The same sigils of Terran Unity and Imperial nobility that showed on their
armour were cast thricefold upon His own. His armour joints didn’t growl with the crude industrial snarl
of mass-manufactured legionary plate, but purred with the song of older, purer technologies.
On His back, held by a simple strap against His flowing red cloak, was an ornate bolter of black and
bronze. In His hand He carried a sword – one that looked nothing like the blade portrayed in the victory
murals and illustrated sagas. By the standards of Terran lords and kings it was inarguably beautiful, but in
the grip of the ruler of an entire species it was, perhaps, rather plain. A weapon to wield, a tool for
shedding blood, not an ornament to be admired. Impossibly complicated circuitry latticed its blade, black
and coppery against a silver so hallowed that it was almost blue