Battleships could withstand hours of pounding. Layered void shields protected their hulls, and the hulls themselves were metres thick, their vital cores hidden deep inside. Even gutted, a battleship might be salvaged and fight again, for their frames were forged from adamantium.

But a primarch was in command of the Imperial fleet. And as a master knapper knows how to strike a flint just so to cause it to split, so Roboute Guilliman knew how to slay a starship. One tiny weakness was exploited, and the ship was cracked wide by overwhelming firepower.

The Steel Lord’s void shields were overwhelmed instantly, undone by the frequency flicker in their generators. Lance beams spread themselves as golden pools before the shields gave out with a guttering, brandy fire. Thousands of tons of solid and explosive ordnance followed. The Steel Lord weathered the impacts for a good twenty seconds before the sparking fires on its hull gathered into one giant eructation of flame that broke its spine. A second later, the reactor blew. A miniature sun engulfed the ship in a perfect yellow sphere. The oculus of the Macragge’s Honour dimmed in response. The edges of the reactor nova touched the shields of the Steel Lord’s sister ships, bringing them down in storms of squirming purple lightning.

The Imperial fleet had not slowed, and the enemy ships were vast in their oculi.

‘All ships, engagement manoeuvres!’ commanded Guilliman. ‘Fire at will!’

Expertly, the formation of the palm broke apart, passing between the enemy vessels. The Macragge’s Honour punched through the boiling cloud left behind by the Steel Lord. Wreckage flashed to nothing on its void shields and then the Imperial flagship was through, its guns raking down the sides of the exposed Chaos vessels.

The Imperial ships fired their broadsides. The Chaos ships fired back, but two of the remaining four were shieldless, and they peeled away, venting flaming atmosphere. As the palm wall went through the enemy formation, the three fingers of the claw not engaged with the lesser fleets had turned and were coming back, firing directly at the vulnerable engine stacks of the Chaos vessels. A titanic explosion rocked one into an uncontrollable spin as its stacks went up. It rolled away, missing its stern.

There were no cheers on the deck of the Macragge’s Honour. All worked to ensure victory. Celebration could wait.

The Chaos formation was disrupted. The fingers of the claw harried the remaining three battleships and their escorts as the palm raced on towards the orbital platform under construction at 108/Beta-Kalapus-9.2’s highest orbital anchor.

The fane was far from finished, but its basic framework was in place: an eight-pointed star like a compass wheel, the symbol the priests of the Dark Gods called the octed. Strange lights played about its centre.

As fire flashed behind them, the ships of the palm approached unopposed. The light about the hub of the wheel of Chaos shone brighter.