A series of impossible thunderclaps echo as the daemon-things are obliterated by the torrent of flame. Ashava is somehow deft, even when wielding fire. She strides forwards, panning the flamer in slow, perfect arcs, consuming swathes of the creatures. They hiss and burst into clouds of ash that thicken the air. It scatters across my face and throat as I cut and parry, pushing my way into the press of shadows. All I taste is smoke and death. All I see is wickedness. But for the first time since the Contemplation I feel a fire light inside me, too.

I feel alive.

So I drive forward into the daemon-things, following in the wake of Ashava’s fire. I lean into my sword’s weight. I cut and parry. Riposte and counter. Claws dig furrows in my armour and tatter my vestments. They cut my face and throat. But I do not stop. I cannot stop. This is my chance for vengeance. To punish the warp and the creatures that wait within it for everything they have done to me. To my Sisters. This is my chance to prove myself worthy of the sword. Worthy of command. Worthy of the marks on my face, and of the God-Emperor’s blessing. It is my chance to prove that I am ready.

‘I deny you!’ I cry, as I cut and I cut until the daemon-things roll together to loom over me, a tidal wave of claws and teeth and whispers.

Death is coming, they say.

I stare up at the daemonic tide, my limbs aching and my sword slick with black oil.

‘By the might of Saint Katherine, I deny you,’ I roar, as the wave crests and breaks and the devils spill towards me, their jaws yawning and their whispers echoing around me.

Death. Is. Coming.

My world becomes one of violence and hatred as the tide breaks against my blade and my will. As Ashava burns the daemon-things and Zoric shoots them down and Ravara banishes them with her silvered swords. As the daemons fracture my battleplate with their claws. My scars are alight. I am alight. And I think I feel it, then. The God-Emperor’s watchful eyes, piercing the depthless dark.

‘By the will of the God-Emperor, I deny you,’ I cry.

And I am answered by more thunder. This time, it is the roar of guns coming from the far end of the corridor. From my Sisters, purging their way through to reach us. Instants register between the flashes of my blade as I swing it. Qi-Oh is a storm of anger, cutting this way and that with her chainsword. Haskia is cold and precise. Last is Eugenia. She kills her way through the furore just as quickly and purposefully as the others, repeating my words in high, clear tones.

I.

DENY.

YOU.