Droning wings drowned out the screams beneath him. The Yersinia pestis carried its rider; Resheph the Alchemist, between the dilapidated, rusted hive spires. His occulobe detected the panicked heat-flares of the millions of imperial citizens that flowed like congealed blood through the narrow veins of the cityscape below. Resheph had anticipated a counterattack. He'd underestimated the ferocity of the numerically inferior Space Wolf force once before. He would not do so again.