‘Face me, heretic,’ said the captain. ‘One on one.’
‘No,’ Marduk said. The enemy captain seemed momentarily taken aback by the unexpected answer.

  ‘Have you no honour?’ said the White Consul. ‘Do you fear to face me, to be humbled before your brethren?’

  Sheathing his chainsword, Marduk reached up and removed his skull-faced helmet. His face, an ugly mess of scar tissue, regrafts and augmentation, was amused. He cleared his throat and spat a thick wad of black phlegm at the captain’s feet. The floor plating began to sizzle and melt beneath the impact.

  ‘Coward,’ taunted the White Consuls captain.

  ‘You are the bastard get of the thrice-cursed Guilliman,’ said Marduk. ‘You do not deserve an honourable death.’

  ‘Let me take him,’ growled Burias-Drak’shal.
‘No,’ said Marduk.

  ‘Let me face your warp-spawned pet,’ said the White Consul. ‘In the Emperor’s holy name, I shall cut it down and spit upon its corpse.’

  Burias-Drak’shal snarled and stepped forward. Marduk halted him with a word.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘He wishes to die a noble death. Therefore, he shall not have it. Gun him down.’

  Marduk smiled as he saw the shock and outrage written in the eyes of the enemy captain. The White Consul made to leap at Marduk, but he was cut down before he could move, struck from all sides by gunfire.