A sudden throbbing rumbled through the ship. The throb turned to a lifting surge, a swell that was felt inside the mind rather than by the body.

‘We’re being carried away!’ wailed Kosa.

‘No!’ roared Aeschelus. It felt as though the Ithraca’s Vengeance was pitching sideways, flung back across the warp, though his rational mind knew such a thing was entirely a construct of his imagination. Waves of psychic force lashed at the Geller field, sounding alarm chimes across the stations.

Inspiration struck as the captain watched amber and red lights spreading over the Geller field displays. He charged across the strategium, barging Nem­etus aside when the lieutenant failed to clear the way. Without a second thought for the dazed lieutenant, Aeschelus opened the runepad cover on the emergency shutdown. He punched in the deactivation codes. Sirens wailed from prow to stern along the ship, warning of the Geller field collapse.

‘Are you insane?’ roared Admonius, stomping towards the captain.

‘We can ride it!’ exclaimed Praxa­medes. ‘Warp engine has traction, ready for translation.’

‘No!’ Qurius’ injunction was a shriek. ‘We will be sheared apart if we translate.’

Before the captain could issue any further orders, he felt a coldness sweep through him. A whisper flowed across the strategium, bringing gasps and cries from the human crew and mutters of discontent from the Space Marines. Everything was swallowed by a deepening twilight. The air fogged with purple and green and leering faces danced across the dead hololith screens.

‘Warp intrusion,’ shouted Admonius, his tempormortis flaring with pale light as he raised the ceremonial hourglass like a lantern. ‘You have doomed us, you fool!’

Flitting shadowlights moved through the walls and terminals without hindrance, forming brief figures and bestial shapes. They spiralled around Fedualis, fanged maws wide, claws glinting with golden light. One ghost passed directly through Aeschelus, its mouth emerging from his chest, a twitching serpent tail lashing past his nose before it disappeared.

He felt terror.

Not his own; he was biologically incapable of such a depth of dread. Like hearing an echo rather than a spoken word, he felt panic and horror second-hand, catching its wake from the apparitions that flooded across the strategium. Infected by this malaise, some of the human crew screamed and wailed, falling to the floor or burying their faces in their hands.

Pure fear.

Not mortal fear. The dread of immortals. The collateral emotion of fleeing warp-entities. This was no attack, it was a stampede.

Given movement by the inflowing warp-stuff, Aeschelus’ thoughts fired quickly again, the link between body and soul briefly restored. He understood in a moment that the stillness had becalmed the creatures of the warp every bit as much as the ship. Given sudden form and motion again, the Neverborn filth were fleeing for survival, trying to escape the zone of warp silence.