Kledo can feel his wounds close over. He can feel the bolt-shells dissolving inside him, burned away by the acids within, and the pus oozing from his glands, coating the wounds and dribbling down the inside of his thick, soft armour-plate. Once, his protective ceramite would have aimed to keep projectiles away from him. Now it absorbs them, sucking them in close, chewing and corroding the layers of diamantine and depleted uranium and cordite and – best of all – the sickly sweet propulsive fluids.

Lords of Silence