They die in droves, screaming in terror and agony as my blade sinks into their frail bodies. Some try to run away while others throw themselves at me in a futile attempt to pierce my holy war plate. I howl in rage and blood-lust as I put an end to their futile attempts at fighting back.
I feel the rush of battle as I bring my blade up and strike once more, a man clad in dirty overalls screams as my blessed chain sword growls and rip his chest apart.
"I AM HIS WRATH INCARNATED! NONE CAN STAND BEFORE HIS ETERNAL HONNOR" I howl true my vox as a stream of stubber bullets ping's of my armour. How dare this rabble use such foul weaponry against me. I see the weapon crew desperately firing away hoping to pierce the plate and kill me. I aim and fire my plasma pistol, two bolts of plasma streak across the bloodstained battlefield and send both men to their daemonic master.
I know however that to underestimate these dregs of chaos is to invite dishonour. One can never feel secure when fighting such hell spawn .

When the last man falls all is silent, I stand alone surrounded by the slain and the dying. They have received their due punishment for their betrayal, I walk away while the skies burn above me.

I rejoin my battle brothers near the ruined central administration building in the centre of the war torn hive. Each of them is a monument to the might of the Emperor and mankind. For many long years we have fought in his name and bleed in his name. This will be no different, we will stand victorious on the corpses of the enemy.
But even when these thoughts fill my mind I can not help to think that this war will be my last, if I where a chaplain I would perhaps put it down to the weariness I feel in my bones sometimes. Or the simple reason that I feel the honoured dead calling to me from across the river Styx.
Shaking these unfitting thoughts from my head I join what remains of the Death Hands force sent here, with me stands my standard bearer Orion who has never left my side in battle and who holds our sacred banner up high. Also with us stands the Astartes who is considered by some Imperial servants to be noting more than a inhuman butcher and evil made manifest Brother Captain Arkangle.

I however know him to be amongst the most faithful and eternally vigilant brother I have served with. Although one would be a fool to not see the glimmer of hate in his eyes and the ferocious nature that lurks beneath his calm and controlled surface .

We came to this burning world on the request of a man we all know and respect, the commander of the Ragnarokian regiments fighting and dying here. He is amongst the few men who is not of our chapter that can my beloved captain a friend. The Imperial Guard could not break the back of the enemy held hive cities, even with the vast amount of men they command. So they sent out a call for aid to the angels of death. And we answered it.
We came here with two hundred battle brothers and five of our venerable dreadnought brothers. Our first meeting with the servants of the arch enemy was in this hive and this is where we will either win or die gloriously

Now all that remains are fifty battle brothers. The enemy was numerous beyond count and even Astartes die in war. But still we fight on for retreat or a lack of aggression will doom us all.

We are the angels of death and we know no fear.

As dawn breaks once more and the rays of the sun warms this burning world once more I stand silent and watch as my captain talks to the human commander that is named field marshal Loki. The two warriors are not very similar but yet they both have the same aura radiating from them.

Both are pious and a eternal warrior for he who sits on Terra so very far away. I feel honoured to stand in the presence of such men and Astartes.

They are discussing the plans for the final assault on our hated foe, even thou the enemy still outnumbers us we have won every battle that has been fought over this world since our coming. But it has cost us dearly but those who fell will be avenged I take a silent oath upon as I stand watch.

The very ground shakes as the guard unleash their divine fury with the aid of their siege guns. The air is filled with screaming shells and far in distance great plumes of smoke billows from burning buildings and wrecked gun sites. This is the final breath before the last charge, the one that will break our foes and leave only the righteous standing on the piles of the slain.

Myself and my brothers embark into our transports that rumbles forwards and shelter us from the enemy with their think skins of steel.
I feel the vibration of the growling engines and the muffled bark of the weapons of the vehicle bark as they unleash hell on those who dares to reveal themselves to us.
Over the vox net I hear our honoured captain preach to us, his voice filled with righteous anger, adding further fuel to our fury as battle draws near.

My blood feels like its on fire as the assault ramp lowers and we charge out weapons ready, a steady stream of bolter fire wipes out from our weapons as we close in our foes. We are the spearhead of this attack and by the eternal guardian of mankind will we not fail.
My weapon hiss its deadly battle hymn as it sends a pale blue bolt hurling across the ever decreasing ground between us and the traitors who hide behind tall barricades and pours las gun and auto gun fire on us and the advancing imperial guard. We reach the fortifications and the fighting goes from ranged to hand to hand, I flick the activation rune of my every thirsty chain sword and vault down into the trench.

There myself and my brothers are meet by a tidal wave of corruption and filth. Heretics and fallen guardsmen pour towards us screaming curses and wielding crude weapons.
We return the favour with oaths of purity and the righteous fury of mankind.
Suddenly my brother to the left of me falls down, his head caved in by a growling chain axe.
Over his slain form a testament to the dark gods stands clad in blood red armour and howling his dark lords battle cry that has been heard on countless worlds.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULLTHRONE!" the battle crazed berserker howls and lunges at me. I know these madmen from other wars and this one, of the servants of the dark gods these are amongst the deadliest. They do not run away from us nor do they fight from afar, no these heretics fight us up close and personal with growling axes and dark curses on their lips.

I parry a brutal blow aimed at my neck and strike back with a trust to his abdomen, but his defiled war plate holds firm and we once again exchange blows. Each one would kill a mere human or send them flying.

I feel the ebb of battle take hold of my mind, I am at peace with myself and the emperor as I dodge and strike back. This needs to end, I have not the luxury of jousting for all eternity with this daemon lover.
Striking him hard in the face with the pommel of my blade I fare twice in his chest at point blank, both bolts strike true and melts the heretics plate and boils his innards. Growling in disbelief his legs give out and he slumps down. I however do not let him reach the ground, with a swipe of my blade I take his head of.
Once again I charge the enemy and once more my blade drinks deep of their corrupted blood. But the battle has been hard fought and not all those who made the charge now stands tall. Several brother have died by the hands of these.....animals!

I chant the long and time tried battle chant of our chapter as I hack them apart "Timore et dedecus hostibus! In capite et imperator!"
Those of my brother who still stands also chants this eternal cry of vengance and fury.
I turn to see the banner flying in the wind, brother Orion and my captain stands firm as the foe tries to smap them in wave upon wave of heresy. But none make it past them, their blades spin and rise in a blur of movement. I also see the gush of flames as one of my brothers engulfs traitors in the dozen with the last prometium in his flamer before he draws his blade and charge them.
All around us they die by our hands and by the blazing las guns of the imperial guard who now has caugth up with us and pours fire into the fray.

Normaly I despise such frail and worthless cowards but these men stand appart from their imperial counter parts. The men of Ragnarok are stoic under fire and never run while one of them still draws breath.
I see their comader run a man true with his gleaming sword and bark orders at his soldiers. Only if all men where like, then this universe would be better of.

As brother Orion splits the skull of the enemy warlord the foe crumbels, their minds broken by fear and panic, they thougth they could stop the march of the rigthous at this bastion of hate and corruption. But they where shown their error. None who serve the dark gods are safe from retribution from those who stands firm when faced by the foul servants of darkness.

And as victory is finaly our I feel my lifeblood drip from my wounds, my brothers rush to my side.the familiar figure of the apotecrian kneels beside me and removes my helmet. His voixce worn with age says " Rest now brother, death will not claim you yet" are the last words I hear before I slip into unconsiousness induced from the painkillers and anti infectional drugs beeing injecte into my blood stream.

As my wounded and broken body is brougth back to our battle barge my captain wataches as the last traitors are burn alive in a great pyre that illuminates the wartorn hive. No one is spared the cleasing flames. They all burn since their fellow man betrayed them.

Eternaly we stannd watch over those who shelter with in imperium, eternaly we purge those who stray from the path set out by the Emperor.

The wind grips the banner, sending it sprawling against the strong winds that seeks to rip it from the lance it is attached to. The very air seems tense with the feel of men preparing to face battle, and the thought that they will live but many will die, by the hands of their fell foes.
Horses snort impatiently as their riders keeps the fiery animals in check with commands and spurs.
A knight clad in armour leads his horse slowly down the line of assembled men, his harsh voice files the cold autumn day with promises of glory and righteous anger.

I sit on my horse, a great charger black as the night. My palms tingle and my throat is parched. But I dare not drink, I know its fear that makes my throat dry out. The long slender lance tipped with a point that can splinter shield and armour and sunder a enemy, rests in my hand.
The other grips my shield that shows my heritage, a white wolf head on a red background with a trim of laurels surrounding it.
This is the day where my ancestors watches on from up high, and this is my chance to prove to my fellow men that I am worthy of a place amongst them.

Alongside me almost a thousand knights are massed up for the coming charge, these are some of the finest men in the realm. And I pray to Sigmar we will be victorious. Alongside us are also the humble state troops, the men who will follow us into the fray once we begin our charge.
I see warrior priests chant and preaching with great fervour to these men who will lay down their life for the Empire soon.
My moment of reflection are shattered by the blaring of horns and a all too familiar call that echoes down the line. "FOR SIGMAR AND THE EMPRIE! TO WAR!" I hear our lord howl as we begin to advance towards our foe.

They sally forth to meet us, these foul mutants that blight the woods of our lands. And who prays upon the weak and the innocent. I feel my blood beginning to boil with rage, now all thoughts of death is gone, only the burning hate I have for my inhuman foe.
But to think these servants of the old nigth stupid or to mistake them for mindless beasts is something I know is to invite a gruesome faith, they are brutal fighters who fears neither steel or shot. They posses great strength and skill of arms, ever how crude these weapons are.

I lower my lance as we draw closer to them, I feel my horse picking up the pace to keep up with its companions that surrounds it. To my left I see the banner of the Reiksguard flutter in the wind as the Emperors own knights ride beside us.
They seem like figures from tales of old as they charge forwards in grim silence unlike we who are their brothers.
The banner of my own order flies to the right of me, the banner shows a great cat reared up on its hind legs, paws clawing at the air. The sight filled my hearth with pride.

Then our line hits the beast men with the force of a hammer striking an anvil. My lance pierces a beast with great spiralling horns and snaps as the hideous creature is tossed aside. My horse wheels around as I draw my sword and urge my brave mount onwards. I let the blade fall down on a great dog like creature who stands over the form of a fallen warrior, blood dripping from its maw.

The beast yelps as the eager blade bites into its flesh, it wails like a infant and slumps down. I turn to find a new foe when a blow fells my horse who dies with a anguished snort. My feet barely get free from its dying form as I get to my feet, there stands my friends killer.
A Gor wielding a pair of axes, it howls and comes at me, I block the first blow with my shield and return the favour with a jab aimed at its legs. But the beast is no stranger to combat and blocks my strike. It tries to punch me with a ham sized fist, for its effort I hack its arm of at the shoulder and drive my blade down its throat.

Around me I see my fellow knights take a heavy and bloody harvest of the enemy, their blades rise and fall almost in unity and the Reiksguard is at the hearth of this swirling male storm of bloodshed and carnage.

Yet again my blade drinks the lifeblood of a foe as a mutant dies shrieking at my hands, another beast gets gutted when I swipe at her abdomen and send her intestines spilling on the ground. She screams for mercy and the salvation from her fate. This is ignored and rewarded by a kick to the head to silence her heretical babble.

I fight for what seems an eternity, then it all seems to stop. I feel my legs failing me and my armour clad body fall to the ground, I gasp as pain grips my body. I look to see a spear embedded in my leg. "By Sigmar.....so dose my days end. Forgive me my lord for I have failed you" I think as the owner of the spear raises a bloodied blade to end my days amongst the living.
But the death blow never comes. Instead the beast is rewarded by a crushing blow that shatters its skull. I hear a voice that belongs to a man, a friend in these final moments of my life.

I see my captain swing his war hammer in fury as beast and mutant die in droves at his hands. A beast that seems like a leader seems to roar a challenge to him but is rewarded by a hammer stroke to the chest, and as is tries to rise a lance guided by unseen hands pierces it mutated form.
Others must have joined my brave lord, I feel hands pick me up and carry me away from the field.
As I struggle to keep my eyes open and I feel a sense of emptiness fill my head I hear someone say
somewhere around me " Hold on lad, don't you dare die on us! You have every reason to be proud of what you did here today. Its an honour to fight beside you".

Moved by these words I feel tears stream down my bloodstained face. I am placed on a soft bed and then I am gone. As I lay there something stirs within me, a will ignited long ago by men who has now passed into the mist of time, men who fought and bled for their loved ones.

As the young knight sleeps in the tent his companions that survived the battle against the beast herd gather outside. Each man is marked by battle and several sport bandages. They look worn and batherd as they stand watch over their wounded companion who proved that even the most humble of knights may rise to glory and honour when his friends stand with him.
They too feel that same inner fire burn away although not all of them know what makes them risk life and limb for ideals such as honour and glory.

In the end all that remains after one has passed into the gardens of Morr is what one achieved in life, and how one spends the time the gods have granted you.

Honour

Part IV.

The footsteps of the Death Hands echoed true the dark and moist tunnels that lead into the very hearth of the Hive that reached for the sky above them. The tunnels showed the signs of heavy use with bodies and disregarded supplies piled up.

As the group reached a bridge that gapped ran over a gaping shaft that plunged into darkness they came to a halt. " Hold here brothers" came the order from Brother Captain Arkangle.
He walked up to the two Astartes that was acting as pathfinders in this maze of darkness and decay.
"What do you see brother" he asked the one standing nearest to him. " The tunnel splits into two paths, we have explored one, it seems to lead back to the surface. But we did not go the full length due to the amount debris blocking it."

"Understood lead on then, let us not keep out prey waiting" Arkangle said with a smile that could have frozen the blood of a mere mortal to ice.

As they descended into the catacombs that lay beneath Centurion Prime did Liberian Octavious feelt a unholy feeling of foreboding washing over his mind. He was a veteran of hundreds of battles and his psychic powers was a force of total destruction when he employed them in the service of the chapter but this feeling unnerved even him. " Emperor keep me" he whisper to himself as he and his brothers advanced in utter darkness. Only once had he felt like something similar to this, and that time had almost been the end of his service to the Emperor.

His hands gripped thither around his force staff and blessed power axe. No he would not succumbed to fear and memories of battles long gone, his Captain required his help as did the rest of his comrades. Even with these thoughts he did not dare to feel safe, the Empyrean did not suffer fools to live untainted

As these events unfolded the other actors in this game of fate began to contemplate their next move. The shadowy figure witch had observed the Astartes enter the catacombs consulted with its fellow observers and discussed their next set of reactions to this. The heretics continued their war against the false emperors servants, and the Imperial Guard still struggled to keep their enemies at bay.
The endgame was drawing near, and soon the final pieces of the puzzle would be put in place.

After some time the Astartes reached their goal, a massive chamber that spanned several hundred meters wide and a roof that disappeared into the gloom above their heads.
In the chamber they could see a seething throng of cultists swaying in synchronised tune with the man they had chased across several sectors and war zones.

Now had the time come for vengeance, for retribution and once and for all ending the wild hunt.
Brother Captain Arkangle and Sergeant Lyandros of The Death Hands looked upon the sea of heretics and dregs separating them from their prey.
" To the death my lord" the Sergeant said with a voice that trembled with righteous anger.

The captain nodded and turned to the rest of his men " For decades have we hunted this vile heretic. Now he can not run, now there are only him and us" drawing breath and activating his power sword he continued " DEATH TO THE HERETIC! WOE TO THOSE WHO STRAY FROM HIS LIGTH! TO WAR!" he shouted, his brothers in arms responded in kind and began a thundering charge towards their awaiting foe.

Upon hearing the amplified and thundering voice of the Astartes leader the amassed heretics responded with howls of their own, Aspiring champions gathered their minions and began their own reckless charge with cries to the blood god.
Their leader felt a sudden chill grip his heart, now there was no escape he realised. In coming down here he had in effect sealed his own fate should his followers fail to stop the loyalists.
He turned to the two massive figures beside him and pointed to the figure of Captain Arkangle, " KILL HIM! Collect his skull for Khorne" he shouted with a voice filled with hate and despair born from a knowledge that doom is coming.

The band of Astartes and heretics met on the floor of the great chamber with a mighty howl. The first traitor to die was simply crushed under the weight of the charging Captain and his next victim was split from skull to groin witch caused his cauterized guts to spill forth in a gruesome manner.
The Astartes was superior to the heretic in single combat but now the odds where stacked against the Angles of death, they where outnumbered by thousand of blood crazed heretics and no reinforcements was coming to their aid. But they still played for their disloyal ways, many where gunned down by volleys of disciplined bolter and melta gun fire. But the Astartes did not have much ammunitions and they where being forced into forgo ranged weapons for their trice blessed chain swords and power axes witch crackled with ripples of electricity.

Arkangle parried a blow from a hiver and punched hard with his right hand into the chest of another traitor witched reduced said individual to noting more than a slowly dying ruined mess of a man. He had run out of ammunition for his bolt pistol and was hacking away at his foes with a gruesome speed. His genetically enhanced muscles allowed him to kill with a speed mere mortals could not hope to match. His brothers where following their Captain and carving a bloody path true their foes but not all who had joined the battle still lived, several Astartes had succumbed to the sheer mass of foes and wounds caused by Aspiring champions and such foul things. He swore that they would be avenged with the blood of their foes as long as he still drew breath.

"DIE TRAITOR" he roared and swung his blade in a arch around him cutting down several foes, but they where replaced before he could draw a breath.
Suddenly the heretical rabble fell away from the remaining Astartes, before them stood two immense figures that wore the same armour as the traitor marines they had fought not long ago. But these where clearly not some common traitor, the two World Eaters radiated a feeling of impending bloody death. Their war plate was scarred from countless battles and they wore no helmets. Their hands gripped chain axes with emitted a low growl as their bearers kept them ready.

The two sides stood no more than ten meters apart, except for the sounds of the dying and wounded not a word was spoken until Sergeant Lysandros broke it " Go get the bastard my lord, we will deal these traitors their due punishment".

From his raised platform the traitor general watched the two chaos marines square of against two loyalists, it should not take long. However he was gravely underestimating the two marines that met their traitorous brothers in combat.

The two Death Hands that rose to meet their traitorous kind was Sergeant Lysandros and Liberian Octavious with both where skilled warriors. Both men where proud and would give their life for their captain need be, now however they would distract the hulking World Eaters while their lord dealt the deathblow to their foe.

As Captain Arkangle accented the massive set of stairs leading up to the platform where his prey was he was constantly harried by screaming cultists and traitorous guardsmen who lunged at him with knifes, clubs and bayonets. None survived his wrath although he did feel the wear of almost two days of all but constantly fighting.

Below two Astartes fought for their life's, chain axes collided with power sword and axe. For anyone witnessing this show of supreme skill honed over countless years it may seem like the combatants where apparent from time and space. However there could be no illusion of the outcome of these duels. There would be no mercy given and none asked for

As he cleaved the last dreg blocking the air was filled with a death cry, his head turned out of sheer instinct, there he saw his sergeant laid low by a chain axe blow, however the traitor did not live to claim his prize, a tempest of warp fueld rage boiled the traitor away as Liberian Octavious allowed himself to cast a devastatingly psychic blast before succumbing to his own wounds, both traitors lay dead and so did their loyalist brothers.

As the Captain walked onto the blood stained platform his face showed revealed the boiling hate that now treated to flow fourth from him like a tsunami.
The prey he had been stalking was now within reach, and he intended to repay him.

The fiend he had hunted awaited him, sword in hand. The man seemed to tremble but held his ground against the Astartes who closed in on him

As the two combatants began to circle each other four shimmering forms appeared at the far end of the chamber well covered in darkness. " Target sighted honoured one. What is your command".

The reply came in a voice witch sounded almost inhuman " Remove the broken part of the puzzle of fate". The response was a single flash of ligth followed by a sound of bone splintering and a how of outrage.

"Target down"

"Dose the loyalist Mon - Keigh live»

" Yes, he lives"

It was Sergeant Lyandros who first spotted the tell-tale signs of their prey, he and several others had split from their main force and scouted ahead. " My lord, the dregs of chaos has been here. And it seems they left a parting gift for us" he said with a rasping voice and relayed his position.

The main Vanguard force moved like a host of black clad ghosts, on their way the passed signs of a desperate last stand. Overturned tables and sandbags where hastily erected and abandoned weapons and mangled bodies and gore where abundant. They passed PDF troopers and heretics alike, all lay where they had fallen, there would be no funeral for these men. Only the grim reality of being a anonymous number in a conflict of titanic scale.

As they entered the inner courtyard they saw what the Sergeant had voxed the main force about. A blazing altar to the dark gods had been erected in the centre of the courtyard, and in a gruesome twist of fate had scores of severed heads and other body parts been used as kindling for the pyre blazing at its top.
But what caught their eyes was the crucified body of the PDF commander who had made his stand here with his remaining men after the war had broken out. His face was frozen in a look of pain and absolute horror, his chest had been ripped open and his lungs ripped out.
This was clearly a message sent to those who would oppose the ones who had built this altar of violence and bloodshed.

The Astartes stopped a distance from the altar, normal men or even other Astartes might have felt rage or other kinds of feeling. The Death Hands who excelled at terror tactics and other types of tasks that required a complete numbness to such inferior feelings where not angered, they wide this as a sing that their prey was closer. And they where correct, the next few hours would lead up to the culmination of their pursuit of the prey they hunted.

Brother Captain Arkangle spoke with a low rumbling voice " Brother Librarian Ocavious, what dose your warp senses tell you. Dose this foul construct pose a threat to our mission".

The Liberian who where the only member of the Astartes band to not have the coal black armour but instead wore a armour that was coloured with a deep crimson red answered with a voice that to the unprepared would feel like a gust of cold wind "The Empyrian is shrouded, it howls with a thousand mad voices. The altar must be purged unless the denizen of the realm is to spill fourth.

Upon hearing this receiving these news Arkangle turned to the Marine beside him " Let it burn with the fires of zeal and fury". The Battle brother nodded and stepped forwards, flamer in hand and sent a gout of flame onto the construct. The Prometium was mixed with holy chemicals that feed accelerated the flames into a pyre that spewed clouds of dark smoke into the air.

As they moved towards the gates on the far side of the courtyard a lone figured perched on the roof far above followed them with eyes that was far sharper than the eyes of a mere mortal worhsiper of the dark gods.
The figure reared up to its full heigh and grasped its staff and mumbled to no one particular " So the final pices begin their move, and the treads of fate spin ever closer. Who will prevail and who will fall in the end"

Arkangle looked skyward and scanned the skye, his eyes searching for anything that may revale his foe, but the Astartes could not spot anything that indicated the presence of his prey but still something was amiss

The sound of battle filled the dark corridors of the complex as heretics of all sorts poured forth like a wall of vermin surged towards the Death Hands who where being rushed from all sides. This was what they where breed and trained to do, chain swords growled and bolter's barked as they cut a bloody path true their enemies.

Brother Captain Arkangle and Sergeant Lysandros was leading the Astartes, their arms raising and falling like a deadly symphony of perfectly timed art.
" DEATH TO HIS FOES! SHAME TO THOSE WHO STRAY FROM HIS LIGTH" the veteran Marines shouted as they fought for their lives.
Liberian Octavious plunged his power axe into the skull of a obese heretic wearing the red robes of the mechanicum. The man let out a gurgle as the axe continued downwards and erupted in a shower of gore from his stomach. He allowed himself to be lost in the rage and fury he normally contained within his mind. He let fly with a jolt of psychic power that sent men flying and witch destroyed the pitiful souls of those who where caught in its direct path.

Suddenly there was a pause in the constant din of battle, something had changed for the far worse. From the ranks of the heretical rabble a group of thirty power armour clad behemoths appeared, their ceramic encased hands gripping massive chain axes and swords witch sparkled with unholy energies. The heretics had done their task well, they had drawn the loyalists into their trap, now the battle would truly be joined by those who had abandoned the Emperors light all those millennia ago.
" Behold brothers! Traitors in the flesh" the Captain shouted dispatched the maimed guardsman at his feet with a stomp of his boot. The sound of bone cracking and flesh ripping told him that his foe was no more.

From the traitors now opposing them there was no taunt or hateful shouts, just a single sentence that had been repeated for millennia s untold. " BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS TO THE SKULL THRONE!".
With those words the loyalists and traitors charged each other, one side staying calm and relying on experience and training. And the other on sheer hate and a lust for warm blood upon their scared battle plate.
With a thunderous crash they engaged each other, power axes and chain swords clashed with Chain axes that growled like a wounded animal. It did not take long before the first Astartes fell, a stroke had removed his head from his shoulder, another died as a bolt pistol was fired in his face and a blade rammed true his chest.
Arkangle felt the surge of battle flow true his body, he parried a blow from a Berserker who wore no helmet, his face scared and marked with the signs of his unholy master. With a downwards strike he broke the attack and began his own, with a flurry of blows he sent his opponent reeling for a second but the traitor regained his balance returned the favour with a blow that would have felled a lesser marine, but the Captain was not a raw member of the Vanguard, he had survived figths like this before and this he intended to win. They locked weapons and came face to face, helmet clad loyalist against a helmet less traitor.
A sound like thunder filled his ears and the Word Bearer was engulfed in a crimson mist, he howled in pain and rage as unseen hands ripped him limb from limb. The head that now had no shoulders to rest on hit the ground with a wet thud.
" Die in shame traitor" the Liberian snarled and rejoined the fray, what seemed like hours had been in fact just some twenty minutes but when the the sounds of battle died down there where twenty five Marines standing, all of whom where Loyalists, on the ground their brother lay dead or dying. Their foes slain and their path once more clear of foes,

"Status report Apothecary" Arkangl growled, he felt a tidal wave of hate wash over him as the looked on the dead traitor marines, they had delayed him and cost him valuable time. But more important, many of his brothers sat at the Emperors side now.

"Eighteen brothers have joined the Emperor Captain, another three will live if treated soon" came the sober reply from the Apothecary
" Do so Brother, call for evacuation when they can be moved".

With those words the still standing marines followed their leader deeper down into the waiting hearth of darkness where the final battle awaited them

Salvation by fire

In the dark times that currently have engulfed the Imperium of Man many wars are fought and lost, some tales go untold some are told by survivors or those who witnessed it from afar. This is one such tale.

War had come to Centurion Prime, the hive world had slipped into anarchy when several cults had reared their heads and began to openly wage war against the weak and incompetent rulers who for centuries untold had neglected their duties to the world that now cried for their blood.
The first weeks of the war had seen the PDF forces put up a remarkable strong defence but to no use. The swarms of cultists and other hostile groups had washed them away in a sea of horror.

Private Aleandrax ran like a man possessed, he was the single survivor of his company and by the Emperor, he would rather die running than to curl up and wait for death to come. He was a taunt young man at the age of 20 and considered himself a decent soldier but noting he had been taught in the PDF had prepared him for what had taken place over the few last days.
He felt cold fear and a sense of impending doom closing in on him, but there where no chance in hell he was going to give up. He valued life too much.

Behind him he could hear the shouts of the heretical scum chasing him, the high pitched voices of the mutants and the almost chanting cries of the traitor guardsmen. They fired pot-shot after him and yelled curses and threats. Aleandrax felt a taste of blood in his mouth and a sense of utter despair as he realised he could not outrun them, there where simply no where to run.

He continued to run and spitting blood and just as he thought he was done for, he realised something. He no longer could hear his enemies, it was as they simply had been whisked away. Before he could think another thought a new sound reached his ears, the loud and unmistakable sound of a large calibre weapon being fired and the sounds of battle.
Whoever had attacked his foes where clearly well armed, deciding that would need help to survive this nightmare he started making his way towards where the ring of battle where coming from.

The large band of heretics and other types of deep hive scum that had been trailing the lone PDF trooper had discovered to their dismay they where not alone, as they had closed in on their prey several massive figures had descended wings of fire and begun to dispose of their fellow cultists, the massive figures could only be one ting...... The Angels of Death.
The Space Marines hit the cultists like a meteor, several heretics was simply crushed under their weight as they landed and others where ripped to pieces by bolt pistol shots.
But most met their deaths at close quarters, daggers and clubs against chain swords and power armoured Marines was hardly fair and the outcome was predictable but still the fight was brutal and merciless

One less than brave member of the band decided to turn and flee, he never made more than two steps in the direction of safety.
A single shot from a bolt pistol removed his head from his shoulders.

" All threats neutralized sire" one Astartes said as he pulled his growling chain sword free from a mangled and bloody carcase. Their leader a massive Marine clad in a pitch black suit of armour with bronze shoulder pauldrons armed with a glowing power sword that crackled with energy looked around the ruined landscape and turned to his sergeant who had informed him of the results of this first encounter of the night.
" Understood sergeant, do we have a fix on our objective" the Marine said with a voice that gave a hint of his the centuries spent in the service of mankind.
Part II

Brother Captain Arkangel of the Death Hands scanned the war torn hive that lay before him and his brothers. They had descended on wings of fire and vengeance in search of the vile heretic that was the main leader of this war, so far the wrench had eluded their grip.
His ceramic encased hands clenched and he for a brief moment felt cold anger well up in him, why had the Emperor in all his wisdom granted the responsibilities of managing worlds like this to such fools. In the end it would not mater, they would prevail against the heretical rabble.

The captain did not wish to be bogged down by heretical cannon fodder at each turn, if they where to be effective they would either need a direct rout of assault or a guide to this massive urbane jungle that lay before them.

" Oh frakk! Space Marines" thought Aleandrax as he watched the Astartes slaughter the hive scum, he felt a cold feeling of dread grip his hearth. They looked like death incarnated, but there was one figure that stood out amongst them. The space marine stood a head if not more above his brothers, he was clad in the same armour as them, but what made him look apart was the attitude he radiated, and the ornate breastplate of his armour along with the massive sword he carried.
Even thou he was shaking with fear he began to walk towards them, arms raised into the air and attempting to present a friendly body language, who knew how they might react to him. Before any more thoughts could form in his mind a single bolt round impacted with his chest and sprayed the rubble strewn street with a spray of crimson collourd blood. The former PDF survivor slapped down onto the ground with a expression of disbelief and shock on his face.

"Witness silenced my lord" the Astartes who had fired the shot said over the vox net.

"Acknowledged brother, Sergeant we hunt!" with those words Brother Captain Arkangle began his hunt for the one who had eluded his grasp for far to long, this time no one would escape, one way or the other this world would be purged. The death of a simple PDF trooper to maintain their secret were more than acceptable.

As the squads that made up his force made their way true the ruined hive they made sure to leave no survivors whenever they found them, neither friend nor foe where to know of their coming. The Imperial guard forces was in disarray and that suited them well.

After a day they had reached their goal witch was a massive Adeptus Ministorium complex he activated his vox and sent the coded signal to the massive ship waiting in orbit.
Far above the massive battle barge Divine Retribution began to move into position, when it was hailed by the system defence fleet hat inquired about its shift of course they responded with a badly hidden treats that the fleet would do wise to stay out of Astartes operations if they indented to have them on friendly terms for the remainder of the campaign. The system defence boats gave the ship and its escorts a wide berth after that chilling reply

As the Astartes on the ground entered the complex they knew they where being observed, but not by whom, had they known they would most likely been a bit more cautious. But benign able to tell the future was not a ability Brother Captain Arkangle had.