Originally, the lesser figures had subtly drawn the eye to the principal actors of the piece; now these background characters clamoured for the eye’s attention, overwhelming the Emperor and His son.

Only Fulgrim’s Legion had been permitted to display the personal symbol of the Emperor. The irony of the honour weighed heavily on Guilliman’s heart. Fulgrim had been pompous, vainglorious, boastful and proud, but his better qualities had outshone these foibles.

Examining the wreck of the door’s art hardened Guilliman’s heart. The aquila’s eyes had been hacked out. The head of the Emperor had been gouged from the relief and replaced with a mess of bones lashed together with blackened sinew. Fulgrim’s face was now a moving mask of silver which shifted almost imperceptibly through a range of expressions, all of which were hateful variations on sneering arrogance. His body too had been changed, made multi-limbed and serpentine in a manner that suggested it had always been this way. It depicted him as a savage god, rich with potency, though it could not match the truth of his new form.

‘He will be within, waiting,’ said Guilliman, running his gaze over the vandalism one more time. He turned from the gates to address Thiel and Andros. ‘Await me here.’

‘My lord,’ said Thiel, ‘he undoubtedly is waiting for you – that is his way. All this showmanship appears childish, but he is dangerous. I remember how he was. By entering, you are playing into his hands. We should not play his petty games. We should go on in force and slay him.’

‘I go alone,’ said Guilliman firmly. ‘If we attack en masse, he will respond in kind and we will be driven back or destroyed before our brothers can complete their tasks. Let me occupy him. His arrogance will demand he gloat awhile. While he is engaged in pointless display, his attention is away from the others, and we will have the opportunity to disable the ship.’

‘He will want to fight you,’ said Thiel.

‘He will,’ agreed Guilliman.

‘He may ambush you,’ said Andros.

‘That is unlikely,’ said Guilliman. ‘He will want to prove he is better by feat of arms.’

‘He will kill you, my lord. Do not do this,’ said Thiel.

Guilliman stared back, his expression hidden by the muzzle of his helmet.

‘I must fight him.’

‘Do you truly believe you can beat him?’ asked Thiel.

‘I do not know,’ answered Guilliman after a pause.

Thiel looked away and sighed. His helm rendered it as a growl. ‘I fear there is more to your desire to face your brother than practicality, my lord.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

The ship trembled as a heavy hit burst its way inwards, perturbing the unnatural serenity of the craft.

‘Pride doomed your brother,’ said Thiel simply. ‘Pride undoes the mightiest. Do not be proud, my lord.’

‘Are you not proud, my son?’