The Chaplain-in-Waiting was a relentless warrior, cleaving apart his enemies with broad sweeps of his greatsword. While many of the Reclusiam would exhort the battle-brothers with battle-cries and recitations from the Chapter teachings, the Judiciar inspired by presence alone, a silent slayer of the impure. Yet it was not only the Judiciar’s efforts that were bolstered by his enforced silence. Knowing that Admonius’ eye was upon him pushed Nem­etus to greater efforts, conscious that any laxity would be noted and remarked upon later. More than any verbal remonstration, the simple thought of disappointing the great warrior, the merest hint of shameful reluctance, set a fire of battle inside the lieutenant.

It was hard to prove himself worthy of the Judiciar’s praise against the chaff that clogged their path to the strategium. Scattered and surprised, the traitor crew came at the Space Marines in piecemeal fashion, easily overwhelmed. In the closer confines of hallways and chambers the superior weapons, armour and speed of the Space Marines was uncompromising.

Even when the force breached into the arterial corridor that ran along the main dorsal structure, they met little organised resistance. Everything was bathed in a ruddy gloom, lit by high lanterns with panes the colour of blood. Clouds of steam and gas issued from broken vents and split pipes, perhaps a sign of a losing battle against the ship’s antiquity. Blue-armoured warriors strode through the swirling vapours and shadows, bolts streaking from their weapons to slay mutants lurking behind buttresses and in archways.

‘Press on! Invicta dominus bellicosa! Show no mercy!’

The war-shouts and oaths of his battle-brothers echoed among the bolt detonations and snarl of chainswords. The enemy crew held their ground and fired in the face of the merciless Ultramarines attack. Their dedication would have been laudable had it not been directed to such ill purpose. Their cries of devotion to the Dark Powers were a twisted echo of the Chapter oaths his brothers bellowed as they cut them down with bolt and blade. It reminded Nem­etus of the Chapter serfs that supported the Adeptus Astartes – unaugmented humans that were nevertheless almost as fanatical in their determination as the Ultramarines themselves.

The retort of weapons rang back from high vaults, the ceiling lost to normal sight. Yet there was another sound there, a soft creaking and susurrate breaths. When Nem­etus looked up he saw odd shapes clustered in the plasteel braces and arching supports.

‘Enemy above!’ He opened fire even as he issued the warning, the plasma bolt of his pistol streaking into the body of a bat-winged creature even as it unfurled its pinions.

The air erupted with screeching cries as the beasts dropped, leathery wings gliding rather than flapping, serrated beaks clacking. A cloud at least a hundred strong fell as one, lit through by the streak of the Ultramarines’ salvo of bolts, ravaged bodies tumbling amidst the mass, blood drops falling as crimson rain.