But then the Lion had materialised in the chamber. He had stopped the execution. Curze had fastened his grip on the future again, and the moments to come had begun hammering through his skull once more. It was the closest thing he had known to relief in decades.

Now, though, the future was blank. He strained against his manacles, as if he could physically force himself through the barrier and see once more. ‘Nothing changes,’ he said. ‘Nothing changes. Nothing changes.’ Beyond the barrier to his vision, the future unfolded as fate had determined it would. That was the lesson he had learned from his arrested execution. He had been wrong to doubt then. He would not doubt now. The shadow blinded him, but that was all, and it would pass. ‘Nothing changes,’ he said.

But the fog lingered. The seconds passed, one after another whose form he did not know before they came. And he did not know when the fog would lift.

Without foreknowledge, he could not act. The blindness was worse than his physical shackles.

‘Nothing changes!’ he shouted in defiance. The blankness remained. It was a barrier, he told himself again and again. It was not a slate waiting for fresh script. ‘Nothing changes. Nothing changes!’

The scream echoed back and forth along the prison corridor. It fell into the background noise of the deep hum of the ship’s engines. Curze shrieked his defiance again. The barrier remained. On the other side, the future resided, hidden from its darkest prophet.

Mkani Kano was nearest to the Angel when the psychic beam struck him. Sanguinius staggered, stumbling off the command dais to the main platform of the flying bridge. He doubled over, clutching his chest. Kano rushed to his side. Azkaellon and the duty squad of the Sanguinary Guard were a few steps behind.

Kano put his hand on the Angel’s shoulder. ‘My lord?’

Sanguinius reared upright with a sudden jerk. His wings spread wide, pinions shaking with anger. His eyes glistened black. He turned to Kano, his face a perfect marble carving of rage. For an instant, he was indeed a statue, the nobility of his bearing transformed into the aspect of a predator. Then his lips drew back over his fangs. Hatred consumed his features. The air around him crackled. Kano smelled burnt ozone. On instinct he raised a defensive psychic shield. Sanguinius lunged but Kano was too slow. None of the Angel’s sons would have been fast enough. Sanguinius seized him by the gorget and lifted him high. The Angel’s jaw opened and closed as if straining to speak. The tendons of his neck stood out, taut as iron cables about to snap. No words emerged from his throat. The fury was too great. Snarling and groaning at once, Sanguinius threw the Librarian down. Kano slammed through the nearest cogitator stations to the dais, crushing a servitor and ­sliding fifteen feet across the deck.