projected a sharp-edged image onto Cassar's retina that picked them out in wondrously clear detail.

Cassar fired a blast of massive-calibre shells, watching as columns of mud and bodies sprayed into the air like splashes in water. The Isstvanians disappeared, destroyed by the hand of the Emperor. 'Enemy forces massing to the port forward quadrant,' said Moderati Aruken.

To Cassar his voice felt distant, though he was just across the command bridge of the Titan.

The Death Guard can handle them,’ replied Tur-net. 'Concentrate on the artillery. That can hurt us.' Below Cassar, the gunmetal forms of the Death Guard glinted around the bunkers as two squads of them threw grenades through the gun ports and kicked down the doors, spraying the Isstvanians who still lived inside with bolter fire or incinerating them with sheets of fire from their flamers. From the head of the Dies Irae, the Death Guard looked like a swarm of beetles, with the carapaces of their power armour scuttling through the trenches.

A few Death Guard lay where they had fallen, cut down by artillery fire or the massed guns of the Isst-vanian troops, but they were few compared to the Isstvanian corpses strewn at every intersection of trenches. Metre by metre the defenders were being driven towards the northernmost extent of the trenches, and when they reached the white marble of a tall Basilica with a spire shaped like a trident, they would be trapped and slaughtered.

Cassar shifted the weapon arm of the Dies Irae to aim at a booming artillery position some five hundred metres away, as it belched tongues of flame and threw explosive shells towards the Death Guard lines.

'Princeps!' called Cassar. 'Enemy artillery moving up on the eastern quadrant.'

Turnet didn't answer him, too intent on something being said to him on his personal command channel. The princeps nodded at whatever order he had just received and shouted, 'Halt! Aruken, cease the stride pattern. Cassar, shut off the ammunition feed.'

Cassar instinctively switched off the cycling of the weapon that thundered from the Titan's arm and the shock forced his consciousness back to the command bridge. He no longer looked through the eyes of the Dies Irae, but was back with his fellow officers.

'Princeps?' asked Cassar, scanning the readouts. 'Is there a malfunction? If there is, I'm not seeing it. The primary systems are reading fine.'

'It's not a malfunction,’ replied Turnet sharply. Cassar looked up from information scrolling across his vision in unfocused columns.

'Moderati Cassar,’ barked Turnet. 'How's our weapon temperature?'

'Acceptable,’ said Cassar. 'I was going to push it on that artillery,’

'Close up the coolant ducts and seal the magazine feeds as soon as possible,’

'Princeps?' said Cassar in confusion. 'That will leave us unarmed,’

'I know that,’ replied Turnet, as though to a simpleton. 'Do it. Aruken, I need us sealed,’

'Sealed, sir?' asked Aruken, sounding as confused as Cassar felt.

'Yes, sealed. We have to be airtight from top to bottom,’ said Turnet, opening a channel to the rest of the mighty war machine's crew.

'All crew, this is Princeps Turnet. Adopt emergency biohazard posts, right now. The bulkheads are being sealed. Shut off the reactor vents and be prepared for power down,’

'Princeps,’ said Aruken urgently. 'Is it a biological weapon? Atomics?'

'The Isstvanians have a weapon we didn't know about,’ replied Turnet, but Cassar could tell he was lying. They're launching it soon. We have to lock down or we'll be caught in it,’

Cassar looked down at the trenches through the Titan's eyes. The Death Guard were still advancing through the trenches and bunker ruins. 'But princeps, the Astartes-'

'You have your orders, Moderati Cassar,’ shouted Turnet, 'and you will follow them. Seal us up, every vent, every hatch or we die,’

Cassar willed the Dies Irae to shut its hatches and seal all its entranceways, his reluctance making the procedures sluggish.

On the ground below, he watched the Death Guard continue to grind their way through the

Choral City's defences, apparently unconcerned that the Isstvanians were about to launch Throne knew what at them, or unaware. As the battle raged on, the Dies Irae fell silent.

THE МАШ AUDIENCE chamber of the Vengeful Spirit was a colossal, columned chamber with walls of marble and pilasters of solid gold. Its magnificence was like nothing Sindermann had ever seen, and the thousands of remembrancers who filled the chamber wore the expressions of awed children who had been shown some new, unheard of wonder. Seeing many familiar faces, Sindermann guessed that the fleet's entire complement of remembrancers was present for the Warmaster's announcement.

The Warmaster and Maloghurst stood on a raised podium at the far end of the hall, too far away for either of them to recognise Sindermann, Mersadie or Euphrati.

Or at least he hoped so. Who knew how sharp an Astartes eyesight was, let alone a primarch's?

Both Astartes were wrapped in cream robes edged in gold and silver and a detail of warriors stood beside them. A number of large pict screens nad been hung from the walls.

'It looks like an iterators' rally on a compliant world, said Mersadie, echoing his own thoughts So similar was it that he began to wonder what message was to be imparted and how it would be reinforced. He looked around for plants in the

audience who would clap and cheer at precise points to direct the crowd in the desired manner. Each of the screens displayed a slice of Isstvan Щ, set against a black backdrop scattered with bright silver specks of the Warmaster's fleet.

'Euphrati,' said Mersadie as they made their way through the crowds of remembrancers. 'Remember how I said that this was a bad idea?'

'Yes?' said Euphrati, her face creased in a wide, innocent smile.

'Well, now I think that this was a really bad idea. I mean, look at the number of Astartes here.'

Sindermann followed Mersadie's gaze, already starting to sweat at the sight of so many armed warriors surrounding them. If even one of them recognised their faces, it was all over.

'We have to see,’ said Euphrati, turning and grabbing his sleeve. 'You have to see.'

Sindermann felt the heat of her touch and saw the fire behind her eyes, like thunder before a storm and he realised with a start, that he was a litde afraid of Euphrati. The crowd milled in eager impatience and Sindermann kept his face turned from the Astartes staring into the middle of the audience chamber.

Euphrati squeezed Mersadie's hand as the pict screens leapt to life and a gasp went up from the assembled remembrancers as they saw the bloody streets of the Choral City. Clearly shot from an aircraft, the images filled the giant pict screens and Sindermann felt his gorge rise at the sight of so much butchery.

He remembered the carnage of the Whisperheads and reminded himself that this was what the Astartes had been created to do, but the sheer visceral nature of that reality was something he knew he would never get used to. Bodies filled the streets and arterial gore covered almost every surface as though the heavens had rained blood.

'You remembrancers say you want to see war,’ said Horus, his voice easily carrying to the furthest corners of the hall. 'Well, this is it,’

Sindermann watched as the image shifted on the screen, pulling back and panning up through the sky and into the dark, star-spattered heavens above.

Burning spears of light fell towards the battle below.

What are those?' asked Mersadie.

They're bombs,’ said Sindermann in horrified disbelief. 'The planet is being bombarded,’

'And so it begins,’ said Euphrati.

THE PLAZA WAS a truly horrendous sight, ankle-deep in blood and strewn with thousands upon thousands of bodies. Most were blown open by bolter rounds, but many had been hacked down with chainblades or otherwise torn limb from limb.