‘I think our presence over Davin would be redundant. Here we might make a difference.’

‘I think so too.’ He wasn’t sure why he was so determined to hold a position close to the necrosphere. Cruax was right. It was highly unlikely that the Sthenelus would scan just the right region when the enemy moved again. He did not like to admit that he was compelled by something like intuition. That was not a proper rationale. It was too human, too beholden to the weak flesh. Even so, he obeyed his instinct. Just beyond the edge of perception, there was something familiar. He did not know what it was or how it could be, and he would not speak of it to anyone.

‘We will meet the Pilgrim at last,’ Levannas said, sounding as certain as Khalybus felt.

‘And we will fight it alone, in the end.’

Khalybus watched the necrosphere. Waiting.

He thought Now the moment before the shout.

‘Contact!’ Seterikus called from the auspex station. Legionaries manned all the critical systems of the frigate; very few mortal officers had survived this long into the war. ‘There is movement in the shell. It’s big.’

‘I know,’ said Khalybus.

The monster moved so fast, it broke through the shell seconds after being detected. And Seterikus was right. It was very big. It did not appear so, as it emerged from the inconceivable vastness of the necrosphere, but as it entered the system and made for Davin, its scale became clear. At last the enemy had a shape. It was a warship. It was gigantic, far larger than any battleship Khalybus had ever seen. It dwarfed the likes of the Red Tear and the Invincible ­Reason. Yet its silhouette was familiar.

‘We are being hailed,’ said Demir.

‘Let us hear it,’ Khalybus said. ‘One second only.’

He expected the daemonic electronic howl, the screech trying to break up his rational thoughts. What disturbed him more was the tone underneath the scream. This was what was familiar. For all the distortion, the signal was still that of a specific vessel. The daemonic forces that had created the monster wanted it to be recognised. They wanted the pain that came with that knowledge.

Demir cut the sound after a second. Smoke rose from one of the vox-casters. Silence fell on the bridge. The daemon ship grew larger in the oculus. It was moving fast. Its form became clearer.

‘Captain,’ Demir began. He too had a bionic larynx. It was not suited to the expression of emotion. Such displays were not part of the culture of the Iron Hands. The machinic ideal was cold, not easily moved. Yet Demir’s voice cracked in horror.

‘I know,’ Khalybus said. It was hard to speak. ‘Warn the fleets. The Pilgrim is here. It is the Veritas Ferrum.’