By John French

An Architect of destiny novella. The White Consuls house Marine bankruptcy solutions a misery name, merely to find that the resource of the sign is much extra terrifying than the message it relays. As a psychic backlash sweeps via their astropathic choir, the notorious Kairos Fateweaver, larger daemon of Tzeentch and grasp of manipulation, finds his ultimate hand in a video game which has lasted because the starting of time. future awaits.

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It used to be real. The bankruptcy had accrued in nice numbers to stand a poor foe, and it have been wounded to the purpose that its destiny hung by means of a thread. the decision had come, drawing the entire sons of Sabatine again to their domestic. ‘And what of the aim of our bankruptcy, Sergeant Phobos? ’ stated Cyrus, and Phobos appeared up on the coldness in his voice. ‘We are White Consuls, Primogenitors of Guilliman. We shepherd and shield mankind. that's what we have been created for. that's our responsibility to our bankruptcy. ’ ‘And if the bankruptcy is not any extra? ’ growled Phobos. ‘If it truly is destroyed and we aren't there? ’ ‘If we overlook our goal, my buddy, then there'll be not anything yet ash blowing throughout useless worlds. ’ He inspiration he observed a flash of sympathy in Phobos’s darkish eyes, and knew that he had visible the echo of misplaced Kataris in his phrases. ‘It had fallen,’ acknowledged Phobos, his voice softening. ‘There used to be not anything that can were performed to put it aside. have been we there, or ten occasions our quantity, there may were no alternative yet Exterminatus. ’ Cyrus considered the useless world’s final scream for aid prior to it burned. ‘We couldn't have stored it, and we can't be ready to retailer Claros if the daemons come to it,’ Phobos further. ‘There is usually whatever that are supposed to be attempted sooner than you step into annihilation. ’ Cyrus growled. ‘Pay for the survival of humanity with atrocity and there'll be not anything left. ’ He close down the holo-display, and walked away leaving Phobos by myself at nighttime. The Aethon minimize in the direction of the bronze-hulled house station, its auspex nodes filling the void round it with overlapping folds of sensor fields. It used to be over 8 kilometres lengthy, a blunt barb of off-white armour and macro weaponry folded in crackling void shields. The roar of its plasma engines at complete burn made the bridge vibrate below Cyrus’s toes. ‘No indicators of enemy job, or conflict residue, my lord,’ stated the logistician certain into the most sensor dais. the fellow became his eco-friendly bionic eyes to Cyrus. ‘The station looks intact and unhurt. they're acknowledging our hails and feature authorised our request to dock. ’ ‘Very well,’ acknowledged Cyrus. He had anticipated to discover the station wreathed within the fires of conflict and shouting for aid with its final breath. yet taking a look at it on a viewscreen it was once transparent that it was once faraway from falling. Claros station appeared a good wheel delivering starlight. Its armour gleamed as though solid from polished bronze. 5 wings prolonged spoke-like from the station’s valuable hub, every one comparable to the transept of a cathedral and over kilometres lengthy. Buttresses and towers tangled the station’s floor, gentle glinting from the faces of mammoth statues that gazed out at the void with clean eyes. At its centre a tower prolonged above the relevant hub, its domed tip a mass of antennae masts. A thick collar of stone ringed the bottom of the tower, its floor blistered with defend turbines and gargoyles the scale of hab blocks. To Cyrus’s eyes it appeared ambitious. Beside him Phobos shifted. Freshly connected purity seals hung from his shoulder guards, and he held his red helmet within the criminal of his arm.

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