The gunship lifted off and circled, its heavier weapons cutting down larger constructs as they closed with the Bladeguard, lascannons streaking down to slash through floating centauroids, missiles turning stalking tripodal creatures into scattered shards and limbs. Emerald lightning lashed back at it, leaving bright weals of exposed ceramite across its armour but unable to penetrate the thick plates.

At the rear of the enemy the outriders attacked, their bike-mounted bolt rifles roaring before they slewed away, escaping the venom of the xenos’ return fire. Again and again they struck, whittling away at the rearmost foes, causing others to turn and confront them, lessening the pressure on the knot of veterans fighting in the centre.

Blocked to the south-east by a canal half a mile wide, the necron cohort had little room to manoeuvre. Set upon barely minutes after marching clear of a massive expanse of orchard-covered hillside, they had been advancing in a narrow, vulnerable column formation. No scouts had preceded them, so certain had they been of the Space Marines’ desire to remain in static defence. Miles of freshly sown furrows separated them from the lifting station, devoid of any road that would have speeded their advance, the uneven ground treacherous beneath metallic feet.

The terrain provided no cover, so Nem­etus had speared into the greater part of the enemy host. The necrons were less suited to close combat than a firefight. In the press of melee, they could not bring their deva­stating beam weapons to bear and their artificial bodies were no defence against the molecular-disruptive fields of the Ultramarines’ power weapons. Reanimating scarabs crawled over the decapitated and dismembered remains as Nem­etus and his companions pressed on, but these fell prey to the incoming Intercessors, whose volleys of bolt-fire were as precise and regular as a chronometer. The creatures that tried to resurrect the fallen necrons became the targets, blown apart by the incessant fusillade of mass-reactive warheads.

As a force, the necrons were slow to react, and half of them had fallen before they started to bring the much greater weight of their numbers to bear. More and more beams sprang up towards the gunship, forcing it higher. Skimming constructs abandoned their attempt to down the flying vehicle and turned their cannons on the Intercessors, the redirec­ted flurry of beams cutting gaps in the line where Space Marines were stripped apart at the molecular level. Though still surrounded, Nem­etus felt the closeness of the fighting breaking as the necrons withdrew from the Ultramarines’ advance, attempting to give themselves room to manoeuvre and fire.

‘The shock of assault is wearing thin, brother,’ warned Ancient Magnatus.