Guilliman looked at the blade’s flickering edge. When he held it, he too felt the Emperor close by. There had been places in the past that retained an echo of the Emperor’s power long after He had visited. This sword had been his father’s own, the blade that had slain Horus and ended the strife of the Heresy, or so all had thought at the time.

He hefted the weapon thoughtfully. The firelight danced in his eyes. How it burned was a question of the warp, not of science, for all the machine trappings on the blade and in the hilt. His father had been gifted in both, more so than any other man. The sword resisted Guilliman’s attempts to learn its nature, and he would not release it to any other agency for study.

For these arts, Magnus had been censured. The retaliation for a warning sent in good faith had created another terrible foe. Another miscalculation on his father’s part – only a human could make so many errors.

He is not a god.

Counter to that, no man excelled in so much.

If a man has all the powers of a god, is he not a god? Guilliman asked himself. That is what Mathieu believes. Theoretical, there is the possibility he is correct. I am not immune to mistake.

He raised the sword aloft. Its warm, yellow firelight beat the shadows back. The scent of incense filtered into the room. The Librarians held up their hands and muttered focusing prayers, the light of their power shining from their eyes and gathering in their hands. The Sisters took a step closer to the clock, suppressing its malevolent power.

‘You are not welcome,’ Guilliman said, and he did not know if he was saying it to the stone or to his father’s faint ghost that seemed to haunt the room. ‘Begone to the warp.’

With those simple words he swung.

Whatever its nature, the Sword of the Emperor was anathema to Chaos. It split one leg of the clock as easily as if it had been butter. The machine lurched, its ticking falling out of time and its pendulums clashing together. Clockwork ground upon the unholy stone in the centre of the device as it took the weight of the unbalanced mechanism. Sparks sprayed from the rock, but the device did not fall, only pulsed faster and glowed brighter. Guilliman strode to the second of three legs, drew back his weapon and struck again.

The second leg was cut neatly through. The clock lurched again. All its weight pressed sideways onto the obelisk. It held for a moment, then with the screaming of metal upon stone, the clock collapsed, taking the menhir down with it.

The great stone cracked, and its light dimmed. The clock groaned as gears clashed. The mechanism locked, and it was still.