'How by the Allfather did they get in here?' snarled Enrir. The Wolves reacted as one, bringing their weapons to bear.

A giant warrior stood at the fore. He had no helm and wore his hair in a high topknot. No one could mistake that figure. He was hated throughout the Imperium.

'Ezekyle Abaddon,' said Bror.

'I expected you to return, Fenrisian savage,' said Ezekyle Abaddon.

'I have gone to considerable trouble hunting you down. I do not like trespassers.' He looked around the circulation hall. The steady breeze lifted Abaddon's topknot into a long streamer. 'I don't see any windows an audacious pilot might shoot out here.' He grinned. The discolouration of his teeth was pronounced against his sickly white skin. Abaddon's physical condition had deteriorated since their last encounter, but he exuded an air of uncanny power. 'You will not be leaving alive this time.'

Ragner had his bolter up, aimed at Abaddon's exposed face.

Bror stepped forwards, his stolen chainblade held easily at his side.

'Then come down here and fight me.'

Abaddon shook his head. 'Not today, wolf. I'd enjoy the contest, but it would take too much time to kill you, and your master is escaping.'

Ragner shot then, a single bolt that roared on a tail of fire unerringly at Abaddon's exposed head.

It did not hit its target. Abaddon's armoured glove flashed in front of his face. The bolt hit the back of the gauntlet and detonated, leaving a small, smoking crater in the black ceramite. 'A good shot, but not good enough,' said Abaddon. 'Kill them,' he I ordered his Justaerin. Their weapons came up, rounds clicking into I place in their boxy combi-bolters.

Ragner died first, his last shot going wide. Enrir did not have time I to aim his weapon.

Bror was charging when he was blasted to pieces by Horus' elite. I The last thing he saw was Ezekyle Abaddon's smile.

As soon as the airlock opened onto the embarkation deck, the Sons of Horus made a concerted attempt to kill the Wolf King.

They came from all sides at once: from above, from below, from the side. Fierce skirmishes erupted at the large prow-ward gates, and from outside the ship came storming parties in void-hardened armour, attempting to force a way through the wrecked hangar blast doors and surround the retreating VI.

Two hundred metres across open deck, Russ' Stormbird waited for its master, its void shields still extended protectively.