However, the bombardment from orbit was unrelenting, smothering the entire planet in a precisely targeted array of overlapping fire plans that ensured that nothing would escape the virus.

Entire kingdoms and vassal states across the surface were obliterated in minutes. Ancient cultures that had survived Old Night and endured the horror of invasion a dozen times over fell without even knowing why, millions dying in screaming agony as

their bodies betrayed them and fell apart, reducing them to rotted, decaying matter.

SINDERMANN WATCHED THE bloom of darkness spread across the slice of the planet visible on the giant pict screens. It spread in a wide black ring, eating its way across the surface of the planet with astonishing speed, leaving grey desolation behind it. Another wave of corruption crept in from another part of the surface, the two dark masses meeting and continuing to spread like the symptom of a horrible disease. 'What... what is it?' whispered Mersadie. 'You have already seen it,’ said Euphrati. 'The Emperor showed you, through me. It is death.'

Sindermann's stomach lurched as he remembered the hideous vision of decay, his flesh disintegrating before him and black corruption consuming everything around him. That was what was happening on Isstvan HI. This was the betrayal.

Sindermann felt as though the blood had drained from him. An entire world was bathed in the immensity of death. He felt an echo of the fear it brought to the people of Isstvan III, and that fear, multiplied across all those billions of people was beyond his comprehension.

'You are remembrancers,' said Keeler, a quiet sadness in her voice. 'Both of you. Remember this and pass it on. Someone must know,’

He nodded dumbly, too numbed by what he was seeing to say anything.

'Come on,’ said Euphrati. 'We have to go,’ 'Go?' sobbed Mersadie, her eyes still fixed on the death of a world. 'Go where?'

'Away,’ smiled Euphrati, taking their hands and leading them through the immobile, horrified throng of remembrancers towards the edge of the chamber.

At first, Sindermann let her lead him, his limbs unable to do more than simply place one foot in front of another, but as he saw she was taking them towards the Astartes at the edge of the chamber, he began to pull back in alarm.

'Euphrati!' he hissed. 'What are you doing? If those Astartes recognise us-' Trust me, Kyril,’ she said. 'I'm counting on that,’ Euphrati led them towards a hulking warrior who stood apart from the others, and Sindermann knew enough of body language to know that this man was as horrified as they were at what was happening.

The Astartes turned to face them, his face craggy and ancient, worn like old leather.

Euphrati stopped in front of him and said, 'lac-ton. I need your help,’

Iacton Qruze. Sindermann had heard Loken speak of him. The 'half-heard'.

He was a warrior of the old days, whose voice carried no weight amongst the higher echelons of command. A warrior of the old days...

You need my help?' asked Qruze. Who are you?'

'My name is Euphrati Keeler and this is Mersadie

Oliton,’ said Euphrati, as if her introductions in the

midst of such carnage were the most normal thing in the world, 'and this is Kyril Sindermann,’

Sindermann could see the recognition in Qruze's face and he closed his eyes as he awaited the inevitable shout that would see them revealed.

'Loken asked me to look out for you,’ said Qruze.

Token?' asked Mersadie. 'Have you heard from

him?'

Qruze shook his head, but said, 'He asked me to keep you safe while he was gone. I think I know what he meant now.'

'What do you mean?' asked Sindermann, not liking the way Qruze kept casting wary glances at the armed warriors that lined the walls of the chamber.

'Never mind,’ said Qruze.

'Iacton,’ commanded Euphrati, her voice laden with quiet authority. 'Look at me,’

The craggy-featured Astartes looked down at the slight form of Euphrati, and Sindermann could feel the power and determination that flowed from her.

'You are the half-heard no longer,’ said Euphrati. 'Now your voice will be heard louder than any other in your Legion. You cling to the old ways and wish them to return with the fond nostalgia of the venerable. Those days are dying here, Iacton, but with your help we can bring them back again,’ 'What are you talking about, woman?' snarled

Qruze.

'I want you to remember Cthonia,’ said Euphrati, and Sindermann recoiled as he felt an electric surge

of energy spark from her, as if her very skin was charged.

What do you know of the planet of my birth?' 'Only what I see inside you, Iacton,’ said Euphrati, a soft glow building behind her eyes and filling her words with promise and seduction. The honour and the valour from which the Luna Wolves were forged. You are the only one who remembers, Iacton. You're the only one left that still embodies what it is to be an Astartes,’

You know nothing of me,’ he said, though Sindermann could see her words were reaching him, breaking down the barriers the Astartes erected between themselves and mortals.

Your brothers called you the Half-heard, but you do not take them to task for it. I know this is because a Cthonian warrior is honourable and cares not for petty insults. I also know that your counsel is not heard because yours is the voice of a past age, when the Great Crusade was a noble thing, done not for gain, but for the good of all humankind,’

Sindermann watched as Qruze's face spoke volumes of the conflict raging within his soul.

Loyalty to his Legion vied with loyalty to the ideals that had forged it.

At last he smiled ruefully and said, '"Nothing too arduous" he said,’

He looked over towards the Warmaster and Mal-oghurst. 'Come,’ he said. 'Follow me,’

Where to?' asked Sindermann.

To safety,' replied Qruze. 'Loken asked me to look out for you and that's what I'm going to do. Now be silent and follow me.'

Qruze turned on his heel and marched towards one of the many doors that led out of the audience chamber. Euphrati followed the warrior and Sindermann and Mersadie trotted along after her, unsure as to where they were going or why. Qruze reached the door, a large portal of polished bronze guarded by two warriors, moving them aside with a chopping wave of his hand. 'I'm taking these ones below,’ he said. 'Our orders are that no one is to leave,' said one

of the guards.

'And I am issuing you new orders,’ said Qruze, a steely determination that Sindermann had not noticed earlier underpinning his words. 'Move aside, or are you disobeying the order of a superior

officer?' 'No, sir,’ said the warriors, bowing and hauling

open the bronze door.

Qruze nodded to the guards and gestured that the four of them should pass through.

Sindermann, Euphrati and Mersadie left the audience chamber, the door slamming behind them with an awful finality. With the sounds of the dying planet and the gasps of shock suddenly cut off, the silence that enveloped them was positively unnerving.

'Now what do we do?' asked Mersadie.

'I get us as far away from the Vengeful Spirit as possible,’ answered Qruze.

'Off the ship?' asked Sindermann.

Yes,’ said Qruze. 'It is not safe for your kind now. Not safe at all,’