Sanguinius rose above the flames, wheeled around and came back at Madail, gouging the port wall. The screams of the engines redoubled. Explosions overlapped and fuelled each other, shaking the canyon. From the midst of the developing firestorm, Madail struck out wildly, blasts of warp energy stabbing up in every direction. Sanguinius soared over the roiling core of the explosions that marked the daemon’s position, then dropped, racing back low as the fires began to fade. He swung the sword at the daemon’s neck. Madail turned at the last second, and the Blade Encarmine sank into the spined, chitinous armour of its shoulder. Sanguinius’ blow split the plate and cut deeply into the daemonflesh beneath. Madail snarled, and its immense talon seized the Angel, arresting his momentum and hurling him against the engine. The wall’s teeth gnawed at his armour and sank into his pinions. Jaws parted in fury, Madail raised its staff and aimed the weapon’s points at Sanguinius’ throat.

Then it hesitated, remembering itself.

You do not dare kill me, Sanguinius thought, feeling the balance of power shift his way. With a burst of fire from the Spear of Telesto, he broke Madail’s grip and launched himself upwards. He climbed high, streaking towards the dome of the enginarium, and at the peak of his flight, prepared to fall upon the daemon like a meteor.

But Madail had not finished its sermon. ‘Be the Angel of Ruin, or the other ruin will come. It reaches for you now.’

Sanguinius hesitated at the moment of descent. The words of the daemon stabbed through his anger. They did not diminish it, but his awareness grew of the blackness that flew with him. The thing was of him but not yet with him. It was of the future, though seeded in the past. It had no shape yet, but it was strong, and it made him strong. He could not shed it, and so he used it. Though he felt it eat at his self-control, he used it. He burned with justice. He was the fire of loyalty. The Thirst grasped at his consciousness too, and he subsumed it to his great and perfect rage. He dived.

His moment of hesitation was enough for Madail to recover. Arms outstretched, the daemon shouted, its hymn of praise to the gods it served louder than the choirs of thousands that surrounded it. A warp vortex, a burning wind made visible, gathered at its command. The vortex spread wide, a spinning cone of destruction. It lifted the daemon at its apex. A beast upon a throne, Madail rose to meet Sanguinius’ flight.