When the daemons pulled the Blade Encarmine beneath their mass, Madail straightened. It planted the end of its staff on the deck and stood over Sanguinius, a monster of sickening majesty. The blank eyes of its skull glowed incandescent orange. The eyes of its chest looked down at Sanguinius, contemplating. He saw now that some of them bore scars, and a few sockets were empty. The daemon had been wounded. The sight gave Sanguinius strength. I will make you bleed anew, he thought.

‘You shall serve,’ the daemon told him again. ‘Serve by reigning. Serve as power.’ Madail lifted its arms in praise. The monstrous assembly wailed, shaking the hall. ‘You have seen the wonders. You have seen the works of faith. The works of my faith. I travel in glory, and glory blossoms where I pass.’ Its voice rumbled, the depth of mountain roots grinding over skulls. And its voice was high too, soaring to the heights of madness, scraping thought with claws of pain. This was a being very different from Kyriss and Ka’bandha. It preached. When it turned its body and gazed upon its flock, it looked upon all the daemons in the same fashion. And all the factions of daemons looked to Madail with the same ecstasy. There was unity in this hall. There was nothing like the fault lines that had split the daemonic efforts on Signus Prime. The huge daemon was wreathed in a monstrous charisma. It spoke, and its words mattered. Reality itself was compelled to listen. ‘By wrath and change, by vice and plague, I am the bringer of truth and the proof of belief,’ Madail said. The daemon leaned in, and though its words thundered through the deck, it seemed to be speaking for Sanguinius’ ears alone. ‘I mark the path and forge the way. By eight, to four, I bring the Angel. I am the unity of Chaos. I serve Tzeentch and Khorne and Slaanesh and Nurgle. I am the conduit of a single purpose. I am the prophet, and you are the fulfilment of the will of the gods.’

Sanguinius spat. Acid dripped down Madail’s chest and into an eye. The orb shut against the burn. There was no other reaction. ‘I am not what you will have me be,’ Sanguinius declared. ‘I am he who will destroy you.’

Madail hissed its amusement. Its left hand made a pass over Sanguinius, the talons crooked in blessing. ‘You would choose death? You would embrace the emptiness of defeat, and fall at your ­brother’s feet? This is the choice. This is the choice.’

‘I will fight Horus with my own strength. I will not choose the lie you have shown me. I would give my life for my father a thousand times.’