Horus gripped one of the warlord’s mechanised arms, one bearing the spinning brass spheres and crackling tines of its lightning weapon. The arm’s strength was prodigious, but centimetre by centimetre Horus forced it around.
Lightning blasted from the weapon, burning Horus’s hands black. Bone gleamed through the ruin of his flesh, but what was that pain when set against the loss of a father?