The ambient temperature in the room dropped, frosting the air directly around the astropath as he tapped into his psychic potential. Praxa­medes assumed a pose of watchfulness, acutely aware that they were in the warp. The Geller field was nominal but he had heard too many stories of intrusions and influence leaking through. The lieutenant visualised exactly how he would seize and break the astropath’s neck at the first sign of anything going awry.

Fedualis trembled, the tremor in his hands moving to the rest of his body, becoming a spasm that sent his head twitching from side to side, arms jerking outwards. His tongue worked at dark gums, rolling over the stubs of teeth, while his wrinkled throat bobbed with repeated ­swallowing. Praxa­medes sensed the captain looking at him but did not take his eyes off the astropath to return the glance.

With a shriek, Fedualis fell backwards to the tiled deck, heels banging the floor, hands scrabbling at empty air in front of him. His gestures left faint traceries of shadow in their wake, giving the illusion of something else with him, another humanoid figure within his jerking embrace. There was something wholly disturbing about his movements, which even the psychoconditioning of a Space Marine could not wholly expunge. Looking at the faltering, ghastly display, Praxa­medes wanted to step in and crush the man’s skull, ending it. Resisting that urge, he realised what was so unsettling. The astropath’s motions seemed like they were in reverse, like a vid-feed being wound back to its start.

With a gurgling cry, Fedualis flailed to his feet, gasping for air, lips drawn back from his teeth. A voice issued from him, though it seemed not to come from throat or mouth, but out of the air itself. Two voices in fact, not quite speaking in unison, one male and the other female, and yet both somehow also Fedualis’.

‘Xenos have arrived. A psychic virus or warp distortion has spread to nearly everyone on the planet. The final attack is beginning; we cannot resist it. Only the astropathic choir has kept the effect at bay, with the guns of the Adeptus Arbites precinct and defence forces to protect us. No more. All but two of us are dead. Nobody is coming. Beware. Guard yourselves. Beware. Guard yourselves. The xenos are stealing our minds, invading without resistance. Praise the God-Emperor that He delivers you from this coming nightmare.’

A fog-like emanation seeped from the astropath while he spoke, forming shapes out of the air. Curls of vapour sketched the idea of two figures around him, clasping one another. In the periphery half-formed blades wove, getting closer. Praxa­medes tensed, ready to act should the apparition threaten any physical harm. The claw-swords struck, shredding the fog into streamers that flew about Fedualis, creating a last view of screaming faces whirling around him.