Leodegarius fought as if the blow had never landed and Uriel knew that they were fighting one of the mightiest warriors of the Imperium. Uriel raised his fists, but he was too hurt and too slow to avoid the hammer-blows that rang from his skull as Leodegarius closed on him. He desperately circled in an attempt to put some distance between him and his opponent.

Uriel could not resist the fury of the attack and he saw the blow that would finish him a split second before it landed. The Grey Knight's fist arced around his guard and smashed into his face with the power of a thunderbolt.

Uriel was hurled backwards and landed in a heap next to Pasanius, his face a bloody ruin and his torso a mass of ugly bruises that were already swelling and purpling.

He knew he had to get to his feet, but the strength had been battered from him and he slumped back, unable to rise or fight or do anything other than lie bleeding. His breath came in short, painful gasps and he tasted blood and defeat in his mouth.

Was this how his life was to end? Beaten to a bloody pulp by a warrior he should be fighting shoulder to shoulder with? The indignity and horror of it was unbearable.

Uriel looked up through a mist of blood and swellings to see Leodegarius standing over him. 'Kill us and be done with it,' he snapped, 'but you are only helping the Emperor's enemies by doing so.'

Leodegarius shook his head and offered Uriel his hand. 'No,' he said, 'I am not going to kill you. The Judicium Imperator is over and you have proved to me that you are loyal servants of the Imperium.'

Uriel took the proffered hand and drew himself unsteadily to his feet. 'But we lost.'

'The Judicium Imperator is not about winning or losing,' said Leodegarius, 'it is about the struggle. I am a warrior of the Grey Knights and I carry the Emperor's fire into the dark corners of the galaxy. Only a servant of the Ruinous Powers can defeat me. Had you bested me, it would have shown that you were an enemy of the Emperor and my warriors would have gunned you down.'

'Then we were meant to lose?' asked Uriel, horrified at the implication.

'Meant to?' shrugged Leodegarius. 'No, but the Emperor was with me and I was confident I could defeat the pair of you, thus proving that you were not servants of evil.'

Pasanius pushed himself up onto his elbow. 'What happened?' he asked groggily. 'Did we win?'

'I think we did,' said Uriel.

'Good,' said Pasanius, sliding back down into unconsciousness. 'I knew we could take him.'

The feel of the fresh bodyglove against his skin was sublime and the sense of anticipation was almost unbearable. Uriel felt his heartbeat quicken as the Grey Knights' artificers lifted the blue breastplate of the power armour from the battle flag and manoeuvred it towards his chest.

The movement was accompanied with solemn chants from the hooded acolytes, who, since Uriel and Pasanius's vindication, had taken on an altogether less threatening aspect.

Uriel and Pasanius stood on a raised dais before the assembled warriors of the Grey Knights and Curator Lukas Urbican in one of the grand halls of the Gallery of Antiquities. The Grey Knights were clad in their battle gear, each plate and vambrace garlanded with purity seals.

With Uriel and Pasanius's loyalty to the Golden Throne established by the Judicium Imperator, the Grey Knights had borne them into the Thunderhawk, where chirurgeons and Apothecaries had treated their wounds. No words were spoken and Leodegarius refused to answer any questions until they were fit to stand before him as fellow Astartes.

The already healing burns on their hands were cleaned with sterile jellies and repaired with synth-skin bandages, the swelling bruises and lumps earned in the Judicium Imperator with ice and pain medication.

Where Uriel had been branded on the shoulder, the clicking mechanisms of a reconstruction servitor implanted in the wall of the Thunderhawk's medicae bay rapidly removed the burn scars and rebuilt the underlying tissue and epidermis.

Within the space of an hour, both Uriel and Pasanius were declared fit for service and had been issued with fresh under-suits for power armour. Leodegarius had marched them from the Thunderhawk and, together with an escort of Grey Knights, crossed the empty parade ground towards the Gallery of Antiquities.

Curator Urbican had been waiting for them, a broad smile plastered across his open features as he welcomed them back into the gallery. Once again they made their way through the shadowed halls until they found themselves before the suits of power armour belonging to the Sons of Guilliman.

Eighteen of the suits were arranged in battle formation behind a dais. The nineteenth, the armour Uriel had chosen, or which had chosen him, was broken down into its component parts and arranged on one of the great battle flags of Salinas taken down from the walls. The armour was exactly as Uriel remembered it, freshly painted in the colours of the Ultramarines, with only the helmet remaining in the blue and white of the Sons of Guilliman.

Arranged beside this suit of armour was another, this one in the familiar livery and iconography of the Ultramarines. Uriel had seen Pasanius's pride at the restoration of their Chapter symbols earlier, but his joy at seeing them again was no less dimmed.

'Prepare to receive your armour, warriors of the Emperor,' said Leodegarius.

Uriel and Pasanius had mounted the dais, and the artificers lifted the first plates of the armour towards their bodies with great reverence. First came the greaves, cuisse and knee guards, followed by the power coils of the midsection.

Piece by piece, the armour was layered upon them and as each segment was fastened into place, Uriel felt as though his soul was being rebuilt. Segments of his armour were fixed in place over his upper arms and then came the vambrace and gauntlets.

The damaged section of Pasanius's armour had been repaired with an end cap to seal his armour at the elbow. His friend had declined the Grey Knight's offer of a temporary augmetic, sheepishly saying that he would rather have one fitted by the Techmarines of Macragge.

Adjustments were made, pieces added and each facet of the armour polished and anointed with sacred oils and unguents until all that remained was the final piece. The artificers slotted the breastplate into position and Uriel felt the familiar hiss and whir of the armour coming to life around him.

Fur-lined cloaks of purest white were fastened around their shoulders and secured with golden eagle clips to their breastplates as the gorget clamped around his neck, tight, but not restricting. As the pressure seals engaged, Uriel could feel the internal workings of the armour revitalise his physique, thrumming with incredible potential energy.

Questing bio-implants unwound from inside the armour and connected with the sockets in his body, meshing his organic structure with that of the ceramite plates and indescribably complex workings of Space Marine armour.

Uriel felt the power of wearing such a magnificent suit of armour, his strength boosted, his endurance enhanced and his ability to smite the enemies of the Imperium increased exponentially.

With Uriel and Pasanius's armour in place, Leodegarius stepped forward and handed them gleaming bolters. The flat plates of the weapons were etched in gold and their length was worked with incredibly detailed lettering. The weapons were freshly oiled, each with a magazine of bolter shells fitted snugly into the space before the trigger.

Uriel nodded as he hefted the bolter, the weapon feeling as though it weighed nothing at all. Strength coursed through the armour and he could feel the channels of energy running through it as surely as though it was a second skin.

A Space Marine was more than any one thing, however, more than his armour, his weapons or his training and dedication. Each of these things combined to create something greater than the sum of its parts.