The fusillade hit the tomb ship along the rightward outer curve, lashing laser and shell into the exposed structure. The main turret gun of the human ship opened fire, a single high-velocity round smashing into the wound opened by the initial attack. Simut winced as though wounded, though his cortical connection with the ship was purely one-way.

Repair protocols sprang into action. Living metal bubbled forth from broken decks while canoptek facilitators rushed to the scene of the damage.

‘Open fire with all weapons arrays,’ commanded the overlord, gesturing imperiously towards the blot of movement on the display. ‘Wipe them from the stars.’

Energy relays sparked across the breadth of the tomb ship, gathering power for beam emitters and dimensional bursts. The green glow broke out along the surface of the vessel, coalescing through the apertures of the weapons systems to burst forth in sprays of emerald power and forks of cosmic lightning. The storm of disruptive energy struck the incoming vessel amidships, scattering like jade sparks from its defensive screens, tatters of energy crawling across the glowing purple banks of its shields. Astromantic power spiked in the aftermath.

‘Targeting data compromised, my lord,’ reported Phetos. ‘No direct hit. Their astromantic fields absorbed the energy input. It seems that the shields are working to a higher efficiency within the overnull.’

Plunging through the dissipating glow, the enemy ship came on, directly for Simut.

The assault ramp of the drop pod pitched open, bringing a waft of air baked by retro-thrusters into the compartment. Nem­etus was out of his harness, shield and pistol in hand, even as the ramp hit the scorched ground. Boots clanging, he led the Intercessor squad out onto the surface of Orestes III. They were not the first to make planetfall. That honour had fallen to the outrider squad, whose specially modified pod had deposited their combat bikes half a mile away, beyond the other necron force. Even now they were circling around the spatial elevator station to assess the situation at the main defence.

Half a dozen more drop pods slammed down around the disembarking Ultramarines, each depositing a squad of fresh warriors into the overgrown grass surrounding the facility. Small brush fires spread from the last burst of thruster jets, wisps of smoke joining the heat haze of orbital descent.

‘The enemy are pressing the attack, brother-lieutenant,’ said the Intercessor with the long-range auspex, Brother Gaihalius. ‘No response to our landing yet.’

‘An error that we will make them pay dearly for,’ voxed Brother Exel­loria. The Chaplain approached in the company of the Aggressors, their flamers replaced with rapid-firing boltstorm gauntlets for longer range. The bulky Gravis armour of their leader, Brother Velecht, was further enlarged by a fragstorm grenade launcher mounted on his shoulders.