Abaddon tensed for a second and let the power-sheathed tip of the gladius burn the side of Layak’s chest-plate. Then he let go, and stepped back. The blade slaves snapped forwards, but Layak raised a hand as he straightened.

‘And I see in you all that the gods have spoken of,’ said Layak. ‘My thanks.’

‘For what?’ growled Abaddon.

‘For illumination, and for giving me my life, Ezekyle Abaddon. Such an act creates a bond between souls, and a bond is a gift.’ He bowed his head briefly, turned and began to walk away, staff tapping. The two blade slaves shrank to their normal size and sheathed their weapons. Abaddon watched them as they walked to one of the doors out of the atrium.

‘The gods see you, Abaddon. They see you walk alone even amongst those you choose to call brothers.’

Six

Incremented destruction
Cascade
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Battleship Iron Blood, Trans-Uranic Gulf

The flames of battle stretched from the Elysian Gate towards the orbits of Uranus like the arm of a jewelled god. The Daughter of Woe hung over the gate itself, a new and ugly false moon amongst the planet’s true children. Uranus’ defences fired on it without cease. Explosions burst on the space hulk’s surface. Shreds of its substance puffed into the void like dust exploding from raindrops. It had no guns to fire back on its tormentors, but the ships that orbited it spoke in its stead. Rolling barrages of missiles and macro shells streamed from them. And behind it, shielded by its bulk, more and more ships dropped through the hole in reality.

In the three days since the first ship had breached the Elysian Gate, the battle for Uranus had spread across its orbit. The outer circles of the planet’s defences had fallen within eighteen hours of the first shots being fired, but since then the assault had slowed. Now the fight was for the hundreds of stations, moons and habitats – from the Mechanicum outpost Tau-16-1, which hung like a black needle in low orbit, to the ancient Cadum Station, its geodesic sphere pitted by millennia of dust impacts. Each of the planet’s seven moons held small clouds of their own void-stations, and untold billions of humans lived in these scattered islands of life and air.

Assault groups waded through fire to hack and burn their way into stations and habitats. Torpedoes and munitions shot into orbit to plough hours-long paths into their targets. So far, the defenders had retained their dominance, but day by day the attacking forces grew. Stations died or fell, and the sphere of Uranus bled flames without cease. Defence forces counter-attacked, taking back stations while they were still burning with the fires of their first defeat. The vast bronze-and-plasteel star of the Sinderfell dynastic enclave had changed hands three times in as many days.