The Rhino crested the ridge and swung into view. Its blocky square form stood out against the sharp outline of the Atuluvian mountains. The fact that it was painted bright blue and covered in white sigils did little to camouflage it either.

But then, Roboute’s sons were never that imaginative, Khal sneered to himself. They probably considered hiding to be too dishonourable.

Lorgar’s sons had no such trouble with deception. They had already committed every atrocity and betrayal imaginable. The litanies of their holy work stretched all the way from Calth to Terra, traced out in the blood and gore of their former brothers, all in glorious worship of their new gods.

And yet it was not enough. It was nowhere near enough.

All that death, all that pain and for what? To be running now like yapping dogs before the hands of their vengeful masters.

Horus was dead, and they were doomed. The battle was over. The gods had lied.

At least, that is what Axios had said to him.

It took all of Khal’s dwindling willpower not to strike him down for such blasphemy. But even so, he had to admit he could see the perspective of the Sons of Horus’ sergeant.

The Sons were a pathetic shadow of their former selves. Angry and blind, lashing out with rage at anything that crossed their path. They were completely unbalanced by the death of their primarch. Lost, leaderless and divided. 

Khal had looked hard for allies such as them. They were perfect.

The loyalists were never far behind, forever chasing their heels, driving them ever onwards across the void. Yes, the battle may be over, but the dying was yet to come. The titanic forces of the once so-called “Warmaster” were now broken and scattered across the stars.

Was this how it felt to lose?

Not yet. Their fangs may have been broken, but they still had bite. But first they needed arms, munitions and armour. Their wargear was battered beyond repair.

The loyalists’ forges had not stopped. They were pumping out new marks and weaponry without pause. Guilliman’s damned supply lines were going to win this war for them.

Time for a restock.

‘Are you certain this is it?’ growled Axios. He was hunched beside him, hunkered down behind the rocks. His bolter was aimed at the approaching vehicle.

‘I am certain that this is our only opportunity to rearm,’ said Khal calmly. ‘The Ultramarines will be here in force shortly. This patrol has made the mistake of pushing too far out from the main body.’

‘It is unlike the Ultramarines to be so careless,’ questioned the Sons of Horus. The caution in his voice was evident. ‘How are you certain this is not a trap?’

Khal turned his head slowly to regard Axios with disdain. Horus’ death had blinded what remained of his legion with self-doubt.

But the Sons were still well armed, Khal reminded himself. And they knew how to wield those precious weapons effectively.

The Rhino was now a hundred metres away; soon it would be within auspex range.

‘How do you think I know?’ he asked Axios, the mocking in his voice clear despite the vox grill.

The Sons of Horus sergeant did not take his eye off the approaching transport. But he did shake his head slightly.

‘You still listen to their voices?’ Axios asked quietly. ‘Even now, after all this?’

Khal just nodded. Especially now, he thought.

‘I do – and they whisper to me that this is our chance,’ he urged. ‘The enemy has no idea of our intent. One squad, but their stores are well stocked.’

‘Of course they are,’ cursed Axios. ‘Damned Ultramarines. They want for nothing now.’

‘Indeed,’ the Word Bearer pressed. ‘Then we are agreed?’

Axios looked at the armoured transport for a second longer and then nodded firmly. His decision for action seemed to finally galvanise the legionnaire.

‘Very well – but we will take the first pickings.’ His tone brooked no discussion. ‘We are going to use some valuable munitions here.’

Khal inclined his head. ‘You have the heavy weapon. It is your right.’

Axios turned his head to look at his squad, expertly hidden behind rocks further up the ravine.

‘Sampo, load the krak missile,’ he ordered into his vox channel. ‘Yes, I’m damned sure. I know it is the last one. Make it count.’

Clearly irritated, but satisfied that his command had been relayed, Axios shook his head and looked at Khal.

‘What have we come to? Counting every shell and munition. Once our firepower fell like rain.’

‘Our time will come once more,’ said Khal simply. ‘It is written.’

Axios snorted derisively.

The Rhino lumbered nearer. At fifty metres, its auspex would detect them. They had to let it get close to guarantee the kill shot. It was sixty metres away.

‘Ready,’ said Axios, looking down his range finder.

Fifty-five metres.

‘Lock.’

Fifty metres.

‘Fire,’ said Khal.

Axios’ head exploded. The bolt shell finding the helmet’s weak spot and detonating within.

Khal lowered his smoking bolt pistol. A bark of other rounds around the ravine indicated his brothers had completed their similar murders. The thing within him rejoiced in delight.

He had been reluctant to use the bolt pistol and waste the shell, but he needed to be certain. Still, Axios had several magazines strapped to his belt; he could spare one shot.

‘Take everything,’ he ordered. ‘Secure that missile launcher. Load the transport, leave nothing but flesh.’

The Rhino halted. The top hatch popped open, and a Word Bearer in dark crimson armour looked out.

Khal directed his vox to the legionnaire in the stolen tank.

‘Tell Erebus that we have gathered more munitions as instructed.’

He bent down and prised the bolter out of the Sons of Horus’s dead hands.

Axios was right. The battle was over, and the enemy had won. But the Long War was just beginning, and they were going to need every weapon they could get.