The Palace Spire was wider than the first. Whereas the Sighing Spire had been a declaration of art, a rich man’s showpiece, the second spire contained the palace proper. Within the walls was a maze of staircases and landings. Elevator shafts plummeted down tens of thousands of storeys to the depths of the hive, their cars nowhere to be seen. Within this outer layer of rooms and passageways, the main body of the palace was a series of giant halls, designed expressly with the display of power in mind. The Ultramarines ruled Ardium directly, and so there was no planetary commander, but the office of the governor was sacrosanct, and there were as many depictions of various historic holders of the title and their heraldic badges as there were of the Ultramarines.

Statues of Ultramarines native to Ardium lined long hallways. Justinian was of that world, Felix recalled, but the creation of the Primaris Space Marines had been a secret. No monument had been raised to him. Soaring vaulted roofs glittered with mosaics of precious metals, depicting the deeds of ancient heroes. In the silence of the deserted palace, the glittering of the eyes of the figures in the mosaics gave them a sinister false life. Even so, decay was less prevalent in the Palace Spire than in the Sighing Spire, as if the statues and the devotional images in the palace resisted its progress.

Only echoes held court there, and the hooting wind. There were blood stains as well, old and black, and combat damage to the spire itself, but there were no corpses. All the dead walked in the service of Nurgle.

The rumble of battle broke through the funereal wind, and Felix’s dwindling force picked up its pace. He had lost seven Space Marines. A dozen more were wounded. His Apothecary’s grim silence told him that the gene-seed of the dead had been too polluted to salvage.

‘This way,’ said Sergeant Lyceus.

He led the strike force through a series of service corridors, plain and unadorned ways never seen by the lords who inhabited the palace. Lyceus led them upwards. The sound of rocket fire rushed down the stair, and they emerged onto a wide mezzanine overlooking the palace’s vast feasting hall. A group of Death Guard heavy weapons troopers were firing with impunity down into the combat raging on the main floor. Lyceus held up a finger to his grinning skull mouth. He and his men stole forwards, attacking the Heretic Astartes from behind. Two died, gutted by power blades before they could react. Felix had his men shoot down the most troublesome, a purple-faced champion with a clubbed claw for a fist.

The enemy dealt with, Felix’s force took their place.