My vox-link chimed in my ear. It was Betancore. I could
barely hear him over the noise of the cryogenerator as he
made a quick report in Glossia.
‘Aegis, heavens uplift, thrice-sevenfold, a crown with stars.
Infamous angel without title, to Thorn by eight. Pattern?’
I considered. I was in no mood to take any more chances.
‘Thorn, pattern hawk.’
‘Pattern hawk acknowledged,’ he said with relish.
‘Enough!’ I commanded, modulating my tone to emphasise
my will as I drove it into his mind. ‘Drop it!’
He did, meekly, as if surprised. Psyker tricks of will often baffle
those who find themselves compelled by them. As he faltered,
I threw a punch that connected well and left him unconscious
on the floor.
As I bent to recover the Scipio, Betancore voxed me again.
‘Aegis, pattern hawk, infamous angel cast down.’
‘Thorn acknowledged. Resume pattern crucible.’
I pushed on after my quarry.
Source: Dan Abnett, Eisenhorn