The immensity of the Veritas was above the Thunderhawks now. Mile after mile of horror sped on, seeking the larger prey of the fleets. It glowed with a putrescent light. The blackness of its hull was broken by the red shine of the eyes and maws. The barrels of the huge cannons were bright with infernal fire. It moved through the system like a diseased sun, bringing its own light. It was the bearer of terrible revelation.

Khalybus looked up at the Pilgrim, and understood the superstitious awe it had created on the worlds it had visited and transformed.

A large mass rose through the dark to meet the ruin of the Sthenelus. Strapped into the grav-harness next to Khalybus, Cruax uttered a guttural cry when he saw what was happening. Khalybus felt the cold touch of anticipated horror. He was not surprised by what he saw. Now that it was happening, it seemed inevitable.

The mass was the stern of the Sthenelus. It matched the spin of the forwards half of the ship. Metallic tendrils reached across the space between the two portions of frigate. They met, fused, multiplied. The Sthenelus reformed itself. With unity came corruption. The hull bubbled. Its plating squirmed. Foul light blazed from the superstructure, silhouetting the transformations of the statuary into grotesquery. Eyes opened on the flanks. The frigate became a pitted, gnawed-bone reflection of the Veritas Ferrum. Dwarfed by the bleak majesty of the great monster, the Sthenelus was a ghoul, a thing to feast on the leavings of its master. The engines flared to life, slowing the spin, then stopping it.

The Sthenelus moved forwards again. It bore down on the escaping Thunderhawks.

The port cannons fired. Green energy flashed. It vaporised the Forge of Will.

There was no point in flight now.

‘Kiriktas,’ Khalybus voxed. The helmsman was piloting the Karaashi’s Fire.

‘Captain.’

‘Turn us around. Open fire on the Sthenelus.’

‘So ordered, captain. It has been an honour.’

‘The honour has been mine.’

The two remaining Thunderhawks reversed course. Guns blazing, they hurled themselves at the revenant Sthenelus.

‘We fight still,’ Cruax said.

‘We do,’ Khalybus said. ‘To the end.’ He detached his grav-harness and stood. So did the other legionaries. They would meet the end on their feet.

At his side, Levannas said, ‘We have made a good war.’

‘We have,’ Khalybus said. The end had not come at Isstvan V. They had fought long. They had bled the enemy. They had taught the traitors that the Iron Hands and the Raven Guard were not extinct.

Levannas extended his hand. ‘The flesh is weak,’ he said. He and Khalybus clasped forearms.

‘Victorus aut mortis,’ said Khalybus.

Levannas’ smile was grim. ‘That is certain,’ he said.

Khalybus raised his bolter. When the end came, he would fire.

He did not wait long. The forwards section of the Thunderhawk peeled back for him. He had time to pull the trigger before the flames of night engulfed him.