All around us, the Seraphim take flight, their jump packs lifting them clear of the melee. The hollow heretics raise their weapons to track them, filling the air with blazing arcs of warpfire. I see one of the Sisters caught by the fire. She catches light and her jump pack detonates. The Battle Sister is completely annihilated in the blast, as are two of the other Seraphim. The remainder cut their engines and fall like stars, pistols and hand-flamers blazing. Where they land, dust sprays into the air in thick arcs. The Heretic Astartes stagger and slow, their ancient, overwrought armour taking killcut after killcut until they fall, only for another Thousand Son to take their place.

Two of the sorcerer’s silent brothers turn their warpfire eyes on me and fire without hesitation, loosing volleys of flaming rounds that scorch the rain from the air as I drop into a roll and spring back to my feet, bringing my swords up with me. I scream as I cut the first one from hip to mid-chest with my main-hand blade. The prayer-etched sword carves a deep furrow in the ancient plating, which I follow with the second sword. This one goes through into the hollowness at the heart of the suit. Dust sprays out, and the silent warrior reels.

‘Now!’ I shout, turning aside from the heretic.

Zoric fires the Valedictor pistol four times, landing all four shots centre-mass. They turn the cut I made into a tear. A mess. Dust gouts from it, and the silent warrior crashes forwards, the warpfire light in its eyes guttering out.

I turn to see Yumia throw her Illithian dart at the second one, propelling herself into a leap that follows the line of the killcord. The dart sticks in the Heretic Astartes’ eye lens, just like before. But this time the silent warrior doesn’t stagger. This time, it grabs Yumia out of the air by her throat. She punches her second dart deeply into the side of its mask and pulls it downwards with a squeal, opening the traitor’s mask from temple to chin, kicking her bare feet bloody against the traitor’s armour. I run towards them as Zoric opens fire. He hits the Heretic Astartes twice in the chest, missing Yumia by less than a hand’s span. The rounds barely make a dent in the traitor’s armour. It doesn’t even flinch. It merely raises its own bolter one-handed, the maw of it lighting blue. A blinding light grows large in my vision, blooming heat across my skin, and for a moment I think that the Heretic Astartes must have fired, and that I’m dead, but then I realise that it doesn’t hurt. That the light is gold, not blue.

I realise that it is coming from Sister Evangeline.