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More Ultramarines from Black Library

• DARK IMPERIUM •
Book 1: DARK IMPERIUM
Book 2: PLAGUE WAR
Guy Haley

OF HONOUR AND IRON
Ian St. Martin

KNIGHTS OF MACRAGGE
Nick Kyme

DAMNOS
Nick Kyme

VEIL OF DARKNESS
An audio drama
Nick Kyme

BLOOD OF IAX
Robbie MacNiven

BLADES OF DAMOCLES
Phil Kelly

THE PLAGUES OF ORATH
Steve Lyons, Cavan Scott & Graeme Lyon

More Necrons from Black Library

SEVERED
Nate Crowley

THE INFINITE AND THE DIVINE
(Coming July 2020)
Robert Rath

THE WORLD ENGINE
Ben Counter

Warhammer 40,000

For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of Mankind. By the might of His inexhaustible armies a million worlds stand against the dark.

Yet, He is a rotting carcass, the Carrion Lord of the Imperium held in life by marvels from the Dark Age of Technology and the thousand souls sacrificed each day so that His may continue to burn.

To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable. It is to suffer an eternity of carnage and slaughter. It is to have cries of anguish and sorrow drowned by the thirsting laughter of dark gods.

This is a dark and terrible era where you will find little comfort or hope. Forget the power of technology and science. Forget the promise of progress and advancement. Forget any notion of common humanity or compassion.

There is no peace amongst the stars, for in the grim darkness of the far future,
there is only war.

Part I

PART I

‘Their holds filled and courage rude,

They left the Sol for distant stars.

With fears stilled and joyous mood,

Not knowing of their future scars.

So light a flame and send a prayer,

For the souls of the Cursed Fleet.’

– ‘The Lament of Quintus’,
an Imperial Navy shanty.

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

‘They shall be pure of heart and strong of body, untainted by doubt and unsullied by self-aggrandisement.’ Praxa­medes had spoken without thought, the words of the Codex Astartes coming to him unbidden and reaching his tongue before he could stop them.

‘Is that censure of a senior officer, Lieutenant Praxa­medes?’ asked Aeschelus as he looked away from the command bridge’s main viewing display. The Ultramarines captain paced across the strategium of the Ithraca’s Vengeance, heading to where his second-in-command stood alongside the task force’s other lieutenant, Nem­etus.

The polished blue of their armour danced with the amber-and-red glow of console lights, smudged by a bright plasma gleam shining from the tactical videolith that dominated the wall of the large command chamber. Tac-slaved servitors wired to terminals and augur banks grunted and chattered their dataflows to azure-robed overseers, who in turn compiled reports for their Space Marine officers. Behind them, Shipmaster Oryk Oloris, in heavy trousers that were tucked into knee-high boots and a crisp white shirt beneath his Ultramarines uniform tunic, prowled the deck with a watchful eye.