#cerastes

The ceiling dropped in a huge slab, and Cerastes caught it. Wrack stared in wonder. The slab split in two above the Dark Apostle’s head, and he became a pillar holding back annihilation. ‘It does not end here!’ Cerastes roared. ‘Flee, my faithful – flee, and tear the illusion of victory from the cardinal’s grasp!’ The strain in his voice was as great as the fury.

Cerastes, Dark Apostle of the Word Bearers and somehow not a raging asshole, HOLDS UP A HIVE TOWER by his own will and the power of his Gods so that his mortal followers can escape.

[scene switch]

Imperial commander stands and watches as her artillery, under the command of Palatine Aesura of the Sisters of Battle, slaughters their own troops. In case you didn't notice, David Annandale tells us:

She saw the catastrophe descend, and she knew that she had done this. She and Aesura. Not Cerastes. No. Cerastes had not smashed the towers down. Cerastes had not mutilated the glories of Legitur. No. This was the product of Aesura’s will. And Lenda had carried it out.

It's such a delightful contrast, both between the Palatine and the Dark Apostle, and with basically every other Imperium vs Chaos novel ever -- in which the Imperium is about this bad about collateral damage, but Chaos is even worse.