'Squads Delta and Epsilon are holding out down there, sir. Squad Gamma is also still managing to repel the enemy from the transmitter array'

'Very good, captain. Then we know what must be done.'

Schrodinger looked to a control wand-bearing adept who waited at the edge of the command platform. 'Are the batteries charged? Is the apocalypse cannon ready?'

'Currently at sixty-three point seven-five per cent of optimum power levels. Operative capability at eighty-two per cent,' the adept intoned.

'Don't do this, Schrodinger!' the other snarled, taking an ominous step towards the ordinatus's commander, and most senior representative of the Adeptus Mechanicus on board.

'Keep back.’ the arch-magos snarled, silvered spider limbs reaching for the tech-priest once more.

Over the machine-cant droning of the tech-adepts and the emotionless, monotone voice of servitors reporting the status of the myriad systems of the monstrous ordinatus, Schrodinger's enhanced hearing discerned a new sound, that of the arrival of new combatants in the battle taking place beyond the bulkhead of the command bridge.

The zap-fizz of lasguns discharging had been joined by the deeper, throatier rattling roar of bolter fire. He could hear shouts too, a booming, commanding voice issuing orders and the curses of others as they took on the traitorous foe.

An explosion rocked the bridge. The Omnissiah-alone-knew what had hit to cause such a shuddering impact aboard the ordinatus. A cloud of spark-shot smoke gusted onto the lower deck of the vaulted command chamber.

Three figures emerged from the smoke, wreathed in tendrils of black smoke. They towered over the tech-adepts scurrying in panic before them, their blackened armour making them seem even larger.

The first of the Space Marines, bolt pistol in one silvered hand, power axe in the other, looked up at the command platform and the arguing tech-priests standing there. Schrodinger looked back uncertainly. A calliper-clamp servo-arm also turned to take in the arch-magos. It would appear that reinforcements had arrived after all.

'Which of you is Magos Omega Thule?' the Marine's voice boomed. Schrodinger recognised it as the one he had heard shouting orders beyond the bulkhead of the bridge.

Arch-Magos Schrodinger's rival turned and fixed the Space Marine with the glittering gaze of his red-lensed augmetic eye. 'Ah, I see the noble Iron Hands have remembered their ancient oaths and arrived at last.'

'Are you Magos Thule?' the Space Marine repeated.

The cadaverous figure stepped forward.

'I am Magos Omega Tetrohimus Thule.’ he said. 'And who might you be?'

'I am Iron-Father Anatolus Gdolkin of the Adeptus Astartes Iron Hands' Chapter.'

Iron-Father Gdolkin gave the tech-priest another appraising look, now that he and his honour guard of servitors and fellow Space Marines had ascended to the command platform. The acolyte was extremely tall - as tall as a Space Marine in fact - and cadaverously thin. His red, cog-tooth patterned robe hung loosely about his slender frame, making it appear as though the slightest gust of wind would send him toppling over.

The only parts of Thule visible beneath the priest's ceremonial robe were his face and his hands. His face was a knot of scar tissue and cybernetic enhancements. As far as Gdolkin could tell, fully half the magos's head was a polished steel cranium, complete with augmetic ocular implant, and the entirety of his lower jaw mandible. His hands appeared human enough but both were etched with a tracery of elec-trum circuitry that culminated in chromed nails at his fingertips.