The daemon folded its wings, spun around and turned, nose over tail. It passed down the aisle again, back towards the site of the broken clock and the primarch.

‘You shall perish, little emperor,’ said Qaramar, ‘and the Imperium with you.’

‘I think not,’ said Guilliman.

Roboute Guilliman waited for Qaramar to come screaming at him, then he leapt. He cleared six metres from a standing start, arms and legs wheeling as he fell towards the daemon’s back. Qaramar turned its flayed skull around to snap at the Imperial Regent. Only at the last second did Guilliman grasp the Sword of the Emperor in both hands and drive it down through the beast’s back, piercing its mechanical heart.

Qaramar screamed, its wings thrashing. Guilliman leaned back on his sword, making the daemon rear up higher in the air. Power built in the sword, and it glowed incandescently, until light burned in every rent and orifice of the daemon’s body.

‘Now, my lord, leap!’ shouted Tigurius.

Guilliman kicked back off the daemon, jumping sideways as it crashed, body aflame all over, through the tear in space and time.

‘Close the rift!’ ordered Tigurius.

A shock wave boomed through the cathedral, blasting out its remaining windows and bringing down another portion of its weakened walls. The remaining lesser warp-born wavered like mirages and disappeared, their droning count fading moments later. The shouts of men replaced the sounds of the battle as the wounded were given succour, and more warriors came rushing into the cathedral.

‘It is done,’ said the primarch. ‘Espandor is free of Mortarion’s witchcraft. Its cleansing may begin.’

Guilliman put up and sheathed the sword. The fires went out, plunging the cathedral back into darkness, but a certain sanctity remained. By the Emperor’s own blade, Guilliman had driven back the baleful influence of Chaos. He could not deny the effect. He could not have defeated an enemy like that without the weapon.

Godlike, he thought.

Mathieu sank to his knees. ‘Praise be!’ he whispered. Tears ran down his face.

‘You are still alive?’ said Guilliman with mild surprise.

‘The Emperor protects. The Emperor protects!’ Mathieu said, partway into a religious fugue. ‘As you fought and others died, I was unharmed! Praise be, praise be! The Emperor has touched this place.’

Guilliman shrugged. Combat over, he was weary. The emptiness inside him seemed deeper for his encounter with the daemon. His hearts laboured, and his scar itched. ‘He remains potent, even now.’

‘I can feel His love for humanity,’ said Mathieu. ‘I can feel it all around me!’ He hesitated in his rapture. ‘Tell me, oh lord regent, truthfully – does the Emperor love us, my lord? Do not say I am wrong!’