A dozen members of the Dark Mechanicum worked on Horus' damaged armour. He refused to take it off, and the bravest, most ambitious of the fleet's Martian armourers had been called to perform the repairs. They were wise enough to remain silent, discussing the damage to the machinery of the armour via data pulse.

Horus stood with his arms resting at shoulder height upon a frame. His hands twitched with irritation. The adepts scuttled around him, probing at him with their tools. But as the crocodiles of ancient Terra allowed small birds to cleanse their teeth, so Horus forbore their attentions.

Darkness surrounded the Warmaster. The lights of his armoury were out, save a single shaft of red that illuminated his power-swollen body. Gushes of scented steam rushed out of tubes around him, benedictions to the twisted machine-spirits of his armour, and counterseptics for his wounds.

An unnecessary precaution. Russ had cut him deep, but since Molech his prodigious powers of self-repair had improved tenfold, and the wound was already closing. A dull ache in his kidney and an itching scar were all that remained to remind him of Russ' assassination attempt.

Horus lived. Russ' Legion had been ravaged, and he doubted the Wolf King would be in any state to fight for a while. Despite his victory, Horus was in an ill temper. He could have killed Russ.

A rasping fanfare announced an incoming hololith request. There were only a few men in his fleet who would dare to communicate with the Warmaster directly. The message would be important. The lives of those who wasted Horus' time were measured in seconds.

'Leave me,' he said to the adepts.

They bowed and grovelled and picked up their tools. Before the fanfare sounded again, they had vacated the room.

'Hololith on,' commanded Horus. A ghostly miniature of Ezekyle Abaddon manifested in line with Horus' eyes.

'My lord Horus,' said Abaddon. 'The Space Wolves are leaving the system in disarray. It would take little to kill them all. They are finished as a Legion.'

'If you want permission to pursue them, you have It,' said Horus.

'I will gather my armies immediately,' said Abaddon. 'The Word Bearers already pursue them, as do the World Eaters.'

'Reinforce your company with Alpharius' get,' said Horus. 'They will appreciate the opportunity to finish what they began at Alaxxes. Hunt them down, kill them all. I will have none of Russ' warriors left alive to bare their fangs at me, Ezekyle. And when you are done with them, bring me my brother's head.'

Abaddon's phantom smiled in anticipation of the slaughter. He began to outline his intentions, but Horus' attention drifted. The pain in his side swelled from a dull ache, and his hearing dimmed. He shut his eyes. He felt weak, disconnected from the world around him, and an image flickered in his mind's eye, displacing his immediate surroundings.