas sealedhimself away fromhis sworn inner circle,’ I arguedwithAshur-Kaiatonepoint,aswestoodupon theVengefulSpirit’sbridgeatophisnavigation platform above the rest of the command deck. ‘How does that nottroubleyou?’‘Hehasquestions,’myformermasterreplied.‘Shebringsanswers.’‘Hehasneverexiledhimselfawayfromusbefore.’‘This is beginning to sound like the tantrum of an ignored child,’Ashur-Kaireplied,histonemild.ButIwouldnotbedissuadedbymockery,nomatterhowgentleorwellintentioned.‘Thinkofhisdegenerationtheselastyears.Thinkofthevoicesinthewarpthatsing his name, practically praying to him.And now this?Do notmistakemycautionforcowardice.’He turned hiswhite features tome, and I knew from the starved look in hisretinal-redeyesthatIwasarguinginfutility.‘She has brought the answers our lord sought. The only good is knowledge,Sekhandur.Theonlyevilisignorance.’‘Thatisasayingutteredbyasmanyfoolsasvisionaries,’Ipointedout,‘andanattitudethathasledtodamnationmorethanonce.ThelastmantospeakthosewordsinmypresencedoomedourLegion.’Boy, Tokugra psychically cawed at me from its master’s shoulder. Boy isfrightened.Hush,crow,lestIfeedyoutomylynx.Nagualwouldenjoythat.‘Youshouldnotbeafraid,’Ashur-Kaicontinuedas ifhisfamiliarhadspokentrue.‘Seeherarrivalforwhatitis–anopportunitylikenoother.’‘I donot trust her,’ I said,whichwerewords Iwould say innumerable times

acrossthecenturiestocome.‘Thendon’ttrusther,’Ashur-Kaisaidasheturnedbacktotheoculus,hislongwhitehairfallingtohalfmaskhisfeatures.‘Butdon’twastethechancetolearnfromher.’Hehadeveryreasontobeill-temperedanddistractedgivenhisroleinthewartocome.Hewasthearmada’smostgiftedvoidseer,taskedwithcoordinatingandaligningtheeffortsofeverysorcererinthefleetfortheattempttobreakoutofthe Eye’s pull. To even brush against his mind was to feel a dense web ofoverlappingmurmursthat threatenedtodragmeinside,addingmypresencetothe processes of what must be calculated and the variables that must beconsidered.Wewereaskingourvoidseerstosailnearblindanddeafthrougharealm where physical law had no grip, and to maintain the fleet’s formationwhiledoingso.InalltheyearsoftheNineLegions’exile,nothingonthisscalehadyetbeenattempted.Wewerecertaintoloseseveralships,andbracedtolosemostofthem.‘Ezekylewillsummonuswhenhewishesustoattendhim,’Ashur-Kaiinsisted.Hemetmyeyeswithhiswatery albinogaze.Fascination for all thatMorianarepresented still burned there, nomatter howdistractedhewasby the comingtrial.ItouchedmyfingertipstomyheartinthatoldCthoniangesturethathadcreptitswaythroughtheLegion–thegestureofonespeakingthetruth.‘SometimesIwish I had your faith,master.’ The old honorific, just this once. Itmade himsmilebeforeheturnedawayandresumedhiswork.Amongmyothercontemporaries,betweentheirfaith,patienceorindifference,noneoftheEzekarionsharedmypreferenceforcaution.TelemachonreactedtoMoriana’s favour with Abaddon much as I had suspected he would. Hisbehaviourwasnothingbutparasiticallyloyal,tothepointthatheevenstationedseveral of hisRaptors outsideAbaddon’s palatial quarters, ostensibly standingguardwithFalkus’AphoticBlade.Itwasagestureratherthananecessity,but–as ever – it was a cunning and valuable one.Moriana took note of it on heremergence,justasshenotedthoseamongtheEzekarionthatshowedlessinthewayoftrust.We risked much as the fleet mustered. We lost territory that was leftinadequately defended, surrendering it to the otherLegions rather than put updoomed resistance. The heartlands of our dominion remained as heavilypatrolledaswecould manage,butwepaidinlostworldsatthefrontiers.Toourrivals and indeed many of our allies, we practically vanished from the Eye,

concernedonlywithamassingourstrengthinsecret.Around the Vengeful Spirit, a fleet gathered of such size that even jadedveteransoften stopped to stare at thehost ofwarships at anchor in themurkyvoid.Valicar,onceguardianofNiobiaHaloandnowmasterofthefleet,wasinconstantcontactfromaboardhisbattleship,theThane.HistrustinAbaddonwasabsolute; he exloaded a stream of updates to the flagship with calculatedefficiency,oversawthemusterinAbaddon’sabsenceandneveroncedemandedtospeakwithourliegelord.Wemadereadyforthewarwehadwantedtowageforcenturies,yetIcouldnotovercome my hesitation over the true reasons we would be fighting it. ‘Thesword,’ Moriana had said, with such perfect assurance. ‘You have a choice,EzekyleAbaddon.Wieldtheswordthatyouseeinyourdreams,orbekilledbyit.’Noneofusknew,notthen,whattheswordwas.Abaddonhadtoldusnothingbefore retreating into seclusion, except that we were to make the finalpreparationstoleavetheEye.Moriana’swordswereallthemoreunsettlingforthewaysheknewthatwhichwedidnot.That sword.By the ShiftingMany, howmuch ofwhatwe have done has itsroots in thewieldingofAbaddon’ssword?Oceansof Imperialbloodhave runbeneath that blade’s edge. Rivers of our own have flowed because of it. Wefoughtacrusade toclaim it.Wehave spentaneternity slaughtering those thatwouldtakeitforthemselves.InCthonian,thebladeiscalledUsargh,or‘Oblivion’. InNagrakali, thebluntmongreltongueofLheor’sformerLegion,itisSkaravaur,or‘Crownrender’.InTizcanProsperine,thelanguageofthecityofmybirth,it isMal-Atar-Sei, ‘theShardofMadness’.ToNefertari’speopleitisSorathair,‘theThorninReality’,anamespokenonlyas theblackestcurse.Theseareall imperfect translationsoftheweapon’struename,forthebladewasforgedinnomortalrealm,norwasitfashionedbymortalhands.In thewordless, soul-borne language of thewarp’swinds, within the eternalhowlingofthedaemonicchoirs,echoesthenameDrach’nyen.Thisisnowordasthehumanmindwouldunderstandit,foritisnotanutterancebutaconcept.Withintheeternalsongofhowling,weepingmadnessisthefate-spunpromiseoftheEmperor’sdeath,ofHisImperiumcarvedcleanofignoranceandfalsefaith.Thatchorus,thatconceptroaredintodaemonicessence,isDrach’nyen.Thisiswhatour languagestryandfail todistil intospokenwords.Usargh,Skaravaur,Mal-Atar-Sei…Theyareallaspectsofthesamething:Drach’nyen,theEndof

Empires,acreaturewithitsgenesisinthewarp-threadedconvictionthatitexistsonlytokillhumanity’sking.That which you call Chaos, or the Ruinous Powers; that which we call thePantheon – this essence, this energy, does not obey us. It is not an entityunilaterallysupportingus,orareliableweaponthatservesourneeds.Itusesus.Itelevatesus,for thepurposesof itsownwhims.It isaforceofhonesty, true,making us wear our sins on our armoured skin, but it is also the essence ofabsolute deception, shifting andwarpingwhatever itwishes to pursue its ownconflictingends.Itisthecrashing,clashingenergiesofeverymemory,emotionandagonyfeltbyeveryhumansincethedawnoftime,withthesamesufferingofcountlessalienspeciesflavouringtheresultantmatter.It can be used, but only if you are willing to be used in turn. It can beworshippedandbegged,butonlyifyouarewillingtoriskdamnationalongwithascension.Itisaforceflowingthroughtheveinsofreality,onethatchoosesusand marks us as its puppets as well as its champions. That cannot be statedenough.Itisnotonourside.Manyofusspendourlivesfightingitandresistingitfarmoreoftenthanbeseechingit.Abaddon’sbladeisonesuchaspect.AsIhanghere,chainedandboundinthetendercareofyourInquisition,thoughIcravetobebackwithmybrothersanddoingtheWarmaster’swork,thereisonecomfortinmycaptivity:itisablessedrelieftobethisfarfromDrach’nyen.Icanstillhearitwhisperattheedgeofmymindevenwithmypowersstrippedfromme.But Icanno longerhear it laughing.No longerdoes it seep into thecoreofmybeing,adistractionandaninfection,adaemononlycontentwhenitisrendingrealityapartandleavingformlessChaosinitswake.ItissaidthattheweaponisonlyaswordatallbecauseEzekylewillsittotakethat shape. I can tell you this is true. It is not a sword. It is scarcely even adaemon. It is said among theLegions that thiswas theGods’ first gift towinAbaddontotheircause.Ifso,itwasbynomeanstheirlast.ButIdonotbelieveitwasthefirst.No,thatdubioushonourbelongstoanother.Drach’nyen was the second of the Pantheon’s treacherous bribes. I have nodoubtthatthefirstwasfarmoreinsidious,nolessbloodthirstyandcallsherselfMoriana.

Abaddonmaintainedhisself-exileforweeks,takingcounselalonewithhisnewprophetess. When at last he emerged, he summoned us to Lupercal’s Court.

EveryoneoftheEzekarionansweredthiscall,evenAshur-KaiandValicar,whowerebothreluctanttoleavetheirdutiesinthehandsoftheirlieutenantsforanytimeatall.IansweredthatsummonswithasenseofpurposeIhadnotfeltinsometime.EzekylehadpromisedmeanswersuponmyreturnfromMaeleum,andonewayoranother,Iwouldhavethem.ThatincludedenlightenmentregardingthisswordthatMoriana insistedAbaddonwas fated to claim.Nomorewhispersofwhatmayormaynotbe.Itwastimeforanswers.Iwouldtoleratenorefusal.The Ezekarion assembled in Lupercal’s Court. Here, where the failedWarmaster of the Imperium had gathered his lackeys and minions, Abaddoninsteadgatheredhisbrothersandsisters.WestoodbeneathbannersofImperialconquest long since rendered meaningless by our betrayals, and in this greatchamberwheregalactic civilwarwas firstplanned,we tookaquieter counselamongst the cobwebs. Horus had listened to cheers in here, with half of theImperiumchantinghis name.We listened to the squealingof rats and thewetfeasting sounds of things that had mutated far from their verminous origins.Whatever they were, they and the rats they had evolved from kept to theshadows.Sanguiniuswasthere.NobleSanguinius,PrimarchoftheBloodAngelsLegion,was there in all his glory, and I saw Sargon hesitate upon entering. Heconsideredtheprimarch’smanifestationanomen,andlikelyabadone.Sanguinius was formed of psychically resonant crystal, as were all of theechoes of those slain aboard the Vengeful Spirit throughout its long history.Corridorsandhallwaysacross the shipwere rimedwith theseoutgrowths,andtheyformedmostfrequentlyafterbattleortumultuousjourneysthroughtheEye.Ihadbecomeaccustomedtothem–theyhadbeentheveryfirstthingswehadseenwhenweinitiallycameaboardtheVengefulSpiritinourhuntforAbaddon.They were mindless statues of hazy crystal, easy to dismiss unless one werefoolish enough to touch them.They ‘sang’when touched,psychicallyofferingnumbed imagesandsensationsof theirdeaths in last,uselessgaspsofasoul’senergy. The phenomenon had briefly fascinatedme, but I soon relegated it asbeneathnotice.SanguiniushaddiedaboardtheVengefulSpirit,andherehisghostremained,asthewarp-saturatedsteeloftheship’shullresurrectedtheprimarchalongwiththeotherfallen.ThiswasnotthefirsttimeIhadseenSanguinius’crystallineshade.Ihadshattereditonce,intriguedbythepotencyofthecrystalshards,andoneofthemservednowasthesmoothpommeljewelofmyforcesword,Sacramentum.

Thecrystalprimarchalwaysregrew,sometimeshere,sometimeselsewhere,justastheothercrystalcorpsesacrosstheshipalwaysregeneratedaftershattering.Ashur-Kaibowedhisheadashepassed thekneelingangel,paying respect totheagonyetcheduponthatperfectfaceofstaineddiamond.Mostoftheothersignoredit,saveforLheorwhogaveapainedgrinatthesight.Heidlyswunghischainaxe as he passed, theweapon’s teeth briefly roaring, biting and breakingoneoftheimmensewingsfromthebody.Ifeltatwingeofpsychicexpressionfromthecrystalghost,astaboffalsepainfromthepsy-crystals.‘Another glorious victory,’ I chided my brother. He turned the grin on me,movingtomyside.Therewasnorealamusementinhiseyes.The first surprisewas that Ilyaster joined thegathering,hisdesiccatedvisageand patchy remnants of hair rendering him skullish and without humour. Hissunkengazedriftedacrossthoseofusthathadalreadygathered,andhenoddedwithaformalityhewouldsoonlearnwasunnecessaryinthiscompany.‘IamEzekarion,’hesaidinhisdesert-tombvoice.Noneofusargued.Hewaswelcomedwithnodsandafewfistsbangingagainstbreastplates.Hetoohaltedatthesightofthenowone-wingedcrystalincarnationof a dead primarch, kneeling in torment beneath the banners of oldwars. Heprocessed what he was seeing, but rather than mutilate the thing he simplywalkedaroundit,justasabsorbedinthehistoryhangingfromthegothicrafters.Thesemeetings of theLegion’s commanderswere themost visible efforts tobringorderfromdisorder.Wewouldspeakofsupplylines,resources,materiel,formations,crewnumbers,targets,duties…Inshort,wewouldbehaveasifwewere an organised fighting force, not a disparate conclave ofwarband leadersbound together in a realm that defied physics and military logistics. Everywarriorwouldspeaktheirpiece,citingtheirrelevantcontributions.Abaddon,inturn, would hold court in relative silence. He knew the value of letting hissubcommandersexercisetheirauthorityand–aswithanyarmy–feedontheirvariousrivalries.OfficersweredrivennotjusttoexcelbeforeAbaddonandearnhis sparse praise, but to exceed the deeds and usefulness of their kindred’swarbands, impressing the Ezekarion and putting themselves in the running toservetheLegion’shighestcommanders.Abaddon was cautious with his compliments, but one truth was always inevidence: those who quelled internal rivalry within their warbands, either bycharisma, murder, or ritual challenges – those who could be trusted to fightreliablyandnotabandonbattleplansatthewhimoftheirownblood-greedorto

heedthecallsoftheGods–thesewere,withoutfail,thewarriorswhoweremostoften rewarded. To them fell the positions of honour and glory within everyassault, and the Ezekarion leaned most heavily upon them to secure victory.TheybecamethebackboneoftheBlackLegion.War-frothing raiders and treacherous mercenaries have their uses in anyconflict,donotdoubt,butAbaddonhasalwayswilled theBlackLegion tobemorethananothergatheringofhowlingslaversandpsalm-chantingreavers.Ascommon as those aspects are within our ranks, we do not let ourselves bedefinedbythem.Notrueorganisationwouldbepossibleifwedid.NoneofusweresurprisedwhenMorianaentered.Theonlyunexpectedelementin her appearance was that she wasn’t at Abaddon’s side. She didn’t makeanything of her entrance,merely walking through the great double doors andtakingherplaceneartoTelemachon,whostoodwithcalculatedinsouciance.Shegreetedhimwithahandbrieflyonhisvambrace,thegesturesomehowsisterly.Theirheadsbowedtogetherinmurmuredconversation.Shesmiledasshespoke,andhisauraflaredinresponse,agreasybrighteningofbitteramusement.Westoodinaloosecircle,gatheredbutseparate,aswasourinformalcustom.Falkus, the First. Sargon, the Second. I, the Third. Telemachon, the Fourth.Lheor,theFifth.Ashur-Kai,theSixth.Ceraxia,theSeventh.Valicar,theEighth.Vortigern, theNinth.Amurael, theTenth. Ilyaster, theEleventh.AndMoriana,thoughshehadsaidnothingofit,evidentlytheTwelfth.Ezekylewas lastofall, stalkingwithslow,grindinggrowlsofhisTerminatorbattleplate.Atgatheringsofourwarbands,hewouldalwaystakethefocalpointof attention, drawing all eyes towardshimand callingout across thegatheredmasses.Here,amonghistrustedkin,hemerelyjoinedthecirclewehadformed.Once more I was struck by how unconscionably weary he was. If we hadexpected his time alone with Moriana and her serpent-tongued prophecies toilluminateandrevitalisehim,wewerebothrightandwrong.Ferocityblazedinhiseyes,theferocityofrebornpurpose,butitwastheeffortofamanontheverybrink of ruin. Whatever had rejuvenated him, be it knowledge or somethingmoresinister,itwasalsoeatinghimalive.‘ThefleetwillsailfortheEye’sedge,’heordered.‘WewilldeclarewarontheImperiumandthecorpsethatoccupiesitsthrone.IfSigismund’sBlackTemplarsstand inourway,wewill break them. IfThagusDaravekopposesus,wewilldestroyhim.Ifanyofyouhavequestions,nowisthetime.’So casually did he state his galaxy-changing intent that several of us smiled,myselfincluded.Butasexpected,alleyesturnedtome,socertainthatIwould

bethefirsttospeak.Thistime,however,itwasAshur-Kai.‘Weareprepared,Ezekyle.Everyvoid-guideandsorcereraboardeveryvesselinthearmadaisreadytoweatherthestorm.’Icouldseetheweightheboreonhisshoulders,andforamomentIfeltastabof sympathy. He fought a war I could not help with, one far harder than thegamesweassassinsplayed.HehadtoleadtheLegionfromunrealityintoreality,breakingusfreeofaprisontheGodsthemselveskeptclosed.‘Youhavemytrustandfaith,’Abaddonrepliedsolemnly.‘Mythanks,brother,’Ashur-Kaisaid,inclininghishead.Abaddonlookedaroundthecircle.‘Whoelse?’They all looked tome again, but I did not speak second, either. That fell toAmurael.‘WesailfortheImperium,’hesaid.‘Aneventwehaveallfoughtandbledtobringabout is finallyhere,andeverywarrior in thefleetstandsready.Outsidethisship,aLegion’sworthofwarshipsawaitoursignaltosail.ButI’maskingyou,brothertobrother,whyarewedeclaringwarontheImperiumnow?’Ezekylelookedacrossthecircleathim,goldeneyeslocked.‘Thisiswhatwehavehungeredfor,’hereplied.‘Thisiswhatwehaveworkedtowards.Youaskwhywewilldeclarethewarnow?Becausewecan,brother.Because,finally,wecan.’‘Thatisn’twhatI’masking.Dowewagethiswarbyyourcommand?’AmuraelindicatedMorianawithacursorywaveofonehand.‘Oronherwhim?’‘Thiswarisamatterofvindicta,’Abaddonreplied,usingtheHighGothicwordforvengeance,knowingitsresonanceamongourkind.‘Ithasalwaysbeenaboutrevenge, Amurael.Our revenge. Moriana’s appearance is merely a fortunatetwistoffate.Wewouldsailwithorwithouther.Youknowthis,brother.’Amuraelnodded, thoughnotatonce.Thehesitationwas tellingeven if Ihadbeenunable to read the surface thoughtsdrifting throughhisaura–he trustedAbaddon,butMorianawasanoutsideagent,andshestankofmanipulationmorethanmeasuredguidance.Moriana, for her part, said nothing.Thatwaswise, forAmurael’s sentimentsweresharedbymostofustherethatday.Weacceptedher,oratleasttoleratedher,butwedidnotknowher.‘Doesitmatter?’askedVortigern.Hisfacewassevere,hisexpressionsforevercold.Inallmylife,IhavemetnosoulasseriousasVortigernofCaliban.‘Iwillfightbyyoursideeitherway,’hesaidtoAbaddon,handrestingonthehiltofhissheathedsword.‘Whateverthishuman’smotivationsmaybe,theyareirrelevant

tous.Ourplansremainunchanged,dotheynot?’Lheornodded,themovementabriefjerkofthehead.Evenbackthen,hewasbeginning to lose control of his body, his nervous system at themercy of theadrenalpain-engine inhisskull. ‘Matters tome,’hegrunted. ‘Telluswhat thewitchsaid,Ezekyle.Nosecretshere,eh?’Abaddon nodded. ‘No secrets here,’ he agreed. ‘And answers will come.Armsmistress,youhaveremainedsilent thusfar.Iwouldhearyourthoughtsifyouwouldsharethem.’Ceraxia towered above us, looking down from within the shadows of herhoodedrobe.Icouldjustmakeoutthesoftlyrotatingeye-lensesinthatshroudedgloom, and the dark metal polish of her resculpted form. Her segmented,scorpion-like legshissedandclickedwithadjustmentsofminutepistons.Eachofherlowerlimbsendedinagreatbladethatleftscratchingdentsinthedeck.This four-armed, spider-leggedmachine-goddess drew forth fromher robe theBlackTemplar’shelmthatIhadrecoveredfromMaeleum,andthoughitwouldhaveundoubtedlymadeamoreemphaticpointifshedroppeditontothedeck,suchwasherreverenceforitsmanufacturethatshekeptitclutchedintwoofherhands,closetoherred-robedform.Notatrophytoher,butaholyicon.‘I care naught for the poems of seers,’ she said, emitting her words from avocaliser formed by her fused, clenched golden teeth. A pale light flickeredthrough this metallic fusion with every syllable. ‘Or warriors’ reasoning forrevenge.The fleet is ready,so the fleet shall sail.Wehaveevidenceof furtherwonders developed by the Martian Mechanicum in our absence from thePrincipal Materium. Examples of such treasures must be brought into ourpossession,unmade,remadeandknowledgeoftheirformandfunctionsecuredforourownuse.’Icut throughthiswithachopofmyhand.‘Withrespect,Ceraxia…Ezekyle,tell us what we came to learn. Tell us what devours you, and what this seermeanswhenshespeaksoffateridinguponthebladeofanunclaimedsword.’‘It’salwaysyou,Khayon,’hesaidwithawearysmile. ‘Myassassin,andmyaccuser.’‘Iamwhatyouneedmetobe,brother.’Hemetmyeyes,noddedonceinacknowledgement,andthen,atlast,hetoldus.

VINDICTAIwillnotrelateeverywordthatpassedbetweentheEzekarioninthatmeeting.Somuchofityoualreadyknow,andtherestyouhavesurelyinferred.Sufficetosaythatwespokeofthewarp’swhispersandtheirweightagainsthismind,andwespokeofthecreaturethatcriedoutwithinthoseetherictides,thecreature that called itself Drach’nyen. That monstrous and deceitful entity’sexistencehasitsplaceinthetaletocome,butitwasnot, intruth,thefocusofourgathering.Primarily,wespokeof thecomingwarand thereasons itwouldbewaged. Ithaseverbeenthus,evenintheAncientWorld,whenmankindwasboundtothesurfaceofTerraandbattleswerefoughtwithspearsandshieldsandridingbeastsandwarshipsofwood.Warlordshavealwaysconsidered thenotionofacasusbelli, the reason for committing towar. Thiswas nomere raidwe planned toharasstheImperium’sfrontiers.Thiswastobeaclarioncall,summoningalliesandwarningfoes.ThiswastobethedeclarationoftheLongWar.Andhere,myInquisitorialgaolers,wemustspeakofscale.TherearethoseamongtheLegions,andscribesofwhatfewImperialtextsarepermittedtoexist,thatsuggesttheentirecrusadewasfoughtpurelysoAbaddoncould claim his blade. This is brazen falsehood. Hundreds of thousands oflegionarieswouldspillfromtheopeningEye,withmillionsofmutants,humansand daemons in a tidal horde behind them. Most of them knew nothing ofDrach’nyenthen,andmostknownothingofitnow.Theyhavetheirownlivestolive,aspatheticandstuntedasthoseexistencesmaybe.Thatfalsecoincomeswithanotherside,ofcourse.TherearethosethatbelievewewishedtosurgeforthandtakeTerrainthefirstbreathofthewar.Ignoranceofthisstaggeringscaleistherawest,rankestmadness.TheroadtoTerraisthemostfortified,impossibleseriesof battlesimaginable.Wars are not fought in one engagement, but piecemeal: campaign after

campaign,citybycity,fleetbyfleet,worldbyworld.EvenifwecouldbringourwrathtoTerraina singlestrike,whatusewoulditbe?TherestoftheImperiumwouldremainunconquered,andwoulddescendonTerratocutourthroatswhilewecelebratedourtemporarytriumph.HorusLupercalhadhalfoftheImperium’sforces,andhestillfailedtotaketheThroneworld,deludedcreaturethathewas.Wehaveafractionofafractionofthosegalaxy-spanningwarhosts.Horusbeganwith–andlostwith–morethanwecouldevermuster.As theImperiumreeled in thewakeof therebellion,sodidwe.Asithasstruggledtorecoverallthesemillennialater,sohavewe.ForallofthewaysinwhichtheLegionsarestrongerthanweoncewere–withour daemon-engines andNeverborn allies and themyriad gifts of our spitefulGods–therearetwiceasmanywaysinwhichweareweaker.Supplylinesnolonger exist, leaving our guns starved of shells and our warships hoardingdiminishedsuppliesofenergyandresources.FewwarbandscanlayclaimtothematerielofaMechanicumcruiseroraforgeworldwithintheEye,andthosethatcanmustfightendlesslytoprotectitfromrivals.Slavesdieorlosetheirmindsto thewarpaseasilyas theybreathe.Wholefleetsscatter to thewarp’swinds,forEyespaceisfar lessstablethanthematerialrealm.Battleshipsdieof thirst,fuel-dryandcrippledinthedarkvoid,tobeforgottenorswallowedaspartofamacro-agglomerationspacehulk.Warbands fightamongst themselvesoverammunition, territory,plunder,evencleanwater.Championsthataspiretoreplacetheirwarlordmastersfightduelsorsink to betrayal in order to rise above their former stations. There is no trueagriculture in the Eye, no harvest worlds supplying sustenance necessities;wholeworldsandfleetssurviveonthefleshandbonesoftheunburieddead,orthe warp-stained roots of alien plants, or the corpulent bodies of mutantlivestock.Commanders andwarband leaders, evenof the sameLegions,wagewar against one another overmatters of pride or power, or towin the all-too-brieffavouranddangerousblessingsoftheerraticGods.Worstofall,recruitmentfor theNineLegionsisamatterofhellishdifficulty.Welackanythinglikethereliableresourcesweoncehadtosustainourselvesandmaintain our genetic lines. I could not even begin to estimate the number of‘bastard’ legionaries born after theHeresy, forgedwith gene-seed raided fromSpaceMarineChaptersloyaltotheGoldenThrone.And all of this is before the long anddifficult journey to actually escape theclutchesoftheEye,whichis,asIhavestressed,ourprisonandourpunishmentfor failure asmuch as our haven. TheEye’s edges arewhere the storm rages

hardest.Shipsseekingtoleavearetornapartinthosereapingtides.Doyounotthinkwe tried?There isnoswifterway to losewarships thanbyhurling themtowardstheGreatEye’sedge.PerhapsIpaintanuglypicturewithall thesetruths.Wearesomuchstrongerthanwewere, yet somuchweaker.We have such zealous purity of purpose,weigheddownbyimpoverishment,treacheryanddesperation.Iwillnot lie,notevenhere, fordeceitwouldbeuseless.TheBlackLegion’shistorycarriesitsshareofshameandbitternessaswellasthegloriesweclutchwith suchpride.Some Imperial scholars cannot imaginewhywehavenotyetwon.Otherscannotseeanythingbutdefeatinourfuture.Thereisnocleartruth.Itisallsmokeandmirrors,allillusionandconfusion.Of that fateful night when Abaddon revealed the source of the dreams thatdraggedathisconsciousness,itisnotthegatheringoftheEzekarionthatstandsouttome.Itiswhatcameafter,whenournamelessLegion’swarlordsreturnedto theirwarships, and I alone remained atAbaddon’s side.EvenMorianawasdismissed.Aftertheirsharedseclusion,Abaddonseemedtohavenofurtheruseforher.Atleast,notforatime.‘Khayon,’hesaid,astheothersleft,‘whenwasthelasttimewesparred?’Ithadbeenagreatwhile.Years, in truth.Myplacewasoftenaway from theEzekarion, and away from the ashen dead I ostensibly commanded.My placewaswhereverEzekylepointedonahazy,shiftingstarmapandsaidherequiredsomeonedead.Weduelled,ourswords live,power fieldscrashingandspittingeach time thebladesmet.Lupercal’sCourtwasourarena,andwefoughtforhoursbeneaththedustyweightofHorus’failedrebellion.Ezekyleisabarbarian.Aslayer.Inbattleheisawarriorwithoutpeer,buthisstrengthisintheforceofhispresence,therelentlessviciousnessofhisassault.Tomeethimonthebattlefieldistoknow,withoutdoubt,thatyourlifewillendifyoustandandfacehim.Hedoesnotfight,hemerelykills.Thatisnottosayhe is unskilled. His talents are supreme, his focus inhuman, his speedsupernatural.Heisaforceofmurderousnature,hisweaponsneverstill,hiseyeseveraware,alerttoeveryshiftandtensionofmuscleinhisfoe.In ages past he would have been called a battle-king, one of those ancientBronzeEpochmonarchsthatfoughtinthefrontlinesandinspiredhismeninthechaosof the shieldwall, rather than a ruler directing awar fromafar, or onlyfightingintediouslyhonourablesinglecombat.Outsideofbattle’sheat,nomatterhowhetrains,helacksthedepthsofbrutality

andviciousnessthatmakehimsoformidableintruewar.Heisperfectlycapableofduellingwithaswordintrainingbouts,butithasneverbeenhisgift.AnyoneoftheEzekarioncould,attheirbest,matchhimbladeonblade.TelemachonandVortigerncoulddefeathimwithrelativeease.We fought alone, our armour illuminated in the flicker-flashes of aggravatedpowerfields.Thebannersaboveusflashedasifinalightningstorm,thebreathsofdisplacedairfromourcollidingbladessettingthemgentlywavinginthefalsebreeze.It isstrange to thinkback tohowhewas then,before thePantheonshoweredhimwithblessingafterblessing.WhenhewasjustEzekyle,mybrotherandmysworn lord, not Warmaster Abaddon, Chosen of the Gods. In time, I wouldscarcely be able to stand near him, forever bathed as he was in a rippling,replenishing saturation of soul-matter, with the warp itself forming a choirheraldinghiseverymove.Hecouldnotgrowlwithoutevenhisclosestwarriorsedgingaway,nornodwithoutthousandsofdaemonsshriekinginacclamation.Butnotyet.Icouldseethesilhouettesofunborndaemonsseekingbirththroughhisaura,feedingonhishatreds,andIcouldseethewaythewarpfocuseduponhim as though he were a nexus, but such things happen to many souls ofsignificance inside theEye. I did not know then that Iwaswitnessing amerefractionofhisfuturemajesty.Asweduelled,twootherpresencesjoinedus.ThefirstwasNefertari,whomIsensedwatchingusfromwhereshesatamongthearchingrafters.Sheshouldnothavebeenhere,butbeyondacurlof Abaddon’slipashetoosensedthealien,hegave no further reaction. The second was Nagual, who melted out of theshadowsandwatchedthefightwithburningwhiteeyes.Master, he greeted me. I could do little more than pulse back briefacknowledgement. Sweat rimed my face. My vision danced with smears ofafterlight,blurringwiththelightningcracksofthetwomeetingblades.‘Nagual,’Abaddongreetedmylynx,hisbreathingraggedwiththeeffortofourbattle.Thelynxyawnedinanswer.Youshouldnotbehere,Nagual,Isent.TheColdHuntressishere.Abaddon sensed my distraction and thrust low; I barely weaved aside,hammeringtheflatofmybladeagainsthis,deflectingitatthelastmoment.Sheis,Iadmitted.ButNefertariatleasthasthepresenceofmindtostayoutofsight.AbaddonfoughtwiththeTalonheldbackandlowthewholetime,knowingit

had no place in a spar, knowing also that coming too close to the weaponsavagedmypsychicsensewithitsbloodiedresonance.AsmuchasIhadadaptedtoweatherthepressureofitsclosenessovertheyears,ifInarrowedmyeyesIcouldstillsee themistofdeath-echoes thatsurroundeditscurvingclaws.Thathazeof psychicpotencyattractedcountlessunformed daemon-things;thesetooIcouldseeifIfocused.Theyprayedtotheweapon.Theywhisperedlovinglytoit,aninhumanmurmurofpraiseforallthatitwascapableofdoinginchangingthepathsofthefuture.Theysangtheirshrieking,howlingsongsingratitudeforall that it had done inwriting the pathways of the past. In somanyways, asfascinatinganddisgustingasitwas,theTalonwasatasteofwhatwouldcomewhenAbaddonclaimedDrach’nyen.Despitemydistractions,Iwaswinning.HavingtokeeptheTalonbackandlowaffected his balance, even though his Terminator war-plate enhanced hisphysicalityfarbeyondmine.IhadtoholdSacramentumintwohands,foritwastheonlywaytomeettheheavyblowspoweredbyhisbulkyarmour.‘Moriana,’ he said,whenourblades rasped apart, both swords raining sparksacrossthedeck.‘Youdon’ttrusther.’‘Idonottrustanyseer,’Ipointedout.‘No?’Hebackedaway,hisbladerisingengarde.‘YoutrustAshur-Kai.’Thatwasdebatable.Icertainlyhadnofaithinhisprophecies,forIhadnofaithinanyprophecy,butIrefusedtobedrawnintothatdiscussion.Iknewwhyhehaddetainedmehere,andithadnothingtodowithMoriana.‘YoushouldhavekilledDaravek,’hesaidinthefaceofmysilence.Ah,yes.Hereitwas.Punishmentatlast.I had never deludedmyself into hoping that the trivial task of journeying toMaeleumtoexaminetelemetryfluctuationmightserveasmyonlychastisement.Returningwith evidence of the Black Templars’ existence, and even bringingMoriana into our coven, was never going to earn forgiveness for my otherfailures.Iwondered,verybriefly,ifhewasgoingtokillme.Foracoupleofheartbeats,when our bladeswhined and crashed, it seemed plausible.Would he do it, ifMorianahadtoldhimitwasnecessarytosecurehernebulousfuture?Ididnotknow.AnddidIleanalittlemorestrengthintomyblowswhenheremindedmethatDaravek still lived?Perhaps. Perhaps I did. I said nothing, though.Therewasnothingtosay.Iwouldnotdenymyfailure,normakeexcusesforit.‘A target you cannot kill, Khayon.’ He was defending with more ragged

deflections, unable to match my speed. ‘Is this fated to become a frequentoccurrence?Do I need a new assassin?Should I send one of the otherswhennextIneedsomeoneslain?Telemachon?’Myjawachedwithmyclenchedteeth.FromfaraboveIheardNefertari’ssoftlaugh.Thenext threeblows that rained againstAbaddon’sblade sprayed flaresparksintobothofourfaces.StillIsaidnothing.‘YouheardhowMorianaspeaksofDaravek,’Abaddoncontinued,gruntingthewordsnow,hisowntemperrisinginmirrorofmine.‘Whispersofdestinedthreatandobstaclesoffate.’‘Herwordsaremeaningless.’I lashedbackwithanoverheadcut, two-handedanddescending.Hetookitflushontheblade;Iheardtheservosinhisshoulderandelbowsnarlatthepressureofholdingmeback.Abaddon laughedas I disengaged, thoughheblocked the followingblowsaswell,hurlingmebackeachtimewithatoothysmile.‘IhavewantedDaravekdeadfordecades,Iskandar.Yetstillhelives.Ihavesetmypreciousweaponagainsthisthroatfivetimes,andyetstillhedrawsbreath.’Iamnotwithoutpride.Nowarrior is. I couldacceptmy failureandbear theshame,buthismockeryboiledmyblood. Imet theanger inhiseyeswithmyown. Our blows were beginning to feel less like the strikes of a spar. Theyswung harder; they landed heavier. The Talon flashed at Abaddon’s side,twitching.Hisvoicewasrising.‘Daravek unites dozens of warbands against us,’ Abaddon pressed. ‘Hedeadlocksourfleets.Helaughsatus,pissingonwhatwe’retryingtobuild.Andstillhelives.Whyisthat?’He was giving up ground, backing away slowly, parrying and deflectingwithout fighting back. I had him now. I could read the hesitancies in hismovementsthatspokeofaninabilitytokeeppace.Yethelaughedallthewhile,anangryandbaitinglaugh,meetingmyeyestosharehisbleakamusementatmyfailure.Hewassincere.Thatwaswhatgroundmy teeth togetherandstole thewordsfrommytongue.Thiswasnojest,nomockeryforthesakeofspite.Hewas sincere. Laughing at me, yet furious. Moriana’s promises of Daravek’sascensionhadaddedgraverconsequencestomyinabilitytocarryoutAbaddon’sorders.TheTaloncrashedSacramentumasideandAbaddondroppedhisblade in thesame smooth motion, pounding his free hand against my throat, wrappingaroundandliftingmewithhydraulicgrowlsofTerminatorjoints.Mybootsleftthe deck. I could not draw breath, and though a legionary can survive many

minuteswithoutoxygen,asIlookedintoAbaddon’swrath-richeyes,Idoubteditwouldbeasphyxiationthatkilledme.‘Is it you that is broken?’ The words were a beast’s rumbling growl. Salivabow-stringedbetweenhisteeth.Master…Nagual sent from nearby. I did not move. To move would be toprovokeAbaddon’srage,furtheringitsdownwardspiral.Iknewtheserages,andIknewtheywereearnedmoreoftenthannot.Stayback.Butmaster…Stayback,Nagual.A breath of wind and a silken purr of alien technology heralded Nefertari’sdescent.Abaddonspoketotheshadows,thoughhiseyesneverleftmine.‘Alien. Beast. If either of you take a single step closer, this turns frompunishmenttoexecution.’Theceramiteofhisgauntletclosedtighteraroundmythroat.Myspineclickedandcrackled.Myjawbonepulsedwithpainintimetomytwinhearts.‘Youarebroken,Khayon.’Abaddondroppedme.Myboots thuddedto thedeck.‘Broken,’hecontinued,‘butnotirrevocably.’Idrewaslowbreaththroughmyconstrictedthroat,watchinghimclosely.Myvoicewouldnotcome.Broken?Iasked,mindtomind.‘You no longer hate,Khayon.You have come to accept this exile inside theEye.YounolongerseethewiththeneedtorevengeyourselfontheImperiumforthewrongsdonetous.YousayyounolongerdreamofWolves,andyoushinewithprideoverit,asthoughitwereafailingatlastovercome.’Abaddon shook his head, his golden eyes glittering with unspoken insights.‘Hateisvaluable.Itmadeyouakiller.Hatredsustainsus.Hatredisallwehave.Vindicta, my brother. Vengeance. Our fuel. Our sustenance. Where is yourpassion toprosecute thiswar?Where isyourneed tosee theWolvesofFenrisbleedforwhatthey’vedonetoyou?Forthelifetheystolefromyou?WhereisyourrageattheEmperorforcensuringyourLegionandforbiddingtheverygiftsthatsettheThousandSonsapart?’I knew rage atHorusLupercal, for deceiving theWolves into destroyingmyhomeworld.Rageat theWolves themselves for their frothing, idioticzealandtheirignorantbeliefs.RageatMagnustheRed,forofferingusuponthealtarofhismartyrdomandfailingtodefendTizcaatourside.ButangerattheEmperor?Onemayaswellhatethesunorthelawsofphysics.

IsaidthistoAbaddon,whoshockedmebylaughing.‘Lookatthemasteryyouandyoursorcerousbrethrenholdoverthewarpnow.YouarenolongerLibrariansquestingblindlyinthedark.Youfacethedangers,meetingthemwithopeneyes.Youareawareofthepredatorsthatswiminthisinfinitemurk.WastheEmperorrighttoorderyoutoremainignorant?’Icouldnotanswerthatlastquestion.Inmyhypocriticalheart,Ifearedtogivearesponse.ThemoreIlearnedofthewarp,themoretheEmperor’smandatemadesense.Icouldnotpasstheopportunityforpowernow,notwhenthosearoundmeshowednosuchrestraint,butIcouldseewhytheEmperorhadcommandedustodoso.ThemorefamiliarIbecamewiththerealmbehindtheveil,themoreImournedthat the Thousand Sons, in our blind arrogance, had believed we kneweverything worth knowing. We had stared at the sky and believed we kneweverythingofthestars.Wehadlookedattheocean’scalmsurfaceandbelievedtherewasnothingdeeperbeneath.Abaddonsawmyhesitation.Hesmiledwithoutsurprise.‘Doyousee?’heaskedme.‘Doyouseewhatyou’vebecome?Morianabringswordofaweaponwemightuse,andratherthanpeerintothewarpforwaystomasterit,youdoubtthatitcanbewieldedatall.Ratherthandevoteyourselftoslaughtering the one foe you failed to kill, you slink around the flagship –accusing,hesitating,holdingback.’He slammed a palmdownonmy shoulder, a brotherly grip, his golden eyesboring intomine. ‘Rediscover your hate, Khayon. It began to fadewhen youhuntedDaravek that first time, and it has depleted in increments ever since. Ineedyou.Mybrother.Myblade.Reforgeyourself,for ifweaccept theEyeasourdomain,wehavealreadylost.Itmakesusnothingbutbrokenweapons.Thisisaprisonandalairtolickourwounds.Notourhome.Notourfate.’Inodded,foragreementwas theonlyreactionIcouldoffer. Ihave tornsoulsopenbefore, readingmindandmemory,peelingback the layersofpersonalityandflayingaman’sessencetoriflethroughtheheartofhisbeing.Suchtormentleft the victims of my interrogations nothing more than fractured husks.Abaddon’swordshadthreatenedtounmakemeinthesameway,soprecisewerehisinsights.‘Itwillbeasyousay,brother,’Isaid.Abaddonliftedhishandfrommyarmour.‘Westandontheedgeofreturningtothe Imperiumwebuiltwithourownsweatandsacrifice.ThagusDaravekwillcomeforusbeforetheend.Ineedhimdead,Iskandar.Nomoreexcuses.Ineed

himdead.’Iknewheasked the impossibleofme,andmayIbedamnedfor lying tomybrother,but Inoddedmyavowal. Iagreed todosomething Iwassure Icouldnot.Heturnedandleftmethere,inthatmuseumoffutilewars.AndwithMoriana’sdestiny-soakedvenomturnedtohoneyinAbaddon’sears,wesailedfortheedgeoftheGreatEye.

‘…theferrymendemandedwepaythepriceoffreedomwepaidaseveryonemustpay incoinof fleshofsoulofbloodof lifewepaidwegambledourfuture but it must be this way sacrifices must matter don’t you see asacrifice is only true if it drains the giver and nourishes the taker sowegave and the ferrymen took and we were lessened and they wereenriched…’

–from‘TheInfinityCanticle’,sequesteredbytheholyorderofHisImperialMajesty’sInquisitionasanUltima-grade

moralthreat.Purportedtobetheunedited,ravingconfessionofSargonEregesh,Lord-PrelateoftheBlackLegion.

OUTRUNNINGTHESTORMThefirstshiptodiewastheInviolate.ItwasaTerran-borndestroyer,oneoftheoldestvesselsinourfleet,andoneofthemostreliable.IthadsailedtheskiesintheveryearliestyearsoftheGreatCrusade,andthoughitwasoriginallyswornto the VII Legion, the Sons of Horus had wrested it from its Imperial FistsmastersduringtheSiegeofTerra.Itscurrentcaptain,theformerSonsofHorusReaverChieftainXerekanKovis,wasacalmandcalculatingofficerwithagiftforvoidbattle.TheInviolateitselfwasabeautifulvessel,aspear-pointcutterofawarship,swiftandlethal.Itexplodedafterelevenminutesandninesecondsofred lininginstrumentsandwarningklaxons,thestressuponitshulltoomuchtobear.Iwatchedithappen.Ilistenedtothefinalcallsofitscommandcrew,lacedwithinterferenceacrossthefleet-widevox.The Inviolatebuckledoffcourse, fallingoutofalignmentwiththefleet,tumblingintotheseethingtidesoffierywarpenergythatthrashedandboiled around our armada. I saw it enveloped in those dissolving waves, itsshields bursting as it plunged into them. I saw the ship’s hull first crumple,crushed by the grip of impossible pressures, then come apart, pulled open asthoughitwerenothingmorethanachild’stoy.IfelttheInviolate’ssorcerer-pilot’sfinalthoughts:thesplit-seconddesperationofWait…Wait!… thatheunintentionallybreathed into theburningnight. I feltno fear from him; perhaps he believed he could still maintain control in thatflash-fire second before he was bathed in the cascading energies of unreality.Whateverthetruth,themundanityofthesentimentwasabreedofmadnessinitsownright–therefusalofconsciousnesstorealiseitsendhascome.Rarelydowesoundsohuman,butdeath,perhaps,isthegreatequaliser.‘TheInviolatehasfallen,’Ultiocalledoutacrossthebridge.Hervoicebetrayedherdistractionasshefacedforwards,floatinginherimmenselife-supporttank.Hercrownofcognitiveinterfacetendrilsswayedinthefluidbetweentheyoungwoman and the hive of gestalt-brain engines fixed to the chamber’s ceiling

aboveher.Her eyes were narrowed to slits, her teeth clenched, her outreaching handscurledintoclawsofeffort.Sheworeanexpressionshehadneverworninlife,arictusofsuchinhumanferocitythatitmomentarilydrewmyeyesawayfromtheoculus.Bloodwasbeginningtostainthefluidclosetoherbody,curlingintotheaqua-vitriolo inmisty, sanguine threads from cuts appearing across her flesh.Aroundher,aroundallofus,thebridgewasared-stainedplaceoffear-scentandthunder.Abaddonclutched thehandrail at theedgeofhis raiseddais,hisgoldengazelockedtothestormkaleidoscopingoutsidetheship.TheVengefulSpiritjudderedin its entirety;weheard its central spinal stanchionsgrowl, thenwhine, in thestorm’sgrip.Atthebridge’sheart,theAnamnesiscriedoutinsympatheticpain.Thedinof thevox rivalled the tempest tearingus apart.Thevoicesof everycaptain in the fleet cried out in disordered unity, reporting their progress androaringofstressfractures,offailingshields,ofshipboardfiresanduncountabledeaths. I could hear space around us, the void itself, shrieking with theoutpouring of souls dragged from dying bodies. Our fleet was populating thewarpwiththespiritsofourslain.We led the way. TheVengeful Spirit took the brunt of the tempest’s tide, awavebreakervanguardthatploughedthroughtheroughestthrashingsofenergy,shattering them to carve a route through for the smaller ships. New trails ofbloodinkedtheamnioticfluidfromafreshlatticeworkofwoundsacrossUltio’sbody.Shesufferedastheshipsuffered.ThePromiseofAbsolutionwasajaggedsilhouetteoffourportbow,anotheroftheforwardbattleshipsspearingaheadtotaketheworstoftheboilingtides.Onemomentitwasthere,shakingandstreamingfirefromitsbattlementedhull;thenext it was a lacerated hulk, killed too swiftly to even detonate. Torn-apartsectionsoftheshiptumbledawayintothewarp’sdevouringessence.Itwasasiftheentireshiphadcrumbledaspartofanavalanche.Wedidnotevenhearanychange in their final communications: onemoment the captainwas there, thenexthisvoicewasnolongerpresentinthevox-web.Delvarus was next to me, his boots magnetically locked to the deck, hisgauntletedhandsholding to thesamecrewrailasmine.HewasSecondborn–themelangeofdaemonicentityandhumansoul–andaseverinhispresenceIfelt the war taking place inside him, the eternal shifting turmoil betweenpossessorandpossessed.Hiseyeswereblackenedorbsinhisdarkflesh,curdledoverwithetheric cataracts,andthoughthewarphadrenderedhimblindithad

suffusedhisothersenseswithsensitivitybeyondmeasure.WhenthePromiseofAbsolutiondied,hisfacetwitchedasifinpain,thoughIknewitwasfarmorelikelyhunger.‘Was that theAbsolution?’Hisvoicewasa raisedsnarl. Icouldfeel theneedwithin him, the feverish desire to adopt what he and his brethren called ‘thewarshape’, letting thedaemon threaded throughhis fleshascend to the fore inthehourofbloodshed.He fought the instinct, just ashe fought thebiteof theButcher’sNailsinhisbrain.Itwas, I sentback, telepathy farmore reliable than shoutingamidst somanyother voices. He twitched again, this time in true pain at his cranial implantsreactingtotheunwantedtouchofmysilentvoice.‘There were almost two thousand warriors on that ship,’ he said betweenclenchedteeth.Hedidn’tmentionthetensof thousandsofslaves,serfs, thrallsand servitors, but even noting the loss of our brethrenwas a sentiment I hadneverexpectedfromDelvarus,ofallmen.Hesaidmore,buttheVengefulSpiritkicked around us as it pounded through another devastatingwave, casting thedeck into flickeringdarkness for several seconds and intensifying thewarningsirens.Ultio screamed again, her voice razoring from the shouting mouths of ahundredgargoylesandfallenangels.Theshipcriedoutwithher,fromitsramtoitsroaringengines,itssuperstructuregroaningwithtorment.Asthatdualcryrangthroughourminds,IlookeduptoAshur-Kai.Hestoodonhisnavigationalplatformabovethebridge,eyeswide,longhairlikeabannerinthegripofastorm’swind.Hewasbracedaswewereallbraced,thoughhesawnoneofus.Hissightwastunedtotherealmoutsidetheship,andhishandsonthe twin control columns sent impulses and commands to Ultio and to theVengefulSpirititself.I’dneverseenAshur-KaiandtheAnamnesismoveinsuchperfectsynchronicity, theirmotionsmirrored,eachleanandtiltandadjustmentcomingintheverysamesecondforbothsorcererandlivingmachine-spirit.Eventheirinjurieswereinsymphony.Thepsy-stigmatathatdecoratedUltio’sfleshshowedacrossAshur-Kai’sfaceinthesameconstellationsofrippingpain;threeofthoseslashestornopentothebone.Onlywhentheshipcrashedthroughthe most forceful tides did they fall out of alignment, and Ashur-Kai’s palefeatureswouldstrainwiththeeffortoffindingthatslippedharmonyoncemore.TheVengefulSpiritwasUltio’sship;thankstotheMechanicum’singenuity,shewas farmore aware and attuned tohervessel thanmostmachine-spirits couldever be, but it was Ashur-Kai, her void-guide, who saw the way through the

storm.Iftherewasawaythroughthisone.I…donotbelievethereis.Evidentlyhehadheardmycarelessthoughts.Thenextshiptodiewasoneofthenamelessbulkcruisersthatcarriedclansofbeastmen warriors and warp-changed human slave soldiers. Its death lit theoculusas itveeredwildlyoffcourse,rollinginto theacidic tideseithersideoftheturbulentchannelwewerecarving,andamigrainecrackoflightflaredsun-bright for half a heartbeat.A fractionof amoment later, itwasgone.All thatremainedweretheechoesofitscaptain’sscreamsoverthevox-web.Three of Ultio’s vox-gargoyles toppled from the gothic rafters and shatteredintomarblerubbleacrossthedeck.Another,oneofthebronzesculptureswithitsfeaturestwistedinecstaticagony,crashedontooneofthecrewconsoleswiththesoundofagreatbelltolling,killingtwohumansandcripplingathird.Imademyway toAbaddon, forced tomove as a drunkardmight across theshakingbridgeandstaggeringoverthecorpsesofthestorm-slain.Igrippedhisshoulderguard,forcinghimtofaceme.Hisfacewashisfather’sface,red-litbythe emergency illumination, flashingwith the colours ofmadness that dancedoutsidethedyingship.Wewillnotsurvivethis,Isentdirectlyintohismind.TheSpiritcannotendurethispunishment.‘Wemustbreak through,’hespatbackthroughhisfiled teeth. ‘Wewillbreakthrough.’Andthen,withtheever-surprisingforceofhisownwill,hespokerightintomymind.Iwillnotdieinthisprison,Iskandar.Iwillbefree.Wewillallbefree.WewillbringourfurytotheGoldenThroneitself,andthehuskenshrinedtherewillweepwiththehomecomingofHisabandonedangels.Imethiseyesforwhatfeltlikeaneternity,thoughIknowitcannothavebeenmorethanabriefmoment.BloodofthePantheon,buthelookedlikehisfatherthen.ThecreaturebeforemewasHorusinbodyandblood.Theonlydifferencewas the eyes.Horus had been hollowed-throughby the powers he had soughtandfailedtocontrol;Abaddonwasdrainedbyforeverresistingthem.Thefatherhadbeenbutahostforthestrengthofothers.Thesonwasabastionofhisownwillandendurance.Isawthen,trulyandfortheveryfirsttime,justwhatvaluemylordcouldbetothecreatureswecallGods.Whatdoyousee,Iskandar?Isnappedbacktotherealityofourflagshipburning,shatteringaroundus.What?Outsidetheship.Doyouseetheirhandsatwork?

Abaddonknewnoneofmy internal revelations.Hewantedme to spreadmysensesbeyondthewarship’shull.Werewebeingheldhere?Wasthishurricanethe whim of the malevolent consciousnesses that acted through the galacticwoundwecalledtheEye?Icastmyperceptionswide,breaking throughthewallsof theVengefulSpirit,plungingintothefirestormofwarpenergy.Ifeltthecataclysmofforcesatwork,the shoving rage of our engines generating an equal pushback in the Eye’sresistant tides. I sawour armadadrifting apart, unable tohold cohesion in thechaos.Isawdaemons,abilliondaemons,atrilliondaemonsridingandleapingand melting out of the warp-matter to burst – laughing, howling, clawing –againstourwarships’hulls.ISKANDAR.Iopenedmyeyestomylord’sfaceoncemore.Sparkssprayedelsewhereacrossthe command deck. I could smell burning fur and sizzling blood. Beastmencawedandcroakedandbrayedandbellowedanddied.Somanyof themweredying.‘Stop the ship,’ I said, and though therewasnohopeofhearingmeover thethunder,Abaddonreadmylips.Isit them?hesent intomymind, fierceasa lance through theskull. I tensedandsoughttobackawayfromhim,butheheldmeinplace.ThetruthwasthatIdidnotknow.Was thisamoveby theGods in theirGreatGame?Noonecanknowsuchthingswithcertainty.ButIknowwhatIsensedoutsidetheship.It is us, I sent back.Aswe push, the storm pushes back.We push harder, itanswerswiththunderandacidandpain.Stoptheship.Stopthefleet.Abaddonreleasedmeandturnedtotheoculusoncemore.Fury,absoluteinitsintensity,blackenedhisfeatures.‘Thefleet…’Ultiobegan,andsheneededtosaynomore.Theoculusfinishedherthought,showingtheshapesofourarmadashrinking,fallingbehind,severalmore shaking beyond tolerance and beginning to shatter, others engulfedwithwrappingshroudsofwarpenergy.The Vengeful Spirit gave its most savage heave yet, throwing half of thecommandcrewtothedeck.Severalcrewstationsdetonatedthroughtheir linkstosufferingpressurepointselsewhereaboardtheship.‘TheBloodKnight,’Ultiocalledout,andhervoicebecameamessymergingofwarshipnamesastheyfelloutofformationingrotesqueandswiftdisorder.‘TheWhiteSigil,theHammerofSarthas,theHaloofBlades,the–’Abaddon screamed. It was a wordless cry of raw emotion, the roar of a

thwartedkingwithoutthepowertoprotecthiscrumblingkingdom.Ragelacedthatcry,asonewouldsurelyexpect,buttherewasalsofrustration–frustrationthatotherscouldnotprovidewhatheneededofthem,andvexationthathisplanswerebeingsweptasidebythehandsofpathetic,accursedGodsatthislatestofhours.‘Allstop!’Everywarriorandcrewmembernotactivelyengagedinkeepingtheshipheldtogetherturnedtohim.Ashur-Kaiwasdownononekneenow,teethbaredintoaninvisiblegale,hisskinlaceratedwithathousandcutsthatwepttinytricklesofblood.‘I…cangetusthrough…’hewheezedacrossthevox.Hislungssoundedfulloffluid,mostlikelyblood.Thewarpwascuttinghimtopiecesalongwiththeship.‘Allstop!’Abaddonroaredasecondtime.‘Lord…Ican…’Abaddon ignored him, his blazing gaze locked on the Anamnesis in hersuspensiontank.Hisvoicewasinaudibleoverthecrashing,shakingbridge.AllIsawwashismouthmoving.‘Ultio.Signalthefleet.Allstop,allstop.’The protesting, failing shipwas riven by new thunder as the engines bankedandtheretrosbawledintolife.Theshaking,thatheavingwrenchofabusediron,slowlybegantoabate.Iwatchedtheoculus’compound-eyeviewoftheshipsinourarmadaastheyslowedinourwake.Theravagingwarptideseasedaroundthem.Ittooktimetoslowdown,forourthrusterstobringeverythingintobalanceandfor thewarp’s angry tides to finally settle.Awarship isnever silent, nor eventrulyquiet.Plasmareactorskilometresawaysendtheirlivingmurmursthrougheveryinchofmetal.Crewspeak,curse,breathe,shift.Powerarmourhumsasitidles and snarlswhen itswearersmove. TheVengeful Spirit’s command deckwaslouderthanmost,withthesizeofitscrewandtheAnamnesis’life-supporttankwithallitsticking,clickingancillarycognition-machines.The fleet clustered around us, drawing in close the way a pack of beastsapproachesitsalphawiththeirthroatsshowinginsubmission.Abaddonwatchedthemdriftingintoformation,sayingnothing.Icouldsensetheswiftcycleofhisthoughtsbutcoulddiscernnoneoftheirmeaning.‘Allstop,’Ultiocalledafterwhatfeltlikeanage.Ilookedacrossthebridge,atthewoundedandthedead,atthesmokyaftermathofourfailure.Wehadfailed.Weweretrapped.

Ashur-Kai descended from his platform, boots thudding on the gantry stairs,and knelt beforeAbaddon.He looked destroyed by his futile efforts, his eyesclosed,bloodscabbingacross thehostofpsy-stigmata lacerations thatcoveredhisfaceandthroat.‘Itried,Ezekyle.’BloodspatteredtothedeckbyAbaddon’sboots,spilledfromAshur-Kai’scuttongue.Thewarphadwoundedhimeventhere.‘Itried.’Therehadbeentimesbefore this–andtherewouldbemoretocome–whenAbaddon punished failure by execution. Sometimes, I must admit, these actsweredeliveredoutofunrestrainedanger,butmoreoftenasactsofcalculatedandprecisemercilessness.Tosetexamples.Toestablishboundaries.Tospreadfear,asall tyrantsandwarlordsandkingshavedone,sincetimebeganandthefirstmenandwomenruledtheirbrothersandsisters.Buthe isnotwithout forgiveness.Heknowswhenadefeatwas unavoidable.Thatdistantday,asourarmadasatbecalmedintheseasofmadness,hebarelyeven looked down at Ashur-Kai before resting a hand on the other warrior’spauldronandliftingthesorcerertohisfeet.‘Youcannotfightfate,brother.Butyoudidwelltotry.’Thatchoiceofwordsrekindledlifeinthesorcerer’sredeyes.Shame,yes,butlifeaswell–somethingdangerouslyclosetohope.‘Isthatwhatyoubelievethiswas?’heaskedAbaddon.‘Fate?’ItwasMoriana,aninsignificantwraithatAbaddon’sside,whodrewmyeye.Ifeltmy irritation risewith thewayshestood inAbaddon’s shadow,whereshealoneseemedunbroken.Defeatsettledacrosstherestofuslikeacloak;Ashur-KaiandtheAnamnesiswererivenbywarp-stigmata,andbodiesofmutantslayacrossthebridge,yetshewasthelonesoulshowingnouneaseatourcontinuedimprisonment. She looked almost vindicated, as if this outcome had been asuspicionofherssincewebroughtheraboardallthoseweeksbefore,andhereitfinallystoodconfirmed.‘Greatness requiressacrifice.’She lookedbetween thoseofusgathered there,one by one, until her gaze finally settled on Ashur-Kai. ‘It always requiressacrifice.Itisthewayofalllife.Itriedtotellyouthis,Ezekyle.’Heshruggedheroff,evidentlynotas inthrall toherwordsaswehadfeared.Shedrewbreathtopressherpoint.‘When the time comes, you cannot run from what must be done. Sacrificesmustalwaysbemade.’‘Be silent,’ I warned her. ‘Look around you, prophetess. See the frayingtempersanddefeatedheartsofthosenearby.Nowisnotthetimetoweavesmug

andmysticalallusionstothepreciousnessofhindsight.’Telemachon laughed softly behind his mask, though more in derision at myannoyance than agreement with it. Lheor gave Moriana a disgusted glancebeforejerkinghischintowardsAbaddon.‘Sonowwhat?’heasked.Thequestionhungintheairbetweenus.Noonehadananswer.Inthelong-agoAgeofSail,whenvesselsofwoodandclothrodetheoceansofTerraatthemercyofweatherandwind,therewerefewerfatesworsethanbeingbecalmed.Vesselswithoutthebreathofwindintheirsailsweredoomedtodriftintheocean,toofarfromlandforoarstobeanysalvation.Thatisthesituationwefoundourselvesin.Wewerebecalmed.Togoforwardswastodie,whiletogobackwastoabandonallhopeofafuture.Ifwecouldnotrevengeourselvesupon the Imperium,why then didwe band together in this new brotherhood?Whydidwestilldrawbreath?Perhaps you think us stubborn. Perhaps you believe we should have turnedaway and sailed back from whence we came, back to those daemon-worldfortresses and those savage blood-raids against our brethren. Perhaps it trulyseems that simple to you. But then, it would. You have never been free.Freedom, once tasted, cannot be so easily forgotten. Life in the Eye was anexistence of hellish, endless battle in the underworld. It has always been ourprisonandourcrucibleasmuchasoursanctuary.Yettherewesat,motionlessinthewarp-touchedvoid.ThereontheveryedgeoftheEye,wetookstockofourlosses.Sevenwarshipslostwithallhands.Fivetimesthatnumberdamaged,somegrievously.Thousandsoflegionariesgone,tosaynothingofthemortalandmutantcrews,orthepricelessarsenalsofwargear,gunshipsandbattletanksalsofallenawayintooblivion.In that long-ago era, before we had conceived of the Crimson Path, beforeAbaddonweariedofCadiaandwipeditfromexistencelikeexcrementfromhisboot,theonlyreliablerouteoutoftheGreatEyewastheso-calledCadianGate.There,realitycutadeepgougeintoEyespaceandsoothedtheseethingtides.YetarouteoutoftheEyeisuselessifitcannotevenbereachedinthefirstplace.TheworstaspectwasthatnoneofushadananswertoLheor’squestion.Noneofusknewwhatwecoulddotofreethefleetfromthisethericstalemate.Theanswer,whenitcame,wasdeliveredintheformofdestruction.

Isensednothingofthefirstasteroid.Itwastooswiftforourstorm-compromisedauspex scanners to track.We only became aware of it when the troop barge

ScarredCrownblaredwarningcriesacrossthefleet-widevox-web,andbythenitwasalreadytoolatetodoanything.TheScarredCrownwasalreadydying,itsdiminishedwreckagerollingandtumblingthroughspace.Theasteroidthathadslainithadshatteredintheimpact–Iwatchedaspreadofhugerocks,eachonestreamingfirelikeacomet’stail,scatteringintothemistyvoidofEyespace.Ultioclosedhereyes,pressingahandtohertemple.‘I…’Shegotnofurther.Anotherasteroidspearedthroughthefleet,thistimekillingtheOath of Kniveswith a heart strike, bursting the cruiser’s void shields anddrivingthroughitscore,triggeringaterminalunleashingofplasmathatinstantlyannihilatedtheentiresuperstructure.Ultio turned in her blood-streaked fluid tank, hands tensing once more intoclaws.‘Translationsignatures,’shecalledout.Andthen,withhereyeswidening,‘Brace,brace.’Theenginesfired,theship’smanoeuvringthrustersignitingalongitsstarboardside.EverysinglesoulaboardtheVengefulSpiritwasthrowntothedeckastheshipmovedfromallstopintoahardbanking,rollingturn,thevesselprotestingatthepressuresputuponitshull.The third asteroid still hit us. All power failed in the wake of that world-shaking crash; it took several seconds to reactivate, during which time weexistedinashaking,thrashingrealmofabsoluteblackness.Whentheilluminationglobesflaredbacktolife,theycasttheirlightoverUltioin her suspension chamber, psy-stigmatic bruises blackening the flesh of herbackandshoulders.Bloodtrailedfromherlefteye,threadingintotheamnioticfluid.‘Relightingvoids,’shemouthedashergargoylesdeclaredthewordsaloud.Theshipstabilised,slowinginitsroll.‘Relightingvoids.Seeking.Seeking.’On theoculus,viewsofEyespaceclicked throughmagnificationfiltersas theAnamnesisfollowedtheasteroids’trajectoriesbacktotheirorigins.At first I thought we were witnessing our armada’s shadow cast across theswirlingmistsofEyespace.IrealisedmyerrorwhenIsawthevesselsmoving,andmorewarshipspenetratingthehazefollowingbehindthem.‘Shieldfailure,’Ultiocalledout.‘Iamunabletorekindlethevoids.’Abaddonwatchedfromhiscentraldais,eyesgleamingwithviciouscaptivation.‘Ultio,signalthefleettoformadefensivesphere.Allwarshipsaretoprotectthesupplyrunnersandtroopbarges.Runouttheguns.Allhands,prepareforbattle.’‘Anotherprojectile,’shewarned.‘Destroyit.’

She tried, but shewaswounded from the storm and too few of theVengefulSpirit’s weapons were ready to fire. No matter how swiftly her gestalt mindoperated,thecalculationsforvoidbattleatsuchinsanerangesrequiredtimeandprecision.Wehadtheluxuryofneither.Torpedoes sluiced from their chambers, silently cutting themistydarknessofspace.Severalimpactedonthesurfaceoftheinboundhunkofplanetaryrockbutmostwentwide,runningharmlesslyonwards.ThefrigateSkiesofWrathwasalreadymoving,rollingasidefromthepathofitsoncomingdoom.Theasteroidhurtledpast,illuminatingtheship’svoidsasitcamewithinsparkingdistanceofthevessel’sbelly.Aroundme, the command deck had broken into amiasma of activity. Crewshoutedandracedbetweenstations.Legionariesdemandedanswers.Machinerythrummed and clanked. But I was watching the oculus, ignoring the jostles Ireceivedfromstandingintheway.IwatchedthelastasteroidspinningawayintospaceaftermissingtheSkiesofWrath. They were more than mere dead rock. They echoed with familiarwhispers,familiarcries,asthoughtheasteroidswerealive–orhadoncebeen.Theotherfleetapproachedfromthestorm,sailingfarcalmer tides than thosewehadendured.Whateverforceshadoppressedusofferednosuchresistancetothese newcomers. They lingered at the very edge of our firing solutions, at adistancenotonlyinvisibletothenakedeyebutrequiringintensivecalculationtoevenlockweapons.Onlytheirweaponisedmeteorscouldreachus.Moreofthemstreamedthroughour spreading formations, butwith our shipsmoving, therewas no chance ofstrikingat sucha rangewithunguidedprojectiles.OnlyourowncomplacencyandpoorluckhadallowedthedeathsoftheScarredCrownandOathofKnives.Oneoftheleadbattleshipsignitedwithaprocessionofsuccessivelightsalongits backbone. Not damage, but a harnessing and release of energy. Anothermeteorburstforthfrombeneaththevessel’shull.‘They’reusingmassdrivers,’Isaid.Ilyaster, pale and parched as ever, stared at the oculuswith his sunken gaze.Wearing our Legion’s black only highlighted his emaciation and cadaverouspallor.Hesparedmearheumy,unhealthyglancethatstillblazedwithlife.‘Butwhy?’heasked.Ihadnoidea.‘Theyarenotevenaiming,’Ireplied.Thenextasteroidspearedpastus,partingthemistymatterofEyespace.Ifeltitagain,thatmurmuroffamiliarvoices.

Ceraxiastalkedclosertome,herbladedlegsclank-clank-clankingonthedeck.Thedimlightofbattlestationscastherhoodedfeaturesintoabsoluteblackness.AllIcouldseeofherfacewasthefaintestglintofftheedgeofoneeye-lens.‘Yousensesomething,’sheaccusedme.‘Thoseasteroids.Theysoundlike…Theyfeellike…’LikeMaeleum.ThesamewhispersIhadheardonthatdeadworld.Thesamechorusesofghosts.‘Bloodof theGods,’ I swore, turningandascendingAbbadon’sdais.Hewaswatching another fusillade of vast rocks slash past us. ‘Ezekyle. Thoseasteroids.’‘Theirmassdriverswon’thitusatthisrange.Notnowwe’rereadyforthem.’Iwavedhisreassuranceaside.‘Thosearen’tjustvoidrocks.They’veshatteredthegraveworld.They’rethrowingMaeleumatus.’Abaddonspatacurse.‘ThagusDaravek.’Icouldonlyagree.Leavingourdominionbehindhadmeantsailingfarfromthereachofourastropathicrelaysand telemetrybeacons.Theforceswehadlefttogarrisonourterritorywerepulledtighttothemostcriticalregions,withskeletonfleetsandwarhostsaroundourprimaryfortresses,leavingtherestofourdomainattheriskofinvasion.Weknewthiswasarisk.Weaccepteditasnecessary.Andthus,wehadnoconceptionofwhatwastranspiringinourabsence.ForallofoursuspicionsthatDaravekmightpursueus,wehadnowayofknowingwhatformthatpursuitwouldtake.Nowwedid.Daravekhad levelledMaeleum fromorbit, andwashurling theplanet’sbonesafterus.‘Asinsultsgo,’Abaddonadmittedthroughclenchedteeth,‘Ialmostadmirethebastard.’HecalleduptotheAnamnesisinhercontainmentchamber.‘Ultio,canwekillthatfleet?’Shehadalreadyprocessedamultitudeofestimatesandprobabilities.‘Yes,’shereplied, watching the motionless armada that faced us. ‘Casualties will becatastrophiconbothsidesbut…Yes.Wecankillthem.’Abaddonstaredattheoculus,thesamecalculationsfiringbehindhisnarrowedeyes. ‘Daravek can’t intend to fight here.’ He spoke of the storm’s instabilityaroundus,butalso, I suspect, the fact thatour fleetswere soevenlymatched.Forcingtheissueherewouldbedefinitive,butpracticallysuicidal.‘They have nothing that can match the Spirit,’ Telemachon urged as heappearedatAbaddon’sside.‘Weshouldfight.’‘And if theycripplehalfofour fleetwhilewe’rebeating them?’ I countered.

‘YouatethatTemplar’sbrain,thesameasIdid.YouknowwhatliesbeyondtheEye’sborders.Wecannotaffordtolimpourwayoutofherewiththerealbattleyettocome.’The decision was stolen from us when the Anamnesis laughed, the soundresonatingintinnymajestyfromherdamagedvox-gargoyles.Shetwistedinherblood-streaked fluid, her laughter bitter anddark.Amoment later, voices rosefromthecrewconsolesresponsibleforthevox-array.‘Theyarehailingus,’Ultiocalledoutoveroneofthehumanofficerssayingthesamething.‘Daravekwishestomeetonneutralground.’Abaddonaddedhislaughtertothetempestofamusementalreadytakingholdofthebridge.‘Andwhattermsdoesheofferforthistruce?’Thecommunicationsofficerinhistatteredfineryreplied,stillholdingonehandtohisearpiece.‘Youandhim,LordAbaddon.Eachmaybringtenwarriors.Youmaychoosetheneutralgrounduponwhichtomeet.’Ezekylewasstillchuckling. ‘TellhimIdonotneed tenwarriors. InformhimthatIwillbringthree.’‘Yes,LordAbaddon.’Abaddonturnedamusedeyesbacktome.‘Issomethingamiss,Khayon?’‘Threewarriors?’Iasked.Mydisapprovingtonespokeforme.‘IamLordoftheBlackLegion,’hesaid,anditwasthefirsttimeIeverheardhimspeak thosewords,namingusasourenemiesnamedus. ‘Noonedictatestermstome.Letthecowardbringhistenforprotection.Iwillbringthree,andwewillsmilethroughouthistawdrytruce.’He bared his filed teeth in the ugliest of grins. ‘And if the chance arises,Khayon,Iwantyoutokillhim.’

AGARDENOFBONESTherewerenoworlds nearby to use as neutral ground.At least, none thatwecould reach from where we were becalmed in the heart of the storm. It wasNefertariwhogifteduswithanidea.Shecametous,withAshur-Kaiatherside.They approached the rest of the Ezekarion as we stood around the stellar-cartography hololith presenting its unreliable imagery of the flux of nearbyEyespace.Ashur-Kai spoke first, his voice softer since he had sustained the host ofpsychicstigmatawoundsthathadhealedscabbilyacrosshisfeatures.Fromhisdiscomfitedmovementsand the ripplesofpain radiating fromhis thoughts,hewaswoundedwithin his armour, not just on his face. Injuries of psy-stigmataandwarafflictionarewoundstothesoulasmuchastothemindandbody.Theyare notoriously agonising, enough to drive unaugmented humans far beyondreason.Worsestill,Isuspectedthatthelacerationstohisfleshweremirroredonhismusclesandinternalorgans.Hewasfortunatetostillbealive.‘Thealien,’hesaidwithhistypicaldistantpoliteness,‘hasanidea.’‘Taial’shara,’ shesaid.Andshegesturedat thehololith, toapatchofshiftingEyespacedevoidofplanetormoonorsun.‘Tulshery?’Lheorgrunted.Hehadneverdeemed itnecessary to learnanyoftheeldartongues.‘There’snothingthere.’‘Taial’shara,’Telemachoncorrectedhim,murmuringwithnosmallreverence.Nefertari closed her eyes for amoment – an eldar gesture of agreement andtrust–atTelemachon’sperfectpronunciation.‘ItwasslainintheexodusbegunwiththebirthofSheWhoThirsts,’theeldarcontinued.‘Youneedsomewheretomeetyourfoes?There liesCraftworldTaial’shara, itsbonescold in the taintednight.Useitsgraveforyourneutralground.’Abaddon spoke through a fanged smile. The idea seemed to appeal to him.‘Canwereachit,Ashur-Kai?’‘Ibelieveso,lord.’

Andsoitwasdecided.Abaddonwas true tohisword, takingonly threewarriors.Arguably the threemostcalculatedtochallengeDaravek’stemper.Wearrivedfirst,atAbaddon’schoice.Aroundusrosethe shatteredarchesandbrokendomesofwraithbonearchitecture,absentoftheusualpsychicthrummingthat teased the senses in the presence of the alien material. As Nefertari hadpromised, Taial’shara was dead. Even daemons left it alone. Every shred ofnourishment had been sucked clean from its husk, down to the plaintivewhispersofitsghosts.Allwascold.Allwassilent.Have you ever walked through the deep-void palaces and spires of an eldarcraftworld?Theydefyeasyimagining.Eachcraftworldisanartificialcity,bornthroughalieningenuityandpushedout tosail thedarkheavenslikea liferaft.Theyareconstructedofpsychicallyresonantwraithboneandshieldedagainstthetouch of space. Domes are given over to habitation, others to inhumanhydroponicsandagricultural cultivation,others to theeldar’smany templesofwar.Everycraftworldishometoadifferenteldarculture,eachrealmitsownuniquejewelinthenight.Taial’shara,likesomanyothers,didnotescapethedeathofthespeciesintime.AsitfledthebirthoftheYoungestGod,itwastornopenandsweptcleanoflife,trappedforeverwithinthegripoftheGreatEye.Aftersecuringthelandingarea,wegatheredtogethertowaitintheshadowofourgunship.ItsblackhullshowedthegoldenEyeofHorussetintheheartoftheEightfold Path; a reminder of our origins in rebellion, set now amidst thepathwaysofthefuture.Abaddon came to me as I crouched by the edge of what had once been areflecting pool, doubtless where the eldar of this botanical garden oncemeditated. I tossed a broken chunk of wraithbone into the dry, empty pondwhereonly theashesofplantsremained.Thehankofcurvedbonedisturbedasmokycloudofgreypowder.‘Brother?’ he asked me. His good mood was holding. If there is one thingEzekyle has always loved, it is a challenge. He lives to test himself againstworthyfoes.‘Alliswell,’Iassuredhim,risingtomyfeet.Icastmygazeacrosstheshattereddome’s landscape. If I let my senses drift and my eyes unfocus, I could seewraithlyafter-imagesofthealienjunglerealmthathadoncethrivedhere.‘Iwasmerelythinking.’‘Thinkingofwhat?’

Igesturedtothewraithboneruins.‘Thisplace.Theserenityhere.Thesilence.Ittemptsme.’‘I’llneverunderstandyourfascinationwiththeeldar,’hesaid,thuddingahandagainstmyback-mountedpowerpackinfraternalwarmth.‘There is no mystery to it,’ I said sincerely. ‘They are a warning of whathappenswhenthePantheoncontrolsaspecies,asopposedtoaspeciesshowingcautioninitsdealingswiththedivine.’Littledid Iknowas I spoke thosewords just how familiarTaial’sharawouldbecometomeintime.Iwaspreachingtothechoir,ofcourse.Hissmiletoldmethat.Daravek and his cohort arrived in the fat-bellied mass of a Sykri-patternStormbird gunship, eclipsing our sleeker Thunderhawk.DeathGuard symbolsmarked its scored hull, and its turrets tracked us in a display of tedious,unnecessaryaggression.Weremainedstill,andifunsurpriseddisappointmentatneedlessposturingcouldbeweaponised, IbelieveAbaddon’ssighwouldhaveslaughteredtheStormbirdthereandthen,draggingitoutoftheair.He alone seemed at ease. Ilyaster and Telemachon, as dispassionate as theycouldbe,betrayed their tension in their stances.Formypart, I couldnot lookaway from the descending gunship, feeling the dread gaze of its cannons,suspecting Daravek would simply end the truce by taking this chance toeradicateus.Icouldshielduswithabarrieroftelekineticforce,butakineshieldwouldavailuslittleifthecraftworldcrumbledaroundus.The Stormbird’s landing claws crunched onto the wraithbone platform. Thegang-ramp slammed down, disgorging the eleven warriors we had beenexpecting.They came in a clash of colours – every one of the Nine Legions wasrepresented, even the Sons of Horus. I sensed Abaddon’s amusement sour toannoyanceat thesightof thatwarrior, thoughhe letnothingshowonhis face.Thebitternesswasfleeting;itseemedlittlecoulddampenhismoodofrighteousconfidence.Daravek led them.Eachwasawarlord inhisownright,butThagusDaravekheld their allegiance, either by willing oath or the servitude of thraldom. Hestrodeforwards,bootssendingcracksthroughthewraithbonefloor.TheGodshateusall–Ihavetoldyouthis–buttheycravedThagusDaravek’sattention. The warp murmured in the air around him, ripe with the spirits ofdiseaseandcreaturesofmutablefate,allofthemchitteringpromisesofgoldenfuturesandlifeeternalintotheirmaster’saura.

Hefurledhiswings tight tohisbody.Thosemutatedpinionswere surely tooweaktolifthimskywardsinallhisrot-crustedTerminatorregalia.Themetallicspinesthatthrustfromhisskinandbonealikeweresheenedwithbloodasthickanddarkasunrefinedpromethiumoil.HestoodoppositeAbaddon, the twoof themtenmetresapart.Onthegroundbetween thewarlordswasashatteredpictographofcolouredglass, itsoriginalartistrylongsincedestroyed,itsmeaninglongsincelost.Iconfess,therewassomethingkinglyaboutDaravekthatday.Abaddonlookedashealwayslooked:alordofwar,aleaderofmen,awarchief.Hewasoneofus,and firstamongequals.Daravekwassomethingmore, something thathelditselfabovethewarriorsheled.IntheEye,wherethoughtsbecomereality,onecouldalmostseethechainsofsubmissionfromthelegionaries’throats,boundtoDaravek’sclawedhands.Iwonderedwhatholdhehadovertheirsouls,whetheritwasalord’smasteryorsomethingdeeper.‘FirstCaptainAbaddonoftheSonsofHorus,’Daravekgreetedmybrother.Abaddon replied with a warm, sincere laugh at his rival’s choice of words.‘ThagusDaravek,LordofHosts.Wemeetatlast.’‘It is a change,’ Daravek allowed, ‘to face you, rather than your uselessassassin.’‘YouwouldhavefacedmelongbeforenowifyouwouldceasefleeingbeforemyarmieseachtimeIcometokillyou.’Daravekmadeashowofhisbleedinggums,whichmayormaynothavebeenasmile.‘IseeKhayonatyoursidenow,makingthisourseventhmeeting.Isthatnotso,Iskandar?’‘Sixth,’Icorrectedhim.Hegurgledhisamusement. ‘No,assassin. It is theseventh.AndtheMasquedPrinceishereaswell?I’mhonoured,TelemachonLyras.’Telemachon inclined his head in a respectful bow, but said nothing.Daravekturnedtothelastofourambassadorialparty.‘And, of course, I recognise my beloved brother Ilyaster.’ He had been toocannytoletangerdiscolourhisvoicesofar,butpoisonseepedintohistoneashefacedIlyaster.‘Howdoyoufare,traitor?’The former Death Guard performed a shallower bow than Telemachon, thejointsofhisblackenedwar-platesnarling.‘Iamwell,’hesaidwithagauntandvague smile. ‘Thank you for asking. Forgive me, but I did not bring yourceremonialscythe,lord.Itwasmelteddowntomakepisspotsformyslaves.’Tomyshame,Ihadtoforcemyselfnottoshowanyamusement,forIknewthis

tobetrue.Daravek licked his decaying teeth. ‘You did not deserve to wear the haloedskull,Ilyaster.IhopeyouweptasyoutorethesymbolsofyourtrueLegionfromyourarmour.’‘Fromshameandshadowrecast,’Ilyastersaid,rekindlingAbaddon’ssmile.‘Inblackandgoldreborn.’Daravek snorted. ‘Let me introduce my warriors,’ he said with undeniablecondescension.Heswepthishandacrossthegatheredlegionaries,butAbaddoninterruptedhimwithagrindingscrapeoftheTalon’sclawsclosingandopening.‘There’snoneed,’Abaddonreplied,‘forIdonotcarewhatnamesyourslavesbear.Youwishedtomeetandspeak,Daravek.Wehavemet.Nowspeak.’The Death Guard lord bristled, and one of his warriors stepped forwards,breakingtheirunevenranks.Heworethemismatchinggreen,blackandredoftheSonsofHorus’Reaverclans.‘Iamnoslave,’hespatatAbaddon. ‘IwearmyLegion’scolourswithpride,renegade.’Abaddon’s eyesnever leftDaravek. ‘Oneofyourdogs iswhining,Thagus. Ithoughtyouhadabetterleashontheirbehaviour.’Daravekorderedthewarriorbackintotherankswithacurtgesture.TheSonsofHoruslegionaryreluctantlyobeyed.‘Doyouwish toobserve the formalities beforewenegotiate?’Thagus asked.He spoke of the traditional duel between champions that many warbandsenjoyedbeforeabattleorbeforeattemptsatdiplomacy.Whenwarriorsgather,therewillalwaysbesuchcontests.Reputation iseverything tous. In theNineLegions,thereisnomorevaluablecurrencythanrenown.WhenIsailedalone,IusuallyallowedNefertaritodothehonours.Agreatmanymutantsandwarriorshadfallentoheralienblades.I had expected Abaddon to laugh at the idea, but he nodded once, his lipcurling.‘Byallmeans.Whowillstepforwardsfromthegatheringofheroesthatcowerinyourshadow?’Daravek’schampionsteppedforwardsatonce.Iknewhim–UlrechAnsontynwasoneoftheLordofHosts’morerenownedwarbandleaders,andevenbeforetherebellionagainsttheEmperor,hewasknownasagiftedbladesmanintheIVLegion.Thelightofthechokedstarsglintedfromhisfilthyceramite,asthoughproximitytoDaravekhadallowedthewarlord’sGods-givenblessingstospread.Hisvisorwasaslitofred,gleamingfromwithin.Ulrechdrewaplain,durablepowersword,thesamemetallichueashisarmour

plating. He saluted Telemachon with a sweep of the blade, and his voiceemergedthroughtheportcullisfaceplateofhiscrestedMarkIIIhelm.‘LonghaveIwishedtofacetheMasquedPrince.’Theotherwarriorsmurmuredamongstthemselves.Thispromisedtobeaduelfor the ages; even Ilyaster’s yellowed eyeswere litwith a fever that spoke ofdarkexcitement.Telemachon stepped forwards, as was expected of Abaddon’s champion. Nodeadlier fighter existedwithin the Black Legion. Hewas already drawing hisbladeswhenAbaddonliftedtheTalon,haltinghisadvance.‘I have no need to waste my finest warrior’s time,’ he said with viciousreasonableness.‘Telemachon,stayback,please.Khayon?’IbelieveIactuallyblinkedinsurprise.‘Mybrother?’AbaddonaimedtheTalonatthetoweringformofUlrechAnsontyn.‘Killhim.’Ihesitated,andthattriggeredgutturallaughterfromthewarriorsopposingus.Telemachonmurmuredbeneathhisbreath,someunknownsoundofdispleasure.Hewantedthisfight.Iwasinclinedtolethimtakeit,butmylordhadspoken.‘Asyouwish,’IrepliedwithfarmoreconfidencethanIfelt.‘Nosorcery,’Daravekcalledoutwithabladedgrin.‘Thisisamatterforswordstosettle.’Abaddongavealazygestureofagreement,andindoingso,Iwassurehehadkilledme.I stepped forwards, drawingSacramentum, letting its silver length turnvioletbeneaththestorm’staintedlight.WhenIreturnedUlrech’ssalute,heremainedsilent.Daravek spoke as the two of us drew close. ‘Ansontyn has killed thirty-onewarriorsinsinglecombat.Howmanyhaveyouslainintheseduels,assassin?’‘Three,’Ireplied.ThiscausedfreshlaughterfromtheranksatDaravek’sside.Ulrechheldhisbladeat the ready.Theclawsofunformeddaemonscaressedacross his armour plating, where brass icons of skulled faces stared cold andeyeless.Spiritsofpainringedhisownskullinacrownofbleaklight.Hisvoicewasapealofthunder.‘IdedicateyourdeathtotheGodofBloodandBattle.’Ihadthoughthemightsaythat.Hedidnotwait tosee if Ihadasimilarbenediction;heattackedatonce,hisswordflaringtolifeandcuttingtheairwiththewaspishbuzzofitspowerfield.Sacramentum snapped to life with a much smoother purr, a testament to theartisanshipofitscreation.

Mostchampions,likeNefertariandTelemachon,areconsummatelytalentedinsinglecombat.Theyareduellistsasmuchaswarriors–oftenmoreso–devotingtheirlivesandsoulstothepursuitofperfectionintheartoffightingasinglefoe.Ihadexpected the first exchangesofmyduelwithUlrech to follow the samepattern: focusingon learning,not immediately seeking tokill.Wewould tradeblows,studythepositioningofoneanother’sbodies,ascertainwhatschoolsofbladeworkwepreferredandmeasure the flowand feelof the fight.Thiswashowmostduelsbegan,whereexpertiseandskillmatteredfarmorethanin thegrindingcrashofwar.Thoughsomeduellistsmaynotadmitit,italsoallowsthemuscles to warm, the blood to flow and the adrenal narcotics in our armoursystemstofloodthrough,buyingtimeforacombatanttoimmersehimselfinthefight.Ulrech had other ideas. He considered himself far above me in terms ofswordsmanship,orelsebelievedhecouldkillmewhilehisbloodwasstillcold,forheadvancedatonce,layingintomewithasuccessionofblowsthatIbarelyblockedwiththeflatofmypricelesssword.I gave ground with each parry. Several of Daravek’s warriors shouted theirapprovaltoseemeonthedefensivealready.Theysuspectedaswiftendtothefight.TheThousandSonswereneverrenownedasthemostmartialofLegions,anditwasoftensaidwereliedtooheavilyonourpsychicgiftstowinwars.Therewasperhaps some truth to this accusation,butwewere individuallyno less skilfulthanourcousinsamongtheotherLegions,evenbefore taking intoaccount theyears of blood and battle sinceHorus’ rebellion.Wheremanywarriors foughtthroughinstinctandrote,weaddedascholarlyapproachtoduelling,withmentaltechniques of focus in tune with the meditative kata found among the morephilosophicalmartialarts.Theprinciplesofbalance,ofactionand reaction,ofhowtoleadanopponentintorevealingtheflawsoftheirtechniqueandhowtoavoid their lures in kind – all of these aspects of battle were drilled into ourconsciousnesses in the years of our training on Tizca and the warfare thatfollowed.Againstourmoresavageorrigorouslytrainedkindred,suchpersonaldisciplineevenedtheodds.SoIwascalminthefaceofUlrech’soverwhelmingforce–atleastoutwardly.SuchwasthepowerandspeedofhisblowsthatIstruggledtomaintainmybattlefocus. I imagined Telemachon watching, disgusted with my performance. IimaginedAbaddon’seyesonme,unblinkingintheirjudgement.Iwasnolongerunsureofhismotives–certain,instead,thathehadcommittedmetothisfightin

ordertoseemedie.Therewardsofmyfailures,reapedatlast.Andhowaptthatitwouldbe beforeDaravekhimself, andbrought about by theLordofHosts’ownchampion.Ulrechdrewfirstblood.Hetookadvantageofapoordeflectiontoriskacuttomytorso,carvingaslashingravineacrossmybreastplate.Thecheersfromhisbrethrenredoubled.Focus,Iwarnedmyself.Ourbladesmet,lockedclosetothehilts.WewerecloseenoughformetoseethereflectionofmyblackbattleplateinthefilthysilverofUlrech’sceramite.‘Whydoyoustandwithhim?’IaskedtheIronWarrior,seekinganyhesitationinhismovements.Therewasnone.‘WhydoyoustandwithDaravek?’Ulrechheldthelockforamomentuntilwebothdisengaged,steppingbackasone.‘Abaddonisnolessatyrant,’wastheswordsman’scurtreply.Ididnotarguethatpoint.Ourbladesclashedinaseriesofswingsandparries;Irefused to give ground now, deflecting what I could andweaving aside fromwhat I could not. We were only metres away from my brothers. There wasnowherelefttogo.Ulrechwas not as silent as I had suspected – he spoke as our blades’ powerfieldsrepelledoneanotherwithsnarlsofabusedenergy.‘WhydidyouabandonyourLegion?’I confess, the question surprised me. ‘To escape the shadows of our failedfathers,’Isaid.‘Fromshameandshadowrecast.Inblackandgoldreborn.’‘ThebattlecryofafalseLegion,’Ulrechgrunted.‘Thebattlecryofanewway.Anewwar.’‘Youcannotoutrunshame,’thetersewarriorgrowled.‘Thosewhodonotlearnfromthepast,’Icountered,‘arecondemnedtorepeatit.’We crossed blades again and again, neither of us managing to score secondblood.Iwasgettingthemeasureofhisswordplay,whichwasatworstmasterfuland at best exquisite.Telemachonmighthavebeatenhimbynow. Itwas all Icoulddotomaintainthedeadlock.‘I’mgrowingbored,Khayon,’Abaddoncalledtome.‘Endit.’BloodoftheGods,butIwastrying.Ifeintedwithacarvingslashthatbecameathroat thrust when Ulrech took the bait, only to have Sacramentum’s bladehammeredasidewhentheIronWarriorinstantlyrecovered.‘Maeleum,’ Abaddon said to Daravek, across the duel. I refused to let theirwordsdistractme.‘Thatwasaninspiredpieceofspite.’

Daravek’s immense wings rippled, wafting us with a breeze of charcoal-stinkingair.‘MaeleumwastheleastoftheinsultsIinflicteduponyourdomain,Ezekyle.’Abaddonnolongersoundedamused.‘Isthatso.’Daravek began to list his roll of the discord and dishonour his forces hadinflicteduponus.FortheweeksithadtakenustosailtotheEye’sedge,monthshad passed for the Lord of Hosts’ armada. They had rampaged through ourterritory,bringingruintoourgarrisons,rainingdestructionuponourfortresses.Daravek related it all, battle by battle and fall by fall, in meticulous andlasciviousdetail.UlrechandIpunctuatedthewarlord’sdelightedscreedwiththethrum and crash of active power fields, our duel continuing throughout therecitation.Alegionaryisatranshumanconstruct,buthumanitystillformsourcores.Wearenotcreatedwithoutflaws,andtheindividualmotionsofabattleoraduelarenotalwayseasytorecall,eventooureideticmemories.Thisisbecauseofthatmost unstable of elements: emotion. Anger especially can cloud a warrior’sotherwiseclearrecollection,stainingmemoryred,bathingitinfeverishheat.With every word that left Daravek’s mutated mouth, I found it harder tomaintain my duellist’s meditation. My focus began to slip. I started catchingUlrech’sblowsoninstinctasmuchasbyobservanceofhispostureorpredictionbased on his muscle movements. Worse, I felt the insipid creep of uneaseneedlingitswaythroughmymind–aphysicalsensation,colddownmyspine.MymeditativeprincipleswerethebestchanceIhadatsurvivingthisfight,andAbaddon, curse him, had invited Daravek to speak his venom at the worstpossiblemoment.On and onwent the recitation of inflicted pain.Maeleum savaged by orbitalbombardment,whole tectonicchunksof theworldbrokenfreeand loaded intohis fleet’s mass drivers. We considered the grave world useless, but thesymbolismintheactcouldnotbeignored.Andworsewasyettocome.ThreeofourwarshipsnowsailedwithDaravek’sarmada,takenasplunderinbattle, their defenders overwhelmed and their surviving crews enslaved to thewhips ofDaravek’s overseers. The otherswere destroyed or lost inEyespace,drivenawayfromtheregionstheyhadsworntoprotect.Hostageshadbeen takenfromthewarshipSongofWrath, the flagshipof themodest fleet we had left to watch over our territory. Its commander, RanegarCoval,wasoneofthosecaptured.I knew Coval well. A former Sons of Horus legionary and lieutenant to

FleetmasterValicar,hewasasternandintuitivepresence,addinghismeasured,aggressivewisdomtoValicar’scold,defensivecalculations.Daravek’smenhadpeeledhimfromhisarmourwithmininglasers,boundhimwithchainsbetweentwoLandRaidersandtornhimapart.Whilehestilllived,torn in two, theyhadfedhimto thedaemon-houndsshackled to thecommandthroneaboardDaravek’sflagship.Otherfatesforourwarriorswerenolessdishonourable.Crippledandwounded,some were lowered into vats of industrial acid; others were slowly crushedbeneaththeslow-rollingtreadsofbattletankswhilepacksofDaravek’smutantslaveslookedonandjeered.The final insult came when Daravek gestured one of his warriors forwards,almosttotheedgeoftheduel.TheWorldEaterdroppedastinkingblackcloakontothewraithbonefloor.AtonceIwasstruckbythereekofpissfromthedarkcloth, the stench old and rank and sour. TheWorld Eater kicked the cloak tounrollit–Ionlyheardithappen,asIcouldnotsparetheattentiontolook–butthereactionfrommybrotherstoldmethetruthaseasilyasmyeyeswouldhave.Abaddonexhaledaferalbreath.Ilyaster’sarmourjointsgrowledastheytensed.EvenTelemachonmurmuredasibilanthiss,theclosesthecametoshowinghisdispleasure.The next time I disengaged fromUlrech I dared to steal a glance, and sureenough,Ihadguessedright.Theclothwasnotacloakatall.TheslittedEyeofHorus, set in the sunburst yellow of the Eightfold Path, stared open, stained,fromthemiddleofthecloth.Theclothhadwrappedahandfulofbones,stillreddenedwithbloodmarksandstringy with ligaments, marked with the engravings of fangs where they hadbeengnawed.ThebanneroftheBlackLegion.Theyhadhadtakenoneofourbanners,useditasafuneralshroudforRanegarCoval’sdaemon-chewedbonesandthenlettheirslavehordessoakitwithstreamsoftaintedpiss.Screamingmarred the duel now.Throaty,wrathful roars that I didn’t realise,untilIranoutofbreath,wererisingfrommythroat.Allserenityandmeditativethoughtwaslost,replacedbyaredfocus.IadvancedonUlrech,layingmyentireweight into every blow. Sparks sprayed from protesting power fields. Theyshrieked togetherwith the abuse of every clashing parry. I rained two-handedblowsagainsthim,fasterthanIcouldeverrecallfighting,fasterthanIbelieveIhaveevermovedsince.Hebeatmyguardseveraltimes,forIfoughtwithalmostnoguardatall.Yethe

failed to landany truewounds; every timehisblade scoredmybattleplate,hewasforcedtopullbackanddefendhimselfagain.IknewIcouldnotwin.Ididnotcare.EvenwhenIhadhimonthedefensive,hewasabetter,fasterfighterthanme.Hegaveground,blockinganddeflectinginsteadofriskinganyattack,butIcouldnotbreakhisguarddown.Istilldidnotcare.Roaring,my senses chokedby thewaste-stinkof our defiledbanner andmy brother’s bloodstained bones, I attacked without thought of the wounds Iwouldtake.Iwantedblood.Iwantedtosteallife,asithadbeenstolen.Iwantedrevenge.This isvindicta.This iswhat I speakofwhen I say it fuels thehearts of theBlack Legion’s warriors, when I say it beats with the blood in our veins.Revengeatanycost.Vengeancenomatterwhat.There was no revelation of truth suddenly burning in my mind, no flash ofbleak clarity that dispersed the red fury. Later, Telemachon would offer hisblademaster’sperspective– that theonlyway I couldwinwas tonot care if Ilost.Allcombatantsstillseektoprotectthemselveseveninthebloodiestheatofbattle.EventheWorldEaters,whentheNailsbiteintotheirbrains,willdefendthemselvesoninstinctandthroughtheblessingsofgladiatorialmusclememory.That day, against Ulrech, I abandoned all efforts to survive.Vindicta flowedthroughmyskullinsteadofrationalthought.Igavehimmyarm.Willingly, as a sacrifice to slowhis blade. It happened in a hundredth of thetime it takes to retell.Abackhandedblow tobatter his sword aside.A flaringburstofapowerfield.Asonicboomthatthunder-crackedmyforearm.Ithrustforwardsintheverysamesecond.IwillneverforgetthesickeasewithwhichSacramentumslid in– itshiltkissing theshatteredceramiteofUlrech’schest–northeagonisedflexionofhisentirebodyasItwistedthebladewhereitwasburiedinsidehisprimaryheart.IpulledSacramentumfreewithasweepingyank,annihilatingatleastoneofhisthreelungsonthewaybackout.Bloodsizzled,evaporatingonmyblade’sedge.Iwasalreadymoving,bringingSacramentum down on Ulrech’s sword arm, shattering his fist and the powergeneratorintheblade’sgrip.Onthebackswing,Ihammeredmybladeintohisside,where it cut deep and stuck fast.Hehad staggered away, ruining ablowthat would have severed him at the waist, but he was slowed by his internalinjuries.IkeptmygriponSacramentum,steppedcloseranddraggedthebladefree,mybootthuddingintoUlrech’sshatteredbreastplateforleverage.IbackedawayfromtheIronWarriorwho,damnhim,stillrefusedtofall.One-

handed, his organs doubtless aflame with pain and threatening to ceasefunctioning,hestillrefusedtoyield.Hewatched,wheezingthroughhishelm’sgrille,lookingbetweenmeandhisfallen,brokensword.Fireignitedalongmyleftarm.Painsuppressantssquirtedintomybloodstream,andIflinchedatthesightofmyarmendedattheelbow.Thestumpofceramitespatacoupleofsparksanddrippedtreaclybloodasthewoundalreadybegantoseal. I had never beenmutilated before. I could not rectifywhat Iwas seeingwith reality, not even when I saw my hand and forearm on the ground, thearmourplatingshattered.IwantedtofinishUlrech.Iwantednothingmorethantotakehisheadandholdithigh,cryingoutmytriumphtothemadGodsthatwatchedoverus.Icouldfeelthewarp itselfwanting thesame fate,asunseenwindscarried thewhispersofdaemonswaitingtobebornfromthebarbaricact.But I loweredmy blade.Against every instinct, I lowered Sacramentum andforcedthewordsthroughmyraggedbreathing.Intheearliestdays,thiswasourway.Abaddon’s offer had to bemade. Itwas our Legion’s law,wheneverwefacedanopponentworthyofhearingit.‘Itisover,’ItoldUlrech.HeknewitaswellasIdid.‘ButIwouldhaveyouasabrother,UlrechAnsontyn.Fromshameandshadowrecast.Inblackandgoldreborn.’I felt Abaddon’s eyes on me. I had expected my lord to be furious afterDaravek’s insulting recitations of his desecrations against us, but the oppositewas true. Had his temper been a ruse? He was calm now, his aura tightlycontrolled,betrayingonlythefaintesthintofamusedpleasure.WhatdidItellyou,hesenttomesilently,thewordsrichwithpride.Youhadtorediscoveryourhatred,justasIsaid.IwaswatchingUlrech.‘Myofferissincere,’Isaidtohim.Anditwas,thoughIadmitthatIwantedhimtorefuse.Iwantedtokillhimforeverything he and the others of Daravek’s armada had done, but I knew thewordswere right themoment I spoke them. Iwould never be able to forgivehim,butIwouldtrusthisspiteandrageatmysideintheLongWar.His breath was a wheezing saw. It sounded like a chainsword choking oninferior fuel. Perhaps I had sundered two of his lungs and damaged the third,afterall.Ansontyntookasteptowardsme.Andtherehedied.Hishelmetedhead rolled to the side.His headlessbodydropped to its kneesand folded upon itself with that familiar, dull resonance of ceramite striking

ceramite.Behind the fallen corpse, Daravek swung his axe to the side, flicking bloodfromitsblade.Someofthosefleckslandedontheblackbanner,whichcanonlyhavebeenintentional.‘Youpettycreature,’IspatatDaravek.‘Khayon, it’sover.’Abaddonbeckonedmeback tohisside. I refused toheedhim.‘Youarenext,’IpromisedThagusDaravek.Thenumbthrobofmyamputatedarm was an irritating distraction. I concentrated, forcing the flesh to reknit,beginningtheprocessofregrowththatwouldtaketimeevenwithpsychicgifts.YetIlevelledmysword,pointingitstipatthewarlordwhomIhadfailedtokillsomanytimesbefore.‘Youarenext.’‘Theyshameyou,don’tthey?’heaskedincalmreply.‘Allofthosefailures.’He could readmy thoughts. Effortlessly.Never had Imet any other sorcerercapableofpiercingmymindwithoutmonumentaleffort,ifatall.‘Khayon,’Abaddoncalled,louderthistime,‘it’sover.’ButIwouldnotmove.‘What is it youwant from thismoment?’Daravekaskedme. ‘What is it youimaginemayhappen?Thatwithonlyonearm,youwillbestmebladetoblade?Thatyouwill bringyourmighty sorcery tobear againstmeanddragmy soulfrommybody?’Iadvancedonhim,stepbystep.Hiswarriorsreachedfortheirweapons,butIpaidthemnomind.AsnakedasIfeltwithoutNagualandNefertarihuntingatmy side, my blood sang with adrenal promise. I could kill him. I could killDaraveknow.Iknewit.Hewasgrinning, a slit of blackened teeth in a peeled-backmaw. ‘Kneel,’ hesaidtome.And Iknelt.Myknees slammedagainst thewraithbonegroundwithaneeriechime. It was not the pose of a warrior pledging service, but that of a slavebeforehismaster.Isensedmybrothers’shock,butitwasnothingcomparedtomyown.Ezekyle,Itriedtosendinwarning,butmysilentvoicewas strangled,chokedassurely as if thewarlord’shandswere atmy throat. I tried to rise, only to findmyself locked with muscle cramps, my lungs seizing, scarcely able to drawbreath.Daravek approachedme, burningwings shedding feathers of ash, his rottingheadhaloedinetherealmajesty.

‘Apologiseforthisunseemlydisplay,’hesaidinatoneofinfinitepatience.Iwillcarveyourheartfrom–‘Forgiveme,’Isaid.Mymouthhadmoved.Thewordshadspilledforth.‘Forgiveyouforwhat?’AbubbleofdarkfluidswelledandpoppedattheedgeofDaravek’smouth.I tried to stand. Instead,my throat vomited forthmore quiet, calmwords ofsurrender.‘Forgivemeforthisunseemlydisplay.’‘Well done.’ He licked his teeth, making a show of tasting the oily salivastringingbetweenhisfangs.‘I’dwondered,Khayon,ifyouwerehidingthetruthfromyourbrethren,fearfultheymightkillyouforit.ButIseetheignoranceinyoureyesnow,andIrealiseyouare hidingnothing.Yousimplydon’trememberDrolKheir.’TherewasnothingIcoulddoabouttheloathsomemockeryinhistone.‘Thereisnothingtoremember,’Ireplied, tryingandfailingtorisefrommyknees.‘Itwasabattlelikeanyother.’Hisgrinshedatreaclyspumeofpoisonedooze,andhesaidthewordsthathadirritatedmeforyears,wordsIhadheardahundredtimesandmore.‘IskandarKhayondiedatDrolKheir.’Thatstupidrumour.Nothingmorethanthekindoffalsewordofmouththatsooftentravelledbetweenwarbandsintheunreliablewindsofourhellishhaven.Whatevercontrolheheldoverme, itwaslooseenoughthenformetospeak.‘Youareafool,’Itoldhim.‘Iknowyoudied,Khayon,’Daravekpromised.‘Iwastheonetotearopenyourthroat.’The assault againstmymind camewithout warning, too fragmented to be amemory but too vivid to be psychic implantation. Images and momentsdescendeduponme,alloutofanydiscernibleorder–andbehindit,thestrangetouchofslow-dawningcomprehension.Running knee-deep in the polluted, hissing snowofDrolKheir.Blood sprayfleckingacrossthewhiteslush.(bloodmybloodthatismyblood)Bodies half-buried in the snow, rimed with frost the moment they fell.Alchemicalfogso thick it resembledmorningmist.Thescreamingofwarriorsandmutantsdrowninginthetoxicsmog.(dosomethingsorcerer)Thekickofmybolter.ThehammeringofdroppodsasAshur-Kai’sRubricaejoinedmine,theirarrivalshakingtheground.Thecrashofmyaxe

(SaerntheaxeofFenrisianforge-fires)againstarusted,corrodedcrescentofaweapon:Daravek’saxe.(IskandarKhayonwemeetatlast)Therushingofair(thecrackofceramite)anda feelingofweightlessness,of suffocation,ofeyessuckeddry,of fingersnumbedwithfrostbite,ofyourownskullweighinganimpossibleburden,of(youaremine,sonofMagnus)a pressure, like telekinesis but not physical, a pressure against the soul itselfandnotthebody.Thegroundnotjustshaking,butrattlingasthesuniseclipsedbytheshadowofanirongod.(Titansthegod-machineswalk)Thescreamingwhineofawar-horn,warningthosebeneathit.Theozonereek-tasteofovercharged,sufferingvoidshields.Therage-bornhowlofawolf.Therendingofsteelbeneathheavyfurandrazorfangs.(GyremywolfmylethalhuntresstornfrommedestroyedbyHorusReborn)Thesuctionofblood.Thelooseningofbone.Themincingofmeat.(where isNefertariwhy is she not here thiswas before she came to theEyebeforeshewasmyweapon)Andthen,attheedgeofthesensorysiege,thepatheticmercyofrelease(isthisnow)(isthisthen)The weakness and freedom of a puppet’s strings cut. The crash of ceramiteagainstwraithbone.I looked up at Daravek now, here on Taial’shara, and exhaled a breath thattastedofoldblood.‘Youcannotkillme,’hesaidwithsordidbenevolence.‘Youaremine,Khayon.I tore your throat open three centuries ago and ripped your soul from thewound.’Youlie,Iknifedthewordsathim.YOULIE.Hedeflectedthemwithnoeffortatall.‘Ihavenoneedtolie,littleslave.Reflectuponwhatyouhavelearnedthisday.Reflectuponjustwhomyouserve.’Iforcedmygazetotheother legionariesatDaravek’sside.Wasit true?Howmanyofthemweresoul-boundinthesameway?Daravekgesturedwithhisaxe.‘Nowgobacktoyourmaster,assassin.’IgaspedasIoncemorebecamethemasterofmyownbody.Mymuscleswere

inspasm,mynervesmisfiring,butIrosetomyfeetthrougharedhazeofpain,doingallIcouldtoshowIwasnotshakenbyhiseffortlesspuppeteeringofmybody.First I sheathed my blade over my shoulder. Then I ignited the defiled warbannerwithapsychickindling,burningittoashinthespanofthreeheartbeats.AndthenIpickedupUlrech’sirongreyhelm,tippedittodroptheseveredheadonto the wraithbone ground and took the helmet with me – a trophy, torememberthemoment.Yetmyheartswerepounding.Shamecoursed throughme, shameanddefeat.My failures were cast into stark relief now, and I think until that momentAbaddon had doubted my reports of the failed assassinations. It took theevidenceofhisowneyestoconvincehim.NowweknewwhyIhadfailed.NoneofmybrothersofferedcommentonmysupplicationasIreturnedtotheirranks.Telemachonedgedawayfromme,asifmyenthrallmenttoDaravekwereinfectious.Ilyasterappliedarmourcementtothestumpofmyarmafterthemostcursoryexamination; hewas a practical creature, and losing limbs is hardly critical intermsofalegionary’sinjuries.‘Didyouknow?’Iaskedhim.‘DidyouknowhekilledmeatDrolKheir?’Thewordsweremadnessinmymouth.‘Isiteventrue?’Icould see in Ilyaster’seyes thatheknewnothing.After seeingmekneelhebelieveditwastrue,butno,heknewnothingforcertaineitherway.TelemachonhadmetAbaddon’seyesfirst,hissilverfaceexpressionless,butIsensedhisslimymirthatmyweaknesssobrazenlyrevealed.HewoulddoubtlessspeakwithAbaddonalone–askingwhether Icouldnowbe trusted, if Icouldeverhavebeentrusted…Abaddonwassealedtome.Heshowednothing,betrayednothing.Ihadatleastexpectedanger,buteventhatseemedabsent.Hecalledout toDaravek, ‘Unlessyouhaveanother champion thatwishes todie,Daravek,it’stimewespokeofthistruce.’‘Ithinkyourpethasprovedhispoint,asIhaveprovedmine.’Daraveksteppedforwards,mirroringAbaddon’smovement.‘Soletusbegin.’

GHOSTSOFTHEWARPYouknow,asmygracioushosts,thatmyarmwasrestoredbetweenthatdaylongagoandmycaptivitynow.ThechangeswroughtuponmyflesharevisibleasIstand here before you in this cell, shackled and blinded. My arm regrew –perhapsregeneratedwouldbeafairerterm–thoughitreformedinafarchangedstatethanithadbeenbeforeitsloss.It was my first mutation, and far from my last. Ahriman’s Rubric banishedmutationfromtheThousandSons,butonlyamongthosewhomhadlittleinthewayofpsychictalent,andonlybydestroyingtheirphysicalforms.Therestofusareaspronetothewarp’swhimsandourownsinsasanyotherbeingdwellinginside theEye. If youbelievemy formerbrotherAhzek is entirelyunchangedbeneathhisEye-touchedarmour,youareasdangerouslynaïveashewaswhenheunmadeourLegion.Ahrimanbelievesheisperfectlyunaltered.Didyouknowthat?YetIhaveseenthevoidthatscreamswherehisfaceusedtobe.As we met with Daravek, I did my best to ignore the ache of loss and themaddeningphantasmofpain in fingers Ino longerpossessed, silently recitingProsperinefocusingmantras.‘Icanstillfeelmyfingers,’Isaidundermybreathatonepoint.Ilyasterbegantoquietlydetailthephysiologicalreasonsforthis.‘Silence,fools,’Telemachonmurmured,stillfocusedonAbaddonandDaravek.IunderstoodwhyAbaddonhadchosentoonlybringthreeofus,andIdaresayitmade a statement toDaravek regardinghow little he intimidatedus, butwewere heavily outnumbered thanks tomy lord’s posturing. I looked across therankofwarriorsopposingus, recognisingacoupleof themfromoldbattles. Ihad even served one of them, Ektral the Scaled, as a mercenary in the yearsbefore I wore the black. Whether these warriors comprised a new elitebodyguardforDaravekafterIlyasterandIhadbutcheredhisformerkindred,orwhether they were a gathering of lesser commanders meant to impress us, I

couldnotbecertain.AllIknewwasthatwecouldnotkillthemall.HadMorianapredictedthedetailsofthismeeting?Hadsheseenitsoutcome?As much as I wished to know, I did not dare to risk a telepathic pulse toAbaddon,lestDaravekhearoursharedthoughts.Itwasgallingenoughknowinghehadtheabilitytoreadmine.Thewarpboiledinthenightheavensabovethebrokendome.Ihearditsnever-endingsonglouderhere,astheessenceofunrealitywhisperedandsangtothosewhowouldbeitschampions.AbaddonandDaravekwerenexusesforthesehalf-seen, half-felt forces, though I couldmake out no realmeaning in the voicescalling to them. Not that ‘voices’ is even an accurate word, given the primalforcessinkinggentleclawsintobothwarriors’souls.Suchnebuloussoundwasmerelyhowmytoo-mortalconsciousnessconceivedofthepowersatplay.Watching the twisting skyputme inmindofAbaddon’s confession aftermyreturn fromMaeleum.When he had informed the Ezekarion of the pressuresgraspingathisspirit,thattoohadbeenamatterforintelligencesnotlimitedbymortality. Abaddon had little in the way of answers himself, merely citing acompulsion–aphysicalandspiritualneed– to reachback intorealspaceandseekthesourceofthewarpsongheneverstoppedhearing.‘Iseeaswordforgedinasunset,’hehadtoldusinastrainedtone.‘Iseeastardying,anditsashusedtofueltheenginesofagreatthroneofgold.Iseethefirstmurder,wherebrotherkillsbrother,wheretherageoftheslayerandtheagonyoftheslainbecomesatempestbehindtheveil.’Hehadspokenlikethisforsometime.Ididnotmockhimforsuchpoesies.Ididnot laughat them; Idreaded them.Neverhad Iwitnessedhimsoclose tobreakingapart.SeeingAbaddonmurmurofhishaunteddreamsinaprophecy-soaked whisper was one of the most unnerving sights I have ever seen. Hisgoldeneyesglazedoverwithcataractsofdistractedmadness,asthoughsomeoneorsomethinghadreachedintohisbraintopuppeteerhisfangedmouthtospeakonitsbehalf.Thewarppromisedhimthisunimaginableprizeinaceaselesssong,andyethehad no way of knowing what this treasure truly was. Whatever it was, itspresencewasaclarioncallthroughouttheempyrean’stides.Itinhaledhopeandexhaledpromise.‘Isitadaemon?’Lheorhadasked,asawedanduneasyastherestofus.‘Howcanyoutrustsuchanoffer?’‘Idon’tneed to trust it,’Abaddon snappedback fromhis polluted reverie. ‘Ineedonlytomasterit.’

‘Itwillbeyours,’Morianapromisedhim.‘FromthemomentyouclaimituntilyouweartheEmperor’scrownuponyourbrow,itwillbeyourcompanionandyourweapon.’Fewofuswereconvinced.Amuraelspokeforus.‘Forthis,’hesaid,‘youwouldfightawar?’‘Thewar is sacrosanct,’Abaddon replied. ‘And it is ours, notmine.WewillreturntotheImperiumandbringfiretothosedeludedsoulswhofightbeneaththeFalseEmperor’sbanners.This isvindicta.This iswhywewear theblack.WhateverelsewaitsoutsidetheEye,Iwillkillorclaimastheneedarises.’WeknewsolittleaboutDrach’nyenthen.Ithinkbacktoourignoranceinthosenightswithasenseofsomethingakintopurity.Forall thestrengthAbaddon’sbladehas granted to us down the centuries, and for all of thevictories reapedwithitsscreamingedge,itremainsacancerthreateningtoblackenmybrother’sheart.Ibelievenoneofitswhispers.Noneatall.ThroughoutthenegotiationsonTaial’shara,Ilayeredmypsychicresistancesinthe hope of defeating Daravek’s casual rifling of my mind. All the while Iwatched for the ambush that seemed inevitable. Daravek had us where hewanted us. The idea he might not take this chance to kill Abaddon waslaughable.Worsewasthethoughtthathecouldmakemeturnonmylord,andtherewasnothing I could do to stop it.Yet, if itwaswithin his power,why had he notalreadywilledittohappen?Therewasnoanswertothis.Atleast,nonethatIcouldsee.His warriors’ thoughts were calm and assured. They seemed certain of theirdominance in the truce. They had come to make demands from what theyperceivedasaweakerfoe,nottomakeanagreementwiththem.Thenegotiations themselveswere torturous, as they sooftenarebetween theEye’swarbands.Ourrelativestrengthsonlyaddedtothedifficultyinreachingaresolution.Both sideshadnowish to leave their fleetsalone for too long, lestconflictbreakoutaccordingtosomepreviouslyplannedbetrayal.We could not destroy their fleet without taking horrendous casualties,diminishing any hope of bleeding the Imperium regardless of whetherSigismund’sBlackTemplarswaitedforusornot.Theycouldnotfaceuswithoutthe risk of sustaining the same losses. The promise of mutually assureddestruction had a way of calming even the fiercest hearts. Yet their demandsrained upon us. Daravekwanted ships, warriors andmateriel in exchange forholdingoff fromanattack.Againandagainhemadehis smirking insistences,

assuredthatAbaddonwouldcapitulatetopreservethebulkofourfleet.‘I will give you nothing,’ Abaddon replied each time. When he wearied ofDaravek’sperseverance,helookedlonginglyattheTalon.Itsautoloaderscycledin clanking response to his fading patience. ‘Shall I tell you what I believe,Thagus?’ThaguswastallerthanAbaddon–araresightgiventhatAbaddonwascastinHorus’ image. The Lord ofHosts, swollen by his supplication to the Powers,inclinedhisheadingenerousbenediction,asifgrantingafavourtoaparticularlyamusingservant.Thethreeofusbristledattheinsult,butAbaddononlysmiled.‘Speak,’Daravekintoned.‘I believe you are likewise trapped in the storm.’ Abaddon was holding hisanger back, binding it tight, showing it only in the flashing gold of his soul-stainedeyes.‘Ibelievethewarpaidedyourpursuitofus,thencutyouadriftinour wake, leaving you becalmed and with no idea why. I believe that themalignantessenceswecallGodshavebroughtus togetherhere in theheartofthis storm to play out a game of kings and pawns, just to decidewhere theirfavourshouldfall.’‘Youhaveanadmirableimagination,sonofHorus.’Abaddon refused to rise to the bait. ‘I believe, most of all, that you arefrightenedofus.’Hescraped theTalon’sclaws together.SeveralofDaravek’swarriorsbroughttheirhandsinchingclosertotheirbolters.Weheldmotionlessinresponse, lestmirroringtheirgestureprovokethemintobreakingthetruce.‘Youfearus,’Abaddoncontinued, ‘becausedespiteyour ravingspeeches thatwearebetrayingtheLegions,anddespiteyourpettycrusadestodestroyus,wenotonlysurvive,butthrive.Wegrowwitheveryconflict.TheiconsofthefailedLegionsareshearedfromevermoresuitsofarmour,and thecoloursofshameareeclipsedinnumbersnootherwarbandcanmatch.Youfearthatweareright,and thatyouarewrong.Youfearus,more thananyother reason,becauseyouhad tochaseus.Becausewewere here first. Becausewe are the ones on thevergeofbreakingfree,despiteallyourattemptsintheselast decadestohinderus.Wehavebeenworking towards this fate,whileyouhavedonenothingbutseek to stop us. We’ve fought for true unity, all brothers beneath the blackbanner,whileyou’vefoughtagainstit intheguiseofpreservingtheold,failedways.We,Thagus,haveacted.Youhavereacted.’Abaddon’sgazehadroamedacrosstheotherlegionariesashespoke,andnowitreturnedtoDaravek.‘Andherewestandatourprison’sedge.Evennowyou

have no answers to give your men. Instead you force this meeting with us,praying you can glean insight into our plans and scavenge victory throughthreats.You’ll lose thiswar,Thagus.You’ll losebecauseyoudesire theGods’favourandyoufearitfallinguponanyoneelse.’Daravekopenedhisjaws.Blackslimeranbetweenthesewergrateofhisteeth.‘YouarenottheonlyonetodreamoftheEndofEmpires,’hewarned.‘YouarenottheonlyonethathearsDrach’nyen’scall.’‘No,’Abaddon admitted, ‘butwhich one of us hears it louder?Who hears itclearer? The one seeking it, or the one chasing the seeker?’ Abaddon turnedawaybeforeDaravekcouldreply,speakingashewalkedbacktous.‘Ifyou’reso certain of your strength, Thagus Daravek, come test it against my BlackLegionnow.TheVengefulSpirithungers.’There should have beenmore.We all expected harsherwords to follow andpromisesofrecrimination.Suchsuspicionsprovedunfoundedwhenintheverysamemoment, threeofDaravek’swarriorsheldfingers to theirvox-beads,andAshur-Kai’svoicedriftedthroughmymind.Sekhandur.Ashur-Kai,Isentback.DoyourememberDrolKheir?OfcourseIdo.DidIfaceDaravek?Didhekillme?BloodofthePantheon,whatfoolishnessisthis?Daravekimpliedthat–Don’tbe ludicrous, interruptedAshur-Kai. Imust speakwithEzekyle, but hismindiswalledtootight.Whatisamiss?Explainyourself.Across from us, Daravekwas speakingwith hismen, and a sudden disquietradiatedfromtheirauras.There are ships appearing before both fleets – unknown vessels of unknownallegiance,notsailingintothestorm’sheart,butsimplymanifestingbeforeus.Daravek’smenareuneasy,Iobserved.Itisnotoneoftheirploys.Ihavenoideawhatitmightbe.Wehavebeenboarded.We…What?In the samemoment,Daravek aimedhis axe atAbaddon. ‘What treachery isthis?Youhavebrokenthetruce,Ezekyle.’Abaddon rounded on his rival, eyes narrowed to platinum slits. ‘We havebrokennothing.’Wehavebeenboarded.Ashur-Kai’ssilentsendingwasjaggedwithurgency.A

single legionary. It defies explanation. Every ship in the fleet is reporting thesame phenomenon – a lone warrior manifesting upon their command decks.Theyarenotmoving,norspeaking.Theymerelystandthere,watchingus.IreachedouttoplaceahandonAbaddon’sshoulderandhaulhimback,onlytosee I had no hand with which to grip. It still lay on the wraithbone ground,metresaway.‘Brother,’Isaid,‘wemustreturntotheVengefulSpirit.Ashur-Kaireportsthatwehavebeenboarded,and–’‘Youdare?’Daravekwascallingouttous.‘Youdareboardourships?’Daravek’swarshipshavebeenboarded,aswell,IsentbacktoAshur-Kai.Hesuspectsusofbreakingthetruce.I lookedbetween the twoopposed, confusedgroupsofwarriors.Onebyonetheyturnedtostareacrossthedustygardenwithitserodedstatuary,wherealonewarriorwalkedfromtheeldarruins.Hewasdead.Ithoughtthatatonce,aseasilyasifIhadseendecayingfleshorsmelt the rottingmuskofdecomposition.Tomysixthsense,hewaswithoutasoul,amandisconnectedfromthemechanismsoflife.Andyethewalkedcloser,hisarmourthelightgreyofanovercastsky,tingedbythefaintestpalegreen,hiseye-lensesred-litfromwithin.He was no daemon. Daemons have no souls, yet they are presences in thewarp – they are thewarp itself, and formwrithing, drifting things beforemypsychicgaze.Yethewasnohuman.Humanshaveshiningsouls,and theyarebeacons in thewarp’s tumultuousnight.Whatever thiswarriorwas,hewalkedthelinebetweenmortalandimmortal,fusedwiththewarpyetnotbornfromit,saturatedbytheimmateriumyetnotpossessedbyit.Hehadasoul,Isawashedrewnear,anditwasstillhisown–aweakthing,adimandshreddedlight.Therewasabeautyinthat,inthesamewayalessermind– reliantonthefivemundanesenses–mightseebeautyinacolourneverbeforeseen.Herebeforeme was a kind of entity I had never believed possible, taking the form of abrotherlegionary.WhatLegionorChapterhadsiredhim, Icouldnot say.Hisarmourwasofamarkunknowntomethen,notevenmatchingthenewersuitsofAquila-patternbattleplateIhadseenaboardtheBlackTemplarsvessel.Wehaveencounteredoneofthemourselves,IsenttoAshur-Kai.Daravek’swarriorsbrandishedtheirweaponsatthisnewcomer.Wedidnot.‘Nameyourself,’Daravekdemanded.Icouldseehisknucklestightonthehaft

ofhisaxe.The greywarrior turned his helmed head to each group in turn, showing nofavour either way. The voice that emerged from his helmet grille was deep,thoughnotunusuallysoforalegionary,andhiswordswereprecededbyaclickofvoxprojection,justasanyofourvoiceswere.‘IamSaronos.’Within hiswords I heard the telltale flowof respiration.Hewas dead tomysixthsense,yetalivetoallothers.Myfascinationdeepened.Hadhebeenoneofusbeforeundergoingthesechanges?Washestilloneofus,butwithmutationsofthesoulthatsethimapart?The icon on his pauldron was not one I recognised, but it was neverthelessgravidwithsymbolism–twoskullssetwithinaneight-spikeddisc,onelookingtotheleft,theothertotheright.Aninscriptionringedthestaringskulls,castindark silver and written in an unfamiliar dialect of High Gothic: In AbyssoTollemusAnimabusDamnatus.Theexact translationevadedme,but Icouldmakeout itsmeaning: ‘Webearthesoulsofthedamnedthroughthedepths’.‘IamThagusDaravek,’declaredourrival.Hestrodeforwards,confrontingthenewcomer.‘Weareawareofwhatyounameyourself,’ said thegreywarrior. ‘Youspeakirrelevancies.’‘How did you reach us undetected?’ asked Daravek. ‘How have your menboardedourships?’Saronoskepthisgazesteady.‘Youspeakirrelevancies.’‘Thenwhatofyourwarband?’Daravekpressed.‘Wheredoyourloyaltieslie?’‘Youspeakirrelevancies.’IdonotknowifAbaddonsensedsomethingabout thenewcomerthatIcouldnot,orifhesimplymadetheintuitiveconnectionfirst,butheaddressedthegreywarrior,cuttingpastDaravek’suselessquestions.‘Willyouguideusoutofthisstorm?’Thegreywarrior’sarmourjointspurredashelookedbetweenthetwoleaders.‘Yes,EzekyleAbaddon,wewill–ifyoumeetourprice.’

Foratime,IwatchedthroughAshur-Kai’seyes.Iborewitnesstohismemories,seeingthespectralwarshipscoalesceintobeing.Theytookshapeontheoculus,at first ghostly and indistinct, becoming the samepale grey-green asSaronos’armour as they drifted nearer. Imperial ships, but built to patterns I did not

recognise. They possessed enough familiar elements to suggest they had beenbrought into being byStandardTemplateConstruct plans, but not by any thatwereinuseduringmyyearsfightingfortheImperium.LiketheBlackTemplarsvessel,thesewarshipswerenewerthanthosewesailedaboard.TheAnamnesis reached out through her amniotic fluid, her hands curling asthough she were strangling the closest vessel. I felt every turret and forwardcannon along theVengeful Spirit’shull grinding around to lock on to the farsmallership.Thatwaswhenthegreywarriormanifestedbeforetheseveralhundredprimarybridgecrew, coming intobeing thewaySaronoshadappearedbeforeus.Thiswarriorwore the same armour and showed the same symbol, thoughwhereasSaronos conversed, this one remained perfectly silent.Warriors, beastmen andUltio’smind-slavedcyborgsandrobotsallconvergeduponthefigurewherehestoodbyAbaddon’semptythrone.Hestillmadenomove.All of this I took from Ashur-Kai’s mind. I took it and relayed it back toAbaddon.‘Tell Ashur-Kai to maintain a vigil,’ he commanded, ‘but make no hostilemove.’Ezekyleordersyoutomaintainavigil,butmakenohostilemove.Ashewishes,camethereply.Thewarriorwithyou–hespeaks?Hedoes.Hespeaksofpricestobepaid,toguideusfromthestorm.I felt a stab of irritation from Ashur-Kai, to be so far away from such afascinatingoccurrence.Itgalledhim.Itgalledhimdeeply.

Saronos named his Chapter, though each of us heard something different incuriously structured High Gothic. Ilyaster heard Infernum Ductorii, the‘underworld’s guides’, and Ezekyle heard Umbra Larua, the ‘ghosts of theshadows’.WhenSaronosspokethename,IheardhimsayKataegisLemura,the‘storm’sspirits’.Later,whenwehadheardothers speakof thegreywarriors,wewouldpiecetogetheraroughLowGothicapproximationoftheirname:theWarpGhosts.Saronos told us of his Chapter’s purpose – that he and his kindred wereferrymenofakind,guidingvessels throughthewarp.Theywould,foraprice,guideoneofour fleets through thestormand into thenarrowchannelofcalmspacethatspearedthroughtheGreatEyeandledtotheCadianSystem.He swore in those ceaselessly calm tones that his brothers were born of noLegion, yet told uswe spoke irrelevancies every timewe askedhow thatwas

possible.Hesaidthesamewhenaskedtheyearofhisbirth,orthepatternsandclasses of his small fleet’s unknown vessels. Never did he display a loss ofpatience,norappeartofavouronewarlordovertheother.‘I do not trust theseGhosts of theWarp,’ Telemachonmurmured, giving thenamehehadheardSaronosspeak.Noneofusdid,butwhatchoicedidwehave?Daravek, meanwhile, spat at the idea of negotiating with the grey warrior.‘Whatareyourdemands,spectre?’‘Wedemandnothing,’saidSaronos.‘Thenwhatisyourpricetofreeusfromyourstorm?’‘Itisnotourstorm.Andthepriceforguidanceoutofthesetidesisforyoutodiscern.Youwillbejudgedbywhatyousacrifice.’Daravekspatattheidea.‘Andifwekillyounow?Ifwedestroyyourfleet?’‘Thenwewoulddie.Youspeakirrelevancies.’‘Howcanwetrustyourwordinanyofthis?’‘NothingIsaywillalterthatchoice.Youspeakirrelevancies,ThagusDaravek.’‘Verywell.’TheDeathGuardwarlordrestedhisaxeononeshoulder,speakingwithaconfidentgrinthathidlittleofhisfury.‘Hereismyoffer,ghost.’‘Wearelistening,’saidthegreywarrior.‘Ifyourequireshipsforyourfleet,Iwillgivethemtoyou.Ten.Twenty,ifneedbe,frommywarspoil.IwilltearthemfromtheBlackLegionandlaythematyourfeet.Ifyoudesireslaves,IwillgrantyouamillionofthemfromtheholdsofBlackLegionvessels.More,ifthatisnotenough.Twomillion.Three.Ifyouwant access to my daemon forges or armament manufactories, it can bearranged.AndonceIclaimwhatisminebyright,ifyouwishmyfavourinthefuture,thenitwillbeyourswithoutquestion.’BloodoftheChanger,thesheermagnitudeofthatoffer.Mostwarbandswouldrisk destroying one another over even one of those elements, let alone all ofthem.Theright touseapowerfulwarband’sforgesandmanufactorieswas thekind of opportunity many warlords never saw in the entirety of their lives.Daravekofferedlifelongrichesforanywarband,andhedidsowiththearrogantgenerosity of a king laughing while scattering gold coins onto the street forpeasantstofightover.Muchofitwasnothistooffer–theshipsandslaveshespokeofwere still ours for now–but they could so easily becomehis if thisdeadlock escalated into war. Nothing he said was beyond the realm ofpossibility.Andmostvaluableofallwashisfavour.Theregardandsupportofawarlord

withDaravek’sinfluencewasenoughtoinspireanywarbandtoactsofmadness.Suchpatronswererareindeed.At my side, I heard Ilyaster exhale the same awed sigh at the wealth andopportunitybeingofferedsoroyally.ButDaravekwasnotyetdone.‘And,’headded,throughclenchedblackteeth,‘ifitissoulsyoudesire,thenIofferyouthesoulsofEzekyleAbaddonandhismiserableEzekarion.Ask,andtheyareyours. Iwillharvest themwithmyownblade,onebyone,whenourfleetsdobattle.’Saronos inclined his head, acknowledgingDaravek’swords before turning toAbaddon.‘WehaveheardtheoffermadebyThagusDaravekof theLegionHost.Whatdoyouoffer,EzekyleAbaddonoftheBlackLegion?’MylorddidnotanswerSaronosatonce.Herequestedamomenttospeakwithhisbrothers,andturnedtothethreeofus,hisgazerakingoverusinturn.‘I think back to Moriana’s words,’ he said softly. ‘That “greatness requiressacrifice”.That“onecannotrunfromwhatmustbedone”.AsmuchasIdoubtherultimateloyaltytous,andasmuchasIdistrustheradamantbeliefs,thereisacoldtruthtowhatshesaid.Shesawthismoment–notthesoulsgatheredhere,northeoffersthatwouldbemade–butsheknewthetimewascomingwhenagreat offer would need to be made. And now here we are, with her wordsechoingthroughmyskull.Thenecessityofsacrifice.’Hegestured tome, indicatingmyarm. ‘Youshowed ityourself,Khayon, thisverynight.Sacrificingyourarm.Sufferingagrievouslosstowinanevengreatervictory.Withoutthatloss,youwouldhavedied.Howmanymythsandlegendsallgrowfromthesameseeds?Amultitudeoftalespreachthatsacrificeisattherootofepochalprogress.Howmanywarriorsthroughouthistoryhavelaiddowntheirlivessothattheirnationswouldsurvive?’Forthefirsttimeinyearshelookedatpeace,asifthedecisionhewasmakingwasafightbackagainstthepressuresuponhissoul.‘IfyouwishtobeseechtheGodofWar,youkillinhisnameandriskyourowndeath.IfawarriorwishestojoinournewbornLegion,heisforcedtobalanceindividualgloryandpersonalfreedomwiththecauseweallshare.Hebattlesbeneathmybanneraswellashisown.Hecarvestheiconsofhisformerlifefromhisbattleplate,andhestainshisceramiteblack.Sacrifices,all.Sacrificesmadeforgreatergain.’Abaddonhesitated,nolongerlookingatTelemachonorIlyaster–onlyatme.‘Asacrificeisonlymeaningfulifonesurrenderssomethingprecious.Youarearitualist,Iskandar–asorcerer,aphilosopher.Isthatnotthetruthofit?’

IthoughtofmyfatherMagnus,andhisritualtosendwordtotheEmperor.Themanyapprenticesandcultiststhatlaydeadondesecratedaltars,evenbeforewewererenderedExcommunicateTraitoris.Ithadworked,thoughwithdevastatingconsequences.I thought of Ahriman – my courageous, foolish, beloved, hated brotherAhriman–andtheRubrichewovethatdestroyedourLegion.Hehadsacrificednothingof trueworth.Hebelieved inhimself above all else, andhehadbeenpunishedforhisflawedattempttocheattheChangeroftheWays.IthoughtofthesacrificesIhadmadedownthemanyyears,aspartofrituals,summonings,bindings…Somanyof themhad involvedbloodanddeath, andthemostpowerfulalwaysdemandedthemostintimateofsacrifices.Onedidnotdeal with daemons without making sacrifices to them. The slaughter of astranger holds almost no power, no emotional resonance. The butchering of aclosebrother,betrayinghistrust,isanactthatsingsoutacrossthewarp.‘Byitsnature,’Ifinallyreplied,‘asacrificemustcostthegiver. Otherwise,itismerelyanoffering.Truesacrificesarefuelledbysuchdepthofemotionthattheyechointounreality.Theyaretheoffersthatthewarphears,andtheonesitmostoftenanswers.’‘They are the offers that history hears, brother.’ Abaddon was smiling now,thoughtherewasnohumouruponhisvisage.Heturnedfromus,walkingtowardsSaronos.Thegreywarriorhadnotmovedatall.‘Whatdoyouoffer,EzekyleAbaddon?’Abaddonspokehisoffer.It tookfar less timethanDaravek’smanypromises,andwasdonebeforeIcouldstophim.I would have tried. I told myself that afterwards and I have maintained itthroughalltheyearsandwarssince.HadIknownwhathewouldoffer,Iwouldhavetriedtostophim.Insteadhespoke,justasinglesentence,andIhadnotimetodoanythingbutstareinshock.As soon as he had spoken, otherwarriors in the samegrey-green asSaronosdrifted from the shadows and from the air itself, striding forwards and takingform.Tenofthem,twenty,fifty.TheylevelledtheirboltersatDaravekandhisofficers.‘Returntoyourvessels,’SaronosorderedDaravek’smen.‘Yourofferhasbeenrefused.’Pus ran fromDaravek’seyes increamymimicryof fury’s tears. It tookmeamomenttorealisetheyweremaggots,hatchingwithinhisskullandspillingfrom

histearducts.‘Youhavemadeagrievousmistake,’hewarnedSaronosandthegreywarriors.Saronos’onlyreplywastodrawhisblade,aslowandstoicthreat.Wisely, they leftwithoutbloodshed. I doubtedwehad longbeforeDaravek’sarmadaattacked.AndwemadereadytoreturntotheVengefulSpirit,fortherewewouldofferupoursacrifice.

SACRIFICENagualandNefertariawaitedmeonthebridge.Theformercametomeatonce,trailing at my side, bearing his fangs and swearing to destroy whomever andwhateverhadwoundedme.Heisalreadydead,Nagual.Ikilledhim.He offered, in his simple way, to find my opponent’s soul in the warp anddevour it forme,orbring it tome inhis jaws that Imightuse it formyownpurposes.Ihadnodesireforeithereventuality.Bindingasoulisamonumentalundertaking for a mortal. Few sorcerers manage it even once. Let Ansontynburn.Lethissouljourneyonitswaytooblivion.NefertariofferednoneofNagual’sopenloyalty.ShesatinatiptoedcrouchatopthebackrestofAbaddon’scommandthrone,herwingshalf-spreadforbalance.Sheleaptupwhenweenteredandtookwing,herarccarryingheroverseveralconsolesbeforesherested,perchedontherailingofoneoftheupperbalconies.Beastmenbrayedandcawedupather,allofwhomsheignored.Theydespisedher as an alien thing.Themost attention she ever paid to themwaswhen shehunted them as prey and flayed them as playthings. She paid them no noticenow,however,becauseherlaughterrangoutacrossthebridgeinstead.Shewaslaughingatme–morespecifically,atmyarm.Therewouldbealectureinmyfutureaboutmybladeskills.Above all of us, Ashur-Kai’s navigational platform was notable for its newpresence: a greywarrior, cast inSaronos’ image, standing in dreadful serenityandmakingnomoveatall.Myformermentorremainedupthere,watchingthisintruderintohisprivaterealm.Hegreetedmewithapsychicsending.Ireturnedit,hidingmyguiltforwhatwasabouttocome.Whatdealwasstruck?hesenttome.Ipulsedmymemoriesofjustwhathadhappened.Ashur-Kaisiftedthroughthesceneinthewastelandsofthecraftworld,hisownthoughtsgrowingcolder.IdonotknowwhatAbaddon’sofferentails,headmitted.Itcouldbeanythingat

all.Isaidnothing.Uneaseserpentineditscoldandgreasywaythroughme.Abaddonmarchedtothecentraldais.‘Ultio,report.’TheAnamnesis did not need towatch the oculus – her attentionwas spreadthroughout the ship’s bones and gun-imagifiers – yet she stared at the ovalscreenwithparticularintensity.‘Isensepresencesaboard,’shesaid,soundingconfusedanddistant.‘Report on the enemy fleet,’ Abaddon clarified, eyes narrowing as he gazedupon the oculus himself. He sat in the command throne with an ungainlygrowling of Terminator armour joints. I shared a glance with Telemachon.Outsideofnegotiatingwithotherwarbands,ourlordonlyeveroccupiedHorus’thronewhengrippedbyirritationorfury.Thisseemedtobeboth.‘Ezekyle…’Ultio said,herconfusiondeepening,makingher soundsomehowyounger.‘They…Theyaretakingmycrew.’‘I want you concentrating on Daravek’s armada. Are they moving? Whatformationsaretheyadopting?Focus,damnyou.’ItwasthefirsttimeIhadseenheropenlyfailingtoheedhisorders.‘Ihearthesamelossacrossthefleetinthevoicesofthearmada’scaptains.Thesepresencesareleechinglivesfromourcrews.’Abaddonhammeredhisfistagainstthearmofhisthrone.‘Ultio.Iknowwhatishappening.It’shappeningbymywill.Nowfocusonwhatmatters.’Hereyelidsflickeredseveraltimes,evidenceofimmensecognitiveprocessingtaking place inside her gestaltmind.Amoment later she swirled in her fluid,comingbacktoherself.‘ThagusDaravek’sfleetisadvancing,’shesaid.Abaddonheavedabreath.‘Battlestations.’‘That will not be necessary,’ Saronos said, from his place at the side ofAbaddon’s throne. ‘Wewill guideyou fromherebefore they can engageyou.Butfirst,thereisthematterofpayment.’

Weneverlearnedtheexactcost.Therewasnowaywecould,fornoofficerinthe fleet truly knew the scale of the human communities dwelling within thebowels of their warships. Slaves bred other slaves, dregs bred other dregs,regimentsofthrall-soldiers–theLostandtheDamned,youmightsay–mergedand blended and split apart, all away from the eyes of their Black Legionmasters.Someofourwarbandsenforcedrigiddisciplineupontheirhumanandmutantsoldiers,whileothersthrewthemintowarasaraggedtideandpaidthem

nomindbetweenbattles.Thesameasanyothervessel,theVengefulSpiritwashometotensofthousandsofunknown,unlistedhumansekingoutalivinginthedeeperdecks.Intruth,weonlydescendedintothoselevelsfortworeasons:tostirtherabbleinto a frenzy before deploying them as bolt fodder, or – far more rarely –harvestingtheirranksformalechildrenwhowouldmakeviablecandidatesforascensionintoourranks.Butwelackedthefunctioningresourcestodevoteanyrealeffortstothatprocess.Therewasnotruerecruitment,onlystasisandslowdepletion.Ournewallies,however,sufferednosuchlimitation.WhenAbaddonmadehisoffer toSaronos,hehad laidhis ambitionbare.HewouldescapetheEye,nomattertheprice.Howmanychildrenweretakenfromthebenightedcitiesthatspreadthroughoutour warships’ bellies? How many families living in those tribal clans andblighteddepths cursedour allies for the theft of their young?Thesemiserablequestionshavenoanswer. I suspect,however, that they took thechildrenwiththemostpromisingsoulsfirst.Theonesthatwould,intime,bloomwithpsychicstrength.Notall,ofcourse.Butmany.Soverymany.And I suspect thisnotbecauseof somemisguidedconcernover theircruelty.No,Ibelieve it is truepurelybecauseofwhatAbaddonoffered themwhenhemadehisgreatgambleandthrewhisambitionsbarebeforeus.Hisexactwordswerewhatmattered.Saronos had watched my lord’s approach. ‘What do you offer, EzekyleAbaddon?’Abaddonhadrepliedwithonlythreewords.‘Whateveryouneed.’

Saronosmovedamongusnow,agreyfigureamidsttheraggedhordesofbridgecrew. His red eye-lenses tracked left and right as his gaze lingered on thewarriorspresent,driftingoverthemutantsandhumans.Hemadehiswayacrossthecommanddeck,allwhileourholdswerebeingdrainedofpotentialrecruits,the actions of the spectral Space Marines unopposed by anyone but thescreamingparentsofthestolenchildren.Theirresistancewasasuselessasyoucan imagine. I am sure that unarmed hands scraped uselessly against greyceramite,andthatplaintivecriesfellondeafears.TheWarpGhoststookwhattheyhadcomefor.But that was not all they came for. Abaddon had promised a sacrifice, and

offeredthemwhatevertheyneeded.This,theytook.‘Ezekyle,’Ultiocalleddownfromherraisedtank.‘TheAbyssalShadowreportsthattheirvoid-seeris…’She trailedoff, lookingup, liftinghergaze to thenavigationalbalconyat theapexofthebridge’sornatearchitecture.Ourgazesfollowed.Threegreyfiguresmaterialisedoutofthedarkair,theirdirtyarmourseemingtoeatthesickhalf-lightoftheilluminationglobesastheyadvancedonAshur-Kai.IwanttotellyouthatIhadnotexpectedthiswhenAbaddonmadehisdreadfulgamble. I want to say that I fought for my former mentor, that I opposedAbaddon’ssacrificialofferingandthebondbetweenAshur-KaiandIholdsfastto thisday.Thatwouldmakeforapleasingbeat in thesongof this longsaga:thatdespitelosingsomanybrothersoverthecenturies,myoldestcompanion–thescholarthatfirsttaughtmetherudimentsofsorcery–remainsbymysidetotheverylast.IwanttotellyouthatIdidnotstandby,doingnothingbutplayingmypartinhisbetrayal.ButIpromisedthateverywordonthesepageswouldbetrue.ThetruthisthatIdrewmysword.ThetruthisthatIsteppedforwards,mygazeraised,andcalledAshur-Kai’snameacrosstheteemingbridge.Boostersflarednearby.TelemachonandZaidustruckthedeckbeforeme,risingfrom their swift landings and barring my way, blades in their hands. TheMasquedPrincewassilent,hisfacemaskimpassiveandbeautiful.Zaidugrowledawet,snarlinglaugh,awarningsoundfromthethroatofabeast.Yet itwasAshur-Kai that stoppedme.NotTelemachonandZaidu’s needlessposturing, nor even Abaddon’s cold scowl at my reaction. It was Ashur-Kai,raisingahandtowardmeaway.I should have guessed, he sent to me.What else would the ferrymen of thedamnedneed?Hissilentvoicewasrawwithicy,amusedrevelation.Thisistheirlife.Theirentireexistence.Theyneedmoreferrymen.I felt him send a telepathic command to his Rubricae, commanding them tolowertheirweapons.Theydidsoatonce.Thisisnotbrotherhood,Isentthewordsasablade,knowingAbaddonwouldhearthem.Wrongagain,boy, saidAshur-Kai,with the informal title he had not used incenturies. This is a sacrifice for a greater cause. It is the very essence ofbrotherhood.

OneofthegreywarriorsplacedahandonAshur-Kai’sshoulder.Anotherdrewa curveddagger, its blade scratchedwith unreadable runes.He rested it underAshur-Kai’swhitechin, its tipseeminglyready toplungeupwards through thejawandintomyfirsttutor’sbrain.I could sense theWarpGhosts speaking to him, but I heard nothing of theirwordsanddetectednoneoftheirmeaning.Ashur-Kaiclosedhisalbinoeyesand,barelyperceptibly,henodded.Ifwefightthem…Isenttohim.Thenthefleetdies.Amurael was at my side as well. Partly, I thought, to lend support againstTelemachon and Zaidu, and partly to prevent me doing anything foolish thatwouldantagonisetheShriekingMasquerade’scommanders.Hecertainlyborenoloveforeitherofthembeyondfraternalloyalty.Nagual prowled to stand at my other side. I calmed him with a reluctantsending,tellinghimitwasover.Iwaswrong,however.Someonehadyettovoicehersayonthematter.Ultio was still watching the theft of the sorcerer responsible for guiding herthroughthewarp.Inamoveofnear-flawlessunity,everyenthralledcyborgandwar robot of the Syntagma across the bridge raised their weapons and aimedtheirshouldercannonsatthegreywarriorsinourmidst.‘You are not taking him,’ the Anamnesis stated. The lumoglobes flickeredbrighter, a signof her rising temper. ‘Hebelongs to theVengeful Spirit.He ismine.’Abaddon’seyesglittered. I could read the surprise there, subtleas itwas.Hehadnotexpectedthis.Morianadared to raise her voice against the ship’s heart, only for oneof theCastellaxrobots towhirlonher inagrindingchorusofgear joints.Bothof itsindustrial claws opened, like the threatening maws of iron dragons. Flame-projectorsmountedonbothforearmshissed,theirpilotlightslit,readytobatheherintwingoutsofalchemicalfire.‘Youwillshutyourmouthonmybridge,’Ultiotoldtheprophetess.‘Saveyourpoisonforotherears.’Ultiodidnotdeigntolookather;theAnamnesiskepthergaze fixedupon the navigational balcony. ‘GreyOnes,’ she called toSaronos’warriors.‘Beholdyourfleet.’Theentireshipshivered,comingalive,rollinginthestorm’ssilence.Wecouldfeel the Vengeful Spirit’s gun decks rumbling as its city-killing cannonsrealigned,nolongerlockedonDaravek’sdistantfleet.Instead,theytrainedtheir

lethalaimonthegreyshipsofournewallies.‘Ultio,enoughofthis,’Abaddonorderedher.Wastheship’sancientmachine-spiritatwarwiththenewsoulthatclaimedthevessel?Idonotknow.IknowthatUltiohesitated–shewasAbaddon’screaturethrough and through now, despite her origins. When he spoke, she listened.Whenhecommanded,sheobeyed.Butnotthistime.‘Releasehim,’ sheordered theWarpGhosts. ‘Or Iwill reduceyourweaklingfleettodust.’ThiswasthefirsttimeanyofushadwitnessedthepotentialreachesofUltio’strueautonomy.Intimeshewouldgrowbothmorepowerfulandmoreunstable,as theheartsofourwarshipswereprone todo throughwarpexposure.By thetimeweconstructedourultimateflagship,theKrukal’Righ–whattheImperiumcalls the Planet Killer – she would be unrecognisable as the once-serenemachine-spiritofthelong-deadTlaloc.Hereandnow,assheturnedherireupontheintrudersthreateningAshur-Kai,shemadeherfirstindependentstand.‘Elevenofmyshipsreportthetheftoftheirvoid-guides.IamwillingtoaccepttheirlossaspartoftheBlackLegion’soffer.Butyouwillreleasemysorcereratonceifyouvaluetheexistenceofthatinsignificantflotillayoucallafleet.’SaronosturnedtoEzekyle.‘DoestheBlackLegionchoosetobreakthepact?’Righteousness blazed in Ultio’s eyes as she answered for our lord. ‘Takeanothersoul.Nothim.Thenthepactstands.’I believe I sensedAbaddon’s unease in thatmoment.Withmy lord, I couldneverbesurewhatwasimaginationorprojection.Heguardedhimselftoowell,or he was guarded too well by the powers that increasingly hungered for hisattention.‘The terms have already been agreed,’ Saronos calmly intoned. They werealmosthislastwords.ThreeoftheThallaxicyborgsstalkedtowardshim,readytolancehimthroughwithionisedlas-beams.Theirlightninggunswouldcuthimapartatcloserange.IwonderedwhetherindeathSaronoswouldlookanydifferentfromtherestofus.Whether,infact,hehadeverbeenhuman.Heremainedbothaliveanddeadtomysenses.‘Lethimgo,’UltiorepeatedtothethreeWarpGhostsstillsurroundingAshur-Kai.TheWarpGhostsraisedtheirweapons.Weraisedours.Everythingwasahalf-moment fromerupting intomadness. Inever learned ifAbaddonwasgoing toacquiesce to Ultio’s will or not, for it was Ashur-Kai who spoke, his voice

strainedwiththebladeunderhischin.‘Itzara,’hesaidquietly.Heusedherhumanname,whoshehadbeenbeforethesurgical internment that had saved her life and changed her completely. ‘TheGods orchestrated this drama, dear girl. Sometimes wemust play our part intheir traps, letting them sink their teeth into our souls, for the chance to fightanotherday.’She stared up at him – resolute, unblinking, somehow both ardent andpassionless,justasalways.‘Iwillnotallowthis.’Something passed between them, some telepathic exchange. It took only amoment,but therewasnoway toknow thedepthsof that silent conversation.Telepathyallowsyoutoconveyalifetimeofmeaningwithinthespanofasingleblink. I sensed the wordless flow of communication between them, and thenUltio’sattentiondrifted,turningaway,restinguponme.‘Youareright,Ashur-Kai,’shesaid.Whatdidyoutellher?IsenttoAshur-Kai.Whatdidyousay?Hemet thosewordswith silence.Meanwhile the ship’s guns unlocked fromtrackingtheWarpGhostsvessels.TheVengefulSpiritrolledoncemore,bringingitself back to face Daravek’s encroaching armada. Ultio turnedwith the ship,facing the oculus oncemore.Her refusal to speak anythingmorewas a bittershroudthatsheworewithpride.Abaddon hadwatched all of thiswith a calm that boiledmy blood. I shookZaidu’sclawedhandfrommyarmourandlookedtomylord.I want you to remember this moment, my Imperial hosts, when I speak ofAbaddoninthefuture.WhenIspeakofthewaysinwhichheexcelsmilitarily,orshowsthegiftsoftrulycharismaticleaders.Iwantyourememberthepacthemadewith theGhosts of theWarp, and theway he gesturedwith the Talon’sscythe blades, indicating Ashur-Kai. My former mentor. One of the BlackLegion’s founders.One ofAbaddon’s own irreplaceable Ezekarion. The void-guidefortheflagshipofthefleet.Rememberthis,asadisplayofthedepthsofAbaddon’sruthlessness.Someofyoumayseeitasavirtue.Othersasafailing.Icannotspeakforyou.ButIwantyoutorememberit,foritispartofwhoheis.Ezekyle met Ashur-Kai’s eyes, just for a moment. It was all that passedbetweenthemasafarewell.‘Takehim.’

EarlyinmyapprenticeshiptoAshur-Kai,whenIwasayouthinoneofthemany

ThousandSonsfleets,mymentoroftenpointedoutmytendencytofocusonthedetails to the exclusion of the wider picture. In the hours that followed hissacrifice,therearetwoaspectsthatclingtomymemorywithaclaritythatwouldhavevindicatedAshur-Kai’slecturingsoulnoend.Myrecollectionofthatflightshould be meticulous in its detail. Instead, I find myself focusing on theaftermathofAshur-Kai’svanishing.The first thing to happenwas immediate, yet noticed by almost no one else.Across the bridge, the nine Rubricae bound toAshur-Kai’swill were severedalmost instantly fromhis control. I felt thepsychic strands thinning, thengivewaywithsilentsnaps.Theninewarriorsdidnotmove.Theyremainedas theywere, their archaic and ornate boltguns held to their chests, inactive sentinelswatchingoverthecommanddeckandwaitingforasorcerer’scommands.Nowunbound,theywerereceptivetotheauthorityofwhomeverwouldclaimthem.We had other sorcerers among our ranks – some powerful, some lesser, andmanycapableofcommandingRubricae.Iwasreluctanttolettheashendeadthathadbelongedtomyformermentorsimplyserveelsewhere,however.Theyhadoncebeenmyownbrothers,thewarriorsofthecompanyIhadcaptained.IthadbeenAshur-Kai’spersonalpreferencetohavehisslavesartfullypainthisautomata guardians in the traditional Tizcan red of the Thousand Sons frombefore the rebellion. Their shoulder guards showed their true allegiance,however,castintheblackandgoldofournewLegion.Itwasastrikingimage,and I had alwayswondered as to the spiritual significancebehind thegesture.Far more commonly, our sorcerers left their Rubricae in the blue of theThousand Sons, marking with them a single Black Legion pauldron, or theyrecastthementirelyintheblackandgoldwornbyallotherwarriorsbeneathourbanner. I favoured the latter. Incertain lights,youcouldsee thewarp-wroughtblueoftheThousandSonsturbulentbeneaththesurfaceoftheblack,asthoughtryingtostainitswaybackintobeing.Iturnedtothosecrimsonechoesofalong-lostpast,reachingouttothemwithapsychicclutchIhavebecomealltoofamiliarwithacrosstheyears.IamKhayon,Itoldthem.Everyoneofthemturnedtome,someneedingtolookupfromtheirplacesinthecrewconsolepits,otherslookingdownfromtheoverheadgantries.Allisdust, theysentback,devoidofpersonalityandlife,hollowbutfor theirlethalityandobedience.Later, Iwouldclaim them,binding themtome.Later.OnceIcouldbeartolookatthemformorethanafewmoments.ThesecondincidentoccurredwhenIwasinmyprivatesanctum,duellingwith

Nefertari,trainingtoadapttothecyberneticarmthatCeraxia’stech-priestshadfitted.Dayshadpassed,orperhapsweeks,inthetimelessvagariesofEyespace.Thearmhad takenwell, fusing tomyfleshandoffering thesamestrengthasthat I hadgrownused to allmy life.Ceraxia had forged it herself, a fact thathonouredmedeeply, and from the elbowdownmynewarmwas a contouredlimbofburnishedgold, shaped tomatchwhat Ihad lost. Ihadexpected tobeable to regenerate the original flesh through psychic manipulation, yet failedwitheachattempt.Thefleshandbonerefusedtoreform.Ceraxia’sartistry,then,wasmyonlyrealchoice.Iregainedtheuseofmyarm,and slowly accustomed myself to the strangely dull sensations of its metalsurface-sensors.ItwasduringoneofourregularsparringboutsthatNefertariaskedtolookatthelimb,amusedattheengineeringonceIletherdoso.Sherarelytouchedme.Wedisgustedeachotherphysically–sherevoltedmewithherelongated,liquidalienotherness; I revoltedherwithmyhumancrudeness and sloth, aswell aswiththecorruptionshesooftenpointedoutwasrunningthroughmyveins.Butthatdayshegrippedmywristwithastrengththathadlongsinceceasedtosurprise me, her gauntleted fingers softly scraping against the adamantine-reinforcedgold.‘Itischanging,’shepointedout,lookingattheshiningmetal.Herslantedeyes,inhumanandelfin, tended toblink tooswiftly forevenmyenhancedvision totrack. Only in moments of genuine surprise did I ever see a flicker of hereyelashes, in what passed for a languid blink among the eldar. ‘You arechanging,’sheadded.I pulled back fromher, looking down atmy forearm and palm. I closed andopenedmyfingersexperimentally,hearingthequietclicksandpurringgearsoftheartificer’smiracleIpossessedaspartofmybody.Strangetothinkthatthoseclickingcogsandservosweremyjointsnow.Nefertariwasright.Itwaschanging.Subtlybutsurely,wherethefleshmetthemetal, the union was becoming an unnatural amalgamation of both. I lookedcloser at my fingers, where Ceraxia’s perfectionism had driven her to renderacid-etched engravings of my fingerprints, copied from my genetic records.Theyremainedunchanged.Ontheotherside,though,mymetalknuckleswere -paling in away I recognised from the transfigured, incomparably strong ivorythat formed on the plating of some warriors’ armour, binding them into theirceramite.Bonespurswereforminginthegold.Intime,myarmbecamewhatyouseebeforeyounow,asIstandherechained

tothewall.Witnesstheshininggold,etchedwithprimitivecuneiformcarvingsthat curse me for bringingmy fatherMagnus to his knees.Witness the handitself: how thegold still bearsmy fingerprints, yet thebackofmyhandbearsthat biomechanical slitted eye of gold-lidded, blood-filled glass. Witness thespursoftrans mogrifiedivoryatmyknuckles,hookedlikeviciousspines.Ihavekilledwiththem,morethanonce.But the processwas only beginning then, and I could not have predicted itsoutcome.ItwasasIregardedmyarmthatTokugra,Ashur-Kai’scrow,meltedoutoftheshadows aboveme and fluttered to a rest onmy shoulder. I had not seen thefamiliarsinceAshur-Kai’scapture,andhadbelieveditsimplyperishedwithouthim,itsformhaemorrhagingbackintothewarp.Boy.Thegreetingcurdleddirectlywithinmybrain,soundinglikenothinganynaturalcrowcouldeverproduce.Youhavenotdiscorporated,Tokugra.DoyouclingtoexistencelongenoughtoprovideamealforNagual?Mylynxgaveagreatyawnwherehelayinfelinerepose.Histailswishedoncethen stilled. The crow ruffled its feathers at this display, then began to preenitself. Every one of these acts were entirely unnecessary given the daemons’ethericstates.Sometimestheirsymboliclifelikenessamusedme,andsometimesitirritatedme,butitalwaysmanagedtointrigueme.Youcouldneverbecertainwhattraitsafamiliarwouldmimicfromitshostform.Ihaveseenfamiliarstaketheformofbooksonmechanicallegsthatslamclosedwhenthreatened,andbio-clockwork knights that duel with vermin. Every sorcerer has his or her owntastes.Boy, thecrowsentagain,moreaggravatednow. Itwasnotbound tome,andfound communicating with me either difficult or distasteful. I could feel itsphysical formbecomingunstablewith thestrainof trying to force its thoughtsinto mine.What followed came in a toxic tangle of words, akin to a child’sslumberrhyme.Onelastechoofmymaster’spains,spokenbeforehewastakeninchains.IftheboyfacesDaravekeyetoeye.Tellhim.Tellhim.Theboywilldie.Ashur-Kai’s words. Or, rather, Ashur-Kai’s warning, delivered throughTokugra’sfancifulandfleetingmind.ItwasthemostcoherentcommunicationIhadever received fromAshur-Kai’s familiar, and I could sensehow the effortcosttheweakenedcreaturemuchofitsremainingstrength.Andtherewasmore:Onehundredhowlsencaged.BeatingheartofDaravek’srage.Boymustlisten.

Boymustsee.Donotknowwhy.Howlsarethekey.I reached forTokugrawithmy senses, trying tokeep its form stable, but thecreaturewas not pacted tome, and I had no power over its corpus. Iwantedmore,needingtoknowfarmoreofthecontextbehindthatwarning,butthecrowhaddoneallitcould.Isuspectedthatevenmaintainingitsformtoreachmehadrequiredajourneyofunknowabledaemonicendurance.ThatwassurelywhyithadtakensolongafterAshur-Kai’sdisappearance.Ihadnoloveforprophecy–notthen,andnotinthecenturiessince–butthesewere my former mentor’s last words, sent at great cost. His final prophecy,tellingmewhatImustdotostayalivewhenIfacedDaravek.WillyouconsidermeahypocriteifIconfessthatthosewordstookrootwithinmymind?Ididnotknowwhattodowiththem–Ididnotunderstandthem,butnorcouldIsimplyignorethem.Thankyou,Tokugra.Boy, it sent back in acknowledgement. It took wing, melting back into theshadows overhead, swallowed by them. Unbound, it could not hold its formtogetherforlong,anditwasgone,Iwassure,backintotheprimalmatterofthewarp.IdoubtedIwouldeverseeitagain.

TEMPLARSSaronoshadtakenAshur-Kai’splaceontheplatform.SometimesIcametothebridgetowatchhimstandwheretheWhiteSeerhadoncestood,guidingtheshipthrough the warp’s unquiet tides. Ultio worked with him, her concentrationabsolute. What they lacked in the familiarity she had developed with hersacrificedvoid-guide,Saronosmadeupforwithhisunnaturalmastery.Hestoodwith both hands on the control pylons that Ashur-Kai had fashionedwith hisowncraftsmanship,sendingtheadjustmentsincourseandcalculationthroughtotheAnamnesis.Sheansweredinsymbiosis:leaning,tilting,swimming.NojourneythroughEyespaceistranquil–therealmdefeatsallastronavigationattemptsasoftenasitallowsthem–butthe VengefulSpiritnolongerthreatenedtoshakeitselfapart.Lookingintothethrashingmessofenergiesoutsidetheshiprevealedthatwesailedthroughchannelsofrelativecalm,asSaronosstaredintothe oculus and murmured soft, poetic chants in a tongue I had never heardbefore.Sometimes it seemedas ifhewas trying to soothe the ship’smachine-spirit.Sometimesitsoundedasifheweretryingtoaddthecoldlylullingwordstoagreaterritualtakingplaceoutsideourperceptions.Whateverthetruth,bothoccurrenceswerelesstroublingthanthemanyhourshestoodthereinabsolutesilence, his head hanging slack.Bywhat sense he looked out and discerned apaththroughthestorm,Icouldnotsay.Abaddon remained enthroned the entire time, staring into Eyespacewith thesame focuswrit uponUltio’s features.Hunger radiated fromhim, a starvationthatdevouredhim,reflectedinthefeveredglareofhisgoldeneyes.Herefusedallconversation,onlyspeakingtomeonce,withasingledemand.‘IsDaravekfollowingus?’‘Howcouldhe?’Lheorreplied,atmyside.It was possible. I had to concede that. Perhaps even likely, if Daravek’ssorcererscouldfindtracesofourwake,orlocatethesamepathwaysSaronosandhisWarpGhostswereusing. If theywerepathwaysatall;Saronoswashardly

forthcoming.I was not the first one Abaddon asked. Ultio’s sensors could not pierce thisregionofEyespace,norcouldanyofusdetectanysignsofpursuit.Thewarpoutsidewasashroud,andwepaid theprice for its serenitybysailingblind towhatevermightchaseus.All thewhile, I thought ofAshur-Kai’s finalwarning.His last prophecy. If IfacedDaravek,Iwoulddie.Didthatmeanaconfrontationwasinevitable?WhatiftheLordofHostspursuedus?LheorwastypicallybluntonthematterwhenIshareditwithhim.Heclackedhismetalteethtogether,feigningabiteatoneoftheunbornspiritsofpainthatdriftedaroundhisheadinaredhalo.‘You’vealreadyprovedyoucan’tkillhim,’LheorsaidofDaravek.‘Soithardlytakesaseertoknowwho’dwinthefight.’Amurael, who often joined us in the sparring cages, concurred with Lheor,albeit less obnoxiously. ‘You’re looking at this the wrong way,’ he addedafterwards. ‘Ashur-Kai wouldn’t waste his last words relating something youalreadyknew.’Iagreed.Ihadthoughtthesame.‘HewarnedofmeconfrontingDaravekeyetoeye.Itseemstobeawarningtoslayhimwithoutfacinghim.’Amurael’s fangs flashed in amusement. ‘You’ve already tried that, Khayon.Youwastedayeartryingit.’Andwell Iknew it. ‘Then Iwill tryharder,’ I said,hoping thewordsdidnotsoundashollowastheyfelt.Itwas like this for some time, aswe sailedonwards towards theEye’s edge.TheBlackLegion looked ahead to the promise of escape, but I foundmyselflookingbehind,thinkingofdutiesundone,knowingtherewouldbeareckoningbefore the last day dawned. I could not allow Daravek to live. Not after themystifyingpowerhehaddemonstratedoverme. Iwould endhim somehow. Iwouldfindaway.‘Abaddonwouldapproveofyouthinkinglikethis,’Amuraelpointedout.‘He’dconsideritanotherencouragingsignofyourvindictareturning.’LheorandAmuraelwereduellingasthethreeofusspoke.Iwascleaningmyweapons,maintainingthemaloftwithaninsignificantwhimoftelekinesis.Threedaggers, my ritual jamdhara blade, Sacramentum, my archeotech tri-mouthedlaser pistol, my boltgun – all of them revolved slowly in the air before me,psychically stripped with a peeling, searing heat that flensed them of anycorrosion.

‘So the matter of my fury is something he discusses with you all? DoesAbaddonspeakofyourfailingsasfreelyashespeaksofmine?’Thatstoppedtheirduel.Bothofmybrotherslookedtome,andLheorlaughedwithtypicallytoothymalice.‘You realise that while you’re away on your endless hunts, we have betterthingstodothandiscussyou?Someofushavewarstofight,Khayon.YoucanearnAbaddon’sfavourbycuttingafewthroats.Therestofusleadarmiesintobattle.’Lheor raised his blade again, beckoning to Amurael to continue the fight.‘Besides,’headded,‘Ihavenofailings.’

TheWarpGhostswere true to their sepulchralwords.Theyguidedus throughthestorm,fromtheEye’srealmtothestarkcoldofrealspace.How to describe that moment of freedom? The truth is that there was noexultation, nor even relief. The feeling was one of creeping awareness, anawakeningthattookfirmerholdwitheveryheartbeat.Ihadexpectedcheersandcriesofdefiant rage.Yetas theEye’svioletmists thinned,aswe lookeduponunpoisonedstarsforthefirsttimeinaspanofmangledchronology,thesilencewasdeafening.The shudders that forever ran through the ship’s bones even in the Eye’scalmestregionssubsided,andthesuddenquietwaspracticallyaphysicalforce,hammeringagainstour senses.Someof themutants andhumanson the lowerdecks,mostlythosewhohadbeenbornwithintheGreatEyeandneverleft itsboundaries, for whom corporeal reality was an unimaginable concept,purportedlylosttheirminds.Theyhadlivedtheirliveswiththesoundandthreatofclawsrakingagainstthehull.Withoutit…Well,realitywasalientothem.Iwouldnotwish to speculate on themechanics of theirminds.All legionaries’brain patterns and cognitive functions are undeniably altered by our hellishsanctuary,buttohavebeenbornthereandknownootherexistence?Itendedtokeepmysensesawayfromtheirthoughts.Letthatsuffice.Saronos lifted his hands from the navigational pylons. Ultio’s breath wasaudible across the entire bridge, a relieved sigh from themouths of her vox-gargoyles. Her ship had slipped free of those painful tides, returning to thenaturalvoidatlast.I no longer heard the whispering pleas and taunts of unformed daemonsbeggingmetobringthemintobeing.Thechronometricrunesattheedgeofmyretinaldisplaybegantotickintherightdirectiononcemore,markingtimegoing

forwards.Ilyasterturnedhisskullishgazetotheoculus,whichhadbecomeapaintingofperfect stars. I did not know him well then, and his sunken features wereslackenedinanexpressionIstruggledtorecognise.AtfirstI thoughthemightbeweeping as he borewitness to our emancipation.With hindsight, I believewhatIsawtherewasdread.Wehadbeentrappedintheunderworldforsolong,waging ceaseless war within our haven, that reality was now a realm ofimmense,insaneemptiness.Abaddon alone seemed unmoved by the transition. He listened to the crewstations sounding off their stuttering and overwhelmed status reports, then hereceivedrelayedwordfromtherestofthefleetastheydriftedintorealspaceinourwake.All of themmade it through.Not a single vesselwas lost. I had tochecktherecordsmyselftoascertainthatitwastrue,forIcouldscarcelybelievesuchathingwaspossible.‘Auspex,’AbaddoncalledtoUltio.Even the Anamnesis was moved by breaking back into reality. Her eyesbetrayedherdisorientation,asshesoughttoprocessspacethatexistedinamerethreedimensionsoncemore,withouttheendlessorchestraofmadnesstearingathershieldsandtheironskinofherhull.‘Iseenothing,’shedeclared.‘Aheadofus,thevoidissilent.’‘Keepyoureyesopen,myhuntress.Idoubtitwillremainthatwayforlong.’Abaddon remained enthroned as Saronos approached him, and he bade theWarpGhostrisewhencursoryobeisancewasmade.‘Youhavedoneallyoupromised,’Abaddonsaid.‘Aswasagreed,’Saronosreplied.‘Thoughyouleaveseveralofmywarshipswithoutvoid-guides.’‘Aswasalsoagreed.Youspeakirrelevancies,EzekyleAbaddon.’Mylord’slipcurledatthatinsomethingapproximatingamusement.Ilyaster approached, his black Terminator plate growling. ‘What if we needyourservicesagain?’Saronos turned his head to the newest of the Ezekarion. ‘We have alwaysservedtheBlackLegion,whentheBlackLegionhasmetourprice.’Icannothavebeentheonlyonewhoseskincrawledwiththetemporalpromiseofthewords.Abaddon’seyesnarrowedtogoldenslits.‘Youhavealwaysservedus?’A cawing cry sounded from the shadowed rafters, and a daemonic crowspiralleddowntolandontheWarpGhost’sshoulder.Itwatchedmewithmisted

eyes,weakwiththethreatofdiscorporation,thesmokeofitsplumagethintothepointoftransparency.Tokugra?It did not answerme.Saronospaid thedaemonnoheed either, evenwhen itbeganscratchingitsclawsonthemottledgreyceramiteuponwhichitperched.Saronos inclined his head respectfully to the warrior upon the throne.‘Goodbye,EzekyleAbaddon.’Ifoundmyselfsteppingforwardsfromthedisorganisedranks,approachingtheWarpGhost,removingmyhelmetasIdrewnear.‘Hold,’Ibidhim.AlleyeswereuponmeasIcamealmostwithinarm’sreachofthegreywarrior.‘Showmeyourface.’Theredeye-lensesburnedwithindifference.‘Youspeakirrelevancies.’‘Nothing I speak is irrelevant tome, or tomyLegion. It is a simple enoughrequest,Saronos.’Ihadexpectedhimtorefuse.Instead,Saronosdisengagedthesealsathiscollar,and the crow fluttered, shifting to his back-mountedpowerpack.Therewas asnap-hissasSaronos’armourdepressurised,andhepulledthehelmetclear.His skin was white, as was his long hair, the latter spilling free from itsbindingsashishelmcameoff.Hiseyeswerered,andhisfaceboreonlyminoralterations–thedarknessoftheveinsbeneathhissallowfleshwasamapoftheminormutationsinhisbloodstream.HelookedolderthanhehadwhenIhadlastlooked upon him, though he seemed no wearier, not even for the efforts ofguidingtheVengefulSpiritandferryingoursoulsbacktoreality.Tokugracawed,thesoundraggedandweak.Murmursbeganacrossthebridge.Ultio’sgargoyles relayedhersoftgasp. Iglanced toAbaddon,only toseehimwatchingwithunsurprisedacceptance.IbreathedSaronos’name,thoughnotasitwasnow;IspokehisnameasIhadalwaysknownit.‘Ashur-Kai.’Hisfeaturesdidnotflicker.Theydidnoteventwitch.‘Youspeakirrelevancies,Sekhandur.’Youknowme,Isenttohim.YoucalledmeSekhandur.‘Doyourememberus?’Iaskedhim.Hewasalreadyreplacinghishelm.‘Youspeakirrelevancies.’‘Whathappenedtoyou,afteryouleftus?Forhowmanyyearshaveyoubeengone?’His helm clicked into place with the crunching of pressure seals. His voice

emergedthroughthevocalisergrilleoncemore,ashetoldme,ofcourse,thatIspokeirrelevancies.ThebridgeshiveredwithUltio’ssuddenunease.‘Iseeanotherfleetinthedark,’shesaid.‘Approachingatattackspeed.’I had turned to herwhen she spoke.When I looked back toAshur-Kai – toSaronos–hewasgone.On the hololithic display, the loneWarpGhosts vessel that had accompaniedourfleet,theTartaranWraith,wassailingbackintotheEye’smurkyborders.‘Ashur-Kai…’Imurmured.ASHUR-KAI! I hurled his name into the warp, a plea to be answered and acommandtobeobeyed.Therewasnothing.Nothingatall.Lheor thuddedhispalmagainst thebackofmyhead. ‘Forget them!Let themrun.Thewar’sabouttostart.’Wordsescapedme.ItwasallIcoulddotonod.Wecameabout toface thenewthreat: the inboundfleet, itsvanguardvesselsstillmathematicallymystifyingdistancesaway.Deep-sightimagesrelayedbackshipaftershipaftership…YoumustunderstandthatwhentheImperiumspeaksof Chapters, they have sacrificed the apocalyptic but disordered strength of aLegionforasurgical,precisespecialoperationsforce.TheBlackTemplarswereaChapter,buttheywereaChapteronascaletheImperiumhasnotseensincethehalcyon,blood-bitterdaysoftheHeresy.Abaddonlaughedas imageafter imageofsable-hulledwarshipsstitchedtheirwayacrosstheoculus.Withthelightofunhealthymirthinhiseyes,hespreadhisarmswideinagestureofkinglyacknowledgement.‘ItseemswearenottheonlyblackLegion.’WhenUltiocalledout thatwewerebeinghailed, thecommanddeckfell intohallowedsilence.Nooneneededtoaskwhichshipwassendingthehail.The imageupon theoculus took several seconds to resolve, andbetween thedistanceathandandtheinterferenceofnearbyEyespace,itremainedflickeringand grainy. The throne before us was fashioned of carved bronze and Terranmarble,thatblue-veinedstonerarerthananhonestmanintheNineLegions.Itshigh back and broad arms were flanked by stands of braziers and ascendingcandles,paintingthewhiterockamberandcastingflickeringshadowsacrossthedarkwarriorseatedthere.Many legionaries and humans alike have mistaken Abaddon for his father,Horus.Therewasnoway that thiswarriorcouldbemistaken forhisprimarchliege.Hisarmourwasblack,aswasours.Theceramite layerswererimmedin

gold, as were ours. It is said that our armour is black to obfuscate our pastcolours,andthisistrue,butIsawtheverysamemournfulandhopefuldefianceinthewargearof thewarriorbeforeme.Thestainoffailureclungtohimasitclung to us, and rather than drape himself in funereal black out of a need forrevenge, he had darkened his armour as a statement of atonement andredemption.Hereclinedlikeanidleking,toostalwarttoslouch,tooalerttoberesting,hishand on the hilt of a black sword. Every one of us knew that blade’s legend.Manyofushadlostbrotherstoitskillingedge.Theirbloodhadsoakedintoitsblacksteel,runningacrosstheinscriptionmarkingitslength.Theoculusimagewas too flawed to read thewordsbut Iknewwhat theywouldsay if theviewresolved:ImperatorRex.ThebladewasforgedtohonourtheEmperor,thekingofkings,theMasterofMankind.The warrior’s hair was cropped close and whitened by time. A short beardframed the thin, scarred line of his mouth. Age had weathered his skin andfrostedhishair,buthisshoulderswereunbowed,andnooculusdistortioncouldhidetheicyfuryinhiseyes.Vindicationburnedinthatgaze.Hehadwaitedforushere,downthemanydecades,andhehadbeenrighttowait.He was us, through a lens of loyal zeal, through a mirror of indignantrighteousness. I would have known this even before I tasted his knight’sbrainfleshmonthsbefore.Iwouldhaveknownit thesecondmyeyesfelluponhim, this ancient knight-king, enthroned on white stone and leaning upon asword that had reaped an untellable number of lives during our doomedrebellion.Abaddonwasstanding,staring,hisglyphedteethshowingthroughpartedlips.Hewasasawedastherestofus.Knowingwhatwaswaitingoncewebrokefreewasone thing,butwitnessing itwithourowneyeswasquiteanother.Asmiledawnedacrosshisfeatures,andhiswarp-liteyesgleamed.‘Onlyyou,Sigismund,’hesaid to theknight-king, ‘wouldpursueagrudge totheverybordersofhell.That’sahatredsopure,Ican’thelpbutadmireit.’Theancientknightrose,raisingthebladeinawarrior’ssalute,oneIrecognisedfromfightingalongsidetheImperialFistsinbrighter,betterdays.Hekissedthehilt,thenpressedhisforeheadtothecoldblade.‘Isuffernottheuncleantolive.’Abaddon’s grin deepened. ‘Blood of the Gods, it is good to see you again,Sigismund.’‘Iuphold thehonourof theEmperor. Iabhoranddestroy thewitch. Iaccept

anychallenge,nomattertheodds.’Abaddonwaslaughingnow.‘AtruesonofRogalDorn.Nevershowemotionwhenachorusofoathsandvowswillserveinstead.’Buttheywerenotvows.Notreally.Theywerepromises.HewrotethoseoathsforhisChaptertofollow,buttheywerehiswords–notvowsforhisknightstoemulate,butapromisetohisfoes.Sigismund,onceFirstCaptainoftheImperialFists,nowHighMarshaloftheBlackTemplars,lookedbackatusfromthebridgeoftheEternalCrusader.Andstillherefusedtoaddressus.Wewerebeneathhim,undeservingofanythingbuthisregaldisdain.In contrast, our bridge eruptedwith sound. Shouts andmurderous crieswerehurled towards the oculus, as the relief of escaping our prison and the surrealtruthofbeingconfrontedbyourformerfoesfinallybrokeoverus. Itbanishedthe stunned and useless silence that had gripped us upon emerging into theCadianGate, andwebaptised themoment in anorchestraofbestial roars andjeers. Itwas a tide of sound fromhuman throats,mutantmaws and legionaryhelm vocalisers, a throat-tearing wave of derision and fury that made thestinkingairof thebridge tremble.Therewas joy in that sound,andbitterness,andrage.Itwasanexorcism.Apurging.Itwasvindictagivenvoice.Sigismundlookedatusasifwewerenothingbuthowlingbarbarians.Tohim,perhapswewere.Hestillhadnotaddressedusdirectly,andhedidnotchangethat now. He gave an order to his bridge crew and cast his cloak from hisshoulders,freeinghimselfforthefighttocome.‘Attack.’Ultio’sresponsewasimmediate.‘TheEternalCrusaderisengaging.’Shedidn’twaitfororders.TheVengefulSpiritshudderedasitmovedtomatchitssistership.Ithadbeencenturiessincetheysailedthesameskies.Nowtheywouldmeetoncemore.All-outvoidwar is fought in spheresofengagement.Thegreatest fleetsduelone another in a three-dimensional battlescape, with elements of each fleetoccupying a spherical space of conflict. Within this sphere they keep theirescorts, their fighters and their targets. In this manner, a series of individualbattlesformsthegreaterwar,nodifferentfromtheregimentalshieldwallsoftheIronEraorthenavalengagementsoftheAgeofSail.Howfine thatsounds inprinciple.Thereality isaltogethermessier.Nobattleplansurvivescontactwiththeenemy.Thespheresareever-shiftingloci,movingandrealigningmomentbymoment

withtheunfoldingbattle.Keepingtrackofthisuntrackablemiasma,wheretensofthousandsoflivesarelostineveryheartbeatandeveryattackmustbemadewith streams of calculation, is a task for only our finestminds.A gifted voidwarriorisamongaLegion’smostpreciousresources.Abaddon,forallhisskills,has never been a natural in the void.He has always thrived in the instinctualimmediacy of a close fight. Valicar Hyne, named as the Black Legion’sfleetmasterbyEzekyle,wasoneofoursavantsinthisarena.Butnoneofourcaptains,Valicar included,couldmatch theAnamnesis.Ultiowasbeholden toAbaddonandValicar’sorders, but theywerebeholden tohergenius.Shewasthemachine-spiritoftheflagship–shewastheshipitself–andyetshewasevenmore.TheMartianMechanicumhadoriginallyconstructedhertobethecoreofmyfirstwarship,thenow-lostTlaloc,encrustinghersuspensiontankwithhundredsofmind-linkedcogitatorsandharvested,vat-sustainedslave-brains.Theyremadeher intoagestaltentity,namingher theAnamnesis,yet itwas only when she fused with the ancient and warlike machine-spirit of ourLegion’s flagship that she truly developed autonomy. As the heart of theVengefulSpirit,sherediscoveredmortalinstinctandblendeditwithhercoldandcalculatingmind.EzekylewastheonetonameherUltio,awryreferencetoanOldEarthgoddessofwarandvengeance.And,Iamsureitwillnotsurpriseyoutolearn,anotherwordforvindicta.WithherenhancedsensesbondedsocloselywiththeVengefulSpirit,Ultiohadaperceptionofvoidwar’soceanicpossibilitiesthateventhelordsoftheLegionscouldnoteasilymatch.Shewasoneof theMechanicum’sveryfewsuccessfulprototypes in combining human awareness, gestalt consciousness and elevatedintelligencewithinamachine-spirit,andthisraritymadeherasusefulasanyofAbaddon’s warlords. Arguably, it made her more useful than any individualwithintheEzekarion.MorethanonceIhadwonderedifAbaddon’spriorityhadbeen inacquiringmy talents,or if securingmy loyaltywasmerelyanecessitytowardsgainingcontroloftheAnamnesis.WhenIhadaskedhiminthepast,hisreactionhadbeentobreakintolaughter,whichwasnoansweratall.AbaddonwasfeverishfromthemomentheheardSigismundgivehisordertoattack.DespiteourbreakingfreeoftheEye,thePantheon’ssingersandheraldscriedeverlouderforhisattention.Strangetothinkthatthiswasbeforeheworetheirmarkand carriedthedaemonblade–inyearstocome,lookinguponhimastheDespoiler,theLordofChaosAscendant,wouldbelikestaringintotheheartofasun.

YetthePantheoncriedoutforhim,loudernowthathewasonestepclosertothedestinytheywishedforhim–adestinyhewouldbothfulfilanddenyfortherest of his life as the Gods’ greatest chance of victory and the oneman theycould never trust or cage. Fire burned in his eyes as he stared at theEternalCrusader.Thetwofleetspoweredtowardsoneanother,far-sightedweaponsfiringonthefaith of calculations long before a single ship was in visual range. The deckrumbledbeneathour feetwith thedraconic effortsof the engines and the firstvolleysspatintothecalmnight.Individualbattlegroupsfollowedtheirassignedvectors,beginningtodriftawaytoformtheirownengagementspheres.Wehadonly just returned to real space, and alreadywe defiled it with the scream ofweaponbatteries.SobeganthefirstbattleoftheLongWar.

Beforethefleetsjoined,aperiodofsuffocatingserenityreigned.Iwasawareofthecrewbracingaroundme,andof theclarioncalls thatsentwarriors to theirbattlestations,pilotstotheirfightersandenslavedgunnerycrewstotheircannondecks.Withthedistancebetweenthetwoarmadas,foratimetherewasnothingto do but wait. I knewwhere Abaddon would want me to be when the timecame,andsoIremainedonthebridge,awaitinghisorder.Myskullached.Itwasmorethanaheadache;itwasaphysicalpressureuponthe cranial bone that cagedmy brain. I could feel the blood vessels swellingbehindmyeyes.Nefertaricametome,mellifluousinheralienmotions.Hermerestmovementswereallsilkwithnosensuality.Nagualwaswithher,almostovershadowingherin height andmost definitely in bulk.My two trusted retainers,my two finestweapons,thoughcircumstancehaddeniedmetheiruseinrecentyears.One,analienmaidenInolonger trulyneeded; theother,asimple-mindedreflectionofthewolfIhadlostlongago.Master, the lynxsent tome. I ignoredhim. Iwaswatching the slow-growingspecksthatmadeuptheenemyfleet.Myremadefistclosedandopened,abionicbloomthatbetrayedmyrestlessness.Mynewmachineknucklespurred.‘YouarethinkingofAshur-Kai,’myeldarbloodwardventured.Shewasalwayssocertain,hertonealwayssoadamant,thatitwasstrangetohearaqueryinhervoicenow.‘Yes andno,’ I confessed. Iwas thinking ofAshur-Kai – of Saronos and thechanges I had witnessed – but I was also dwelling on thoughts of Thagus

Daravek.IfeltusslidinginexorablyclosertoafinalconfrontationwiththeLordofHosts, and Ino longerbelieved Icouldbeofanyhelp toAbaddonandmybrothers.Weretheythinkingthesame?Wouldtheyseemeasaliabilityandremoveme?Howstrangeitfelt,tonotbetrustedbyone’sownkindred.Ikeptskimmingtheirsurface thoughts in searchof anyunease, but all of themwere focusedon thecomingbattle.‘Saronos,’ said Nefertari, seemingly trying out the name’s taste. ‘Was thewarrioringreytrulyAshur-Kai?’‘Yes.Itwashimallalong.Thedilationsoftime…’Ibegan,onlyforNefertaritosilencemewithacurthissbetweenherteeth.‘SotheWhiteSeerlives,evenafterhewassacrificed.Whythendoyouseethewithsuchunbecomingmelancholicunrest?’‘It is not Ashur-Kai that burdens me,’ I admitted. ‘Thagus Daravek said hekilledmeatDrolKheir.’Nefertari wore hydra gauntlets that day, devices of Commorran design thatprojected talon-like growths of living crystal, all to the wearer’s whim. Mybloodward used the violet crystal fingernail claws to tap out a slow, tinklingmelodyagainstthecrewrailing.Ithadthecadenceofalullaby,onewarpedandoutoftime.HergraspofthevariousGothictongueswasmasterful,butshestruggledwithher pronunciation. The eldar mouth and vocal cords were not suited to whatNefertaritermed‘theanimalbleatingthatyouhumanscalllanguage’.‘DrolKheir,’sherepeated thename. ‘Inour time together,alliesandenemiesalikehavespokenof thatplace.’Herdarkeyeswatchedthe tenseformsof thebridgecrewasthewarshipsclosedtheimmensedistance.ThedeckbeneathusshiveredwiththedistantroaroftheVengefulSpirit’sengines.‘Rumoursofyourdemisearenothingnew.Didyoudiethere?Werehiswordstrue?’‘Idonotknow.Itmightexplainthecommandheholdsovermyphysicalform.’‘Itmightalsobethelieofadesperatemonsterseekinganyadvantagehecan,asdestinyslipsthroughhisfingers.’‘Mymemoryoftheplaceisshattered.Flawed.’ThoughthatcouldbeDaravek’smanipulation aswell.Thiswas all so futile.Mymindwasworking itself intoknots.Iwillkillhim,Nagualassuredme.Idismissedthebeast’suselessloyaltywithawaveofmyhand.NagualhadtriedandfailedinthatambitionalmostasoftenasIhad.

‘Whydosomanyofyourbrothersandcousinsbelieveyoudiedinthatplace?’Nefertariasked.‘Because I went into seclusion after Drol Kheir. I left the Thousand SonsconclavesstillgatheredatSortiariusandsailedwithAshur-Kai,awayfromtherestofourLegion.Wewereunseenfordecades.’‘Doing what, voscartha?’ she asked, using the Commorran word for ‘slavemaster’.Ihesitatedforamoment–shehadneverbeforebetrayedanyinterestinmylifebeforeherpresencewithinit.Ifeltthethreatofasmile.‘WewereseekingarouteoutoftheEye.’Shegaveaknowingnodas thechronologyslipped intoplace. Ithadbeen inthatperiodthatweinitiallycameacrossNefertariherself,adriftinarivenvesselofalienmetalandlivingcrystal.Alifepodofsorts,tumblingthroughtheEye’stides,withonlyonesoulaboard.Sheflexedherfingersandthevioletcrystaltalonsreceded.‘Inmyexperience,’Nefertarisaidinherthick,difficultaccent,‘youmon-keighmakeagreatmanyclaimswhenitcomestoyourownprowess,awardingyourselvestitleaftertitle,yourpsychesawashwiththehopethatsuchposturingwillintimidateyourfoes.’‘Undeniablytrue,’Iadmitted,‘thoughthatisharshcriticismfromaspeciesthatattachespoeticnonsenselike“theStormofSilence”and“theCryoftheWind”toitsdemigods,no?’‘You are pronouncing thehonorificswith amumbling ineptitude that rendersthemmeaningless,’Nefertaripointedout,‘anditisnotremotelythesame.’Ifyousayso,Ithought.‘Indeed,’Isaidaloud.‘Perhaps he killed you and bound your spirit,’ Nefertari mused. ‘Perhaps hepreysuponyourfears.Whatdifferencedoesitmaketoyouinthehereandthenow?’‘Itmakeseverydifference.Ifhehasboundmysoultohiswill…’Itrailedoff,mydiscomfort growing.Thiswas coming too close tomatters I neverwishedNefertaritoknowof–matterspertainingtoherownexistence.Shecutonwards,ignoranttomyreluctance.‘Youarewrong.Itmakesnodifferenceatall.Ifyouseehim,youmustkillhim.This iswhatmustbedone. Itmattersnotwhatholdhepossessesoveryou. Itchangesnothing.’‘Mythanks,’Isaid,‘forthisunwelcomeandcoldclarity.’Distracted,IranmybionichandthroughNagual’sfur.Thebeasttensed,almostflinchingbackfromme inalarm.Nefertari, far too inhuman tobetrayanyreal

emotion, nevertheless let her glance flick to the motion. She recognised thegesturefromtheyearswithGyreatmyside.Ilookedatthegreattigrus-cat,meetingtheflawedpearlsofhiseyes.Isawinhis gaze how he feared me: he feared dissolution and banishment due todisappointinghismaster–asallthralldaemonsdo–buthefearedme,aswell.Hefearedmythoughts.Hefearedmytemper.Ihavenottreatedyouwellinouryearstogether,haveI,creature?Thehugelynxscoredthedeckwithhistalons.Youarestrong,master,Nagual sentbackwithanacceptancebornof instinct.HewouldservemebecauseIwasstrong,becauseIhadshackledhimtomywill.Hefearedmebut,fornow,hewouldnotdefyme.Ihadexpectedthissimplisticandsomewhathollowperspective,butNagualsurprisedmewithhisnextwords.AndIamnotGyre.Shealonetastednotormentfromyou.I had never excruciated Gyre. She had never required torture or any otherinflicted encouragement. Nor had I ever taken outmy temper on her, formylong-servingwolfwasacreatureofcunningaswellaslethality.Nagual was all predation and destruction. Perhaps I had undervalued thoseaspects. It was something to think about when I had the luxury of time. If Irediscoveredthatluxury.I touched my fingertips to my closed eyes, fighting through the miasmicheadachestillpushingattheinsidesofmyskull.Theindistincthazeofimagesfrommemoriesdancedinafilterovermysight.ThecommanddeckaroundmewaslayeredwiththecontoursofplacesIhadnotbeenindecades.Brotherslongdead stood at the edge ofmyvision. I could even hear their voices, not quitereal,thinnedinrecollection,yetimpossibletobanish.Iwasnottheonlyonesuffering.Mostofthewarriorsremainingonthebridgeradiated an aura of the same pain, and blood ran from the noses and ears ofseveralmutants.Tzah’q, one of the beastmen from the Tlaloc, snorted bloody filth from hisnasalpassages,sendingitspatteringontothedecking.HeservedasanoverseerontheVengefulSpiritjustashehadonmyoldship,andthoughhewasancientnow–hisfurwhitenedandhiseyesmilky–heneedednoeyestowatchoverthemenials under his less than tender care. Horns of black glass jutted from histemples,andsmallerspikesandspinesofthesameobsidianprotrudedfromhischinandcheeks.Heoversawthemenialsandthralls,headjerkingthiswayandthat.Where furred, clawed hands had once gripped a las rifle or a whip, nowavian talons curled,wickedly sharp, held close to his chest. TheChanger had

blessedhim–orcursedhim,ifyouprefer–butInolongerhealedtheravagesofhisage,forhenolongerneededmeto.TheGodofFatehadmarkedhimwell.Hehuffedagain,anothershort,breathybarktoclearhissnoutofthebleedingslime.Thebeastmansensedmyscrutinyandbaredhisyellowingpeg-teethinabitterrictus.‘Pain,’hegrunted.Anacknowledgement,notacomplaint. ‘PainsincewelefttheEye.’Tzah’q had been born in the Eye. He had never lived within the materialuniverse. Theweight of physics played upon all of us oncemore, but it washeaviestonthosewhowerestrangerstoreality.‘Itistime,’Ireplied.‘Time,LordKhayon?’‘Thepainyoufeelistimegoingforwards.Youarefeelingtheweightofyourbonesandtherunningofyourbloodasyourbodyagesaroundyou.Whatyoufeel,Tzah’q,isthepassageoftime.Thatiswhyyourmindaches.’‘Pain,’ the beastman agreed. I did not care enough to read his mind to seewhetherheunderstoodornot.Ithardlymattered.‘Khayon,’Abaddoncalledtome.Ileftmythrallsandascendedmylord’sdais,readytoreceivemyordersatlast.WhenIsaythathelookedfevered,Iamnotdoingjusticetowhatburnedinhisgaze.Youmightcallitasickhungerorthepurityofzeal,andbothdescriptionswould be perfectly apt.What I saw in his eyes was a silent furore, a riot ofrestrainedemotion.Ifhewereabeast,Ithought,hewouldbesalivating.Morianawaswithhim.Sheregardedmecoolly.Iignoredher.‘Icanscarcelygiveitcredence,’Abaddonsaidquietly.‘Free,atlonglast.’‘Free,’Iagreed.‘Butforhowlong?’Hegaveatoothysmile,knowingofwhatIspoke.TheImperiumwouldhearofthisbattlesoonenough.WewereaLegion,butourenemieswoulddescenduponuswiththestrengthofanempire.‘Longenough,mybrother.Longenough.YouknowwhatIwishofyou?’‘Asalways.’Closertohim,Icouldhearitnow–theripplingsongofthewarp,spreading through his aura like bloodmisting throughwater. Andwithin thatshriekingharmony,words–wordsinatonguethatdefiedcomprehensiondespitethemanydecadesIhadspent immersedin thewarp’ssacrilegiousmelodies. ItwasasongshapedforAbaddonalone,as thePantheoncrooned tohimof fateand destiny. Iwondered justwhat theywere promising, andwhetherMorianahadwhisperedthosesamepromisesinmylord’sears.

Onewordpermeatedthatsirenhowl,onewordthatwasimprintingitselfuponAbaddon’sverybonesandtranscribingitselfthroughhisbloodstream.TheonlywordIrecognised.‘Drach’nyen,’Isaidaloud.‘Ihearitssongclearerouthere.’‘AsdoI,’saidAbaddon.Morianastiffenedatourwords.‘Nowisnotthetimeforyoursuspicions,Iskandar.’Sherestedhersmall,bare,humanhandon theTalonofHorus. Iwasgratifiedby thecaressofdistrust inAbaddon’saura–nomatterhowheheededherwords,hewasundernoillusions.He seemedon thevergeof sayingmore,but insteadhe shiftedaway from theslenderprophetessandnoddedtotheoculus.‘Areyoupreparedforthis,Khayon?’Wasthatasecond’sdoubtinhiseyes?Amomentaryflickerofindecision?I looked at the fleet bearing down upon us, and as vast as itwas, itwas nomatch for us in size.At the fleet’s vanguard sailed the Eternal Crusader, andoncemoreIsawtheancientknightinmymind’seye,soregaluponhisthrone.‘IdonotthinkanyonecanbepreparedtofightSigismund,’Ireplied.‘TheEmperor’sChampion,’Abaddonsaidquietly.ThiswasthetitlethatLordRogalDornhadgrantedtohissonattheBattleofTerra.Andoh,howSigismundhadearnedthattitle.‘Yousawhowoldheis.’‘Ifyouare tryingtoconvincemethathewillhavelosthisprowess,Ezekyle,youarewalkingafoolishroad.’‘Perhaps so. He is the embodiment of all we are fighting against. He isignoranceincarnate,apuppetheldupbystringsofblindloyaltytothedeceivingEmperor. But I can’t hate him. Is that not insane, Khayon? There stands theavatarofallweseektodestroy–anImperiallegend–andyetIadmiretheman.’‘Admiretheman,’Isaid.‘Destroythelegend.’Hegrinned.‘Wisewords.’‘Takemewithyou,’Iadded.‘Iwanttofightintheboardingassault.’‘Why?’ Abaddon replied at once. His amusement faded at my break withtradition.OneoftheEzekarionhadtoremainaboardtheflagship,tocommandDelvarusandtoworkwithUltio.Itwasthewayofthings.WithoutAshur-Kai,Iwas the logical choice to remain, givenmybondwith theAnamnesis andmytalentsinguidingtheSecondbornthatservedunderDelvarus.‘DelvarusandtheRivencanholdtheVengefulSpiritwithoutme,andtheashendeadwillanswer toothersorcerers. Iwant tobepartof theassaultaboard theEternalCrusader.’‘Why?’heaskedagain,asifhedidnotknow.Hemerelywantedmetosayit.

‘Tofightatyourside.Tohaveyouprove,afterDaravek’sclaims,thatyoustilltrustme.’TheTalon’sclawsclashedsoftlytogether.‘IfIdidn’ttrustyou,you’dbedead.’I reached for his mind to prevent the prophetess from hearing. Is that true,brother?YoudonottrustMoriana,yetshestilldrawsbreath.Heclosedourpsychiclinkwithapulseofdismissal.‘Ineedyouhere,Khayon.’Iheardtheironinhiswords.Therewouldbenoargument.Iconcededwithanod, feeling every eye in the chamber turned to me, witnessing Abaddon’srefusal.Onone level Iknew thiswasnothingbut imaginationbornofbruisedpride,yetstillIfeltthosestares.‘Lheorwillremainwithyou,’Abaddondecided.Everthebattle-king,heburnedwithvitalityatthethoughtofboardingtheEternal Crusader.Icouldpracticallyhearhisracingpulse.‘Andifyoulosemyship,Imaylosemytemper.’With those words, he left the bridge, trailed by Falkus and the black-cladTerminators of Abaddon’s elite guard – once the Justaerin, now the AphoticBlade.Ididnotwatchhimleave.Ifocusedmyannoyanceupontheoculus,wherethetwofleetssailedevercloser.Thefoe’sspheresofengagementwerefallingintoplace as subfleets and battlegroups aligned in their individual formations.Thedeckshudderedasweveeredponderouslyasidefromthefirsttorpedoruns,thecrewstationseruptinginshoutsanddeclarationsofsensorydata.Itwasbeginningnow.Trulybeginning.‘Sister,’Ultiocalled to theEternalCrusader, theVengefulSpirit’ssiblingandthe only Gloriana-class battleship in the enemy armada.On her face was anexpressionofconsummaterapture.‘Youmissed.’ThebridgedoorsrumbledclosedbehindAbaddonandtheBlackLegionelite.The Vengeful Spirit, already juddering with the overburn of its engines,somehowspedupinunitywiththeAnamnesis’bloodlust.

VOIDWARIhavespokenofourfleet’smight,butnotitspoverty.Themanydaemon-forgesthat would later answerAbaddon’s calls were still in their infancywithin theEmpire of the Eye. Our Heresy-era technology was eternally degrading evenbackthen,andwehadlittletouseinplaceofourlosses.Resourceslikeore-richmoons,shipboardfoundriesandMechanicummanufactoriawereasprecioustous as fresh water: not only agonisingly rare, but also subject to their ownsufferings.Legionwarbandsendlesslyplunderedsuchsitesintherabidhuntforshredsandscrapsofadvantage.You have heard evidence of this carrion-feeding already. I have told you ofMaeleum, of the raids and punishments it endured and of our undignifiedpicking through its carcass. We were all vultures and carrion crows in thosedays.Ibelievewestillare.And if we were low on ammunition, if our armour plating was cracked,repairedandcrackedagain,thetruthisthatourfleetswereinevenworseshape.WehadbeenbeatenintheHeresy,wehadbeenbeatenintoexileintheScouring,andwhiletheImperiumlickeditswoundsintheaftermathofourdisappearance,wehadspentthaterawagingwaragainstoneanother.For every vessel enhanced bymutation, another was cursed by it; for everycruisersailingwithadmirablerepairsoran undamagedhull,anotherwasashellofitsformerglory.WithinEyespace,ourshipsweresubjecttotheerosionofthewarp’stouch,acceleratingnaturaldegradation,andreliableopportunitiestodry-dockandrepairacapitalshipwerestaggeringlyscarce.IntheEye,especiallyinthatera,afunctioning,stableshipyardwaspracticallythestuffofdreams.Theywere always the highest priority for destruction if anotherwarbandwished togrindarivalintodust.Foratime,thenewbornBlackLegionhadclaimedanddefendedNiobiaHalo–the shipyard and forge moon belonging to Ceraxia and Valicar. ThatcustodianshiphadendedwhenThagusDaravekledawarhostofWordBearers

andDeathGuardtoannihilateourdocksandplunderthericheswehadacquired.The installation was lost in the resulting battle. Afterwards, both Valicar andCeraxiajoinedtheEzekarionasfleetmasterandarmsmistressrespectively.Many of the vesselswe sailed from theEye into thewaiting fire arcs of theBlackTemplars fleetbore thewoundsofages.Thepressuresof thestorm thathadbarredourescapeonlyaddedtothestrainsalreadyplacedontheirhullsaftercenturies of civil war and sailing in the unquiet, poisoned tides of Eyespace.ImperialcaptainsacrossthemillenniaoftenobservethattheTraitorLegionsandour thrall fleetsarecomprisedofwarshipsplundered fromsectorssurroundingthe Eye. The Gothic Sector alone has supplied us with any number of shipsacrossthemanycenturies.Thisisasadnecessity,asour Crusade-andHeresy-eravesselsbreakdownbeyondsustainability,are lost to thewarp’sclutchesoraresimplydestroyedintheebbandflowoftheLongWar.Itisforthesesamereasonsthatyouseeourindividualwarriorsequippedwithancient and unreliable patterns of weaponry, or reduced to using inefficient,outdatedwargear.Forallthestrengththatmutationandhatredbestow,erosion,decay and the eternal civilwar between theNineLegions takesmore than itsshare.We are mighty, but it is a tenuous might. Just as that day, when weoutnumberedSigismund’sarmada,ouradvantagewasfragile.Wedidnothavetheluxuryofcarelessness.Agreatdealofourfleet’sstrengthwasconcentratedin thekillingpowerandenduranceof theVengefulSpiritand the other largestshipsthatoncesailedatthevanguardoftheGreatCrusade.Mostwerechangedsignificantly by their time in the Eye, and I knew their machine-spirit coreswouldbeasdisorientatedbytheirreturntorealspaceasanytrulylivingbeing.Ihavenogiftforvoidwar.Ihaveneverbeenabletoovercomethehelplessnessofbeingawitnesstosuchgranddestruction,withmyfateentirelycradledbythevessel around me. Worst of all, void battle is not swift. Despite the factthousandsofmenandwomenaredyingwitheverypassingsecond,thewaritselfplaysoutwithunbearabletraction.I remained on the command deck as the battle began. The Eternal CrusaderandtheVengefulSpiritpoweredtowardsoneanother,buttheywerenotthefirstvessels to engage. That honour fell to the Tyresian’s Hex, a light cruiser thatsped ahead of its engagement sphere, immediately finding itself pockmarkedwithgas-ventingwoundsasanImperialfighterwingclungtoitsskinlikeahazeofcirclinginsects.Moreofourvesselstorefreeoftheirformations,streakingaheadatthewhims

of bloodthirsty captains who were spurred on by the long-denied taste ofvengeance. I shook my head at the sight, only for Lheorvine to snort at mydisappointment.Hewasatmysideuponthethrone’selevateddais,watchingthesame images on the oculus. He sympathised with the warships falling out offormationtorisktheirownrevenge.‘Undisciplined,’Isaid.‘Noteveryoneisacold-bloodedTizcan,’hegruntedback.Hiscranialimplantswerebiting;oneofhiseyeskepttwitchingclosed,andhehadtosucksalivabackthroughhismetalteeth.‘Wearesoldiers,’Ipointedout.‘Soldiers.’Hemadeaninsultoftheword.‘Oncewewerecrusaders,Khayon,andnowwearewarriors,butwewerenever“soldiers”.Keepthatfoolishnesstoyourself.’I swallowedmyargument, followinghis trainof thought. Itwasnot the firsttimelegionarieshavedisagreedoverthosesemantics,anditwouldbefarfromthelast.Somebelievedsoldieringcamedowntodiscipline,orfightingforastateoraleaderratherthanforyourself.Somebelievedwarriorhoodwasamatterofheart that elevated themabove a soldier’s station,while others considered it astateofbarbaritythatdraggedthembeneathit.Somequestionshavenoanswers.Nomatterhowseriouslywetookwarfare,nomatterhowadamantlyweclungto our disciplined roots as a SpaceMarineLegion,manyof our numberwereultimately the raiders and marauders that time had made them. For better orworse,wewouldneverhave the ironcladdisciplineofaThrone-loyalAdeptusAstartesforce.Evenbackthen,wehadlostmuchofthedisciplinewehadoncepossessedasLegionsoftheGreatCrusade.‘Noargument?’Lheorgrinned.‘WhereisKhayonandwhathaveyoudonewithhim?’‘Iaminnomoodforyourjests.’‘Areyouever?’‘Pleasebequiet,Lheor.’Theshipshiveredasthefirstlancestrikescamecloseenoughtocaressit,andour void shields lit in reaction, brought into shimmering being. In hercontainment chamber-tank,Ultiopushedherhands forwards through the fluid.Herfacewassetinsavageconcentration.Aswasmine.Ultiolivedthebattleasitunfolded,butIwaslimitedtomerelywatchingit,tryingtofollowitscoursethroughtheinefficientvistaofflickering

hololithicsandanoculusplaguedbystatic.TheEternalCrusaderpoweredevercloser.TheVengefulSpiritfelttightaroundme,itseverydeckplateandhullwalltautwithUltio’sexcitedfury.Shewantednothingmore than to claw her sister ship to pieceswith lance and broadside.Fromtheviciousnesswrituponherface,Ithoughtshemightevenbetemptedtoramtheothervesselinherrage.The ship gave a tremendous shudder beneath another barrage. The lightssputteredacrossthechamber.‘Thatwasnolancestrike,’Isaid.‘Look.’Lheordrewmyattentionbacktotheoculus.‘That’snotgood.’Threevesselssailedinanelevatedengagementsphereatastand-offdistance,too far from the wrath of our guns unless we broke off from the EternalCrusader. Their delineation runes marked them as vessels unfamiliar to theVengefulSpirit’smemorybanks–Crusade-eraVictory-classcruisersbelongingtonoLegion.Iwatchedastherearmostofthethreedaggerishvessels,thickwiththe flies of its lesser escorts, trembled in the void as it fired a city’sworth ofship-widestabilisers.Theimpactstruckusevenbeforetheship’sprow-mountedacceleratorcoilshadflashedwiththeirrelease.TheVengefulSpiritheavedaroundus,metalgroaningundertension,bruisesdiscolouringUltio’sduskyskin.Shegaveasnarlthathadnoplaceemergingfromahumanthroat.Lheorgruntedastheshipstabilised.‘Shieldbreakers,’hesaid.‘Sailingwithminimalescorts,’Ireplied.‘ThatisbaitifeverIsawit.’‘Sureenough,but it’sonehellofanopportunity.’Hewipedhismouthonthebackofhishand.‘What’smoreimportanthere?KillingSigismundorclaimingresourcesfortheLongWar?’Hehadapoint,andIwasofamindtoencouragehisraretactfulness.Iopenedavox-linktoAbaddon,wherehewaitedinhisboardingclaw.‘Ezekyle…’‘Wefeltit,’hisvoicecrackledback,marredbyinterference.‘Novacannon.’Hepaused, doubtless reviewing the data from within his helm’s tactical feeds,calculatinghowmuchdamagetheycouldinflictuponusbeforewereachedtheEternal Crusader. If the imagery suffered battle interference up here on thebridge, it was likely little more than a spread of distortion across a helmet’sretinalfeed.‘Proceedasplanned,’Abaddondecided,aswehadallknownhewould.‘Ourescortswillcatchupafterweengage.We’llholdaquarteroftheirfleetaloneifwehaveto.’

‘Wecanchasethecruisersdown,’Iargued.‘Wecansilencethoselonggunsforgood.’ Therewas logic to this.Nova cannons require an immense sacrifice intime and effort to prepare, fire and reload, and were near worthless at closerange.WithAbaddon’sorder,wecouldtearthroughthosethreeVictorycruiserslike amythical Terran lion ravaging through a helpless herd of extinct Terranelk. ‘Should we not board them and claim them for ourselves? Think of thevalueofsuchprizes.’‘Don’t be tempted by lesser prey, sorcerer. It’s a juicy ruse to lure the alphapredatoraway.Theyknowifwego for their throat,wewinalmostatonce,sotheyofferuptemptingtargetstotestourresolve.’‘The Vengeful Spirit is our greatest game piece on this board,’ I replied toAbaddon.‘Letuswinthewarfirst,thenyoucanfaceSigismund.’‘I will have his head,’ Abaddon snapped. His famous temper kindled at thethreat of being denied close-quarters slaughter. I could practically sense himtryingtowrestitbackundercontrol.‘Whatevertheyattemptismeaninglessoncewe’re aboard the Crusader, and nothing they can dowill stop us boarding it.Ignoretheripetargetstheylayinourpath.Proceedasplanned.’Itriedonefinaltime.‘Weareheretoraid,Ezekyle.Weareheretogatherourstrength,notdepleteit.Weshouldtakethoseshipsforourselves.’Abaddon’s replywas a static-laden dismissal. ‘Valicar is fleetmaster.Let himtakethemorkillthemasheseesfit.IwantSigismund,Khayon.Ifeelthehandoffateonmyshoulder.Thismustbedone.’Therewouldbenoarguingwithhim.Everysyllablethatlefthisfangedmouthseethedwithvindicta–ourgreateststrengthandourdeepestflaw,embodiedbyEzekyle, who has always been the best of us. I wondered how much of hiseagernesswasadesireforvengeanceandglory,andhowmuchwasdesperationtoprovehimselfagainst theLegionesAstartesherothathadtakenhisplaceasfirst-favoured. Any warrior of the Nine Legions that says he fights withoutbitternessislying.There was more, and it was not tied into our gene-forged bodies or thepreternaturaldepthsofourbitterness.Abaddonwasdrivenbyahungerfarmoremundane; warriors throughout history have always defined themselves byhavingthecouragetofacetheirenemies,andbythequalityofthefoesthatfallbeforethem.OfcourseAbaddonwantedSigismunddead.IsparedalookatMoriana,whostoodbyAbaddon’semptythrone.Shecouldnot overhear my conversation, for she lacked access to the vox, but she stillsmiledwhenshesawmetakenoteofher.

I said nothing to Ezekyle. There was nothing to say. The link went dead,immediatelypunctuatedby therattlingshakeof theshiparoundusoncemore.Nova cannon projectiles, hurled by circular racks of gravitic impellers andacceleratorspirals,detonatedinplasmiccloudburststhesizeofcelestialbodies.TheVengefulSpirittorethroughthedetonation’ssavageaftermath,increasinglyalone as our escorts fell ever further behind. Initially, we had been at risk ofoutpacingthemwithUltio’saggressivecharge,butnowtheywere trulyforcedback:wecouldsurviveasustainednovacannonbarrage;theycouldnot.‘Weareabouttobedangerouslyalone,’Isaidtonoonebutmyself.Moriana’s smile was an unreadable crescent; it could have been sincere orvicious,Icouldnottell.‘Havefaith,Iskandar,’shesaid.‘TrustinEzekyle.Destinyridesathissidethisday,and theGodsarebearingwitness tohisdeeds.Thesearehis firststeps tobecomingthevesselintowhichthePantheonpoursallofitspromises.’I sneered at the sentiment. ‘I trust Ezekyle completely, prophetess. It is yourGods that I mistrust and despise.My lady, if you believe Abaddon will everbecometheirvessel,youhavegravelymisjudgedthemanyouadmire.’‘Timechangesallthings,Iskandar.Ezekyleisasoulofsingularvision.’‘Your serene smugness makes my gorge rise,’ I told her with exaggeratedpoliteness, ‘and I am telling you,Moriana, you did not see the expression heworewhenherammedtheTalon throughhisrebornfather’sbody.AbaddoniseverythingHorusisnot.YourGodsmayplagueus.Someofusmayevenpraytothemintimesofdireneed.Butthesonwillneverfallintothedupedslaverythatheldhisfatherinthrall.Thesooneryouseethat,thesooneryouwillseewhywefollowhim.’Shelaughedaloudasthedeckshiveredaroundus.‘Howconfidentlyyouspeakofthefuture!Areyouaseernow?’‘Iamamanwhoknowshisbrother.’Shepaledattheforceofmytone,perhapssuspectingshehadpushedmetoofar.Nefertari and Nagual drew near, the huntress playfully regarding her crystalclaws,thegreatcatgivingalow,burblinggrowl.Ihadnotsummonedthem,yettheyhadreadmymoodperfectly.‘Removethiscivilianfromthebridge,’Iorderedthem.For the very first time, Moriana looked hesitant as the daemon-cat and thewingedalienregardedherwithcoldgazes.‘IamEzekarion,’shesaid,andIcouldnothelpbutlaugh.‘ThatmeansEzekyleissworntoheedyourcounsel,’Ireplied.‘AnditmeansI

willnotkillyou,Moriana.ItdoesnotmeanIwantyouonthecommanddeckinthemidstofabattle.’‘I’mstayinghere,Khayon.Yourslaveswon’tharmme.’‘Isayagain,Iampledgednottokillyou.Isaidnothingaboutnotharmingyou.If I crushedyour spine andpluckedyour eyes fromyour face, you could stillmewlyourpropheciestoAbaddon.’Sheswallowed,believingmeandfinallyfallingsilent.‘Nagual, Nefertari, take her away. Guard her somewhere that any boardingpartieswillnotbeabletoreach.’Nefertarinarrowedherslanted,alieneyes.‘Itistimetoleave,mon-keighgod-whisperer.’Nagualreinforcedherwordswithasnarl.Morianabackedaway,dignified indefeat, though I couldhear the rhythmofher quickened heartbeat as she retreated.When the three of them had left thebridge,Lheorapproachedmeoncemore.IhadthesuddenanddisquietingnotionthathehadretreatedfromMoriana’spresence,hidingfromher.‘She makes my teeth itch,’ Lheor said quietly. His eyes were glassy andunfocused.‘Ican’tdecidewhy.’‘Iknowwhy,’Iventured.‘Youdo?’Someofthecautionbledfromhisgazenowshewasgone.‘It is because she speaks like aprimarch.Everything she says iswreathed incertainty and inevitability anddrippingwith righteous invincibility– the samedeludedcriesofourfailedfathers.MypatienceforthatkindofpreachingranoutaroundthetimewewerefleeingfromTerrawithourtailsbetweenourlegs.’Lheor showedhismetal teeth in agrin.Somewerebronze in colour, someadullsilver.Hereplacedthemperiodically.Ihadneverthoughttoaskwhattheywerereallymadefrom.‘Shedoestalklikeaprimarch,’heagreed.‘ThoughshedroolslessthanAngroneverdid,I’llgiveherthat.’Ultiothrashedinhersuspensiontank,hermouthsilentlywide,lipspeeledbackfromherteeth.Thechoirofvox-gargoylesanddriftingservo-skullsgavevoicetoherscream,loudenoughtosetthebeastmenbrayinginworship.In response to her feral shriek, theVengeful Spirit heaved into a heavy roll,rammingitswaythroughanoceanofstreaming torpedoes.TheywerepinpricksagainsttheAnamnesis’skin,thebuzzingofworthlessvermin.Blood, she mouthed, and ‘Blood,’ her gargoyles hissed above us. ‘Bloodcrystals in the bare void and twisted iron turned to melted slag and burstingbodies and decompression gasps and charred steel and rancid chemical fire

and…’Onandonshespatthehissingcurses,caughtinatrance, staringattheEternalCrusader. The beastmen shouted prayers and devotional braying to theirentombed goddess, the heart and soul of the ship, loud enough to set the airshivering.Ontheoculus,theblacklanceofoursistershipspearedevercloser.

It is difficult to describe the Vengeful Spirit in battle without straying intotheatricality, because a simple retelling of its deeds defies both reason andphysics. You must bear witness to it fighting in order to believe what she iscapableof.Even before the Anamnesis was installed as the flagship’s machine-spirit,reports from theHorusHeresy listed the vessel as performingmanoeuvres ofimpossibleagilityandunleashingweaponsofunknown,unnaturalorigin.Thesereports,whiletrue,werejustthebeginning.TheEyechangedtheVengefulSpiritinways thatwentbeyondthecrenellationsandbastionsalongitsbackand thedarkgoddessatitsheart.ExistenceinsidetheEyehadbredinsanityandlethalityintoitsironbones.WetorepasttheEternalCrusaderthatnight,closeenoughthatourvoidshieldsshriekedwithcontactdischargeagainsttheirs.Voicesimmediatelyoverlappedasthey shouted status updates. Shield strength reports were bellowed across thechamber. Three of the beastmen crew roared that the boarding pods had beenfiredfromtheirhousings.Afighterescortwinghadalreadyspatfreefromtheirlaunch bays, tasked with shooting down any missiles tracking our boardingclaws;thepilots’chatterspilledacrossthevoxastheyflewandfoughtanddied.Weaponmastersandgunneryoverseersbawledorders intotheirconsolesas theoculusfilledwiththeEternalCrusader’sshield-litspinalcastles.Voices,voices,voices.Sirens,fire,thunder.Shrieks,detonations,death.It sounded like Prospero. It sounded like Prospero burning under the WolfKing’srage.Andthenwewerepastthem.WedivedthroughaloosephalanxoftheEternalCrusader’s escorts, our guns silent, every cannon and turret across the shipholding its breath.Projectiles still rained andburst against our shields, butwelancedonwardswithoutfiringback.Ultiowasthereasonwhy.Shesilencedthethousandsofcannonsslavedtoherwill,andherworshipfulcrewobeyed.Sherolledinhersuspensiontank,archingherback,everymuscle inherbodytaut,sinewsstandingoutonherfleshwith

almostemaciatedferocity.Herjawwasclenchedhardenoughtoriskshatteringher teeth.Hereyes, thesamedarkshadeasmyown,wererolled toshowbarewhites.Theshipheavedaroundus,gravitygeneratorsstrainingtokeeppacewiththespeedofourturn.Weightedairslammedmanyofusfromourfeet;Iremainedstandingbylockingmybootstothedeck.Ontheoculus,theEternalCrusaderwasbeginningtoleanintoahardturn,onethatwouldstilltakeaminuteormoretocomplete.TheVengefulSpirit,withoutslowing an iota, pulled up, inverting its pitch at full speed, rolling to face theway it had come.At themomentwe alignedwith theEternal Crusader deadahead,theenginesroaredevenhotter.Physicsdisallowssuchamanoeuvreatsuchspeed,butittookplaceinthespanofmytwinheartsbeatingnomorethantentimes.TheEternalCrusaderwasstillinthefirstmotionsofitsturn.TheAnamnesisrakedat its imagewithher clawedhands, and lance fire streamed silver-whitefromtheVengefulSpirit’sprow.Torpedoesflewbehindthoseglitteringbeams.Acity-killing’sworthofincendiaryragecaughttheEternalCrusaderunprepared,spreadingmigraine prism-light across its suffering void shields, then burstingthemtorainfireuponitsunprotectedhull.‘TheCrusader’s shields are down and Lord Abaddon is aboard her,’ Ultiovoxedtothefleet.‘Crippleher,butremember–sheisminetokilloncethisisover.’The Anamnesis leaned the Vengeful Spirit into a more conventional roll,comingabouttofacetheclosestBlackTemplarsships.Therewasadeathlylightinhereyes–shewore theexpressionofachild learning itcan inflictpainonhelplessinsects,burningthemwithsunlightthroughafocusinglensandpullingofftheirlegsandwings.Andthatiswhenthetruefightbegan.TheEagleofOldEarthwasadestroyer,aligningitselfintoanattackrunbeforewehadfullycomeabout. Itsweaponbatteriesbanged into thevoid, spreadingimpactsacrossourshields–andthereitshouldhaveceased,usingitsspeedandmanoeuvrability to escape. Instead it lingered for a second volley, its captainlikelybuyingtimefortheEternalCrusadertofinishitsowncoursechanges.ButUltio was done with her sister ship; that was Abaddon’s prey now. TheAnamnesishadafleettokill.The Eagle of Old Earth’s shields lasted all of seven seconds beneath ourbroadsides aswe cut past. The cityscape ofHecutormacrocannons along our

port side screamed their sunfire against theEagle of Old Earth’snaked hull,annihilating the smaller ship in a supernova of bursting plasma.Ultio did noteven react.Shewas already focusedon thevessels ahead, above, below– theBlackTemplarshadour flagship isolatedandwereclosing in for thekill.Theship shookendlesslyaroundus,gravity fadingorpressingdownuponuswithpunishingforceasaconsequenceofUltio’smovements.Lheor,hisfeaturestwitchingwiththebiteofhiscranialimplants,workedfromahandheldhololithprojector, studyinga flickering layoutof the flagship.RedrunicmarkersdenotedtheestimatedpositionofBlackTemplarsboardingteams.I tuned out his words as he conveyed information and orders across the vox,keeping Delvarus and his Riven squad leaders appraised of the intruders’locations.‘FewerthanI’dhaveexpected,’hesaidtome.We both knew why. The bulk of their strength was still aboard the EternalCrusader,luringAbaddonandourinnercircleintotheirterritory.‘More thanenough tokeepDelvarusentertained,’ I repliedwithacalmthat Ididnotentirely feel.And to slaughter severalhundredmortal crew, I thought,though I kept the words from Lheor’s mind, not wishing to inflame the painengineinhisbrainanddistracthimfromhistask.Hespokeintothesquad-relayvoxforanotherfewseconds, thenregardedmewithtwitchingeyes.‘Thisiswoefulandbloodless,brother.WeshouldbedowntherefightingwithDelvarus.’‘OraboardtheCrusader.’‘Orthere,’heagreed.I tuned into Delvarus’ vox-feeds, only to be met with raucous screaming,howling, jaggedlaughterandleonineroars.Bolterscrashedin thebackground.WhereverDelvaruswas,hewasreapinghisshareoflives.TheRivenwasDelvarus’warband, ahostofSecondborn Ihadhelpedcreateover time, binding daemonswithinmortallywoundedwarriors and,wheneverthechancearose,prisonerswetookinbattle.Inlateryears,ImperialforceshaveencounteredBlackLegion squadswearing the daemonically tainted armour ofloyalistChapters, as I– andmyapprentices–haveboundNeverborn intoourcaptives.BeforemyjourneytoTerraandmysurrendertotheInquisition’scare,Ikeptacoterieofsuchbodyguardsmyself:BloodAngels,Ultramarines,ImperialFistsandseveraloftheirSuccessors,theirsoulsshatteredandsubsumedbythepresenceofthedaemonsridingtheirhusks.Itmakesforadeliciousinsultonthebattlefield. In those early days, however, Delvarus’ warband were largely

comprisedofsacrificialvolunteersfromtheSonsofHorusandtheWorldEaters,aswellasprisonersfromtheotherLegions.‘TheRivenareenjoyingthemselves,’Lheormuttered.Hewasrockingslightlynow,unabletokeepstill,sufferingfromanerratic,adrenalenergyhecoulddonothing todischarge. Iwouldhave toldhim to join the fighting,buthewouldhaverefusedme.Hewasawarleader,anofficerandalordintheLegion,andhisplacewascoordinatinghisbrethren.Hewoulddohisdutynomatterhowmuchhecravedtoshedbloodinitsplace.Ultio sailed us through an ocean of enemy firing solutions, treating the shiparound her like a steed to be reined to herwill and coaxed to give evermorespeed.Sheacknowledgedeveryoneofourfoesinadescendinglistofpriorities,one thatshiftedmomentbymomentbasedon threatcalculationsofarmament,support andpositioning.Herattentionwasabsolute– shechasedherpreyoneafter the other withmeticulous precision, inflicting enough damage to sundershieldsandcrippleorkillbeforeimmediatelyrefocusingonanothertarget.The heavy cruiserAdamantine sought to bar our path and block uswithin acrossfireofseveralvessels.TheVengefulSpiritbanked intoa roll likeabulletleavingarifle,ourportandstarboardbroadsidesfireworkingintotheconflictednight,dischargingatthevesselsaroundusaswetwistedanddivedtowardstheAdamantine.Ourprowbatterieswerelancesandgrativonpulsararrays.TheformerrupturedtheAdamantine’sshieldsinadisintegrationofshreddinglight,beforethelattercrushed thewarship’s forwarddecks in amanglingcompressionofmolecules.Itsbridgewasamongthosedecksthatcollapsedbeneaththismanipulationofitsmass,andUltiotorpedoedthestill-sailingwreckagetosenditspinningaside.Itwasnotquite enough.Ultio finished the executionupclose– theVengefulSpirit rammed the headless cruiser aside, savaging it with a second gravitonvolley that collapsed another immense section of its superstructure. Within aheartbeatshewasrollingusagain,chasinganotherfoe.Icould take itnomore, this realmof thunderandshakingwalls. Iclosedmyeyesandreachedout,seekingabattleIcouldcontributeto.

IfoundAmuraelalmostatonce.Irodewithinmybrother’smindashisassaultteammadeitswaythroughtheEternalCrusader.Icouldnotbewiththemintheflesh,soIjourneyedwiththeminspirit.AsIsankintoAmurael’ssenses,anunwelcomefamiliaritygrippedme.IhadbeenaboardtheEternalCrusadertwicebefore,bothtimesasanambassadorto

the Imperial Fists in shared theatres ofwar.How strange it felt to enter thosehallsnotwithcuriosityandrespect,makingovertures toanotherLegion in theGreatCrusade,butwithbladesinourhandsandhateinourhearts.I clung toAmurael’s thoughts. He feltme there and did not resist, though Iwouldnotexactlycallitawelcome,either.Throughhissenses,Iexperiencedthebattle.Theairclatteredwiththemetalliccoughingof boltguns and the shrieking beamsof the fewvolkiteweaponswepossessedthatstillfunctioned.EachbreathIdrewwasspicedwiththefycelinestink of shell propellant or the scorched ozone of steaming metal. Amurael’swarriorscomprisedaraveninghorde–squadbysquadtheymassacredtheirwaythrough theEternal Crusader,butchering even unarmedmortal crew, wastingprecious ammunition as if we possessed an abundance of such riches. Allcautionwas cast aside. Ourmen could not be reined in now, even if we hadwantedtodoso.The Black Templars met rage with wrath, charging down corridors to crashagainsttheadvancing,disorderlytidesthathadinvadedtheirdomain.Againandagain, we were locked against shield walls of ceramite plate, where visionthinnedtothemotionsofflashingbladesandrattlingchains.We bled.We sheeted with sweat.We swore. Fists and pistol grips poundedagainsthelmets.Chainbladescarvedtheirwhiningwaythrougharmourjointsorsprayeduselesssparksagainst reinforcedplate.Amuraelneededroomtoswinghis sword – in close quarters, awarrior needs a shorter, thrusting blade, not aduellist’slongsword–andmanywerethetimesAmurael’sbladewasfouledbyapoorangleorsnarledinaTemplar’sbody,strugglingtowithdrawafterakillingblow.Thewarriorswefacedgroundagainstusinanunceasinghorde,soundingoutbattlecriesandoaths to theEmperor, roaring intoour faces.Thosebehindus, our own brothers, howled in frustration, unable to reach through the tightrankstokillthefoestheyhadwaitedcenturiestofaceagain.Blood misted the air. Tabards and robes ignited under flamer gouts andsprayingsparks.Everyheartbeatwaspunctuatedbyanothercrumplingcrackofa bolt shell detonating inside a body.Wekilled blindly in that press of arcingweaponsandflashinglimbs.The tidewould turn inone tunnel,onlyforanothersquadofblackknights tomeetusatthenextjunctionoraroundthenextcorner.IremainedperipherallyawareoftheVengefulSpiritaroundme,shiveringandshaking as the other battle raged. I could make out Lheor’s murmurs as herelayedorderstotheRivenandhisownsquadsfromtheWarGod’sMaw.

RidingAmurael’smindwasexchangingonesenseofhelplessnessforanother,butatleastaboardtheEternalCrusaderIwaswithmybrethrenandcouldbeofsomeusetothem.Amurael called his racing, bleeding squad to halt. Several of them actuallyobeyed.Whatisit?Isenttohim,speakingwithinthemistofhissenses.Histhoughtswere a furious stream of consciousness in the near darkness of the EternalCrusader’srepetitivecorridors.Scanner. Need my auspex. The fighting is unreal. Gods, these bastards canfight!We’refallingbehindAbaddon.You are not behind. You are ahead of almost every other assault force.OnlyTelemachonandtheShriekingMasqueradeareaheadofyou.Howdoyouknow?heasked.WhereisAbaddon?Heisembattledinthesecondarystarboardcolonnades,Ireplied.Hisboardingpods took suppressive fire on approach, so he is fighting undermanned.And IknowbecauseIknowwhereallofyouare.Icanhearthesongsofyourthoughtsevenoverthisdistance.WhereisTelemachon?Ihavetolinkupwithhim,andhe’srefusingtoanswerthevox.Iresistedtheurgetolaugh,whichwasnoeasyfeat.Telemachonseeksthegloryof slaying Sigismund alone. He will not come back for you, Amurael – he isthinkingofnothingbutcastingtheBlackKnight’sseveredheadatAbaddon’sfeetasagift for our lord.Movewest and regroupwithanyof your sergeants stillable to followorders.There isaconcoursenot far fromhere that leads to thespinaltributaries.Amurael spat acid onto the deck. Thank you, brother. You should be here,Khayon.Icoulduseyouatmyside.Iwantednothingmore than tobe there, insteadofbloodlesslywatchingfromafarasourLegionwonitsfirstvictoryagainsttheImperium.Abaddoncannottrustme.NotafterDaravek.Perhaps,heagreed,tooeasilyformytastes.Amuraelmovedagain.Islippedfreeofhisthoughtsandopenedmyeyes.Ultiowasscreaming.It tookmeamoment torealise itwasacrynotofrage,butofpain.Blood stringed through the fluid of her suspension tank. The cables thatcrownedher,bindingherskull to the logicenginesat the topofher life-tomb,weretangledandleakingcopperyoil.Psy-stigmatashowedinanuglypatchwork

acrossherskin–someofittakingtheformofcutsandrents,othersshowingasbruises.As weariness descended upon her, or as pain crept across her thoughts, hercontrol over the vessel slipped. This was nothing I had not seenmany timesbefore:theAnamnesisforcedtospeakorderstothecommanddeckcrewinsteadofrelyingentirelyonhercontrolastheship’smachine-spirit.Shewasdoingsonow,maintainingabarrageofclear,conciseorders.‘…eightydegreesportsideyaw,acceleratingatonce.Fightersandbombers toflock to the Falkata as we come about. Formulate attack runs against itsdefensivebroadsides.Shieldsfailinginthirtytotenseconds.Beginthesiphonofplasmicconductiontorelighttheshields.Starboardfore-gunnerdecks,bereadytofireintwelveseconds.TargettheOphidianGulfasitpassesthroughourfiringsolution–shatteritsshieldsandvoxtheEcstasyofFirewithorderstochaseitdown.PreparetheultimatorpedoarrayforvortexlockuponthePridecladwhenweshifttothefourthsubquadrant.Shieldsfailingintwenty-fivetofiveseconds.Braceforinevitablebombardmentastheshieldsfall…There.TheArcusandtheSword of Sigismund are bringing lances to bear – brace for impact, brace,brace…’When the shields fell, they fell with a seismic sound wave that jarred theVengeful Spirit to its industrial bones. The shuddering intensified as weaponsstruck the naked hull with impunity, yet Ultio – bleeding and bruised – wasimmersed in thekilling fieldsbeforeher.The shipbankedand rolledwithherwill,ormovedathercommandwhenherwillwasnolongersufficient.Impactsrainedagainstus.Ourweaponsspatback.Beastmenroaredaroundme.Lheor abandoned his console and shouted for his arming slaves. Saliva hadformedasheenonhischin,andbythelightofhisbloodshoteyes,itwouldnotbelongbeforehelosthimselftotheNails.‘Boarders from the Blade of the Seventh Son. They’ve gained the primustributaries.’Thatwasdangerouslyclosetothebridge,andthoughtheRivenwerescatteredacrosstheship,itwastheWarGod’sMawthatheldthesectorsaroundthecommanddeck.Lheorwasgoingtojoinhiswarriors.Threeheavilyaugmentedbeastmen,fromLheor’sruddy-furredKhorngorclans,brought his heavy bolter and ammunition feeds.Another carried his chainaxe,andyetanotherborehishelmet.Lheortoretheweaponsfromtheirclawedhandsand leaned forwards for the last of the beastmen to affix his crested helm inplace.‘MaytheGodofWarbewithyou,’Isaid,notwithoutanedgeofsarcasm.His

eye-lensesglowedashishelmetsealslocked,andheheftedthebrutalcannonhefavourednomatterthebattlefield.‘Whatdidyoujustsay?’‘Nothing,’Ismiled.‘Goodhunting,brother.’‘Don’tlosethebattlewhileI’mgone,’hesaid,asifIhadanythingtodowithUltio’s talents in the art ofwar. I could give her orders, but she needednone.Thiswasherarena,notmine.LheorsummonedthehandfulofhiswarriorspresentonthebridgeandledthemintothecorridorsthatformedtheVengefulSpirit’sveins.Ibrieflylistenedtotheclickingvoxchatterasheralliedseveralofhissquadsontheway.Itsynergised,inaway,withUltio’sstreamofordersandtheshiveringthunderimpactinguponthehull:aperfectstormofsound.I turned back to the oculus as the cruiser Arcus, once of the Imperial FistswarfleetandnowoftheBlackTemplarsarmada,detonatedinourwake.At theheartof thebrayingbeastmanherdsandaworldofdarksteel shakingaroundme,IseatedmyselfonAbaddon’sthrone,eyeshalf-liddedwiththeonsetofameditative tranceas Iwatched theBlackLegion’s fateplayingoutbeforeme.Timepassed.Livesended.Warshipsdied.Iwatched fire tear through pressurised sanctuaries and cease to exist once itkissed the void. I watched the blazes slough the flesh from bones, beforebreaking thosebonesdown toash. Iwatched torpedoesstreakandswerveanddrillanddetonate.Iwatchedlancebeamscarvethroughconsecratedarmourthathadenduredthetidesofhellitself.Iwatchedshipsfullofmybrotherscrumblein ruin, populations of the mutated and the mad sucked in corpse-falls fromsunderedhulls.Iwatchedvessels thathadanchoredproudlyin theskiesaboveTerranowdyingindroves,asSigismund’ssonswerereducedfromanarmadatoafleet,andfromafleettoscatteredformations.Iwatcheditall.Itwasart.I listened to my brothers shrieking and killing and dying. I listened to mycousins, those still loyal to theThrone, roaringandbleedingout and spendingtheirfinalbreathsonfouloathsthatcursedusandmockedusforourtreachery.IlistenedtoUltio’sendlessorders,notonlytothecrewbuttoherSyntagmawarrobotsandcyborgs,directing themtostandwith theRivenand theWarGod’sMaw. I listened to the grind of straining metal and the thunder of guns that

could–andhad–killedcities.I listenedtothesirensandthescreamsandthemechanicalpulsesofmyarmour’sbiosignsystems.Ilistenedtoitall.Itwasmusic.Isensedthespillageofsoulsintothewarp.Isensedtheoutburstofpanicked,confused, blood-maddened, death-drunk spirits of theviolently slain, tumblinginto the realmbehind reality. I sensed thewet laughter of gorging daemons. Isensed the ebb and flow of the empyrean’swinds, blowing harder behind theveil, fuelledby theglutof freedsouls. I senseddeathafterdeathafterdeath–thosewhodidnotknowtheyweredead;thosethatfoughtuselesslyastheyfellintothewaiting,gapingmaws; thosethatcriedwordlessdefianceas theyweretornapartbydaemonicclaws. Isensed thedaemons thatwouldbeborn in theaftermathofthisbattle.Isensedhowtheylovedusforthisslaughter,andhowtheyhatedusforitsmortallimits–forno mattertheslaughterweperpetrated,itwasneverenough,neverenough.Isenseditall.Itwasbeautiful.Hatefullybeautiful.And,lastofall,IfeltwhenAbaddonreachedSigismund.Ifeltthemoment’scuriousformality,andfeltthesearingemotionsinmylord’stwinnedhearts. I felt the vindication of glory to be earned. I felt the thwartedfuryofamanforcedtowardsafatehedidnot,yet,adore.Iclosedmyeyes,leavingtherolling,burning,fightingVengefulSpiritbehind.WhenIopenedthem,Sigismundsatenthronedbeforeme.‘So,’hesaid,‘youhavereturned.’

HAMMERANDANVILHeburnedwithlife.Itsearedthroughhisveins.Therighteousnessofhiscausehaloedhim,bathinghiminthecoronaofafaiththatwaswhollyunreligious,butfaith nevertheless. I stared up at him beyond the ranks of his huscarls, thosewarriorswhowewould learn in laterwarswere calledSwordBrethren, and IrealisedthenjusthowitwasthatSigismundstilllivedevenafterallthistime.Hehad survived for a thousand years because he refused to die.He hated us toomuchtosleepinhisgravewithhisdutyundone.Sigismundwatchedus through thechamber’ssurrealcalm.Bloodmarkedhisarmour and tabard, medals of honour earned from the Black Legion bodiesspreadacross thehallofwhitemarbleandblack iron.Hehadnotbeen idle indefence of his ship. It seemed he had chosen this chamber of reverence as aplacetomakehisfinalstand.‘So,youhavereturned.’Hespoketoallofus,hisvoiceancientbutuncracked.‘Ineverdoubtedyouwould.’HisSwordBrethrenwerebattered,bloodyandexhausted.Ourwarriorsfacinghimwerenodifferent.Severalwerestillbreathlessandbleeding, theirwoundsscabbingoverevennowwiththeeffectsoftheirgene-wroughtorgans.Abaddonwasfilthywithgore.Thesoulsofthosehehadslaughteredtoreachthis chamber circled him, unseen and silent, a halo of smoky misery trailingawayintonothingnessasthewarppulledthemintotheoblivionofitsmaw.Sigismundrose.Heheldtheswordofhisoffice,whattheImperiumknowsastheSwordoftheHighMarshals.TheBlackSword,hisfavouredweaponforsomany centuries,was sheathed at his hip. The straightness of his back and thepowerwithinhisposturesurprisedme, thoughthedozensofmydeadbrothersspreadacrossthedeckshouldhavedissuadedmeofanyillusionsthatSigismundwould be enfeebled by age. He had carved his way through several of theShriekingMasquerade,although,lookingthroughAmurael’seyes,IdidnotseeTelemachonorZaiduamongtheslain.

Abaddon stepped forwards to meet him and gestured at us to lower ourweapons. Sigismund did the same to his men. Both commanders wereimmediately obeyed, and the insane serenity stretched on while the EternalCrusadershuddered and burned around us. The oculus, I noted,was tuned towatchtheVengefulSpirit.Ourflagshiprolledinthevoid,streamingfireandiceandairfromherwounds,hercannonsscreamingsilentlyintothedarkness.Shewasduellingseveralsmallervessels,twistingtothemeachinturn,cuttingthemapartmethodicallywithlancevolleysthatstreamedthroughspace,brightasthearcingflaresofTerra’ssun.TherewasashiverofdisorientationasIwitnessedtheburningshipwheremybody sat in Abaddon’s throne, so distant from where I watched behindAmurael’s eyes. That sense of dislocation did not last long.Adapting to suchsensory perceptions was an elementary aspect in the principles of Tizcanmeditation;Iwastaughtthetechniquesbeforemyeighthbirthday.Abaddon addressed the approaching knight. ‘I see time has blackened yourarmour,asithasours.’Sigismundstoppedwithinbladereach,butneitherofthemliftedtheirweapons.‘I looked for you,’ he said to my lord, ‘as Terra burned in the fires of yourfather’sheresy.Ihuntedforyou,dayandnight.Alwayslessermenblockedmyway. Always they died so that you might live. But I have never stoppedsearchingforyou,Ezekyle.Notthroughalltheselongyears.’Abaddon’srage,everhisgreatestweaponandmostcrucial flaw,haddesertedhim.IwatchedhimthroughAmurael’seyes,andhelookedravaged.‘Don’tmakemedothis,’Abaddonsaid.‘Don’tmakemekillyou.’Heevencasthissworddownwithacrashofiron,suchwashispassion.‘Youcannothavelivedallofthesecenturiesandseennothingofthetruth,Sigismund.The Imperium isours.We fought for it.We built itwith blood and sweat andwrath. We forged it with the worlds we took. The empire is built uponfoundationsofourbrothers’bones.’Theoldknightstaredimpassively.‘YoulosttherighttospeakfortheImperiumwhen you brought it to its knees. If you loved it as ardently as you claim,Ezekyle,youwouldnothavepushedittothebrinkofruin.’My lordovershadowedSigismund, standing far taller inhisTerminatorplate.Hegesturedtothewarriorsaroundtheroom,takingtheminwithasinglesweepoftheTalon;theywereallinblack,thoughfightingondifferentsides.‘We are the Emperor’s angels.’ It horrified me to hear the dark kindness inAbaddon’s tone.When he needed hiswrathmore than ever, hewas trying to

reasonwiththeoneSpaceMarinethatcouldneverbereasonedwith.‘Wedidn’trebel out of petty spite, Sigismund.We rebelled because our lord andmasterplayedusfalse.Wewereusefultoolstobringthegalaxytoheel,butHewouldhave cleansed us from the Imperium thewayHe purged the Thunder Legionbeforeus,wipingusallfromhistorylikeexcrementfromHisgoldenboots.’Sigismundwasastatue,hisfacecarvedfromcolouredmarble.‘Iamsuresomeof you are convinced you fell from grace for those pure, virtuous ideals.Youhavehadmanycenturieswithinyourprison to repeat thoseclaims toyourself.Buttheychangenothing.’IhaveseenAbaddonquellcrowdsandstrikefearintoentirepopulationswiththe ferocity of his invective, and I have seen himwin over some of ourmosthostileenemieswiththefireofhischarisma–butinthatmoment,ashestoodbeforeSigismundandcame face to facewith theavatarof theempirewehadburnedandbeenforcedtoabandon,Ibelievehesufferedarare,raremomentofconflictwithin.Sigismundwasamantowhomdutyandlawwereinseparablefromlivingandbreathing.Hecarednothing forour righteousness.Hedidnotcallusarrogant.Hedidnotevensaywewerewrong,becausehecarednothingforthewhysandwhereforesofwhatwehaddone.Weweretraitors.Wehadbetrayedouroaths.WehadrisenagainsttheEmperor.Thatwasenough.Hecouldnot,orwouldnot,seethatwehadrisenagainsttheEmperorforthesakeof the Imperium.Andyet, I confess that seeinghimstanding there, regaland ancient in his absolute certainty, I felt the same doubt that I sensed inAbaddon.Distinct and cold, this feeling lasted only a moment in time, nothing more.PerhapsitsbrevitywasbecauseIdidnotturnfromtheEmperorforthesakeoftheImperiumorforthesakeofanyrantedtruth.I,andmyLegion,rebelledtosurvive.Wewerebetrayed,andsowedamnedourselvesjusttokeepbreathing.Therewereasmanyreasonstorebelastherewererebels.Sigismund remained motionless and said, with infinite patience, ‘You keepspeaking,Ezekyle.DoIlookasthoughIamlistening?’I saw the shift inAbaddon’s featuresashediscardedanyhopeofSigismundunderstandingourcause.Isawwrynessthereaswell,chasteninghimselfthathehaddared tohopeSigismundwouldbeable tounderstandwhywehad turnedfromtheThrone.‘Nopity,noremorse,nofear,’Abaddonsaidwithasmile.‘Blessedisthemind

toosmallfordoubt.’Hedidnotwaitforareply.Heheldouthishandforhissword.Zaidumovedforwards,pickingitupandplacingitinAbaddon’shandbeforebackingaway.Sigismund mirrored the gesture in reverse, handing the Sword of the HighMarshals to one of his huscarls, who moved away with the relic held inreverence. Sigismund drew the Black Sword in its place, raising it to saluteAbaddonwiththesamecoldformalityhehaddisplayedunceasinglythusfar.Abaddon raised his blade, and Amurael flinched, not of his own accord butthroughtheexertionofmywill.Instinctranthroughmewithquicksilverbreath.So fiercewasmy ache towitness the fight that I had to restrainmyself fromtakingholdofmybrother’sbodyandsteppingforwardsinhisplace.Sigismundhad theadvantageof reachwithhis longblade;Abaddonheld theadvantageofstrengthinhisTerminatorplate.MylordwouldfightwithweightydisadvantageoftheTalonuponhisbalancinghand,butitgavehimadevastatingweaponiftheduelallowedhimachancetouseit.Sigismundwouldbefasterinhisornatepowerarmour,buttherewasnowayofknowinghowmuchagehadslowedhim.Andstill thegatheredwarriorsonbothsidesstoodinawedsilenceacross thedevastatedchamber.Itseemedhumanthrallswerenotpermittedhere–nonelaydeadon themosaic floor,at least– leadingme tobelieve itwassomekindofknightly sanctum for the Black Templars’ rituals. Nine of Sigismund’s SwordBrethrenstoodoppositealmostfortyofourownwarriors;IcouldnotmakeoutexactnumberswithoutforcingAmuraeltoturnhishead.AbaddonandSigismund’sbladesmet for the first time, a skidding clash thatsprayed sparks across bothwarriors. I thought itmight havebeen a signal forbothsidestocharge,forustobutcherSigismund’selitewhileourlordsbattled,yettherewasnosuchuproar.I felt the acidic squirt of adrenal narcotics pumping through Amurael’sbloodstream,injectedbyhisarmourinresponsetohisbattlehunger.Heflinchedandwincedwiththecrashingblowsofthewarlords’blades,andhewasnottheonlyone to follow the fightwithsuch ferocious focus,doubtless imagininghewieldedaswordinAbaddon’splace.Theircrashingbladesbroughtastorm’slighttothatplaceofausteredarkness.Lightningsheetedacross thecrackedmarblewallsandilluminated thestained-glasswindows,bathingthecoldstatuefacesofBlackTemplarsheroesinflashesof even colder illumination. Those stoneworthies looked on, onlymarginallymorestoicthanthewatchingwarriorsofbothblack-cladhosts.

In the years after this duel, those of us fortunate enough to witness it havespoken in terms both trite and profound of how it played out.One ofZaidu’spreferred claims is that Abaddon led Sigismund the entire time, that our lordlaughed all the while as he toyed with the ancient Black Templar beforedeliveringthedeathblow.ThisisthetalerelatedbytheShriekingMasquerade’svariouswarbands,andonethatTelemachonhasnevercontradicted.AmuraeloncedescribeditintermsIpreferred,sayingthatSigismundwasiceandprecision,whileAbaddonwaspassionandfire.Thatbore theringof truthfromwhatIsawthroughAmurael’sowneyes.Sigismund knew he would die. Even if he defeated Abaddon, he and hiswarriors were outnumbered four to one. His ship still rolled in the void, stillburnedwithinasourboardingpartiessweptthroughitsveinslikevenominitsbloodstream,but if thebattlefor theEternalCrusaderwasstill indoubt, therewasnosuchmysterysurroundingtheendgamewithinthischamber.Eveniffateor a miracle of faith spared Sigismund, the rage of forty bolters and bladeswouldnot.AndSigismund’sagedidshow.Itslowedhim,thefinestduellistevertowearceramite, toapace thatwasno faster thanAbaddon inhishulkingTerminatorplate.He lackedEzekyle’s enhanced strength in that great suit of armour, andage and weariness robbed him even further. He was already decorated in thebloodofmyslainbrothers;thiswasfarfromhisfirstbattleoftheday.Werehisoldheartsstraining?Wouldtheyfailhimnow,andburst inhisproudchest?IsthathowthegreatestofSpaceMarinelegendswasfatedtoend?I found the signs of Sigismund’s age unconscionably tragic – a fact Ezekylelatermockedme for, calling it a symptomofmy ‘maudlinTizcannature’.HeremarkedthatIshouldhavepaidmoreheedtothefactthattheBlackKnight,ata thousandnatural years of age, could still have stood toe to toe andmatchedbladetobladewithpracticallyanywarriorintheNineLegions.AgehadslowedSigismund,butallithaddonewasslowhimtoalevelwiththerestofus.Ididpayheed,ofcourse.Theoutcomeoftheduelwasneverinquestion,butthatdidnotmeanIwasblindtoSigismund’sconsummateskill.Ihadneverseenhimfightbefore.IdoubtedanyonebuttheNineLegions’highestelitecouldfacehim and live even now, and at his best hewould have rivalled any being thatdrewbreath.(Iskandar.)Sigismund’s artistrywith a sword is best summed up by theway hemoved.Duellistswillparryanddeflecttokeepthemselvesaliveiftheyhavetheskillto

doso,andiftheylackthatskill–orsimplyrelyonstrengthtowinbattles–thentheywilllayintoafightwithalonger,two-handedblade,trustinginitsweightandpowertoovercomeanenemy’sdefences.Sigismunddidneitherofthese.Inever sawhimsimplyparryablow, foreverymovehemadeblendeddefenceinto attack. He somehow deflected Abaddon’s strikes as an after-effect ofmakinghisownattacks.EvenTelemachon,whoispossiblythemostgiftedbladesmanIhaveeverseen,willparryhisopponent’sblows.Hedoesitwithaneffortlessnessthatbordersoninattention,somethingpracticallybeneathhimthatheperformsoninstinct,buthe still does it. Sigismund attacked, attacked, attacked, and he somehowdeflected every blow while doing so. Aggression boiled beneath his everymotion.(Iskandar.)Yet Sigismundwaswearing downminute byminute. Air sawed through thegrateofhisclenchedteeth.Abaddonroaredandspatandlaidintohimwithgreatsweeping blows from both blade and Talon, never tiring, never slowing.Sigismund,incontrast,grewevermoreconservativewithhismovements.He–(Iskandar.)–was tiring beneath the pressure of Abaddon’s rage, the spraying sparks ofabusedpowerfieldsnowshowedhissternfeaturessetinarictusofeffort.Insomany battles, whether they are between two souls or two armies, a momentariseswhenthebalancewillshiftinexorablyonewayovertheother:whenoneshield wall begins to buckle; when one territory begins to fall; when onewarship’sshieldsfailoritsenginesgiveout;whenonefightermakesacursoryerrororbeginstoweaken.Isawithappeninthatduel.IsawSigismundtakeastepback,justasinglestep,buthisfirstofthebattlesofar.Abaddon’s lightning-litfeaturesturnedcruelandconfidentwithbittermirth,and–Iskandar!

I opened my eyes. It took me several seconds to detach my senses fromAmurael’s, sostrongwas the temptation todiveback intohismindandwatchtheduelbetweenthetwowarlords.‘Iskandar!’ Ultio called again. Shewas embattled, calculating attack vectors,flinching with the psy-stigmatic pain of impacts against the Vengeful Spirit’sbarehull.Bloodtrailedfromhernoseandears,leakingintotheamnioticfluid.Thebruisesthathaddecoratedherfleshatthebattle’sbeginninghadripenedand

splitopen, layeringherskin infreshgashes.Her leftarmlookedbrokenat thewristandshecradleditclosetoherchest.Oneofhereyeswasswollenclosed.Worst of all, parts of her body had been reduced to rawmuscle, leaving herpartly flayed. The war was carving her apart. If her wounds were arepresentationoftheVengefulSpirit’sdamage,Abaddonwouldbereturningtoahalf-slainflagship.Abrother’surgeovercameme:theneedtopullherfromthebattle, toprotecther.Itsintensitystunnedme,for…Butwewerelongpastsuchfoolishness.Shehadbeenthemachine-spiritofLegionwarshipsforfarlongerthanshehadbeenmymortalsister,andtheAnamnesishadalwaysclaimedtorecallnothingofherhumangenesis.The entire bridgewas stained redwith emergency lighting and floodedwithshoutingcrew,yetIheardhergargoyles’syntheticmurmur.‘Somethingiswrong,’theychorused.‘Canyounotfeelit?’Theoculusshowedwarshipssailing,burning,breakingapart…Isawnothingwrong,nothinggravethatrequiredmyattentionsosuddenly.I turnedfromthescreentothehololithicmessthattriedtotrackanddisplayeveryshipcommittedto thebattleacrosseveryengagement sphere. Itofferednoanswereither, savethat we were winning. Slowly, surely, we were winning. For the sake of theImperiumandthewarningtheywouldneedtocarry,theBlackTemplarswouldsurelyfallbacksoon.Theirblockadewasalreadytornasunderwithspatialholeswecouldbreakthrough,butourcaptainswerecaughtbetweenfeastingontheirloyalbrethrenandnotwishingtoriskturningtheirbacksonthem.Icalmedmybreathing,lettingtheadrenalineofAbaddon’sduelbleedaway.Ididfeelsomething.Apresence.Adisturbance. Ifyouhavewalkedthroughthewildernessandheardthedistantroarsorhowlsofnativepredatorscarriedonthewind,ifyourskinhas prickledinatoo-humanreactionofinstinctiveawareness,thenyouknowthefeelingofwhichIspeak.I leaned forwards inAbaddon’s throne. ‘Ultio,bringyourauspexarcsaroundandsweepsubquadrantsfifty-fivetofifty-nine.’‘Thatisbehindus.’‘Iamwellawareofthat.’‘Piercing alignment,’ she replied, her attention still divided. ‘Resolving.Resolving. Resol– I see dead space in the named quadrants. Nothing but thevoid.’‘Tight-beamfocusonsubquadrantfifty-six,’Iordered.Thatwasfarbehindus.Directlybehindus.Itwasthewaywehadcome,theverysubquadrantinwhich

we had emerged from the Eye’s storm. Several of our bulk landers and troopshipsremainedthere,heldbackfromtheshootingwar.Theywerespecksontheoculus,severalminutes’sailingawayevenatfullspeed.Ultio spat her wordless anger at another vessel nearby, raking it with herstarboardgunsandrollingtheVengefulSpiritslowlyaway.IsawthemomentaryflickerofdistractiononherfeaturesashercrewcasttheauspexscaninatightbeamarraytothecoordinatesIrequested.Shecouldnolongermanagetheship’ssystemsalone,engagedasshewas.One of the Tzaangor beastmen crowed at me in her raucous tongue. I hadalready read themeaning fromhermindbefore she finished croaking inwhatpassedforherkind’slanguage.Fromthestorm,shesaid.Theycomefromthestorm.IcursedtheShiftingGodinthatmoment,whichisascloseasIhadevercometoutteringaprayertoTzeentch.AsIwatchedthespecksmultiplyontheoculus,streaminginfromthestorm’sedge,Imouthedoneword,tastingitsfoulnessonthebackofmyteeth.‘Daravek.’He had followed us. I did not know how, let alone how he had made suchdecent speedandwhetherhis fleethad suffered in theeffort,buthewashere,andhewasbehindus,andourfleetwasalreadyutterlyengagedinbreakingtheBlackTemplars’blockade.If Daravek attacked now, he could – hewould – finish us.Wewould neverrecoverfromthiseviscerationbetweenthedescendinghammerandtheunbrokenanvil, and once we were devastated, he would finish the remaining BlackTemplarsandsailundeterredintoImperialspace,stealingourglory.Ifhekilledushere, thentocapstoneourlegacyoffailure,allwewouldhaveachievedwastopavethewayforhim.‘Ultio,’Icalledout,‘we–’Theshipheavedaroundus,ajarringslamthatstruckwithenoughforcetokillpowertocountlesscriticalsystems.Thelightsdied.Gravitydiedwiththem,thenreturned tenfold at the wrong angle, no longer keeping us on the deck butthrowingusbackwards.Bodieshurtledthroughthedarkair,collidingwithoneanother in bone-shattering impacts and pulping against the bridge’swalls andceiling.Inthedarkness,Ultioscreamed.Idonotmeanshebellowedinfuryorthatshecriedout.She screamed. Itwas tormentmademanifest, a sound that even thelifelessgargoylesconveyinghervocalisationscouldnotrobofitspain.

Ididnotknowwhathitus.Damagereportsclatteredfromunattendedconsoles.Iwassuretheshipwasdeadinspace,onlydisabusedofthatbeliefwhenIfeltthethrumofdeep,fullthrustresonatingthroughme.Wehadnotbeenrammed.Wehadnotbeenstruckbyanovacannon.Ultiohadaccelerated, full burn, without fail-safes or brace warnings, channelling theVengefulSpirit’sentirereactorsector’soutputintotheengines.Itwistedinthedark,clawingmywaythroughagravityfortytimesinexcessofTerra’s,hearingthecreakingofbonesamongthepressure-crushedcrew.Thesofttissueofmyeyeswasdistorting,clutchedtightinaninvisiblegrip;Icouldfeelthe harp-thread snaps in my eyeballs, each one a dagger pinprick of bloodvesselsbreaking.Thestenchofbloodsurroundedmefromothersnearby,somecryingoutastheybled,otherslosttounconsciousness,thereekoftheirsufferingforming a miasma that coated my skin. Similar scenes of destruction wereplayingoutacrosstheship.Cease!IsenttoUltio.Youarekillingyourcrew!I felt her reach back to touchme,mind tomind. She so rarely did that; theAnamnesis’ psychic component was essential to her function, especially incommanding her Syntagma cyborgs and war robots, but she always shunnedallowingmetogettooclosetoherthoughts.Whatspilledacrosstheconnectionnowwasanacidicfloodofboiling,overlappingpanic.EzekyleiswoundedImustreachhimwemustImustheisourlordhecannotdiewehavetoreachtheEternalCrusaderwehaveto–Butshewaswrong.Shehadtobewrong.Abaddoncouldnotbewounded.AndIwould prove herwrong as soon as I saved the ship’s crew from a crushingdeath in thepitchdarkness.Mysuit’ssensors registered thegravitational forcestill rising, now powerful enough to rupture organs. In her frantic grief, shewouldslayusall.Slow.The.Ship.ButEzekyleishurtheYOUAREKILLINGUS, ITZARA.YOUWILLKILLEVERYSOULABOARDTHESHIP.I…I…She buckled. The ship fired retro thrusters and banked its reactors, and thegravitationalforceseased,breathbybreath.Theemergencylightingreactivated,showingme a realm of crimson silhouettes and scarlet shadows in an artisticrecreationofacharnelhouse.‘I am not Itzara,’ she whispered through her gargoyles. ‘I am Ultio, the

Anamnesis.’IletthatgounansweredasItookstock.BodiesthatIhadfearedwerecorpsesbegan to move. Crew casualties would likely be significant, but theVengefulSpiritheldthepopulationofasmallcity.IhadbroughtUltiobackfromtheedgebeforeshecoulddotoomuchdamage.OrsoIhoped.The image on the oculus reformed from static nothingness to a cluster ofwarshipswehadleftbehind,nowlefttogiveslowchase.IhauledmyselfbacktoAbaddon’s throne and keyed in a code to realign the oculus oncemore. Itflickeredtothechosencoordinates,showinganarmadaofNineLegionsvesselspouringfromtheedgeofthestorm.Irecognisednotonlyindividualpatternsofcraft but individual ships themselves – vessels I had sailed beside or foughtagainstduringmyyearswithintheEmpireoftheEye.Therewasnodoubtnow:theLordofHostshadfollowedus.‘Ezekyle,’Ultiosaidaloud,hertonelost,distracted.Besilent,Isenttoher,thecommandironclad.Ifherfearsweretrue,thecrew–theLegion itself–mustnotbe informed.Notyet.Notuntil theEzekarionhadweigheditsoptions.On the oculus, our fat-hulled troop transportswerewallowing away sedatelyfrom their pursuers, while the picket of escorts we left to protect them weredoingwhatlittletheycouldtocovertheretreat.Already Daravek’s vanguard ships were overtaking them, cutting them apartwithlancestrikesandtorpedobarrages.Behindthisslaughtercamethecruisersand battleships of the Nine Legions, their crews no doubt euphoric anddisorientatedinequalmeasureattheirfreedom.ItwouldnottakethemlongtorealisethatfortuneorthewillofthePantheonhadbroughtthembacktorealitywiththeperfectchancetosilenceusforever.Tzah’q limped over to me, spitting blood. In the chaos of Ultio’s fear, thebridgeoverseerhadlosthisweapons.‘Mustfight,master.MustfightLordofHosts.Nochoice.Mustfight.’Moreshipsbrokethroughintorealspace,withyetmorebladedshadowstakingshapebehind them.Timewasanythingbutanally. Icouldpracticallyhear theGodshowlingwithlaughteratthislatesttest.‘Master?’thebeastmanrepeated,whiningforananswer.Isilencedhimwithagestureandreachedoutwithmysenses.Ezekyle.Nothing.Nothingatall.

Amurael?Khayon!ThroneofTerra,we–No. Listen to me, Amurael. Thagus Daravek’s armada has torn its way intorealitybehindus.Ourrearguardisalreadyburning.WearecaughtbetweentheTemplars and the LegionHost and cannot fight both. I cannot reach Ezekyle.Whereishe?Ourpsychic linkwavered. Isensedmore thanheardboltgunfire,andfelt thekickofAmurael’sbolterinhisfists.Amurael?We are embattled. Gods’ piss, Khayon, when Sigismund fell, it drove thesebastardsintobloodmadness,butweareclose.Anotherfewhours,brother,andthisshipisours.Sigismundisdead?Abaddonkilledhim?Isensedtheclatterofmorebolt-fire,and the heft of a heavy power sword in Amurael’s hand. Amurael, I needanswers.Thefleetisdying.Thereisnotimeforthis.EzekyleiswithFalkusandIlyaster.TheAphoticBladeisevacuatinghim.Oncemore,dreadmadeitsicywaythroughmyveins.Abaddoniswounded?His answerwas thebreathy, exhaustedacheofbattleheat. I could sensehimslippingfromme.Amurael,youhavetoabandontheCrusader.Wehavetoregroup.Ifweremaindividedlikethis,Daravekwilltearusapart.Red heat and flashing pain bleached our telepathic link. Amurael had beenstruckbyabolt-roundhimself.Hnh.Khay–He was gone, either dead or too wounded to maintain the necessaryconcentration.IcouldnotreachFalkusorIlyas,nomatterhowItried–notwithmypowers,norwith themundaneconnectionof thevox. Iwasentirely in thedark.Telemachon,I tried,plunginginto thebuzzing,venomousnest thatpassedforhismind.Hispsycheopenedlikeablossomingflowerinwelcome,closingwithsavagegleearoundme.Lekzahndru,he purred. I could sense him fighting,weaving his sword dancethroughhisfoes.Hewasexultant,laughingashefought.Youhavetoabandontheassaultandleadtheothersoff the EternalCrusader.Daravekhasbrokenfreebehindus.His exultation turned to poison. I felt him suddenly seeking to repel me, tothrowmeoutofhisthoughts.Coward!WecantaketheCrusader!Wearemere

hoursfromvictory.Ezekylewouldneverallowthisretreat,Khayon.Whathashappened?WhathappenedtoEzekyle?He is with Falkus and Ilyaster now, but if he lives, I will tell him of yourtreachery.Ifhelives?Telemachon,forthesakeofallthatissacred,whathappened?He did not tell me at once. He invited me to see for myself, opening theviperous pit of his memories to allow me insight within. The perversions ofTelemachon’sbrainpatternswerebeyondmytasteandtolerance,andalthoughhelackedpsychicstrength,hepossessedasupremesenseofwill.Hisbeckoningstankofatrap.Tellme,Iorderedhim,andforawonderhereplied.Theyfought.Abaddonwon,butwaswounded.Thatisallthatmatters,isn’tit?Therewasno time todealwithhispettiness;hehadalreadywastedprecioussecondsbetterspentelsewhere.GetAbaddonofftheship,andensurenonebuttheAphoticBladeseesthatheiswounded.Ifelthimbristleattheorders.Whoareyoutocommandme?Youwishtoarguethisnow,ofalltimes?Getallofourwarriorsbacktotheirboardingpods. I sent thewords, knifelike and raw, into themeatofhismind,caringnothingthatithurthim,caringevenlessthathetookadarkanddroolingpleasure from thepain.Abandon theassaulton theEternalCrusader,or IwillleaveyoutheretorotastheTemplars’captiveplaything.WecantaketheCrusader,youfilthycoward.TheLegionhasneverconqueredsuchaprize,anditiswithinmyreach!Youthinkyoucandenymethisglory?Isthisyourpatheticvengeanceforfailingourlord?Youwishtodragmedownintofailurewithyou?Iwas already disentanglingmy thoughts fromhis, ready to cut him free.Hesensed the thinningofourcontact,and roaredatmewith thekindof frothing,feraldesperationIwouldhaveexpectedfromLheorinonehisrage-seizures.Ibrushedhisangerasidewithease.Hehadnotelepathictalenthimself.Youhaveyourorders,‘MasquedPrince’.Obeythemorbeleftbehind.I opened my eyes once more, back to a world of strained red lights andbeastmencrewsbleedingandbrayingandcawing.Tzah’qstilllookedatme,hisbeadyanimaleyespleadingforacommand.Before I could speak, the oculus resolved into the familiar face of ThagusDaravek, saliva stringing from his chin and jowls, a smile of ruthless self-satisfactionuponhisdisease-fattenedfeatures.

‘Iskandar.’ He turned my name into a sound of hateful luxury that lastedunpleasantly long on his tongue. ‘Where is Ezekyle, assassin? I have come toofferhimonefinalchancetogrovelandacknowledgemeastheLordoftheNineLegions.’Lheorwouldhavemadeacuttingremark.Telemachonwouldhaveusedhiswit.Butforbetterorworse,Iamnotmybrothers.‘Iamgoingtokillyou,’Isaid.‘ThosearewordsI’veheardyouspeakbefore,Khayon.Letmeguesswhatyournextwordswillbe,hmm?YouareabouttodemandtoknowhowImanagedtofollowyou.’‘Not quite,’ I replied, and cut the communication link to spare myself hisoozingsmirk.‘Tzah’q,’Isaid,turningtothewaitingoverseer,‘readythecrewtofight.’Ashegruntedandleft,IlookedupatUltio.Hereyeswereglazedasshesawthroughherauspexscannersandthetrajectorycalculationsofherguns.Ihopeditwasthatalone,andnottheshockathersensingAbaddon’sinjury.HerpsychicbondwiththeLegion’slordhadservedthembothwellsofar,butifAbaddondidnotrecoverfromhiswounds…No. The truth was that it did not matter. If Abaddon did not survive, therewould be noBlack Legion.Wewould devolve into feudingwarlords fightingovertheLegion’sbonesbeforehiscorpsewasevencold.Ultio shifted in her blood-darkened suspension fluid, looking down at me,perhapsalerttotheturmoilinsidemyskull.Feartaintedherfeatureswithlinesoftensionshehadneverwornbefore.Shedidnotknowwheretosail,norwhomtofight.‘OurLegionisdying,’shemouthed,andhergargoylesspokethewordswithagentlenessIhadnotthoughtpossible.‘Yes,’Iagreed,‘itis.Butwecansaveit,sister.’Your sister is dead. I am the Anamnesis, she thought, but bit back fromspeaking italoud.Shehadneverhesitatedwith thosewords.For the first timesinceascending tocommandof theVengefulSpirit, shewas sureofabsolutelynothing.‘What do we do?’ Ultio asked me, informally mirroring the question beingaskedahundredtimesacrossthefleet-widevoxbyahundredwarlords,captainsandofficers.‘Whichfleetdowefight?’Iwatched the oculus,where three fleetswere tearing each other apart in thevoid. Every advantagewe held, every advantagewe hadworked for all these

decades, was haemorrhaging away like air from a ruptured hull. I could notreachAbaddonforanswers–andwhatanswerswerethere,evenifhehadbeenbymy side?We could stand and die against one foe, or turn and die againstanother.We could not even flee in cohesion:Daravek had denied us our onlyavenue of retreat, and the Black Templars’ remaining blockade prevented uspushingforthintotheImperium.ThechoiceIfacedwasnochoiceatall.‘Theonlywaytosurvivethisbattle,’Isaidsoftly,‘isnottofightit.’Ultiostareddownatme,aghast.‘Wecannotdisengage.Wewillbebutcheredbybothsides.’Irefusedtoletherhorror,orthepromiseofAbaddon’sfury,dissuademe.‘Iamnotspeakingofdisengaginginanorderlyretreat,’Itoldher.‘HailValicaraboardtheThane.’Shedidso.IretookAbaddon’sthrone–theverythronethatHorushadoncesatupon when he waged war against the Emperor – and spoke to the Legionfleetmaster.‘Valicar,itistimetogetthehelloutofhere.’Valicar’svoicecrackledacrossaprivatecommandchannel.HisOlympian-slumaccentwasalmostadrawl,punctuatedbytheboomingofthebattleshipThane’sweaponsbatteries.‘Easiersaidthandone.Evenaretreatwillkillus.’‘Notifwesacrificeseveralvesselstostaybehind.’Hebarkedabitterlaugh.‘Goodluckfindingvolunteers.’I toldhimwhat Iwanted,andwhatwasgoing tohappen.Heknewitwasanorder,andthoughheheldrankabovemineinmattersofvoidwar,heofferednoargument.Asproudasheis,andasmuchasthetruthbitintohispride,Valicarhasalwaysbeenapracticalsoul.‘Givetheorder,’heacquiesced,‘andmaytheGodsbewithyou,Khayon.’‘I rather hope they are not,’ I replied before cutting the link. ‘Ultio, givemefleet-widevox.’Theconnectionclickedandheld.‘Fleet-widevox,’sheconfirmed.‘ThisisLordIskandarKhayon,commandingtheVengefulSpirit.Ispeakwiththe will of Lord Abaddon and bring the judgement of the Ezekarion. Allwarships,donot– I repeat,donot–engageThagusDaravek.AllengagementsphereswillworkinisolationtopeeltheirembattledformationsawayfromtheBlackTemplars.Donothuntfortrophiesorprizevessels.DonotseektodestroyanyTemplarswarships.Donot linger inorderlydisengagementsanddrift intootherengagementspherestolendaidtoothervessels.Thereisnotime.Youwill

beoverrun.Recoveryourboarders,abandonanyattacksandbreakofffromthebattle.Scatterthefleet.Irepeat–scatterthefleet.’TheVengefulSpiritcamealivearoundme,poweringupforwhatwouldcomenext.Amidsttheacknowledgements,anunexpectedreplycrackledback.‘Magician,’Lheorvoxed,hisvoiceroughandweary,‘whovolunteeredtostaybehindandcovertheretreat?’‘Ibelieveyoucanguesstheanswertothat,Firefist.’‘Ofcourse.’Hesighed.‘Anddon’tcallmeFirefist.’‘Thendonotcallme“magician”.Thatisawordforchildrenandcharlatans.’Hehesitatedthen,thoughnotbecauseIhadcorrectedhim.IcouldalmosthearhisthoughtsworkingthroughthebarriersofthebitingNails.‘We’renotstayingoutofanysuddennobility,arewe?We’restayingbecauseyouwantDaravek’shead.’‘Twocorrectguesses in thesamehour,’Ireplied,watchingDaravek’sarmadaswinging into view as theVengeful Spirit came about. ‘This is a day of raregeniusforyou,mybrother.Nextyouwilltellmeyouhavelearnedhowtoread.’

LORDOFHOSTSSomehatredscannotbeovercome.TheNineLegions,subject to thewhimsoftheGods that stir fate around us, have always been their ownworst enemies.When Abaddon’s name is spoken in awe, much of that hateful and jealousreverenceisbecausehedoeswhatnootherwarlordcando:heunitestheNineLegions, even if only briefly, and leads them to war. Horus had half of theImperiumloyallyonhisside:organised,unified,strong.Abaddonhas topiecetogetherthearmiesofthedamnedfromthedepthsofhell,wheretheyhavespenteternitydrowningintheirownmadnessanddespisingeachotherasenemies.Our chance to enter the Imperium as a potent and unified fighting forcewasbroken,ourambitionscastawaybytherealityofDaravek’streachery.TosayweranfromDaravekandtheBlackTemplarsistoundersellthescaleofflight that tookplace.Wedidnot retreat.Wefled.The fleet scattered ineverydirection, vindicta cast aside in the name of survival. Perhaps not one of ourproudestmoments,butcertainlyamongthemosttacticallysound.Therewerenogoodchoices.Wechosetheleastofallevils.Iwillnotdenythattherewassomethingofacockroach’scowardiceinwhatwedid, scurrying away from the light of powerful enemies. But there was alsolaughter. We were abandoning the remaining Black Templars ships to face afresh fleet, and we were leaving Daravek’s Legion Host like sand slippingthroughtheirfingers.Theyhadwantedtoconfrontusandcrushus,andinsteadthe Black Legion turned and sailed in a hundred directions at once. Withinminutestherewasnocohesivefleettoevenattack.ItwasnotwhatwehadwantedwhenweenvisionedourescapefromtheEye.Itshatteredallhopeofwagingacohesivewar,forthisverminousscatteringleftusdisparate andweak, each ship isolatedwithin the Imperium.Wewere leavingenemiesbehindus,facingenemiesaheadofusandwerebeginningourwaronthe weakest possible footing. But we would be alive. Necessity – ever amercilessmistress–forcedourhand.

AformationledbyVortigern’sancientvessel,thebattleshipWithBladeDrawn,broke thewidest hole in theBlackTemplars’ blockade, throughwhich severalvesselsmanagedtoruntofreedom.The stubbornCalibaniteattemptedtocomebackuntilIdissuadedhimwithadirectcommand.HewasthefirstmemberoftheEzekariontobreakfree,anditwasvitalthathedidwhathecouldtoreunitethefleetfarfromhereiftherestofusfell.Ships broke off in the middle of attack runs, veering and rolling aside,awakening their warp engines with no regard for minimum safe cascadedistance.IwatchedtheWithBladeDrawnrecedeononeoftheinsect-eyefacetsof the oculus, and I did not breathe easier evenwhen it ripped awhirlpool ofreality open to dive into the warp. This close to the Eye, the warp wasdesperately unstable. All our warping ships were really doing was forgoingcertaindeathforalikelyone.Ultiospokeofeveryescapingshipinalitanyoffocused,tight-voicedtriumph.Lifesparkedinhereyeswitheachname.‘WithBladeDrawn is away,’ she said. ‘TalonisPraxia is away. Excoriator isaway.ZetaandSigmaareaway.’IwaswatchingtheZetamyselfwhenitdoveintoitswarprift,andsawhowthetendrilsof lashing lightningfromthewoundinrealityclutchedat theshipandpracticallysuckeditintothewaitingmaw.ABlackTemplarsvesselwaswithinthe range of itswarp cascade, and the ship turned in burning, spiralling rolls,dragged into the rift behind the Zetawithout the preparation of navigationalarrays or its Geller field activated. I sensed the outpouring of panic, and thebrief, harrowing agonies endured by the destroyer’s twenty thousand crew asunrealityfloodedtheirdecks,dissolvingthemandeatingthemalive.Severalvesselsweredestroyedbytheirownwarpcascades,andIstillshivertothinkofthemanywarriorslostthatday.TheirshipsdetonatedonthelipsoftheirwarptearsorwerecutdownbyBlackTemplars’fireonthecuspofescape.IsawtheAnchorite lancing into thewarponly for itsengines to igniteas it entered,iron flying into the void and trailing fire in its death throes thanks to aBlackTemplarsmissilefrigate.Norwasittheonlyvesseltosuffersuchafate.SoIwillnotsayweescapedunscathed,butthebulkofourfleetdidmanagetotearitselffree.The Thane sailed hard, weapons bellowing, drawing alongside the badlydamagedEternalCrusader.Ultio’sattentionwavered then,andIsuspecteverypsychically gifted soul in the fleet felt her hunger to turn back, to finish theEternal Crusader herself, to recover our boarding parties and execute

Sigismund’sflagshipinafirestormofvindicta.For all of theThane’ssize and strength, even awoundedGloriana battleshipoutclasses any rival. The limping, torn-openEternal Crusader turned its gunsuponValicar’swarshipand ravageditwithbarrageafterbarrage,takingpreciouslittle damage in return. Fighters spewed from theThane’s bays, and bombersswarmed in a slower tide behind them.All ofValicar’s focus rested not uponkilling theEternal Crusader, but on keeping it engaged.He had to prevent itfromchasingdownourfleeingships,aswellascoveringthewithdrawalofourboardingpartiesanddefendingtheirreturningpods.I watched the Thane burn, its shields down, its hull pockmarked withexplosions, and I wondered if I had sent Valicar to his death. If I had thenEzekyle,Telemachonandtheseveralthousandwarriorswehaddeployedaboardthecity-sizedEternalCrusaderwoulddienext.Eveniftheymanagedtotaketheship within hours as Telemachon insisted, they would possess a crippledflagship, her crew in open rebellion, and would be overrun by dozens ofDaravek’svesselsbeforetheycouldeverclaimtheirprize.Theyhadtowithdraw.Valicarwouldimpressthatuponthem,Iwascertain.As our fleet scattered, the Vengeful Spirit speared on. The Black Templars,facedwithanotherfleet thatvastlyeclipsedtheirdiminishedstrength,begantofall back themselves. They retreated in far saner coordination, racing for thesystem’s Mandeville point to enter the warp at a safe distance, avoiding thethreatofwarpcascades.Itachedtowatchthemwithdraw,knowingtheywouldsail across the Imperium and spread warning of our return. Any element ofsurprisewemighthavegraspedhadbeencruellystolenfromourclutches.Daravekwouldpayforthat.TheLordofHostswasbold,andtheflagshipofhisKryptaruswarband–theDeathGuardbattleshipDomina– sailed at thevanguardof his fleet. It pulledawayfromthetroopshipsithadbeenfiringuponandalignedwithus,readytopitchitsmightagainstthewoundedVengefulSpirit.Theywould board us, of that therewas no doubt. TheVengeful Spiritwas atreasurenowarlordcouldresist.Our arrival forced several of Daravek’s ships to break off from theirslaughteringruns,andUltio’slaughterrangoutacrossthebridgeasshetrackedtheminaspreadofhololithicrunes.Ifollowedtheunfoldingdatastream,seeingatoncewhathadspurredheramusement.‘Hisfleet,’shesaidaloud.‘Itisdisintegrating.’ShewaswoundedanddistractedsoIcouldforgiveherhyperbole,butshewas

not entirely incorrect. The Legion Host was veering apart, craft by craft,warbandbywarband.TheircaptainshadreturnedtothematerialrealmandhadconcernsfarbeyondDaravek’sgrudgewithEzekyle.Theyweretastingfreedomaskeenlyaswehad,andnowtookfateintotheirownhands,desertinghim.‘DonotfireonanywarshipsabandoningtheLegionHost,’Iordered.‘Focusallfireondefendingourtrooptransports.Comeincloseenoughtoenticeboarders,Ultio.Wewantthemtofeelwelcome.’‘Compliance,’sheagreed.‘AndremainengagedonlyuntilValicarreportsrecoveryoftheboardingteams.AssoonastheThanevoxessuccess,disengageatonce.’‘Itwillbedone,’shepromised.AsIwatchedDaravek’sflagshippowercloser,Abaddon’swordsreturnedtomeunbidden,fromthenightwehadsparredandhehaddeliveredhisjudgementofmyfailingsinvindicta:‘WestandontheedgeofreturningtotheImperiumwebuiltwithourownsweatandsacrifice.ThagusDaravekwillcomeforusbeforetheend.Ineedhimdead,Iskandar.Nomoreexcuses.Ineedhimdead.’Ezekyle,damnhim,hadbeenrightyetagain.ThiswaswhyheleftmeaboardtheVengefulSpirit.Notoutofdistrustatall.Quitetheopposite.Mypulsequickened.‘Boardingpods incomingfromtheDomina,’oneof thehumancrewcalled. Iwassmilingnow,unabletostopmyself.Nagual,cometome.Master?Thebeastrosefrommyshadow,meltingoutoftheblackness,paddingonto the deck behind me. I sent him a ripple of approval at answering mysummonssoswiftly.IdrewSacramentumandobservedmyreflectioninthesilverblade.Iwasstillsmiling.Grinning, in truth– the face that lookedbackatmewasall teethandnarrowedeyes,likeLheorwhenhefoughtfortheWarGod’sfavour.Onewayoranother,Nagual,itistimetofinishthis.

Though Ihavewatchedmyhomeworldburnaroundme,andhavecommittedmassacresandcommandedgenocides,Istillbalktorememberthatday’sbattleinitsentirety.Everyactionechoeswithinthewarp,andthefightingwassavageenough that the daemonic choirs shrieked behind the veilwith amultitude ofmonsterswaitingtobeborn.For almost every soul aboard a warship, void war is a diminishment of thesenses,with theworld aroundyou reduced to the tremorsof thedeckbeneath

your feet, the thunderofgunsagainst thehull and the tight,hot cacophonyoffighting in confined corridors. Inside a warship, you are fighting through anexpanseof territory thesizeandcomplexityofacity,andexistenceshrinks tothe ceaseless work of fighting tunnel by tunnel, sealing boarding breaches orholdingthemopen,answeringrelocationorders,followingthelayouthololiths,draggingbodiesasidetoclearthewayorusingthemasbarricades–allwithoutknowing if theshiparoundyou isalreadydead.Has thebridgebeen taken?Istheexternalwargoingwell,orareyoualreadydoomed?Howmuchoftheshipisalreadyoverrunbyboardingparties?Thereisnoorder,nooverview.Itistrenchwarfare,momentto-momenttunnelfighting and guerrilla insurgency all at once. Sanity returns only in the briefcessationswhenyoustealenoughtimetocalculatewhereyouareneedednext,orneededmost.IwaswiththeWarGod’sMaw,theraidersandbarbariansthatfoughtbeneathLheor’s banner. Their black armour was encrusted with the brass emblem oftheir divine patron, along with Cthonian runes and Nagrakali hieroglyphspromising blood and souls and skulls in the War God’s honour. The Eye ofHorusupontheEightfoldPathshowedindirtygoldupontheirbattleplate.IfoughtwithNagualandLheoratmyside,killingtothemetalliccrashingofaheavybolterandthegutturalroarsofatiger-likebeastthathadbeenextinctforcenturies. We advanced without thought of tactics, wading into the disorder,willinglybecomingpartofthewretchedfeverthatpossessedtheship’sdeepestdecks.ThehallwaysofaBlackLegionwarshiparerealmsinhabitedbyinnumerablehorrors.Mutationisrifewithinthebowelsofourvessels,proceedinguncheckedand largely unknown, sometimes for entire generations. Clans of debasedmutantsandbeastmenmaydwelldownthere,butthedeepestdecksareoftentoohostile for any truemortal life. Squads andwarbands are assignedon purgingexpeditions, and not all of them return. Those that do speak of entire bio-daemonicecologies thriving in the lowestdecks,where theair turns topoisonand the walls are rippling caverns of undulating flesh, crystallised blood andexo-florashapedfromhumanbone.We foughtDaravek’sboardingparties through thesehalls, andwe fought thehalls themselves.Warriors that fellwoundedweredevouredby theship,orbythe daemon-things that lived within the ship’s malleable bones. Revenantscenturiesremovedfromanysortofgeneticpurityleeredoutfromthewallsandvomitedsteamingblackbileontolegionariesfightingonbothsides.Coloniesof

blindandlostthingsthatcouldnotpossiblyconceiveofsunlightroseagainstus,andwecleavedthroughthesedesiccatedhusksforthesimplesinofdaringtobarourway.Partiallyarticulatedcorpseswithamputatedlimbsshriekedandclawedatourboots.Inonechamber,wefoughtbladetobladebeneatharoofcomprisedentirelyofivory.Onlywhen stray bolt shells cracked thematerial above and sent shardsclatteringdownuponourarmourdidIrealisethat,somehow,thedomeaboveuswasmadeofhumanteeth.Most of the time I could scarcely hear Nagual’s roars or the gunfire of ouradvancing horde. The half-alive monstrosities that made their lairs in thechokingdarkpressedtheirlizard-brainthoughtsagainstmine,fillingmysenseswith stupid hungers and sick desperation. I was sweating with the effort ofkeepingtheirprimitiveurgesfromtaintingmyfocus.Ultiowaswithus in theformofherSyntagmacyborgsandwarrobots.Theymarched in ragged step, painting the air with gore with each sweep of theirindustrialclawsandionisingthereekingairwithspearsoflightningfromtheirarm cannons. Flesh that was not truly flesh burned with a stench that defiednatural law, its intestinal resonance clinging to our armour, infiltrating ouroxygensupplies,sinkingintoourpores.IkilledWorldEatersthatday.IkilledDeathGuardandSonsofHorus.Ikilledawarriorof theAlphaLegion, throttlinghimuntil his consciousnessbegan toslipandthenbreakinghisheadopenagainstthedeck.IkilledNightLordsandEmperor’sChildrenand IronWarriorsandyes,evenThousandSons. Iputmyblade through the open mouth of a charging legionary in spiked plate, and Ihackedanotherintolimblesswreckage.Ipulledthefrontofawarrior’sskullfreewith my bare hands. The sound he made as his head was torn apart wassomethinglessthanhuman.Ikilledsomeofthemwithleapingarcsofincineratingwarplightning.Ikilledothersby igniting theairaroundthemwithfell flame,birthingdaemons insidetheincubatingchambersoftheirheartsoragingthembyforcingtheirbodiestodecaywheretheystood.Theveilwasthinamidstthedestruction,andskittering,stalking, blade-bearing daemons were brought into being amidst both sides,needingnosummoning,grantedgenesispurelybythesaturationofslaughter.Daravek’smen killed us in return, depleting theBlack Legion’s ranks in theveryheart ofourown flagship.Thebutcher’sbill for thatboardingaction ranintothetensofthousandsastheintrudersdevastatedtheirwaythroughthecrew.Ofourwarriors,theRivensufferedmost,broughttothebrinkofannihilation.

Attimeswewereforcedtovaulttheirswollen bodies,thedaemonswithinthemasdeadas theSpaceMarines theyhadpossessed.Wehauledourway throughdozensofcorpsesfrozeninthewarshape,wheredaemonandmanmeldedintoalethalamalgamationofkillingprowess.At times,bothattackersanddefendersusedtheRiven’sbodiesasbarricades.Necessity,agoddessascruelasanyofthePantheon,wassurelylaughingthatday.Later,Iwouldcare.Later,Iwouldreflectonthelivesreaped.Atthetime,suchthoughtswerebeyondme. I ran through thehalls,myblackbattleplate awashwithblood,yellingwithLheorandhismeninundignifiedzeal.‘Daravek!’Ishoutedaloud,myvoiceechoingthroughthemutatedcorridors.Daravek!Isentinbrutal,bluntpsychicpulses,againandagain.Nagual roared with every sending, his rage matching mine. I saw the shipthroughhissensesasanever-shiftinghazelitbytheflickeringsoulfiresoflivingbeings. I rammed Sacramentum down into the twitching bodies of thelegionaries he tore apart and left on the deck, while he fell upon those I leftwounded,eviscerating themwith fangandclaw.Neverhadwehunted in suchharmony.IcameuponThagusDaravekinthemiddleofafirefight,ashesoughttobattlehis way to the bridge. He was screaming Ezekyle’s name in a frothingincantation,demandingthatAbaddonshowhimself,whiningthathewasforcedtomassacrehiswaythroughtheBlackLegion’sdregsbecauseitsoverlordwasacoward.ItdidnotoccurtohimthatAbaddonwouldbeaboardthe EternalCrusader,letalone thatmy lordmight already be dead, slain by a hand farmore righteousthanDaravek’sown.The corridor was unremarkable, the same as any one of a thousand otherthoroughfares inside the ship. The floor was strewnwith an uneven ocean ofwreckagefromdestroyedSyntagmaautomatons.Bodiesinblackarmouraddedshadowstothescorchedmetalandspraysofsparks.Oneof thewoundedSyntagmaThallax turned itsdomed faceup tome fromwhere it lay on the floor.A bloody,wire-veined skullwithin the broken face-dome stared out through the mechanical implants that served in place ofeyeballs.‘Thane,’ it said in adistorted squealof abusedvocalisation. ‘Thane.Reports.Boarding.Parties.Recovered.’‘Mythanks,Ultio,’Ireplied.‘Nowgetusoutofhere.’Andthen,lookingacrossthebattlingwarriors,Ishouted,‘Daravek!’andranintothefray.

IdidnotseeDelvarusdie.Hewasalreadya twistedshapeatDaravek’s feet:winged,crownedwithhorns,bearingweapons thathad fused tohisskinashewore thewarshape. Themangled,mutated snarl of his helmet’s faceplatewasslackindeath.Theaxeblowthatslewhimhadopenedhistorsofromthroattogroin,spillingafeastofwretchedgutsuponthefloorinaheapthatstillquiveredwithremnantsofdaemoniclife.He had not been Ezekarion, but he had been a ranking Legion officer, bothcapableandloyal.Inredeemingmyself,Iwouldalsoavengehimandhisfallenbrethren. Itwaswith that thought inmind that I stepped into the iron-raining,explosive storm of bolt shells, a kine shield projected before me, altering allincomingenergyintosoundandlight.Itwaslikepushingasun-flarebeforeme;evenIhadtoturnmygazefromituntilmygenhancedeyesadjusted.‘Assassin!’IheardDaravekcall.‘Whereisyourmaster,dog?’HestampedonDelvarus’remains,grindingtheSecondborn’shelmedheadintothedeck,triggeringaspillageofcranialbloodandpulpedbrainmatter.‘WhereisAbaddon?’Hedoesnotknow,I realised.Andin thatmoment,confrontedwithDaravek’signorance, I felt the certainty of revelation. Ashur-Kai’s final words lashedthrough my mind – Tokugra’s crude, stupid poetry, conveying my formermaster’sfinalprophecy.Myanswerwastocharge,bladeinhand.Nomorethreats,nomorewords.Ihadlearned my lessons where Daravek was concerned. He laughed and met mychargewithhisown.There was no knightly duel for us, no austere surroundings or awestruckwitnesses. We ran at each other, shooting, cursing, sprinting – a scene nodifferentfromeveryotherwarrioraroundus.Axemetsword in thesnarlofconflictingpowerfields. Ichantedas I fought,repeatingaTizcanmantraoffocus,channellingmywill intomyfleshtomoveswifter,strikeharder.Theeffectwasnarcotic,andthelacticburnofoverworkedmuscleswasasmallsacrificeforthechancetoseeDaravek’sspinedfeaturesgotautatneedingtobraceagainstmysuddenstrength.Wewerefacetoface,blade-lockedandstraining.Aboltshell impactedattheside ofmy knee, threatening to unbalanceme.Three shells cracked and burstagainstDaravek’swarpedCataphractiishoulders.Heonlyheavedwithrenewedforce.Ispatfullintohisface,immediatelyrewardedwiththehissofdissolvingfleshastheacidofmysalivastartedeatingintohischeek.Ihadwantedtohithiseyes

buthetwitchedasideatthelastmoment.‘Giveup,Khayon,’hewhisperedwithsickeningrelish.Hischeekandtheedgeofhismouthwasdissolvinginchesawayfromme,yetinsteadofshowingpainheunfurledatonguealmosthalfametrelongandlasheditacrossmyface.HechuckledasIturnedmyhead,holdingmybreathagainstthestinkofhisinfectedteeth.‘Giveup,’hesaidagain,thewordsladenwithcommand.Iwasreadyforit.IthoughtIwasbracedforit,yetmyarmsweakenedinthewakeofhiswords.Mygripstrained.Myarmstrembled.Thebattlearoundusnolonger existed.Resistinghiswillwas all I could do.My senses could toleratenothingelse.Hewaspushingmeback.Myboots skiddedon thedeckwith twin,grindingsqueals. I spat again, only for him toweave aside oncemore. He came backgrinning,assuredofvictory.‘Givemeyoursword,Khayon,’hebreathedintomyface.Icouldnotspeak.Icouldnotsummontheenergyforanythingbutresistinghisoverbearingstrength.InsteadIreachedforhisthoughts,mysilentvoicestitchingthroughhismindinajaggedstabbing.NO.As the single word lanced into his consciousness, I closed the clutch ofmyreachingthoughtsaroundhisbrain.Isnaredhismind,cradlingit,threateningtocrushit,tendrillingmysensesdeepwithinhisskull.DoubtflickeredacrossDaravek’stransfiguredvisage.Hishesitationlastedlessthanafractionofabreath,butitwasenoughformetosetmybalanceagainsthimoncemore.Iknowhowyoufollowedus,Daravek.Youfollowedme.Notfate.Notdestiny.NotAbaddon.You followedme. I suspected it themoment you broke from thestorm. Ashur-Kai dreamed of it long ago, without understanding the truth. IknewitforcertainwhenIsawyoubellowingAbaddon’sname,unabletosensehim.Andthereisonlyonewayyoucanpossessthismuchcontroloverme.WeareSpaceMarines.Weknownofear.ButwhatflashedinDaravek’scrustedeyeswasasclosetofearaswecancome,andbythebloodofthePantheon,itwasabeautifulsight.‘Khayon,’hegrunted.Ishookmyhead,refusingtohear.Youhavesomethingthatoncebelongedtome.Itwasallthewarninghehad.Itoreitfromhim,thataspectofmyselfthathehadstolenthroughhisownsorcery.Thatshardofmysoulthathadallowedhim

topretendhehadconqueredandkilledmeatDrolKheir;thatpieceofmyheartthatlethimremakemymemories;thatelementofmypsychethatallowedhimtomanipulateme and defymy every attempt to kill him. I ripped it from hisblood and brain, forcing us apart in a telekinetic burst, my hands curled intoclaws as if tearing the truth from his bodywere a physical act asmuch as apsychicone.Itdidnotcomewillingly,anditdidnotcomegracefully.The essence streamed from Daravek’s flesh in ribbons of misty blood,coalescing, taking form. I backed away, blade in hand, knowing the shape itwould take, tellingmyself Iwas ready for it. If I couldkill it,Daravek’sholdovermewouldbenothingbutashamefulmemory.The essence shifted, whirled and formed. The creature that stood before us,defendingitsnewmaster,glaredwithwhiteeyescrackedbylightning-boltbloodvessels,baringitsobsidianteethinbestialchallenge.Nagualroaredback.Hematchedthebeast’ssizeandbulk,hisfurformedofthesamesmokycorpus,hisclawsandjawsthesameunbreakableblackglass.MyProsperinesabre-toothedtigerroared,louderthananysoundIhadheardbefore,louderthananysoundIhaveheardsince.Adaemon’srageandhatepouredintoasingleword.Aname.GYRE.Thewolf–oncemywolf–turnedtofacethisnewfoe.Theyleaptasone,bothhuge daemon-beasts crashing through the ranks of fightingwarriors, a flailingtempestofflashingtalonsandbitingfangs.Iwasalreadyrunning.Sacramentumsanginthefyceline-stinkingair.Daravekparried,hisaxeraisedtodeflect–butSacramentum,thebladeforgedfromthescavenged sword of the primarch Sanguinius, cleaved through the lesserweapon’s haft and kept falling. It fell through Daravek’s hand, splitting it intwain; through his armoured wrist, severing the arm at the elbow; and bitingdeepintotheLordofHosts’collar,sinkinginacrunchingsnapallthewayintohischest.‘Drach’nyen…’saidThagusDaravek,meetingmyeyesindisbelief.Iwrenched theswordup,outand free.TheLordofHosts’head rolledaway,tumbling beneath the shifting feet of the battling warriors nearby. His rottenwingsfelllikedecayedsails,slappingwetlyontothedeck.Nagual,Isent.Mylynx.Gyrewashowling.Nagualwassnarling.Theformersoundwasthekicked-dogwhining of a wounded canine. The latter was the wet snarl of a great feline

huntermakingitskill.Felines,whenfightingfortheirlives,willbiteattheirfoe’sthroats–andifsuchinstinctfails, if theyarepinnedontotheirbacksbeneathanotherpredator, theywillkickwiththeirhindlegstoripopentheirprey’sbellyanddisemboweltheirfoe.Nagualwasdoingboth.Gyre,thistainted,changedincarnationofthewolfthat had servedme loyally for so long,was above the lynx. She should havebeensnappingherjawsdownatNagual’sface,butthetigrus-cathadhissabre-fangsdeepinthewolf’sthroat,whilehishugeclawedpawstoreatthecanine’sflanks.KickaftershreddingkicktoredaemonicoozefromGyre’sbelly,sprayingcorpusslimewitheveryslashingrake.WitharoarthatwouldhavedoneatrueProsperinelynxproud,Nagualrolledandhurledthewolfaside.Gyre’sshreddedbulkcrashedtothedeckbeforeme,andIadvanceduponher,clutchingSacramentumtighter.Nagualpinnedher,jawsclampedaroundherthroatagain,keepingherbornetothe ground. He radiated a proud rage, and I pulsed back wordless, relievedgratitude.Hehadservedmewellthisday.Gyre lookedupatme.Sheknewme– I saw it inhereyes–but shewasnolongermy daemon. The tutelary that had guidedmy studies on Prosperowasgone, as was the daemonic familiar that had saved my life and possessed aFenrisianwolf, becomingmy huntress for somany years until Horus Reborndestroyedher.NowIknewwhyIcouldneverresummonher.NowIknewwhyallmynightspsychicallyreachingintothewarpandsacrificinghumanlivesintheattempttorecall her tomy side had failed time and again.Daravek had claimed her forhimself.Myfirstandmostpreciousdaemon, towhomIhadboundmyself fartoocloselyyearsbefore.Shehadbecomeapawn,ashad I, inDaravek’s longgametodestroyAbaddon.Thewolfthathadsavedmylifesomanytimessnarledandfrothedandwrithedasitstaredhatefullyupatme.IliftedSacramentum.Thoughmyswordwouldriseandfallmanymoretimesin the cleansing of the boarding parties threatening theVengeful Spirit, aswepurgedtheremnantsofDaravek’sfailedambition,nootherblowpainedmelikethatone.Staydead this time, I toldher.Letmerememberyouasyouwere,notasyouhavebecome.She barked bloody froth. The sword fell. And the last evidence of ThagusDaravek’splantobecomeWarmasterofChaoswasbanishedwiththedissolving

bodyofadaemon-wolf.

SILENCEDaysafterthebattle,thesilencewasstilldeafening.Yettherewassafetyinthatsilence,theveryantithesisoftheEyeandthebattlewehadfoughttobreakoutofit.Wehiddeepinthetruevoid,theVengefulSpiritandtheThanedriftingtogetherinthespacebetweenthestars,surroundedbyasignificantlydiminishedflotillaofescorts, lightcruisersandcapturedBlackTemplarsfrigates.Soonwewouldneedtoreunifyourscatteredfleet,butfornowwedriftedinhiddenserenityatoneoftheprearrangedmusterpoints,preparingforthecomingwar.IstoodwithNagual,distractedlyrunningmyhandsthroughthedaemon’sfur.Ilistenedasmylordspokeofthefuture.‘Thisisanopportunitylikenoother,’Abaddonsaidtome.Hisvoicecrackledfromthespeakervanesatthesidesofhismedicaetank.Hefloatedinsuspensionfluid similar in both shade and bloodstained taint to the amniotic fluidwithinUltio’slife-supportcradle.Thethreeofuswerealone–thisdeck’sapothecarionwasemptyuponpainofdeath; a squad of the Aphotic Blade stood guard outside – and only theEzekarionwerepermittedtoenter.OftheEzekarion,onlyAmuraelandIlyasterwerepermittedwithintotendtoourlord’swounds.Arebreathermaskboundtohisfacesuppliedoxygenandconveyedhiswords.Hewasstrippedofhisarmourplating,hispalebulkinthemurkyfluidsomehowreminiscent of a necromantic experiment. The scar began at his cheek, thenthickenedasitdescendedtohis collarbone,endingattheruinationofhischest.Sigismund had struck true, destroying several of my lord’s internal organs,necessitatingtheirclonedregrowth.Ihadofferedtohealhimwithmybiomanticmanipulation.‘Icanencouragethefleshtoregrow,’Ipointedout.Itwasunreliable,butnomoresothancloning.He had refused. It was, he stated, amatter of trust. By relying on Ilyaster’scloningministrations,heprovedthedepthsofhistrustinIlyaster.

‘Clonedorgansarevulnerabletocancerousgrowths,’Ipointedout,tonoavail.Cancerwas, after all, nothingmorecomplex thannatural cell replicationgoneawry,andaddingartificetotheprocessonlyheightenedtherisks.ButAbaddon’smindwasmadeup.Ashefloatedinthetank,nakedofarmouranddressedonlyinaplethoraofoldscars,thatage-oldsuspicionresurfacedamidstmythoughts.Hehadalwaysbeenhugeforoneofourkind,andhadalwayspossessedhisprimarch’sfeatures, inthe way many of the former Sons of Horus tended to do. It was commonknowledgeevenduringtheGreatCrusadethatnoSpaceMarinetookaftertheirprimarchasobviouslyasEzekyleAbaddontookaftertheWarmaster.But seeing him stripped of battleplate and pretension alike, the similaritybetweendeadfatherandlivingsonwasnothingshortofrevelatory.Ifinallygavevoicetoaquestionmanyhadconsidered,yetnonehaddaredask.‘AreyouHorus?’Hisgoldeneyesglintedwithamusement.Hedraggedinaslowbreaththroughhisrebreather.‘IamEzekyleAbaddon,’hesaidthroughthemedicaetank’sspeakers.‘ThatisnotwhatImeant.’Ishookmyheadandgesturedtohim:thisimmensefigureinthesuspensiontank,withslabsofmuscleovermuscleandademigod-like stature that had led to this legend being whispered throughout the NineLegions,alegendthatwouldonedaybewhisperedacrossthegalaxy.‘AreyouHorus?Areyouhisclone?His…son?’Helaughed,thesoundwetandtinnyoverthespeakers.‘Whatdoyoubelieve,Khayon?DoyouthinkIam?’Isawnoreasontolie.‘Yes.’Thisdelightedhim.Iwasnotsurewhy.‘AndifIwere,brother–ifIweremerelyHorusremade,recrafted,withatwistinmygene-codehereandanalterationthere,woulditchangeanything?’Ihadtothinkaboutthat.Ilookedintohiseyesbutsawnoanswersthere,onlyamusement.‘Perhaps.Perhapsyouhavealwaysbeenagenetic twinofyourprimarch.OrperhapsEzekyleAbaddonwasslain inhispilgrimageacross theEye,andyouareoneofFabius’creationsinhisplace.HowamItoknow?’This,too,delightedhim.‘Soyetagainwecomebacktotrust,mybrother.’‘Soitseems.’‘Letmeaskyouthis,Khayon.Whatdoesitmatter?Clones,sons,fathers…Let

the herd whisper whatever truths they choose. Our eyes are set on worthiergoals.Welooktothefuture,notthepast.’I acceded with a nod, knowing that there was no answer to be had here.Knowing,ultimately,thathewasright.Itdidnotmatter.Atleast,notifhewasonourside.‘Youspokeofanopportunity,’Iprompted.‘Youdidtherightthing,’hecountered.Iflinched,takenbysurprise.‘Youwererighttoscatterthefleet,brother.’‘Iknow.Butitisgratifyingneverthelesstohearyouagreewithmyactions.’‘AndyouslaughteredThagusDaravek.DidInottellyouthatyoucould?’Heshiftedinthesuspensionfluid,hiseyeswildandbright.‘Andwasitnot,asever,amatterofvindicta?’‘Itwas,’Iconceded.‘Between our freedom and Daravek’s death,’ he began, and his gaze turnedfierce, shining with ambition, ‘opportunity dawns like never before. TheTemplarswill return, and theywon’t be alone. They’ll bring thewrath of theImperiumattheirbacks.Andwhatwilltheyfind?’‘Isthisquestionrhetorical?’‘Humourme,myassassin,humourme.’‘Theywillfindworldsaflame.Outpostsdestroyed.Fleetyardsraided.Shippinglanesplundered.’‘Alltrue.Buttheywillfindraidersandreaversperformingthoseacts.Scatteredwarbandsandisolatedwarlords.Notanarmy.NottheNineLegions.’Isawwherehewasleading,now.‘AndwithDaravekdead…’‘TherehasneverbeenafinertimetounifytheLegionsinthehatredweshare.OncewehaveunifiedtheBlackFleet,wewillbringthewarbandsoftheotherLegionstoheelthroughtemporaryalliancesandoffersofmutualwarfare.Somewillbetrayus.Somewillrejectus.Butweneedunitynow,Khayon.Letusriseabovepettypiracyandwageopenwaroncemore.’Itsoundedgrand,anditwastheperfecttruth.Butitwasnotthetruthentire.Asilkenthread,toofineforanunaugmentedhumaneyetomakeout,layonthedeck. It was approximately a metre long, the shade of a dead tree under anovercastsky.Ahair.AhairtomatchthefaintscentofAbaddon’spreviousvisitor.Iwondered how long agoMoriana had been here. I did not need towonderwhatshehadsaid.‘Open war in the segmentum,’ I dared to say, ‘will also serve your other

purpose.’Itwasnotaquestion,nordidheinsultmebyfeigningignorance.‘Drach’nyencalls,Khayon.Thatweaponwillbemine.’Nefertari hadprotectedMoriana throughout theboarding actions. Iwould, intime,cometoregretgivingherthatorder,andregrethowwellshehadobeyedit.But I did not yet know what a curse the blade would become, nor themadnessesthatitsblackspiritwouldwhisperintoallofourminds.EvenifIhadknown then, would I have argued? Abaddon would never have listened.Ambitioniseverhisclosestbrother,closereventhantheEzekarion.‘Tellmesomething,’Isaid,‘beforeIleave.’‘Speak.’‘Sigismund.Howdidhewoundyou?’Abaddonfellsilent, theviciousvitalityofambitionbleedingaway.Theblackrebreather covered much of his face and the murk occluded some of hisexpression, but I believe for the very first time I saw something like shameflickeracrossmylord’sface.Howcurious.‘Hewouldn’tdie,’Abaddonsaidatlast,thoughtfulandlow.‘Hejustwouldn’tdie.’Ididnotneedtoskimhismindforinsight.Justfromhistone,Iknewwhathadhappened.‘Hebaitedyou.Youwerelosttorage.’IsawthemusclesofAbaddon’sjawandthroatclenchashegroundhisteeth.‘ItwasoverbeforeIknewhehadstruckme.Icouldn’tbreathe.Ifeltnopain,butIcouldn’tbreathe.TheBlackSwordwasburiedtothehilt,liketheoldmanhadsheatheditinsidemychest.’Ezekyle’svoicewassoftacross thespeakers,cushionedby thebitternessandfascinationof reflection.Hiswordswerealmost staccatowhispers, eachoneadropofacidonbare flesh. ‘Theonlyway tokillmewas towelcomehisowndeath,andhediditthemomentthechancearose.Wewerefacetofacelikethat,withhisbladethroughmybody.Myarmoursparked.Itfailed.Ilashedback.HisbloodsoakedtheTalon.Hefell.’I remained quiet, letting Abaddon’s tale unspool. His eyes were lookingthroughme,notseeingwhatwas,butwhathadbeen.‘He wasn’t dead, Khayon. He was on the floor, sprawled like a corpse,disembowelledandtornintwo,buthestilllived.Iwasonmyknees,forcingmydeadlungstokeepbreathing,kneelingoverhimlikeanApothecary.TheBlackSwordwasstillthroughme.Oureyesmet.Hespoke.’IdidnotaskAbaddontotellme.Ireachedintohisthoughtsthen,tentativelyat

firstincaseherebuffedmypresence.ThenIclosedmyeyes,andIsaw.TheBlackKnight,fallenandrippedapart.HisSwordBrethrengoneordead,Ididnotknowwhich.RedstainingSigismund’s tabard; reddecorating thedeckbeneathandaroundhim;redinAbaddon’seyes,mistinghissight.Blood.Somuchblood.Hereatthelast,helookedeveryoneofhisyears,withtime’slinescrackinghisface.Helookedupwardsatthechamber’sornateceiling,hiseyesliftedasifinreverencetotheMasterofMankinduponHisthroneofgold.Sigismund’shandtrembled,stilltwitching,seekinghisfallensword.‘No,’Abaddonmurmuredwithbrotherlygentleness,throughtherunningofhisbloodandtheheavingofhischest.‘No.It’sover.Sleepnow,inthefailureyouhaveearned.’Theknight’sfingertipsscrapedthehiltofhisblade.Soveryclose,yethelackedthestrengthtomoveeventhatfar.Hisfacewasthebloodlessblueofthenewlydead,yetstillhebreathed.‘Sigismund,’Abaddon said, through lipsdarkenedbyhisown lifeblood, ‘thisclawhaskilledtwoprimarchs.ItwoundedtheEmperoruntodeath.Iwouldhavespareditthetasteofyourlife,aswell.IfyoucouldonlyseewhatIhaveseen.’AsIstaredthroughAbaddon’seyes,IconfessIexpectedthetritenessofsomeknightlyoath,orafinalmurmurintheEmperor’sname.Instead,theruinedthingthathadbeenFirstCaptainoftheImperialFistsandHighMarshaloftheBlackTemplarsspoke throughamouthfulofblood,committing the lastofhis life tobitingoffeachword,ensuringhespokeeachoneinshivering,sanguineclarity.‘You will die as your weakling father died. Soulless. Honourless. Weeping.Ashamed.’Sigismund’s last word was also his last breath. It sighed out of his mouth,takinghissoulwithit.In theapothecarionIopenedmyeyes,andfoundIhadnothingtosay.WordseludedmeinthewakeofSigismund’sfinalcurse.‘FalkusbroughtSigismund’sbodyfromtheCrusader,’Abaddontoldme.‘Hecarriedithimself.’StillIsaidnothing.Whetherhedesireditasatrophy–tojoin ThagusDaravekasanarticulatedskeletoncrucifiedabovetheoculus–orwhetherhewantedtodesecrateSigismund’scorpsetosomedivineend,Icouldnotguess.Abaddonlookedincomparablywearyoncemore,andItookthequietasmycuetoleave.Hedidnotobject.

‘ThereissomethingImustdo,’Isaidbywayoffarewell.‘Onelast threadtocut.’Hedidnotanswer,nordidhewatchasIleft.HewasseeingSigismundagain,dwellingonreplieshecouldneverspeaktoabrotherhehadonceadmiredandwhohaddieddespisinghim.I sensed no sorrow from him as I left. I sensed nothing at all. And thathollowness,thatemptiness,wassomehowworse.

Sargonhadgatheredasmallconclaveofwarriorswithinhissuiteofchambers,and they stood in thecandlelit spaceofhisprayerchamber, speakingamongstthemselves,awaitingtheformerWordBearersChaplaintobeginproceedings.IhadaskedSargontogatherthem,andtotaketheirswornoathsintheprivacyofhissanctum.IfIsentthesummonsmyself,itwouldhavewokentheirsuspicionsinwaysIwishedtoavoid.Elevenintotal.ElevensurvivingwarriorsthathadwitnessedthebattlebetweenAbaddonandSigismund.Itshouldhavebeentwelve,butZaiduwasnotthere–Telemachon had done as he always did, and ensured his favoured lackeysansweredtonoonebuthimself.Ichosenottoletitconcernme.Ihadbusinessenoughwiththeseelevensouls.Two of themwere warriors of the ShriekingMasquerade; the rest were fromAmurael’swarband, theFleshHarvest,warriorshehad trustedwithhis lifeoncountlessoccasions.Sargonbadethemremaketheiroathsofsilence–oathstheyhadalreadysworntoTelemachonandAmuraelaboardtheThane,murmuringvowsnevertospeakofwhattheyhadseen.Nooneoutsidethosepresentfortheduelitselfcouldbeallowed to know that Abaddon had come so close to falling in battle againstSigismund.Suchunwelcometruthshadnoplaceinthelegendwewerecarving.Theyallreaffirmedwithoutobjection,honouredbytheceremony.Eachofthemknewthatdeceitmeantdeath,andthatkeepingtheirwordmeanttheEzekarionwould look upon them with favour. This could be a grand opportunity.Leadershipofsquads,evenlieutenants’rolesinawarband,werenotoutofthequestion.FatehadgiventhemleverageandbroughtthemclosetotheEzekarion.They had no desire to squander this opportunity by proving themselvesunworthyofit.These were the thoughts I felt from afar: the ambition, the temptation, thehunger.Noneof themhadbrokentheiroaths.Theycherished thechance tobeloyal.

Sargon consecrated them, one by one, with blood blessings of the EightfoldPathgentlydrawnupon their foreheadswithagore-wet thumb.Hedippedhisfingertips into abowlof slaveviscera andwhispered that thePantheonwouldlookkindlyuponeachofthemforkeepingtheirlord’ssecret.WhenSargonwasdone,hetippedthebowltohislipsanddranktheremaininggore.Withcareandpatience,heplacedtheemptyreceptacledownandgesturedfor the warriors to leave, thanking them once more. They filed through histraining room and across the bare metal deck, not yet beginning to speakamongstthemselves.Theirauraswerealightwithpride,withthesenseofbeinginductedintosecretsthatweredeniedtotheirbrethren.Thebulkheadsat thenorthandsouthofSargon’sarmourysealedongrindingtracks,endingwithcacophonicbangsofmetalonmetal.Asbothdoorscrashedclosed,Isteppedfromtheshadowsbeforetheelevenwarriors.Ididnotsayanything.Thecharadewasover.EvenifIhadwantedtospeak,therewasnotime.Severalofthemrealisedwhatwashappeningatonce.ThetwoRaptorsoftheShriekingMasqueradecriedtheirpiercing,weaponisedhuntcalls, reaching forchainbladesandgunning themtolife. In the samemoment, fourof theotherswent for theirbolters andopenedfire.Theshrieksdriftedpastme,ignored.TheboltsslammedandburstagainstakineshieldIraisedwithagestureofmybionichand.I did not tell them to surrender and give in to the inevitable. I could havepromisedthemitwouldbeswifterandwithoutpainif theyacceptedtheirfate,butIdidnotwishtolietothem.Itwasgoingtohurtwhethertheysubmittedornot.‘Hold fire, hold fire!’ one of them, a squad leader, roared. He battered theothers’gunsdown.‘LordKhayon,’hesaid,andlookedatmewiththefaithofatruebeliever. ‘LordKhayon,youdon’tneed todo this.Wesworeanoath.Wewouldneverspeakofwhatwesaw.’Iadmiredhislevel-headedness.Ididnotadmirehisnaïvety.Nagual leapt from the darkness, the tigrus-cat’s size and weight bearing thesergeant to the deck and eclipsing him in moving, clawed shadow. Ceramitewarped. Blood arced and stank in the air. The remaining ten warriors movedwithoutunity,shoutingandfiringandchargingandseekingtoflee.I hurled them away in every direction, pinning them to the walls with anoutburstoftelekineticforce,slammingthembackagainsttheironinmimicryofhigh-gravity acceleration. Each attempt to wrench an arm or leg free of theirpressurisedbindingsendedwiththelimbthuddingbackintoplacewithmagnetic

force.Enough.Thebeast stopped its noisy feasting at once.The sergeantwas still alive.Helacked a functioning throat, a chest and one arm, but he was still alive. Theremainsoforganspulsedslickly,slowing,inthebrokenshellofhischest.‘Lord…’ he managed to murmur through black, stinking blood. The man’sendurancewasnothingshortofamazing.‘Don’t…giveus…toyoureldar.’Ismiledattheman’sdyingrequest.Icould,atleast,granthislastwish.‘Youarenot traitors,’ I replied. ‘Youwillnotsuffera traitor’s fate.Goodbye,SergeantHavelock.’‘Lord–’SometimesIstillwonderwhathewasgoingtosay.Hisattemptstospeakwerecutoffbytheblackeningandswellingofhisflesh,bythesplittingandshatteringofhisarmourplating,bytheunformedwordsmeltingintoa throatyscreamofmutatingvocalcords.Featherywings burst, tattered and bony, from his back. The elongated avianbeakthatstretchedandcrackedfromhisfacewasstringywithbloodysaliva.Come,Nagual.Master,thedaemonacknowledged,followingmeatonce.IleftthechamberswithSargonandmyfamiliaratmyside.Oncethebulkheadsweresealedagain,Irelaxedmypsychicgriponthetenwarriorspressedtothewalls.Thewaytheyclawedatthehullandthesealeddoorswasalmostmusical,themuffledsoundsoftheircaptivity.Bolters barked, sounding like distant thunder. Bodies crashed against metal.Legionariesshoutedandthenfellsilent.Somethingvastcawedloudenoughtoshakethecorridoroutsidethechamber,but I hadbeen careful inmypreparations.The creature– a ragged, black andraven-likeexampleof itsdaemonicchoir–wouldbeweakenedatonceby thesigilsofdraining imprinteduponthewalls. Its lifespan in thecorporeal realmwasmeasured in amatter of heartbeats after its executioner’s dutywas done.Alreadyitsenragedlaughterbegantofadeasitsphysicalformdissolved.IlookedtoSargon.‘Iapologiseforthemessyouwillfindinthere.’He blinked slowly, uncaring. I doubted he would even allow his slaves tocleanse thechamber.Hehadnoaversion tosuchdecorations inhissanctum. Ilefthimthere,lefthimlisteningtotheLordofChangedyinginbanishment,andreturnedtomyotherduties.WiththeBlackLegionscatteredandweakened,wehadtoensureitsfirstcrusadewasnotdestinedtobeitslast.

SoonwewouldbatheSegmentumObscurusinfire.

‘…that is his blade I know that sword it is Sacramentum you lie you lieKhayon would never allow himself to be captured you lie you lie youbreatheliesYOULIEmybrotherwouldflenseyoursoulswitherthempeelthemfromyourbodiesKhayonisnothereyoucouldnevercapturehimhecannotbeherehewouldcomeformehewouldcarveyoursoulsfromyourboneshewouldsavemeKhayonKHAYONKHAYONKHAYONKHAYONPLEASEKHAYON…’

–from‘TheInfinityCanticle’,sequesteredbytheholyorderofHisImperialMajesty’sInquisitionasanUltima-grade

moralthreat.Purportedtobetheunedited,ravingconfessionofSargonEregesh,Lord-PrelateoftheBlackLegion.

TERRA

Wewerefree.Freeofourprison,sailingatthevanguardofacolossalinvasionofImperialspace.Our escape plunged the entirety of the Segmentum Obscurus into war. Theconflict that ragedfordecades– thatwhichyoucall theFirstBlackCrusade–would eat at our resources as much as it replenished them, stealing as manygainsfromusasitgranted.Youknowofthepurgesandsterilisationsandrecolonisationsthatfollowedthewar, seeking to searour existence from themindsof the Imperial faithful.Wehave forever been the Imperium’s dirty little secret, a truth never morepronouncedthanwhentheAdeptusTerramovesuponitsowncitizens,forcingthemtoforgetweeverexisted.And there is somuchyet to tellof theFirstBlackCrusade,with itsyearsofprotractedwaragainsttheincreasingtidesofImperialresistance.There are those among theLegions that regard the devastating conflict as anunmitigatedvictory, and thereare those that seenothingbutharrowing loss inthedefeatstheysustained.Thetruth,asever,isinthegreythatexistsbetweentheblackandthewhite.Wedidnotcall itacrusade.Tous, itwas theopeningcampaignof theLongWar,and even that suggests a level of organisation that could scarcely exist. Therewas no overall conflict to judge. It broke down into a hundredwars betweenindividual fleets and warbands rampaging their way through the segmentum.WarlordsfromtheNineLegionssoughttheirownglory;championsshedbloodand raided slaves and offered sacrifices in themyriad names of the Pantheontheyeitherwillinglyservedorcourtedforfavour.Cadiawasnofortressworld in thatera,and lacked thedefences itboasted inthemillennia since, but the Imperium rose against uswith inevitability if notalacrity,andwewereforcedintoaprotractedwarthatdevastatedbothsides.TheBlackTemplarsandtheImperialFistsledthewar–thevengeancetheyinflicted

uponuswovescarsacrossflesh,armourandpridethatsomeofusbeartothisday,ninethousandyearslater.SoonIwillspeakofUralan.SoonIwillrelateallthattranspiredintheTowerofSilence,whereAbaddonclaimedthedaemonbladeDrach’nyen,thatweaponofliesandbrokenpromises.WehadtofightforyearstoreachUralan,andthenwehadfightourwaythroughthemanymadnessesthatinfestedthespireitself.ItisbutonestoryintheBlackCrusadethatunfolded.Butifwemustpauseourinterrogationhere,thenallowmetospeakofonefinalmatter. It will grant you a greater understanding of my Legion – its noblesavagery and its dark codes of honour – and perhaps offer insight into theprisoneryouseeboundbeforeyounow.Thiswassomethingwesharedwithallhumanity, but I suspect even your Inquisitorialmastersmay not know it everhappened.Letmetellyou,Siroca,ofhowwetrulydeclaredtheLongWar.Itwasnotwith the angerof theVengefulSpirit’sguns, norwith the garbled,shriekingvox-transmissionsofburningshipsandfallingoutposts.No,Ispeakofthe formal declaration, unknown even among the Nine Legions but for theEzekarionthatgatheredatAbaddon’sside.Yousee,eveninourvauntedmalignancy,westillobservedtheformalities.Warmustbedeclared.Sigismundwaschosenfor this responsibility. It felt right thatheshouldcarryourwordsback to the Imperium,back to theThroneworld itself, and itwas asolemnconclavethatgatheredaroundhiscorpse.OneoftheBlackTemplarsshipsservedasSigismund’smausoleum.Iwasoneofthefourwarriorsthathadcarriedhimthere,apallbearerforourfirstImperialfoe.Wehadlaidhimupononeofthecommandtablesinreadiness.AbaddonhandedmeSigismund’sblade–nottheSwordoftheHighMarshals,forthatwasgoneinthehandsofthesurvivingBlackTemplars,butSigismund’sfavoured blade, the Black Sword that had ripped through Abaddon’s ownarmour.Mylordbademecarveourdeclarationalongthelengthoftheblade,andIdid sowith thepointofmy ritual jamdharadagger and the acetylenekissofpsychicfire.Onceitwasdone,welaythecoolingbladeuponSigismund’scorpseandclosedhishandsaround itshilt.Noeffortwasmade tohide thewound thathadslainhim,nortomaskthemangledceramiteandbloodstainedmessofhistabard.Theknight-king’schinwasbathedwithbloodfallaswell–Abaddonwipedtheworstofitfromtheoldwarrior’sbeardedfeatureswithacarethatwouldastonishany

Imperialwitness.Abaddon touched the slash across his own face, amark left by Sigismund’sblade,amarkthatAbaddonwouldcarrywithhimdownthemanycenturies tocome.Hekeepsthatscartothisday,areminderofoneoftheworthiestfoesweeverfoughtandthemomenttheGreatCrusadetrulycametoanend.TheshipwechosewasthelightdestroyerValorousVow,anameIfoundalmostsaccharine,butoneIhadtoconfesswasatleastapt.Wecreweditwithservitorsandsacrificialslaves,andensureditsdatabankswerespooledwithallavailabledata of the First Battle of Cadia, from our emergence from the Eye to thebreakingoftheBlackTemplars,evendowntohelm-feedimageryofAbaddon’swounding andSigismund’s death.Weheldnothingback, pouring in all of theobjective,wordlessdataandhololithicrecordingsfortheValorousVowtocarrybacktoTerra.FromthebridgeoftheVengefulSpiritwewatchedthesmall,swiftvesselturnawayfromthefleetandtearaholeinreality,beforeplungingintothewarponitslong journey home. The distress beacons we had lit aboard her suddenly fellsilent, as did the repeating loop of its active transponder. It would declare itsname,anditsburden,untilitsdestruction.Aswewatcheditvanish,suckedintothe miasmic puncture in the universe, we hoped it would make it to itsdestination.Wewouldlearnmany,manyyearslaterthattheValorousVowdidindeedreachTerra.ThemessagewesentwasdeliveredtotheHighLordsthemselves,thoughthere is no telling howmany heard it beforehand, andwhat theymade of theValorousVow’sappearance.Inmyownimaginings, I like topicture theHighLords’ lackeysboarding theship inTerra’svessel-chokedorbit, andmovingchamberbychamber, corridorbycorridor,everystepclosertowardsrevelation.Surelytheykilledtheservitorsandthrallsweleftaboardascrew.Sobeit.Ishednotearsovertheirfate.But what did those first Imperial souls think, when they looked over thecarcassesstrewnacrossthecommanddeck,astheirweaponbarrelscooledandtheir chainswords idled?What passed through theirminds as they approachedSigismund’sfunerealform,rottinginhisarmour,yethonouredbythosethathadslainhim?AndwhatdidtheHighLordsthemselvesmakeofourdeclaration?Didoneofthem cradle the first Black Sword in her hands? Did one of them touch myinscription with his bare fingers? Did they return Sigismund to his bloodiedChapter,ordoeshelieonTerra,entombedonthesameworldastheEmperorhe

so ardently served? Did they stare in disbelief at the data recorded in theValorousVow’sarchives?Andiftheygavecredencetothefootageandthehololithicspools,didtheyfeelanysorroworregretatnottrustingSigismundinlife,whentheyhadbelievedusdead and gone, leaving him as the only sentinel out there beneath the Eye’slight?ThemessageAbaddoncommandedmetosearintotheBlackSword’ssteelwasnot long. Youmight think it would be a boast, the petty glorification of onewarlordoveranother,oraspitefulthreatinthewakeofourfreedom.Itwasnosuchthing.Themessagewasamerethreewords.IburnedthemintotheBlackSwordwithanartisan’s care, feeling theweightofhistoryuponmyshouldersasIworked.And in my mind’s eye, I can see the High Lords of that dim and almost-forgotten age – their naked eyes narrowing, their bionic replacement lensesrotatingandhalf-sealing,astheytoofeltthepressureofhistoryshroudthematthesightofthethreewordsIhadcarved.Youknowwhatthosewordswere,doyounot,InquisitorSiroca?IsthatasmileIhearinthefaintwetnessofyourmovingmouth?Why,Ibelieveitis.WiththosethreewordswedeclaredtheLongWar.Wordsthatwould,intime,rise from our throats as the battle cry of the Black Legion. Words thatencapsulatedallthatwehadbeen,andallthatwehadbecome.Wearereturned.

ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

AaronDembski-BowdenistheauthoroftheHorusHeresynovelsTheMasterofMankind,BetrayerandTheFirstHeretic,aswellasthenovellaAurelianandtheaudiodramaButcher’sNails,forthesameseries.HehasalsowrittenthepopularNightLordsseries,theSpaceMarineBattlesbookHelsreach,thenovelsTheTalonofHorusandBlackLegion,theGrey

KnightsnovelTheEmperor’sGiftandnumerousshortstories.HelivesandworksinNorthernIreland.

AnextractfromNightLords:TheOmnibus.

Itwasacurse,tobeagod’sson.Toseeasagodsaw,toknowwhatagodknew.Thissight,thisknowledge,torehimaparttimeandagain.His chamber was a cell, devoid of comfort, serving as nothing more than ahavenagainstinterference.Withinthishatefulsanctuary,thegod’ssonscreamedoutsecretsofafutureyettocome,hisvoiceastrangledchorusofcriesrenderedtonelessandmetallicbythespeakergrilleofhisancientbattlehelm.Sometimeshismuscleswouldlock,slabsofmeatandsinewtensingaroundhisiron-hardbones, leavinghimshiveringandbreathing inharsh rasps,unable tocontrolhisownbody.Theseseizurescouldlastforhours,eachbeatofhistwoheartsfiringhisnerveswithagonyasthebloodhammeredthroughhiscrampingmuscles.Inthetimeshewasfreefromtheaccursedparalysis,whenhisreserveheartwouldslowandgrowstillonceagain,hewouldeasethepainbypoundinghisskullagainstthewallsofhiscell.Thisfreshtormentwasadistractionfromtheimagesthatburnedbehindhiseyes.Itsometimesworked,butneverforlong.Thereturningvisionswouldpeelbackanylessertorment,bathinghismindoncemoreinfire.Thegod’sson, still inhisbattlearmour, rammedhishelmedheadagainst thewall, drivinghis skull against the steel again and again.Between the ceramitehelmet he wore and the enhanced bone of his skeleton, his efforts did moredamagetothewallthantohimself.Lostinthesamecursethatledtohisgene-father’sdeath,thegod’ssondidnotsee his cellwalls around him, nor did he detect the data streaming across hisretinas as his helm’s combat display tracked and targeted the contours of thewall, the hinges of the barred door, and every other insignificant detail in theunfurnished chamber.At the top left of his visor display, his vital signswerecharted ina scrolling readout that flashedwith intermittentwarningswhenhistwinheartspoundedtoohardforevenhisinhumanphysiology,orhisbreathingceasedforminutesatatimewithhisbodylockedinaseizure.Andthiswasthepricehepaidforbeinglikehisfather.Thiswasexistenceas

thelivinglegacyofagod.

Theslavelistenedathismaster’sdoor,countingtheminutes.Behindthereinforceddarkmetalportal,themaster’scrieshadfinallysubsided– at least for now.The slavewas human,with the limited senses such a stateentailed, butwith his ear pressed to the door, he couldmake out themaster’sbreathing.Itwasasawingsound,raggedandharsh,filteredintoametallicgrowlbythevox-speakersofthemaster’sskull-facedhelm.Andstill,evenashismindwanderedtootherthoughts,theslavekeptcountingthe seconds as they became minutes. It was easy; he’d trained to make itinstinctive,fornochronometerswouldworkreliablywithinthewarp.The slave’s namewas Septimus, because hewas the seventh. Six slaves hadcomebeforehiminservice to themaster,andthosesixwerenolongeramongthecrewofthegloriousvessel,theCovenantofBlood.ThecorridorsoftheAstartesstrikecruiserstoodalmostempty,asilentwebofblacksteelanddarkiron.Theseweretheveinsofthegreatship,oncethrivingwithactivity:servitorstrundlingabouttheirsimpleduties,Astartesmovingfromchamber to chamber, mortal crew performing the myriad functions that werenecessaryfortheship’scontinuedrunning.Inthedaysbeforethegreatbetrayal,thousands of souls had called the Covenant home, including almost threehundredoftheimmortalAstartes.Timehadchangedthat.Time,andthewarsitbrought.The corridorswere unlit, but not powerless. An intentional blackness settledwithin the strike cruiser, a darkness so deep it was bred into the ship’s steelbones. It was utterly natural to the Night Lords, each one born of the samesunless world. To the few crew that dwelled in the Covenant’s innards, thedarkness was – at first – an uncomfortable presence. Acclimatisation wouldinevitably come to most. They would still carry their torches and opticalenhancers,fortheywerehumanandhadnoabilitytopiercetheartificialnightastheirmastersdid.Butovertime,theygrewtotakecomfortinthedarkness.In time, acclimatisation became familiarity. Thosewhoseminds never foundcomfort in the blacknesswere lost tomadness, and discarded after theywereslain for their failure. The others abided, and grew familiar with their unseensurroundings.Septimus’s thoughtswent deeper thanmost.Allmachines had souls.This heknew,evenfromhisdaysofloyaltytotheGoldenThrone.Hewouldspeakwiththenothingnesssometimes,knowingtheblacknesswasanentityuntoitself,an

expression of the ship’s sentience. To walk through the pitch-blackness thatsaturatedtheshipwastolivewithinthevessel’ssoul,tobreatheinthepalpableauraoftheCovenant’straitorousmalevolence.The darkness never answered, but he took comfort in the vessel’s presencearoundhim.Asachild,he’dalwaysfearedthedark.Thatfearhadneverreallyleft him, and knowing the silent, black corridorswere not hostilewas all thatkepthismindtogetherintheinfinitenightofhisexistence.Hewas also lonely. Thatwas a difficult truth to admit, even to himself. Fareasiertositinthedarkness,speakingtotheship,evenknowingitwouldneveranswer.Hehadsometimesfeltdistantfromtheotherslavesandservantsaboardthevessel.MosthadbeeninservicetotheNightLordsmuchlongerthanhehad.Theyunnervedhim.Manywalkedaroundwiththeireyesclosed,navigatingthecoldhallwaysof the shipbymemory,by touch,andbyother sensesSeptimushadnodesiretounderstand.Once,inthesilentweeksbeforeanotherbattleonanotherworld,Septimushadaskedwhatbecameof thesixslavesbeforehim.Themasterwas in seclusion,awayfromhisbrothers,prayingtothesoulsofhisweaponsandarmour.Hehadlooked at Septimus then, staringwith eyes as black as the space between thestars.Andhe’dsmiled.Themasterrarelydid that.Theblueveinsvisibleunder themaster’spalecheekstwistedlikefaintcracksinpristinemarble.‘Primus,’hespokesoftly–ashealwaysdidwithouthisbattlehelm–butwitharich,deepresonancenevertheless,‘waskilledalong,longtimeago.Inbattle.’‘Didyoutrytosavehim,lord?’‘No. Iwas not aware of his death. Iwas not on board theCovenantwhen ithappened.’The slave wanted to ask if the master would have even tried to save hispredecessor had the chance arisen, but in truth he feared he knew the answeralready.‘Isee,’Septimussaid,lickinghisdrylips.‘Andtheothers?’‘Tertius…changed.Thewarpchangedhim. Idestroyedhimwhenhewasnolongerhimself.’ThissurprisedSeptimus.Themasterhadtoldhimbeforeoftheimportanceofservants that could resist the madness of the warp, remaining pure from thecorruptionoftheRuinousPowers.‘Hefellbyyourhand?’Septimusasked.‘Hedid.Itwasamercy.’‘Isee.Andtheothers?’

‘Theyaged.Theydied.AllexceptforSecondusandQuintus.’‘Whatofthem?’‘QuintuswasslainbytheExalted.’Septimus’sbloodrancoldatthosewords.HeloathedtheExalted.‘Why?Whattransgressionwasheguiltyof?’‘Hebrokenolaw.TheExaltedkilledhiminamomentoffury.Heventedhisrageontheclosestlivingbeing.UnfortunatelyforQuintus,itwashim.’‘And…whatofSecondus?’‘Iwill tellyouof thesecondanother time.Whydoyouaskaboutmyformerservants?’Septimus drew breath to tell the truth, to confess his fears, to admit hewasspeakingintotheship’sdarknesstostaveoffloneliness.ButthefateofTertiusstayed trapped within his forethoughts. Death because of madness. Deathbecauseofcorruption.‘Curiosity,’theslavesaidtohismaster,speakingthefirstandonlyliehewouldeversayinhisservice.The soundof booted footfalls drewSeptimus back to the present.Hemovedawayfromthemaster’sdoor, takingabreathasheglancedunseeingdownthehallwayinthedirectionoftheapproachingfootsteps.Heknewwhowascoming.Theywouldseehim.Theywouldseehimevenifhestayedhiddennearby,so therewasnosenserunning.Theywouldsmellhisscentandseetheauraofhisbodyheat.Sohestoodready,willinghisheartbeattoslowfromitsthunderousrefrain.Theywouldhearthat,too.Theywouldsmileathisfears.Septimus clicked the deactivation button on his weak lamp pack, killing thedimyellowilluminationandbathingthecorridor inutterblacknessoncemore.Hedid this outof respect to the approachingAstartes, andbecausehehadnowishtoseetheirfaces.Attimes,thedarknessmadedealingwiththedemigodsmucheasier.Steeled and prepared, Septimus closed his now-useless eyes, shifting hisperceptions to focus entirely on his hearing and sense of smell. The footfallswereheavybutunarmoured–toowidelyspacedtobehuman.Aswishofatunicorrobe.Mostpervasiveofall,thescentofblood:tangy,richandmetallic,strongenough to tickle the tongue. It was the smell of the ship itself, but distilled,purified,magnified.Anotherdemigod.Oneofthemaster’skinwascomingtoseehisbrother.

‘Septimus,’saidthevoicefromtheblackness.Theslaveswallowedhard,not trustinghisvoicebutknowinghemustspeak.‘Yes,lord.ItisI.’A rustleof clothing, the soundof something soft onmetal.Was thedemigodstrokingthemaster’sdoor?‘Septimus,’ the other demigod repeated. His voice was inhumanly low, arumbleofsyllables.‘Howhasmybrotherbeen?’‘Hehasnotemergedyet,lord.’‘Iknow.Ihearhimbreathing.Heiscalmerthanbefore.’Thedemigodsoundedcontemplative.‘Ididnotaskifhehademerged,Septimus.Iaskedhowhehadbeen.’‘Thisafflictionhaslastedlongerthanmost,lord,butmymasterhasbeensilentforalmostanhournow.Ihavecountedtheminutes.This is thelongesthehasbeenatpeacesincetheafflictionfirsttookhold.’Thedemigodchuckled.Itsoundedlikethunderheadscolliding.Septimushadamomentarytrickleofnostalgia;he’dnotseenastorm–notevenstoodunderarealsky–inyearsnow.‘Carefulwithyourlanguage,vassal,’thedemigodsaid.‘Tonameitanafflictionimpliesacurse.Mybrother,yourmaster,isblessed.Heseesasagodsees.’‘Forgive me, great one.’ Septimus was already on his knees, head bowed,knowing that the demigod could see his supplication clearly in the pitchdarkness.‘Iuseonlythewordsmymasteruses.’Therewasalongpause.‘Septimus.Stand.Youarefearful,anditisaffectingyourjudgement.Iwilldoyounoharm.Doyounotknowme?’‘No,greatlord.’Thiswastrue.Theslavecouldnevertellthedifferenceinthedemigods’ voices. Each one spoke like a predator cat’s low snarls. Only hismastersoundeddifferent,anedgeofsoftnessroundingoutthelion-likegrowls.Heknewthisrecognitionwasduetofamiliarity,ratherthananytruedifferenceinthemaster’stone,butitneverhelpedintellingtheothersapart.‘Imightguessiftoldtodoso.’Therewasthesoundofthedemigodshiftinghisstance,andtheaccompanyingwhisperofhisclothing.‘Indulgeme.’‘IbelieveyouareLordCyrion.’Anotherpause.‘Howdidyouknow,vassal?’‘Becauseyoulaughed,lord.’

In the silence that followed thosewords, even in thedarkness,Septimuswascertainthedemigodwassmiling.‘Tellme,’theAstartesfinallyspoke,‘havetheotherscometoday?’Theslaveswallowed.‘LordUzaswasherethreehoursago,LordCyrion.’‘Iimaginethatwasunpleasant.’‘Yes,lord.’‘WhatdidmybelovedbrotherUzasdowhenhecame?’TheedgeofsarcasminCyrion’svoicewasunmistakable.‘Helistenedtothemaster’swords,butsaidnoneofhisown.’Septimusrecalledthe chill in the blackness as he stood in the hallway with Uzas, hearing thedemigod breathe in harsh grunts, listening to the thrum of his primed battlearmour.‘Heworehiswar-plate,lord.Idonotknowwhy.’‘That’snomystery,’Cyrionreplied.‘Yourmasterisstillinhisownwararmour.The latest “affliction” took holdwhilewewere embattled, and to remove thearmourwouldriskwakinghimfromthevision.’‘Idonotunderstand,lord.’‘Don’t you?Think,Septimus.Youcanhearmybrother’s criesnow,but theyaremuffled,filteredthroughhishelm’sspeakersandfurtherconstrainedbythemetalofhiscell.Butifonewishedtohearhimwithadegreeofclarity…Heisscreaminghispropheciesintothevox-network.Everyonewearingtheirarmourcanhearhimcryingoutacrossthecommunicationfrequencies.’ThethoughtmadeSeptimus’sbloodruncold.Theship’sdemigodcrew,hearinghismastercryoutinagonyforhoursonend.Hisskinprickledasifstrokedbythedarkness.Thisdiscomfort–wasitjealousy?Helplessness?Septimuswasn’tsure.‘Whatishesaying,lord?Whatdoesmymasterdream?’Cyrionrestedhispalmagainstthedooragain,andhisvoicewasdevoidofthehumourhe’dhintedatbefore.‘Hedreamswhatourprimarchdreamed,’ theAstartessaid ina low tone. ‘Ofsacrificeandbattle.Ofwarwithoutend.’

Cyrionwasnotentirelycorrect.Hespokewiththeassuranceofknowledge,forhewasalltooexperiencedwithhisbrother’svisions.Yetthistime,anewfacetwasthreadedthroughthestrickenwarrior’sprophecies.Thiscametolightsomeninehourslaterwhen,atlast,thedooropened.The demigod staggered into the hallway, fully armoured, leaning against the

oppositewallofthecorridor.Hismuscleswerelikecablesoffirearoundmoltenbones,butthepainwasn’ttheworstpart.Hecouldmanagepain,andhaddonesocountless timesbefore.Itwastheweakness.Thevulnerability.Thesethingsunnervedhim,madehimbarehisteethinaferalsnarlatthesheerunfamiliarityofthesensation.Movement.Thegod’ssonsensedmovementtohisleft.Stillpain-blindfromthewrackingheadachebroughtonbyhis seizures,he turnedhishead towards thesourceof themotion.Hisability to smellprey, as enhancedasevery sensehepossessed, registered familiar scents: the smoky touch of cloying incense, themuskofsweat,andthemetallictangofconcealedweaponry.‘Septimus,’ the god’s son spoke. The sound of his own voice was alien;scratchyandwhisperedeventhroughthehelmet’svoxspeakers.‘Iamhere,master.’Theslave’sreliefwasshatteredwhenhesawhowweakhislordwas.Thiswasnewtothemboth.‘Youwerelosttousforexactlyninety-onehoursandseventeenminutes,’theslavesaid,apprisinghismasterinthewayhealwaysdidaftertheseizuresstruck.‘Alongtime,’thedemigodsaid,drawinghimselfuptohisfullheight.Septimuswatchedhismasterstandtall,andwascarefultoangleawaythedimbeamfromhis lamp pack, casting its weak illumination onto the floor. It still providedenoughlighttoseeby,bringingareassuringgloomtothehallway.‘Yes,lord.Alongtime.Theafflictionsaregettinglonger.’‘Theyare.Whowasthelasttocometome?’‘LordCyrion,sevenhoursago.Ithoughtyouweregoingtodie.’‘Forawhile,sodidI.’Therewastheserpentinehissofventingairpressureasthedemigodremovedhishelm.Inthelowlight,Septimuscouldjustmakeouthismaster’ssmoothfeatures,andtheeyesasblackaspoolsoftar.‘Whatdidyoudream?’theslaveasked.‘Darkomens andadeadworld.Makeyourway tomyarmingchambers andmakepreparations.ImustspeakwiththeExalted.’‘Preparations?’Septimushesitated.‘Anotherwar?’‘Thereisalwaysanotherwar.Butfirst,wemustmeetsomeone.Someonewhowillprovevitaltooursurvival.Wemustgoonajourney.’‘Towhere,lord?’Thedemigodgaveararesmile.‘Home.’

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