Hereticus (Eisenhorn #3)

by Dan Abnett

Lord Froigre, much to everyone’s dismay including, I’m sure, his own, was dead.

My career had not been kind to my body. I had been repaired, rebuilt, augmented and generally sewn back together more times than I cared to remember. I was a walking testimonial to Imperial Medicae reconstruction surgery.

‘We can’t fight that!’ said Fischig. He was right. We couldn’t. We had nothing. This was so one-sided it wasn’t even tragic.