Sparks and pain and harsh bassy whistling.
In half bloodsight, Goldi shifted his broken limbs ineffectually. He looked down to see his smashed black plastron, the gurgle of his chest oozing congealed blood mixed with shards of black ceramite.
At the other end of the unspacious compartment was something yelling and struggling against an invisible adversary. Peltops was attempting to control the dying shuttle in its escape trajectory.
And he was speaking in tongues.
"Samalarad! Smadra- samalarander!!"
His wounding on the demonworld must have touched his psyker-sense.
"Sajamara... SAMALANDER!!!!" screamed Peltops. "Hrueeeehh!!" The pond of gore splattered at his feet became unstuck from the degravitizing cabin floor, and shrapnel and popped rivets drifted into the air. His eyes bulged. "Baahrrhrhhhhheeeh!!"
"Gghghrrrrrrrrz..." bubbled Goldi tinnily as he struggled to breathe.
"Thirty defiled and dishonoured brothers!! Preh... Perahndalkrah padnarahatha, pre- PREPARE FOR HARD VACUUM!" Peltops threw himself down from the front of the cockpit and landed heavily into Goldi's destroyed chest. He clutched at the Chaplain and clawed at the air above them, throwing out a psychic shield of some kind.
As Peltops pawed at the darkening scene, Goldi felt time slow down with a lurch...
The flying coffin was dead, headed baldly for low orbit, and no matter what happened now they would be recovered as heroes by brothers waiting, watching aboard the Animate Vigilix...
But why had they ever ventured down there, and to............??