In the Promethean way, Hephos had secluded himself before the mission. He thought back to the scorching badlands of his homeworld and his Burning Walk, relieved to find that his return to purpose was true. His reforging would not be complete, however, without this final trial by fire. Weapons checked. Narthecium prepped. Armor oiled. Machine-spirits supplicated.<br/><br/><em>Tend to your arms.<br/>Tend to your brothers.<br/>Keep faith in the Emperor, Our Father.</em><br/><br/>On board the<em>Eternal Knowledge</em>, Hephos had himself prepared to engage. With the many lenses of his requisitioned diagnostor helm, his appearance was more like a giant unholy xeno than a superhuman soldier. The chainsword at his waist was of unmistakable Salamander craft, functional while still maintaining a simple elegance to its design. He could almost feel the spirit of his armor resenting the bolter against its side.<br/><br/>Upon learning of the new entity, Hephos studied the hololith intently. Beneath his helm, his expression soured as he heard that it was a vessel belonging to the filthy greenskins. The Astartes spoke his mind plainly. "Every second may count inside the hulk, if there have been any survivors by the grace of the Emperor's mercy. I saw we board the vessel and give the filth more than they bargained for."