'I am merely saying, brother, that all we of the Legions are monsters. Some of us are more open about it than others.' He looked around the bodies one last time. 'That's it. We'd best move on. How's your leg, Enrir?'

Enrir limped to the closed door on the far side of the chamber. 'It hurts a lot, but I'm not going to follow Himmlik's wyrd yet. I'll lie down on the red snow when I'm good and ready.'

The closer Bjorn and Grimnr got to the embarkation deck, the heavier the fighting became. As they passed down the evacuation route, the Vlka maintaining the perimeter folded back on themselves, so that although casualties were high and becoming heavier, the group around the primarch grew in size. Explosions shook the Vengeful Spirit as demolition charges and fusion devices planted deep in the vessel went off, bringing ruin to vital systems. These explosions could be differentiated from the impact of weaponry upon the surface of the ship, being altogether heavier in feeling in the way they shook the deck beneath Bjorn's feet.

The flight back to the extraction point was a blur of flashing light, weapons discharge and screaming alarms. Ogvai Ogvai Helmschrot and Scarred Oki took charge when the remnants of Tra and Tolv joined their warriors into the group. What had become of Hvarl Red-Blade, Bjorn did not know. The companies of Helmschrot - Bjorn's own company - and Oki were badly mauled. The warriors that made it back to the escape corridor were wounded, their armour streaked with sealant foam and blood. The collective grinding of malfunctioning power armour became loud enough to compete with the thunder of boltguns and shrieking discharge of plasma weaponry.

Russ remained quiet through it all, gasping out the occasional direction to the warriors carrying him. When Bjorn tried to leave to turn back and fight the forces harrying their retreat, Russ snarled that he should remain. The primarch gave no other orders. Although the vicious wounds in his shoulder and side had ceased bleeding, and he was walking a little more surely, he remained weak. His heavy arms bore down on the warriors carrying him, forcing them to change several times as they became exhausted. The fleshmakers fussed around him even as they evacuated.

Cthonian war cries chased them onwards and downwards. Russ' party was kept at the centre of the fighting retreat, and Bjorn heard rather than saw their enemy.

They passed through areas that were aflame, others that were flooded. Gravity plating had failed in several sections, and the air was stale in more. Whether they escaped or not, the Wolves had dealt the Vengeful Spirit a grievous injury. Bjorn wondered if it would make any difference; such were the resources the Warmaster commanded, his vessel would be quickly repaired. Perhaps all of this blood spilt would gain the Emperor nothing but a few extra months. It was a waste of a Legion.