Quor Vondor had found himself aboard the battle-barge in the midst of its transfiguration. In the midst of the changes, he had looked out between the gaps in the vessel’s being. He had caught glimpses of the Intercessor, and of the vastness that brought its blessing to the De Profundis. That such things had being had brought him and Phael Rabor worshipfully to their knees. In these visions, the truth of the faith was confirmed. The sublimities were the agents of the Word’s fulfilment.

‘The Ultramarines are increasing speed and rate of fire,’ said Grel Kathnar.

A wave of torpedoes and missiles cut through the void towards the De Profundis. A warning klaxon sounded, its voice a moan that rose and fell. There was nothing machinic about the sound any longer, and the cry was one of celebration, not distress. Culmination was at hand.

‘We are at the centre and the head of our formation,’ Phael Rabor said. ‘He is right to target us.’

‘You mean he would be,’ Quor Vondor said, ‘if this ship and we were as we had once been.’ He grinned. His jagged, curving incisors drew blood from his lips as they pulled back.

Phael Rabor nodded. ‘As you say, Chaplain. And he is behaving as you predicted.’

‘Rushing onto the point of our blades.’ He drew the athame.

Phael Rabor followed his example. ‘The moment is upon us?’

‘It is.’ Quor Vondor gestured at the columns on the walls. The glow of the warp was blinding. The structure of the ship trembled.

Toc Derenoth hissed. The Unburdened seemed to grow bulkier. The tendons of his arms, running along armour and flesh without distinction, were rigid and thick as chains. His monstrous head reared back in the ecstasy of his great work. He was the conduit for the force that held the De Profundis together, and that was shaping its final attack.

Quor Vondor and Phael Rabor moved to the fore of the elevated platform that held the command throne. Quor Vondor stood in the pulpit. ‘Faithful of the Word,’ he called, and the legionaries below turned from their stations to look at him. ‘Your mundane work is done,’ he said. ‘Now there is only glory. Prepare, and bear witness to the glory of Chaos. We go to kill a primarch.’

The Word Bearers bowed as one, then turned to face the oculus. They took up bolters and chainswords. The bridge rang with the clank and growl of weapons being readied. The klaxons shrieked in a frenzy as the Ultramarines ordnance closed in. From aft, on all sides, the Word Bearers fired back. The attack would not be enough to kill the battleship and the strike cruiser, but it would strain their void shields.