Then Guilliman was voxing. ‘You can’t fire now,’ he said.

The Lion killed the vox.

‘My lord,’ Holguin began.

‘I will have silence,’ the Lion told him.

The noise of the bridge fell to a murmur. Davin filled the oculus, its atmosphere streaked by the fires of the drop pod descents.

The decision loomed before the Lion. He had to make it now. The madness of Sanguinius’ actions convinced him even more firmly of the need to destroy Davin. The world was dangerous. It was attacking them even now, even though all the scans still showed no activity of any kind. Perhaps its existence was enough. It was a foul thing, and had to be purged from the galaxy.

Is this what I must do, then? Destroy it, and kill Sanguinius? Precipitate war with the Ninth Legion? And possibly the Ultramarines as well?

That would serve Horus well.

And what is the alternative? Stay my hand, and let this madness play out? Allow Davin to wreak havoc? Reach this point only to fall into a trap?

The destruction of Davin was an absolute imperative. If he had had any doubts left after Episimos, they would have been burned away by Sanguinius’ actions. The corrupted worlds must die, and Davin was the source of the corruption.

‘The Vyssini has entered the atmosphere,’ said Stenius.

Give the order, said the inner voice of brutal necessity. You know what must be done.

The Lion nodded to himself. ‘Captain,’ he said. ‘Prepare to…’

He stopped.

His blood froze at the enormity of what he was about to say.

‘Cancel the bombardment,’ he shouted. ‘Prepare for a massed landing. We are taking Davin.’

The Lion stormed from the bridge. He marched through the corridors, his fury warning all, legionary and mortal, from his path. He did not stop until he reached Curze’s cell. He dismissed the guards. He had no good reason for having come here. He hadn’t consciously known where he was headed at first.

He stood in the cell and faced the wall, staring at the empty manacles. He blinked, and held up his right hand. There was a faint tremor in his fingers.

‘So close,’ he whispered. He had come within a word of murdering his brother. A word.

A malign influence has been working on me.

An influence too subtle for him to feel its effects and resist them. Slowly and patiently, it had been leading him to ruin.

The Lion closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, the cell seemed too welcoming, as if he had come here to condemn himself. He grunted and stepped into the corridor. He slammed the door closed behind him.

He felt no freer. There were chains around him, all the stronger because he was not sure of their nature.

He voxed Guilliman. ‘Roboute,’ he said, ‘you must beware.’

‘What have you done?’ Guilliman demanded. ‘You can’t bombard–’

‘I am not,’ the Lion interrupted. ‘But I almost did.’