At Asmarael words, Hephos allowed a slight smile beneath his helmet. He grabbed hold of the hilt of his chainsword, feeling at home again with it in his grip. His armor's machine-spirit growled appreciatively, sensing that combat would soon be nearing.<br/><br/>Compared to the roar and flash of ground battle, space combat was... He did not want to use the word 'frightening', but Hephos was aware that there were circumstances in that all the genetic advantages of an Astartes would mean very little to the harsh, cold laws of physics and its murderous tools of light and vacuum. It was a strange thought, but he welcomed the chance to board the alien vessel. Killing more of the hated greenkins aside, it would give him the chance to actually<em>do</em>something.