Qaramar swung its finger bones like swords, slashing down hard at the primarch. Guilliman parried one hand, dodging the other. The Sword of the Emperor blazed white hot as it connected with the daemon’s skin. But though the sword’s touch alone was death to most daemons, it was not enough to harm the Last Watcher. Guilliman was forced back by the dragon-thing’s onslaught. Custodians leapt to his side, their weapons swinging in perfect synchronicity with one another. They cut it many times, but the wounds closed as Qaramar aged and grew young in constant cycle, and the Custodians were always swept away by vicious sweeps of the thing’s wings, leaving Guilliman to battle it alone. As Qaramar fought, the wing fingers trailed shadow that coalesced into ragged skin. A livid growth of flesh crept up from the base of its equid’s skull, cladding it in raw, pulsing muscle.

‘With every death, I grow stronger,’ it said. ‘With every soul I grow greater. At the end of time, I hold all the dead in me, and so none are mightier than I.’

‘This is not the end of time,’ said Guilliman. And he struck.

The Sword of the Emperor swung true, flames rushing from its edge like a banner. Qaramar whipped back its materialising wing too slowly. With crackle of power, the sword cleaved off the tip of Qaramar’s littlest elongated finger. Qaramar screeched so loudly part of the cathedral wall tumbled down, crushing Space Marines and daemons alike. The severed digit tip skidded up against a pillar, and boiled away to nothing.

Beneath his helmet, Guilliman smiled with savage triumph. ‘This is the Sword of the Emperor, the great foe of Chaos. It has laid low thousands of your kind. You shall be but an addition to the tally.’

Roaring horribly, Qaramar struck down. Guilliman parried one-handed. Though shaken by the impact, he recovered quickly, raising the Hand of Dominion and raking the side of the creature with bolt fire. Rotten skin blew out in showers of gore, and when Qaramar cycled back to his youthful state, the wounds remained.

‘Impossible!’ it hissed.

‘I am the light of the Imperium. The Imperial Regent. I was made by the Emperor, and He watches over me now. I shall be your downfall, daemon, not you mine.’

Guilliman swung his sword round overhead, the fires roaring into a perfect circle. He struck again, cutting deep into the forearm of the daemon. Blood and broken clockwork rained down from the injury, and Qaramar roared in anger.

‘To the primarch! Let us aid him!’ shouted Colquan, dragging himself off the floor, snatching up his dropped spear and eviscerating a plaguebearer with a point-blank shot from the built-in boltgun.

‘I cannot be killed! I am death!’ cried the daemon.

‘There are many that claim that name,’ said Guilliman. ‘I have killed them all.’