Sanguinius turned to the pict screen on his hololith podium and called up the topography of Pyrrhan’s northern hemisphere. ‘The north-east quadrant has the potential for a clear run,’ he said. ‘North of the equatorial cordillera, it is primarily a region of plains.’

‘I see it,’ said Guilliman. ‘The spaces between the foundries are wide.’

‘Former transportation networks,’ said the Lion.

Sanguinius changed the screen to show enemy movements on the surface. ‘The activity is minimal,’ he said. ‘All efforts are concentrated inside the manufactoria. The land is effectively empty, it will take time for the enemy to respond.’

‘A ground advance might go far before encountering resistance,’ Guilliman agreed.

Sanguinius mentally traced the path from the mountains to the great forge, and the tactical situation became less important. He pictured the most savage strike he could bring to the daemons. The wounds of Signus Prime were still fresh. He would heal them with this assault. The Blood Angels would hit the daemons with maximum force. There would be anger, but no loss of control. Not this time. There would be atonement through disciplined fury. There could be a precision and a majesty in wrath.

This was the lesson he and his sons would bring to the abominations.

The Thunderhawk Karaashi’s Fire left the Sthenelus and plunged towards the atmosphere of Pyrrhan. Now that he finally saw it, the work of the Pilgrim filled Khalybus with both disgust and awe. Seated opposite him in the troop compartment, accompanied by five of his legionaries, Levannas said, ‘The tales of the refugees did not begin to do these horrors justice.’

‘The changes had only just begun when they fled,’ said Khalybus. ‘Otherwise they would never have escaped the system.’

‘Obscene,’ Iron Father Cruax growled, echoing Khalybus’ disgust. ‘It is an insult to the purity of the machine.’

Khalybus nodded. The forge world’s transformation was offensive as well as monstrous. The Sthenelus had encountered daemons during its long and isolated war. The abominations were confirmation of everything the X Legion had come to despise about the flesh. They were its deformation, its corruption, its overwhelming excess. They were proof of its weakness, because it could be remade in such a fashion.

But the metamorphosis of Pyrrhan brought the same monstrosity to the machine. The great forge and its link to the gate were a brutal refutation of any kind of purity.

‘This obscenity will not stand,’ Khalybus said to Cruax. ‘On this day, it falls.’

‘That won’t be enough,’ said Cruax.

‘No, it won’t,’ Khalybus agreed.

‘This will not stop until we find the Pilgrim,’ said Levannas.

‘Then we will,’ said Khalybus. ‘Before Terra or after, we will hunt it, and we will destroy it.’

‘So it shall be,’ Levannas said.

What had been a hope became a vow.