Jubal Khan, a warrior who had fought across the stars and left a reputation that few could hope to touch. Jubal, whom he had met on the spires of Nissek, just before the counter-attack by the Arch-Drake’s horde. The Lord of Summer Lightning, the Death that Laughs. And here he was, a lord of war left to fight almost alone in this abyss. Left to fight and to die here.

Abaddon began to run to greet him.

‘Sycar,’ he growled as he took the first stride. ‘Kill the power generators.’

He heard gunfire chop through the vox as his lieutenant answered.

‘It won’t be clean, brother.’

‘Do it.’

‘With pleasure and obedience,’ said Sycar, and Abaddon heard his Legion brother smiling.

He was five strides across the deck. Jubal had seen him. The White Scar whirled his blade out, and another of the Sons of Horus was falling, helm split and blood burning on the guandao’s power field.

‘Brace for gravity loss!’ shouted Urskar over the vox, firing a stream of heavy rounds into the White Scars still leaping from the assault rams.

A vibration rose through the deck. The few remaining lights cut out. Abaddon felt the lurch in his stomach as gravity vanished. His boots mag-locked to the deck an instant later. One of the battered assault rams, still moving under the momentum of its impact, spun from the deck. Debris showered upwards. Half of the White Scars rose into the air. Bolt-rounds punched into them as they tumbled through the vanishing atmosphere. The rest mag-locked their feet to the deck in time. Jubal kept moving, his strides slowed but his speed still dazzling. Abaddon surged to meet him. Rounds blurred past him. The war shouts of the living and the dead filled his ears. His sword was in his hand, wreathed in lightning, his armour and blood and muscle flowing as one.

Jubal’s guandao flashed out, reaching across the space between them. It was so fast that it might have been the glint of light from a mirror. Abaddon brought his sword up to meet it.

But the weapons never met. Jubal flicked the guandao back as though the steel were a rope, and then slashed it out again. The blade edge kissed Abaddon’s right gauntlet. The power field bit deep. A spike of pain flared up his arm. He spun his sword, and sheared the guandao away, and struck back, turning the parry into an overhead cut. Jubal stepped away. The deck vibrated as the mag-locks in their boots released and engaged once more.