The Death of Antagonis

‘So tell me, how does it feel to be engaged in conspiracy?’
Volos turned a regretful eye on the body of the Chaplain. ‘Awful.’

It was Lettinger who ordered the Exterminatus, but only after being commanded to do so by Setheno. He had the formal authority. She had the will and the experience. And it was the Black Dragons who carried out the order. They had the cyclonic torpedoes.

Some hive worlds glittered like spiked jewels from a distance, the cloud-piercing turrets of the elite creating a mirage of beauty. Others had mountain chains and oceans that defied the feature-eradicating virus of humankind. But Aighe Mortis was honest. It looked like an infected boil.

‘And does Brother Ydraig know what that device is?’ Volos had given the tube to the Techmarine upon returning to the Maw.
‘A whistle of some kind, he thinks,’ Nithigg said.
‘A whistle.’ The word was so trivial. It was obscene to have lost so much over something that could be given that label. ‘Well, that’s good,’ he said, his frustration spilling into sarcasm. ‘I was worried it was going to turn out to be a horn.’