Sepulturum

Morgravia Sanctus is being hunted. She seeks someone who can rebuild her shattered memories – but as a plague sweeps the city, all hope seems lost…

The juve fell like a sack of dead meat.

The gangers had enough sense to post lookouts at the perimeter of their territory but Cristo moved swiftly for a big man and had a keen eye for trouble. He was also supremely motivated. He didn’t kill them. He loathed killing and felt the weight of those who had died at his hands like an ever-thickening noose around his neck. He hurt them though. Broke bones. Rendered them unconscious. Male, female, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the chain-wielding banshee in the fighting pit.

The cordon of flickering drum fires drew closer with every step. As Cristo moved deeper into the gully he realised he knew this place, more by reputation than familiarity. It was Red Hand territory, at the least the very edge of it. The juves he had put down wore patches depicting a crowned skull. Mark of the