‘The power, my lord. I will drain them to a husk if I can. I have not fed for too long.’

‘I see.’ The plasmancer’s addiction made her so easy to control. ‘Very well.’

Exercising his will, Simut crackled with energy, which leapt from his body into the waiting circuitry of the command-mastaba. Signals flowed through the requisitioned tomb ship, cascading through protocol streams and translocation nodules. Beside him, Phetos guided the signals, branching out the commands into the deepest vaults.

With a burst of power that plunged the whole vessel into darkness, the vaults activated, hurling the datastreams of the legion towards the distant world.

‘For the glory of Simut and Szarekh!’ the overlord commanded his warriors. ‘For the future of all civilisation!’

A call from the gunship pilot brought Nem­etus through the troop compartment to the control deck. Ahead the wall of the lifter station came into view, as did the host of silver and bronze that assailed it. The emerald gleam of necron weapons lit the crumbling defences, the bright flare of lasguns and muzzle flash diminishing even as Nem­etus watched. Skimming constructs swept over the defences, targeting the Imperial forces as they fell back from the wall in their hundreds. Nem­etus could see more scarlet-uniformed troopers moving from reserve to bolster the gaps in the line, waylaid by beetle-like attackers that crawled through every crack and swarmed over the breaches.

‘Without us, their resolve has failed.’ Magnatus spoke from behind the lieutenant. ‘We trusted too much to the hearts of normal soldiers.’

‘They can be rallied,’ Nem­etus insisted. ‘We are not too late.’

His assurances sounded empty but he could not give up.

The gunship fired off its remaining missiles and rockets into the sprawl of unliving constructs that were tearing at the wall and clambering over its felled sections. While blossoms of deadly fire erupted below, the pilot braked sharply and turned the craft’s dive into a curving descent to the compound. At the ramps and hatches, the Primaris Marines loosed what fire they could over the heads of the remaining defenders.

‘Sectors three, four and eight, rapid reinforcement!’ snapped Nem­etus, directing his Intercessors as the gunship hovered at the same height as the wall’s rampart. Leaping the gap, the Space Marines broke into squads, some pushing directly into the firing line, others dispersing to vulnerable points to the left. The Eradicators followed, heading right, turning their powerful melta weapons against the heavier skimmers roving to and fro overhead.

Nem­etus stepped into the troop compartment as Magnatus, Garios and the other Bladeguard fell in beside each other, the Ancient and his standard at the centre of a cerulean shieldwall.