Justinian went through the procedure automatically, barely conscious of what his hands were doing. Runic indicators flickered, half obscured by the drop pelorus dominating his view. Drum magazines on his assault bolters span around once, ammo feeds clicking. Chimes informed him all was well. The machine spirit of his Inceptor suit performed a number of automatic adjustments. Hissing atmosphere lines increased his internal suit pressure. The reactor beneath his jump engines whined into high output mode then back again, and his jets gave a single hollow huff that jolted him in his harness. In front of him, Solus’ jets ignited a second later, metal teeth spinning around a trapped vortex of blue fire, then went out.

A schematic of his armour blinked in the upper right of Justinian’s view, segments switching from amber to green. He was only half watching all this. He trusted his battleplate’s spirit to ready itself once the ritual activation had set it on the appropriate path. The ship shook hard. The engines’ voices changed timbre. The push of acceleration shifted around his body as the ship curved away from an unseen threat. Several more jarring shakes followed as the Rudense came under fire.

‘There is a firestorm out there,’ said Sarkis. ‘The enemy are displeased to see us.’

‘Was that a joke, Sarkis?’ said Bjarni, born of the line of Russ.

‘I do not joke,’ replied the lieutenant.

‘A wry comment then,’ said Bjarni. The wolf’s son was hanging from the drop line next to Justinian. He tapped him on the arm with the butt of his assault bolter. ‘Wish me luck, brother,’ he said quietly. Vox-beads fed his voice directly into Justinian’s ears.

‘Why do you need luck more than the rest of us?’ Solus interrupted.

‘It’s my thirteenth planetfall,’ grumbled Bjarni. ‘An ill-favoured number.’

‘The primarch’s Legion was the thirteenth! Do you not remember?’ said Justinian.

‘Why would I forget?’ replied Bjarni. ‘But where is the Thirteenth Legion now?’

‘Made into Chapters ten thousand years ago, for the greater good of the Imperium,’ said Cordus.

‘Broken into pieces you mean,’ said Bjarni. ‘I do not want to be broken into pieces.’

Red lumens flashed. The air was sucked out by powerful fans. The noise in the bay went with it.

‘Doors opening, doors opening, doors opening,’ droned a machine voice.

The narrow bay doors slid back, letting in a corridor of bright sunlight unsoftened by atmospheric diffraction. Residual ship air froze upon the metal of the Primaris Space Marines’ armour, bringing a diamond sheen to the battleplate. The drop arms went into action, pushing them out from the side of the ship, through a hull five metres thick, and into the fury of void war.