Special Entry...

(The bolded words beneath are not mine, but a given starting passage for me to continue. following that are mine-Ben)

Markus Orius scowled, pulling the thick overcoat tight around his neck as another blast of icy wind howled down the street. Bracing himself, the enforcer swung out of the sheltered alley and continued his shuffling progress down the street. The murky pre-dawn had arrived, and the temperature had plunged, turning his normally pleasant patrol route into a mind-numbing battle against the elements. After three hours, it was all he could to put one foot in front of the other.

The wind slackened slightly as the enforcer reached the corner of the armoury, and he ducked gratefully into the first recess on the wall, stamping his feet and blowing onto his frozen palms. The adamantium edifice towered hundreds of metres above him, angular surfaces glittering faintly beneath the starlight sky.

Judgement Central. Adeptus Arbites headquarters for the entire city.

Clamping his chattering teeth together, the enforcer ducked back into the street and kept on walking. An Arbites patrol car growled past blinking its lights, and he threw it a grudging salute. What he wouldn’t give to be Mobile on a night like this. Some people have all the luck.

Still, the main door was just up ahead and he’d be able to grab some heat from the vents before the next cycle. Hurrying forwards, he reached the alcove and ducked inside, a rapid glance confirming that the control board was still locked down.

Secure in the knowledge that another patrol cycle was complete, the enforcer moved over to the door and crouched by the heating vents, sighing as the blast of warm air washed over him. A little over five minutes before he had to go out again - bliss.

No sooner had he got settled than a metallic crash shattered the silence. The enforcer leapt to his feet, frozen fingers fumbling with the straps of his rifle. ‘Halt! Who goes there?’ he yelled, peering through the half light. Somewhere on the other side of the alcove, he was sure.

Silence again, apart from the muted whistling of the wind. Perhaps a stray gust had knocked over a refuse canister, but it was best to be sure. Holding the rifle against his shoulder, he stepped forwards, scanning the shadows.

Were those figures, or rubbish heaps? Was that just the wind?

A noise from the right!

He whirled around, dropping to a crouch, and saw the pebble bouncing across the ground. Realising his mistake, he flung himself backwards and to one side, but the enforcer had fallen for the oldest trick in the book, and it was far too late.

By the time he hit the ground, he was very dead indeed.

* * *

It was scarcely dawn when Ortanis Van Devlin arrived, his breath condensing in clouds through the chill morning air. Pulling his robes tight around him, the official began to ascend the long stairway to the Administratum Sector, wiping the condensation from his glasses. He gazed distastefully up at his destination, but stepped quickly to rule out any chance of missing the most important appointment of his career.

Judgement Central dominated the city skyline, a squat, undecorated building of raw adamantium, radiating an almost physical aura of power. The short hairs on Van Devlin’s neck prickled beneath his robes, and despite himself, he shivered. His bodyguards fanned out loosely around him, relaxing as they grew nearer to the heart of Imperial authority.

At least someone enjoys it, he thought.

It was a long climb to the precinct house, past the apothecarion and newly-built Shrine to the Emperor Ever-Ascendant, right at the summit of the Administratum mound. He was painfully short of breath by the time he reached the armoured threshold. Pausing momentarily to straighten his formal robes, he strode up to the armaplex reception bay and swelled his chest impressively.

The enforcer on duty didn’t look up. Glaring angrily down at the armoured figure, Van Devlin cleared his throat. Another two or three seconds passed without any response. Kruehler, his chief bodyguard, pushed a tree-like arm into the reception area, rapping the slumbering guard on the side of his helmet.

The guard collapsed across the control desk, his face thrown into the light. It was a frozen, paralysed mask of utter terror. Kruehler moved like greased lightning, superimposing himself between the window and his master, his pistol searching the shadowy cubicle.

Furious, Van Devlin turned to yell at the other bodyguards, but stopped, mouth open.

Apart from Kruehler, behind him, the street was deserted.

There was a thud, something whispering through his hair. He flinched, spinning back to the reception bay.

There was no sign of Kruehler.

He felt a presence behind him, and opened his mouth to scream.

Everything went dark.

* * *

It was pitch black as five Razorbacks roared down the eerily empty streets of the upper hive of Hive City Chevron. Their mounted lamps pierced through the gloom of a recently concluded acid downpour, illuminating the way ahead for a hundred metres or so, revealing a black paved road with reddish-brown corroded walls at both sides. The population was still cowering from the recent downpour, not daring to venture out until the all-clear klaxon would sound.

The tracks splashed up great gouts of brackish water, making audible hissing sounds and passing off wild, white steam as the liquid attempted to dissolve the vehicles’ hull. As hardy as the passengers within, the hulls remained smooth and pristine.

The five Razorbacks maintained a uniform formation as it neared their destination, barreling into an opening of a building which rose hundreds of metres into a starless, cloudless sky, its top ending at heights not visible from the bottom.

* * *

The black coloured coated Razorbacks, one by one, drove abidingly into the tight confines of the space available and slowed to a steady stop, each in their own parking dock. The sounds of whining pistons shutting down and hisses of gases being released filled the chamber for a moment prior to their arrival. Stinking, pungent smelling liquid dripped from the hulls of the Razorbacks as it parked in place, drawing annoyed glances and surprised exclamations from the workers that were getting in place to receive the Razorbacks proper.

To the people already in the chamber, the sounds were all too common as they were merely tasked with loading, unloading, repairing and arming such vehicles or others similar to it.

However, the booms of twenty-five pairs of Ceramite boots stamping onto the rockrete ground caused all around to stop and stare. Several even dropped their spanners or hammers, all evident to their shock and awe.

Without a word, the twenty-five armoured warriors departed from their respective transports and gathered at the exit of the chamber. They wore black cloaks, obscuring and denying anyone the chance of identifying where they were from or even what chapter they belonged to.

With a distinctive unlocking sound, the exit door of the parking dock chamber rose up into a slit on the wall, clanking in place as it gave the new arrivals space to walk through into the next room.

As silently as they came, the superhuman warriors left the chamber, not giving a second glance to the wide eyed workers that still eyeballed them with great anticipation.

* * *

The next chamber was a reception of some sort; a circular room with a central panel in the middle of it. Several guards were patrolling the area, armed and ready instantly at any sign of disturbance. There were a handful of huddled groups of figures around the room, all seem deep in conversation.

The superhumans began to make their way through the room, having to elbow and shoulder their heavy frame through towards the central panel.

The receptionist, a short, stout guard, stood at attention behind the panel, bringing his hands up to salute as the retinue neared him.

The leader of the visitors handed over a data slate to the guard, stretching his heavily muscled hand over the panel, into the guard’s outstretched palm.

The guard, obviously well trained, look down impassively at the data slate, betraying nothing of the information and mission these people were on.

After several minutes of analyzing the data, the guard nodded in agreement and sat down. He leaned forward on his desk and tapped a button.

He cleared his throat, before announcing in a low and grating voice into the comm., “My Lord, the Space Marines are here.”

***

“Make yourselves comfortable.” A soothing yet forceful voice, further amplified from the vox-speakers placed around the room, sounded as the Space Marines entered the gloom of an office. It was circular in shape, vaulted at the top by thick rockrete beams. At the other side of the room, oddly stacked against the curvature of the room, was a broad, flat black desk, with several data slates and maps on top of it. Behind the desk was a figure. In the darkness, it seemed like a short person, no taller then two metres with a matching black cloak draped around him.

A faint audile click could be heard and the room was immediately bathed in blinding white light, as though every atom in the room was vibrating at its maximum amplitude, drawing distressing gasps and flinching from the Space Marines.

The figure at the end of the room chuckled.

“Space marines?” he sneered. “Even toddlers find this amusing!” he said as he stood up, revealing that the earlier hypothesis on his height was wrong; he was tall and heavily armoured, almost rivaling the standard of the Space Marines. A bolt pistol and several frag grenades were visible on his waist pouch.

“Come, make yourselves comfortable.”

The Space Marines made their way to the desk, obviously infuriated at the figure’s sullying remarks. However their iron will and discipline still held firm within them as they took their seats on identical black frame steel chairs.

Upon closer inspection, the figure was a human after all, with a handsome yet rugged and chiseled angular face. He had a powerful square jaw, along with a broad shouldered black coloured power armour variant with an ugly gash on its front. Various Inquisitorial sigils and symbols hung around his neck, opulent and extravagant.

“Surprising, none of them squealed in reverence as you sat upon them.” He said, his eyes cast down onto the table as he arranged the items on it.

The Space Marines eyed him closely; they weren’t given any information that they were to report to a maniac that displayed no respect for them; nor were they informed that this “maniac” would actually an Inquisitor.

“I am Inquisitor Loharn.” The Inquisitor said as he reached over the desk, gesturing a welcoming handshake at the nearest Space Marine.

The Marine did not accept his hand.

“Emperor’s chosen eh?” Loharn muttered under his breath as he sat back down on his chair, causing it to creak.

“I am Captain Phrameus of the Ultramarines Chapter. These are my two tactical squads of ten, and an assault squad of five. Our orders are to report to you. Aside from your pleasantries, I believe that we are to begin on our mission prior to arrival.” The grave looking Captain Phrameus announced flatly to Loharn.

Loharn stared back at Phramues, a tense moment of silence between them. After a few heartbeats, Loharn cleared his throat, “Each of you. Pick up a slate. As you read, listen.” His voice was low, authoritative. Now he was serious.

***

“Arbites General Ortanis Van Devlin was on his way to visit the Arbites High Council when he was ambushed by unknown assailants. He, including with the rest of his retinue of bodyguards, servitors and assistants, vanished from the lobby of Arbites Central, where they were last seen. Other than that, the enforcer on duty at that time was killed.” Inquisitor Loharn said in one breath, as though having repeated the report many times to himself.

The Space Marines had their heads down, eyes peeled onto their own data slates, absorbing the mission details at startling speeds no normal human can match. Along with this, they had their ears ready, listening to the Inquisitor while they read.

“Various reports, intelligence and assumptions have been formulated from this. Overall, we have concluded that such an act was committed by Tau forces.”

This time, one of the Space Marine, Brother Thalon, looked up.

“With all respect to the Inquisition, however how does one come to the conclusion of this investigation, when no trace can be found at the site of the ambush?”

The Inquisitor smiled and laughed, and said, “You’re listening after all. And thinking. That’s good. For this mission is bound to require such skills. The Tau may have not left traces of their presence at the site of ambush; however they have left a key clue for us: The body of a dead Arbites officer, who was patrolling the vicinity the night before, was found several minutes after the ambush occurrence in an armoury complex adjacent to the building. Wasn’t a pretty sight I must say, but crucial nonetheless. After intense forensic probing, no findings could be drawn from the way he died. Hence a Xenos-forensor was called in,” said Loharn as he did a swift click of his fingers, “and proclaimed the man to have been killed by a Tau activated detonation.”

“Why?” inquired another Space Marine, by the name of Brother Grulix. He too had raised his head in curiosity, along with several other Marines, casting a questioning look at the Inquisitor.

“The answer is as clear as the reason to the presence of Ortanis Van Devlin. Van Devlin was meeting the High Council because they were planning the covert operations of Arbitial, Inquisitorial and Assasinorium operatives in the nearby Tau controlled sector of Vin’Al’drun. Somehow Tau ears had managed to eavesdrop into such happenings and decided such an act was to be ended, immediately. They executed a quick execution; Van Devlin down and out. No Devlin, no illegal Imperium operations in Vin’Al’drun. ”

The Space Marines nodded in approval, all immediately understanding and getting the full grasp of what was unfolding around them.

Loharn smiled at them, as though a happy teacher relishing at the satisfaction of his students mastering what he had been trying to teach them all along.

“Now, we have expended invaluable resources and time to retrace the Tau’s footsteps. They are currently holed up in one of the nearby residential habs, several kilometers off the main road leading to Arbites Central. It is not in our mission detail to investigate how they arrived there, for other operatives are already on that. You all are then required to execute a flash raid on them, and cleanse the Xenos.” Loharn said as he ended his speech with a gesture of both of his hands slamming down onto the table with a resounding thud.

The Space Marines present sat immobile on their seats, still processing the remaining sentences on their slates.

Captain Phrameus was the first to stand.

“We shall begin our mission then. Squads, move out in two standard hours.” Phrameus announced grimly, already mentally psyching and willing himself to deliver justice to the enemies of the Imperium.

***

The twenty-five Ultramarines strode back into the docking bay where their transports were waiting. It was bustling with activities, no different from when they came in.

This time, their Razorbacks transports had been refueled and rearmed, with the proper sigils and symbols applied to their hulls, denoting them special exemption from inspection and checks, as they were on a different level of mission entirely.

At the side hatches of their transports was the ostentatious “I”, denoting the Inquisition’s presence and support for their mission. Of the five Razorbacks, two of them had their twin-link Bolters removed, in exchange for a twin-link lascannon.

As the Ultramarines neared their transports, several tech-adepts, slave levies and servitors still lingered around their vehicles, applying odd-smelling incense and doing last minute routine checks, ensuring immaculate preparedness.

“And I assume that Inquisitor of ours shall reside within his office, awaiting our return?” Brother Gregdon said as he boarded his transport, along with Captain Phrameus and three others.

“Aye, they talk but never walk. And when they walk, they don’t talk.” Brother Relsh muttered as he hunkered down onto his seat and fastened on the safety harnesses. Such a saying was conveyed only among the Ultramarines, never expressed in front of other political bodies. What was meant was that whenever Inquisitors requisition the aid of a Space Marine Chapter, all they ask for is their strength and skills in the art of war; nothing else. However when the Inquisitors themselves actually go down onto the battlefield to do the killing, it is usually in the shroud of secret assassination attempts or unknown bribing and threatening with ridiculous amounts of resources and risks at stake.

“You assume wrong. And you are wrong too. You are both wrong.” A smug voice suddenly drifted from the rear hatch, drawing attention to Inquisitor Loharn in his battlesuit. It was the same one as what he was wearing in his office; however he had removed his cloak, showcasing a board and armoured torso with a holstered bolt pistol and chain sword on his waist.

The Space Marines fell silent.

Loharn chuckled. “Whatever. I shall be joining you Ultramarines in the attack. I hope to witness the prowess of the Emperor’s finest in battle.” He said before turning his back to board his own Inquisitorial chartered Razorback further down the docking chamber.

“Let us be ready for battle. Driver! Move on.” Captain Phrameus bellowed across the passenger hold to the awaiting driver. Immediately, the docking bay was filled with the roaring sound of six razorbacks revving up its engines, getting ready to deliver the Emperor’s finest onto the field of battle once more.

***

Steam and superheated gas being vented out of the Razorbacks’ coolant vents and exhaust pipes began to fill the surrounding room as the transports stopped in place to lower its hatches. Servitors were dispatched from the transports’ interior to go about doing its duty on maintaining and cleansing its assigned vehicle. Twenty-five pairs of armoured boots stomped down onto the worn rockrete floor, sending minor shockwaves throughout the room.

The Space Marines glanced around warily. The room was rectangular in shape, with dim glow globes extended from the ceiling. The air stank of smoke and fuel and the sound of dying engines, of which the Ultramarines had the proper apparatus to see, breath and hear through such pollutants. At the other end of the room, Inquisitor Loharn stood at attention. He gestured the Marines to go over as he pulled open the metal grilled door, emblazoned with heavy Imperial décor.

“Come now lads. We’re about to enter the belly of the beast.” Loharn said in a sing-along like fashion as he stepped through the door into the next room.

For someone who is about to do battle with foul Xenos, he sure has the guts to be happy, Captain Phrameus thought to himself. However maybe it’s because he is going into battle with twenty-five sons of Guilliman, Phrameus thought again. The latter made him smile to himself.

Leaving the smoke and soot behind, the Inquisitor and his retinue of Marines entered a brightly lit corridor which seemed to stretch infinitely on both sides. Identical metal doors which they just went through were arranged neatly in equal spacing down the corridor. The distant hums of various electrical appliances could be heard emanating from behind the doors.

Catching the Marines’ quizzical looks, Loharn gave a chuckle and remarked, “Never even had the luxury of seeing a Middle-hive residential hab haven’t you? We’re on the sixth floor of a two hundred and four floor block. Follow me now and don’t get lost. Oh, and don’t go knocking on the doors. Don’t want to wake and shock the residents don’t we?”

The Space Marines seemed to have ignored that comment, all eyes still intent on their surroundings. Several had their fingers on their trigger, as though ready to spring into action at the slightest sign of trouble. Only Captain Phrameus had his eyes on Loharn.

“How far are we from the Tau?” Phrameus asked.

“Always ready for action are you, Space Marines.” Loharn said as he pulled out a data slate from the belt on his waist. “We are six floors, two blocks away from the Tau. They’re holed up in a High-hive residential bungalow.” Loharn said as he passed the slate around for the others to see.

Captain Phrameus nodded. He passed the slate to the Marine beside him and went to walk beside Loharn.

Loharn caught Phrameus’s glance at him and said, “Yes? Forgive the arduous trek to the Xenos, however extra precautions must be taken into account when executing a flash raid. Mainly, not letting the enemy be aware of our presence.” he stopped at a circular door and tapped on it once. It hummed to life and opened, revealing a tube shaft of some sort. The Space Marines and Inquisitor stepped into it.

Phramues nodded. From the Inquisitor’s body language and tone, he could tell that Loharn was just plain obnoxious. He probably had bad experience or criticism against the Adeptus Astartes. However, Loharn still did not pose any threat to himself and his twenty-four other battle brothers, be it physically or logistically. Phrameus was sure that the Inquisitor would not go to extent of sullying his chapter’s holy name, or he would definitely suffer the dire consequences regardless of his allegiance.

Even relatively dampened to prevent pressure build up, the Space Marines could still detect vague changes in the surrounding air pressure as the tube shaft traveled to the ground floor, where the door opened to reveal an open public plaza. What was contradictory was not a single soul nor servitor was in sight. Obviously warned and aware of the nearby Xenos threat to their safety, the surroundings residents of the hab blocks had either been evacuated or fled for fear for their own lives.

Loharn gestured for the Marines to group up around him beside a fountain in the central plaza and pointed to a high hab bungalow several hundred metres down the wide paved road which was richly decorated and festooned with majestic statues and exotic flora and fauna. The bungalow had its own rectangular compound and was two stories high, with a private courtyard at the front of it and a yellow stone path leading from the entrance of the house to the main road. A broad balcony with several chairs and tables at the front of the house could be seen. Save for the front porch, all the lights were off in the building.

The street was silent, save for the nearby fountain that was still displaying its tranquil content and a ghostly howling wind coming from alleys between the adjacent hab blocks.

The sky overhead was lit by the planet’s two moons, casting an eerie hue to their surroundings and giving the Tau held building an even more ominous aura. A normal man would have felt a feeling called fear at such a moment however the Ultramarines and Inquisitor Loharn were no mere mortal man. They had gone through missions with worse foes uncountable times.

“Three entrances. One from the front, one from the right side, and one from the rear.” Loharn said as he collected his data slate back from a Space Marine.

“Aye.” Phrameus said and nodded. “Squad Balin, you are to initiate the attack by storming through the front door. Take and hold the central lobby and adjacent rooms. Do not attempt to break into other levels and rooms. Wait for our signal.”

“Aye Brother Captain.” Brother Balin said as he hefted his chain sword in his powerful hands and gestured for his battle brothers to follow him as they began to make their way to the entrance, seeking cover in obscure paths.

“Squad Tarol, you are to enter through the side entrance. Cleanse the side rooms and rendezvous with Squad Phrameus on the second floor central area. From there we shall signal to Squad Balin for our withdrawal through the front entrance.” Phrameus ordered to his other tactical squad.

“Aye Brother Captain. Till we meet again, Emperor protects.” Brother Tarol said as he led his squad away into the gloom.

“I’m coming with you.” Inquisitor Loharn said as he walked in pace with Squad Phrameus.

Phrameus nodded. He couldn’t care less about what the Inquisitor did; this was the Ultramarines’ mission after all. To fail it was to sully their Chapter’s holy name. To be victorious would bring esteem and reputation to their already glorious Chapter. The Inquisitor was nil in the equation.

“Squad, ensure helmets are on with vision enhancers tuned. Communications to minimum.” Phrameus ordered as he fastened on his helmet. “All squads engage the enemy only when maximum opening lethal strike is possible. Phrameus out.”

What Captain Phrameus was doing was exactly what the Codex Astartes teaches, and what the Codex Astartes teaches is the holy way every Ultramarine fights and thinks.

***

It took Squad Phrameus another twenty minutes of hiding and slithering through the shadows and gloom to reach the side gate entrance to the house. So far, Squad Balin had managed to infiltrate into the courtyard of the bungalow. Reports confirmed several Tau sentries patrolling. The order was given to silence them.

With Captain Phrameus in the lead, Squad Phrameus crept stealthily into the side garden of the house, passing the huddled group of Squad Tarol around the side entrance.

Suddenly, somewhere at the front of the house, alien gunfire which Phrameus confirmed were standard Tau pulse rifle could be heard firing. Bolters responded and the deep and raw sound of chain swords could be heard roaring into life.

Squad Phrameus quickened their pace to the rear exit, however a hulking figure stood at the door, blocking their way. Phrameus studied it for a second. It was a Tau Crisis Battlesuit.

“How the hell did they bring this in…?” Loharn sighed and cursed as his bolt pistol began spitting bullets onto the metal machine.

“Squad, fan out!” Phrameus ordered calmly into his vox-mic.

The ten Marines began seeking cover behind fountains, boulders and walls as they began pumping deadly bolter shells onto the Battlesuit.

The machine seemed oblivious to the pounding of bullets; it reared up to its full height, displaying its pulse cannon which it fired into a nearby bush with two Marines seeking cover behind.

Reacting from an experience of countless battles, the two Marines dived out of cover before the spot from which they were seeking cover from was immediately transformed into a smoking crater.

“COVER ME!” Loharn bellowed as the Battlesuit turned on its position to face another threat, facing its back to the Inquisitor. Loharn took this opportunity to stand from where he was crouching and sprinted to the exposed back of the machine. He grabbed a frag grenade from his belt and thumbed a five second activation before thrusting it into the exposed wires on the back of the Battlesuit.

At this time, the machine had realised its mistake and swiveled around to bring its weapons to bear on the running figure of the Inquisitor.

Phrameus knew that five seconds was too long before the Inquisitor would be slaughtered by the weapons of the Battlesuit.

“LOHARN, GET DOWN!” Phrameus bellowed across the cacophony of gun shots, aiming his bolter on the frag grenades lodged in the wire network of the Battlesuit and expending a bullet.

From where he was, Phrameus couldn’t tell whether was it a leap of desperation the Inquisitor made or was it due to the powerful shockwave that sent him flying when the Battlesuit erupted in a ball of flame. Phrameus did not give himself time to think. “Squad, move in!” he ordered as he rushed past the burning wreckage of the Tau machine and smashed open the glassteel door with a powerful kick from his leg.

***

The Ultramarines’ enhanced vision could easily pick out the oncoming squad of twelve Tau warriors in the heavily decorated corridor. Authentic vases and exotic plants could be seen lining the corridor, along with coloured walls which had a rich sweet scent and queer patterns on it. Save for muzzle flashes and occasional detonation of grenades, silhouettes and outlines of the Armoured Adeptus Astartes and Fire warriors could seen in the total darkness.

“Goldon! Freylan! Covering fire!” Phrameus roared as he and his other battle brothers rushed to their prey, brandishing their chain swords and activating them. The sharp and deadly teeth of their weapons roared to life, resounding audibly off the narrow corridor walls.

Phrameus cut down his first foe with ease; slicing the Tau cleanly off the neck, severing several thick bundles of optic cables and alien sinew. The alien staggered on its feet, hands grasping its neck at where its head was. Bright red blood gushed obscenely out from the wound. Phrameus spared it no further attention and leapt to his next enemy.

His next opponent was more of a challenge. It brought up its pulse rifle to block Phrameus’s blow with strength and agility that Phrameus was surprised Tau are capable of. Phrameus threw back his free hand and punched the alien across the face. Its helmet flew off its head, revealing a pale and gaunt alien face which made Phrameus disgusted to see and caused him to punch the Tau with much force on its torso. The Tau released its grip on its weapon. It doubled over and seemed to be in great pain. It lay crouched on the ground, with one hand to its torso and the other to its jaw. Phrameus spared it no mercy and fired his bolter into its head.

Phrameus swore to himself as the Tau’s blood, brain and bone splattered obscenely onto his armour. He would have to go through hours of cleansing and purification to remove such taint. He risked a look around. The Tau’s force was in retreat. Two of the alien warriors were backing away from the fight, firing wildly into the Space Marines and running deeper into the darkness beyond. The other ten had been hacked mercilessly into pieces. A murmuring caught his attention. It was from a body on the floor several footsteps away. Phrameus walked towards it and realised it was a badly wounded Tau. It was bleeding in several places, and its right arm had been severed.

Phrameus ended its existence with a bolter round through its head.

“According to the slate, such Tau squads number in an estimated of seven, with unconfirmed numbers of drones.” Loharn reported calmly to his battle brothers.

“It said nothing of the Battlesuit.” Brother Goldon stated flatly.

“Yes, that is why we must be ever more vigilant and ready.” Phrameus replied.

“Aye.” Chorused his battle brothers.

Phrameus signaled for his squad to follow and began walking down the corridor. He had his eyes peeled onto the ceiling, walls and the floor. Such was the way of the Codex. If there was to be a threat when walking down an empty hallway, it is from the four walls which one is traveling between. The space in between is merely the illusion that all is empty and safe.

They approached a flight of ornate stairs, with banisters that ended in leering gargoyle heads and steps that had paintings and murals engraved onto it. Phrameus began pounding up the stairs, four at a time.

“Captain-get down!” Brother Lydon yelled from behind.

Phrameus immediately reacted and ducked as multiple bolter shells and pulse shots began ripping through the air above him. Lying prone on the stairs, Phrameus looked up.

At first, all Phrameus could make out at the top of the stairs were floating lights and muzzle flashes. However he soon realised that the floating lights were actually Tau drones. Phrameus also identified the muzzle flashes to those belonging to Fire warriors, probably the two which had fled from them earlier or even a whole new squad.

Phrameus knew that soon the drones and Fire warriors would be aware of his prone figure lying directly beneath them. He reached down to his belt dispenser and activated a frag grenade.

“GRENADE!” Phrameus bellowed as he arched his hand high overhead and flung a five second activation frag grenade to the top of the stairs. A queer silence immediately followed as both sides registered the order at different understandings and waited in anticipated silence for the next heartbeat.

The whole house seemed to shake as the grenade detonated, sending broken pieces of metal and mangled alien bodies crashing down the staircase. Phrameus’s second eyelid immediately fell in place, preventing shrapnel and splinters from entering and damaging his eye. “Squad, move on!” Phrameus shouted and charged head on to the next level.

If the Space Marines thought they had vanquished the main Tau forces present on the second level, they were proven horribly wrong. Phrameus emerged at the top of the stairs, looking around and taking in everything at a moments glance. He was in the centre of some sort of a circular area, with four rooms at the north, south, east and west points of the circular room. From each room came charging out several squads of Fire warriors and drones, revealing deadly pulse rifles and carbines pointing at him. The rest of Squad Phrameus emerged at the top of the stairs, bolters and chain swords aiming menacingly at the Tau.

The two groups met in silence, both sides’ trigger fingers on the verge of firing.

“ULTRAMARINES, ATTACK!” Phrameus bellowed the Ultramarines traditional battlecry and stomped straight on into the Tau mass, firing his bolter wildly and bringing his chain sword to bear. His battle brothers hollered similar battlecries and charged head on into the enemy.

“Insane Space Marines!” Inquisitor Loharn’s voice could be heard over the cacophony as he too joined in the fray.

Phrameus fervent shouts of praises to the Emperor were drowned out by the mighty battle which followed. Pulse shots rang off his armour, chipping away precious adamantium pieces and blades were brushed against his body.

Phrameus shrugged them off. He was exacting the Emperor’s holy wrath on the Xenos which killed Arbites officers. He was beyond all pain, shame and guilt. The only redeeming action now is to slay more foes or die in doing so.

Phrameus hacked his way through the seething throng, slashing, cutting and slicing. Tau heads, limbs and body collapsed in his path of death, pungent smelling alien blood splattered across his armour. Phrameus kept his pace until he saw a Tau several metres ahead that looked different from the rest; it wasn’t wearing the usual Fire warrior uniform but was garbed in an alien robe, with various runes and trinkets hung over its neck and limbs. It seemed to be directing the Fire warriors, ordering and commanding them to where help was needed.

Phrameus recognised it as a Tau of the water caste. It had to be the leader of the Tau force here as the water caste were the ones that went ahead with the other castes, controlling and directing them, be it militarily or socially.

The Tau leader saw Phrameus’s approaching figure. Phrameus’s armour was painted bright red, testament to many Taus’ deaths. Against the violent backdrop of vicious hand to hand fighting, Phrameus undaunted form appeared like a floating daemon, coming closer to claim the leader’s life.

The Tau leader turned and fled into the North room. Phrameus followed suit.

The mighty battle taking place in the central area seemed dull and distant as Phrameus entered into what seemed like the nucleus of the Tau’s base of operation. Various unknown devices lay scattered around the square room, with a large opulent mirror which Phrameus guessed was a communicator of some sort.

“Be gone from Vin’Al’drun, Gue’la…” The Tau leader hissed. It was at the end of the room, holding a long ornate staff in one hand. Wild blue energy was crackling at the tip of it with pink smoke swirling around it.

“Do not speak to me with your vile tongue, Xenos.” Phrameus sneered. “Your resistance is futile against the Imperium’s might.” He said as he raised his bolter and fired into the alien.

The alien appeared to shudder for a moment as the bolter rounds appeared to hit it. However it seemed the Tau was merely invoking a spell; one which surrounded it with a blue aura, absorbing and reflecting the bullets away as though splashes of water.

The Tau began muttering alien words and phrases in its tongue, raising its staff high above its head, its tip nearly touching the ceiling. Its voice began to grow louder, an effect which seemed to be further amplified from the four walls surrounding them. At the climax of his incantation, it lowered its staff and pointed it violently to Phrameus, releasing a bright, incandescent ball of white energy towards the Space Marine.

Phrameus had no time to react. The white ball slammed into the Ultramarine, sending him tumbling backwards and slamming onto a wall, cracking his chest plate. Sharp, intense pain shot through his chest, causing his breaths to come in short gasps.

The Tau appeared to repeat its spell, this time closing its eyes and chanting to itself, preparing to deal the final killing blow to the dazed Space Marine. A figure suddenly emerged in front of Phrameus; Inquisitor Loharn.

“Foul Xenos, scourge of the Imperium!” Loharn roared as he charged straight on to the Tau, brining his blood encrusted chain sword to bear. His black armour too bore many gashes and cuts, and blood spilled out from many wounds on his body.

The Tau reacted with much agility and grace; pausing its incantation and adjusting the staff in its grip to block the blow. Sparks of wild blue colour began to dance off the two weapons, with neither combatants giving way.

The Inquisitor pushed down with all his strength; however the Tau still did not give way. Inquisitor Loharn laughed out loud. The foolish Xenos had fallen for the oldest trick in the book.

He brought his left hand down to his waist and took hold of his bolt pistol. The Inquisitor smiled menacingly and fired shot after shot into the Tau’s exposed torso. Blood pooled out of the wounds and the grip on the staff weakened.

Loharn’s strength soon overcame the Tau’s and swiftly brought his chain sword down in a sweeping arc, decapitating the Tau.

Its head flew gracefully through the air, which Inquisitor Loharn reached out to grab it in his free hand. Its body fell hard onto the ground, lifeless, along with its staff which clattered nosily onto the ground. The wild energy that seemed to surround the magical staff dissipated with a loud clap of thunder as the staff touched the ground.

Loharn turned, studying the paralysed form of Phrameus. “Phrameus are you all right?” he called out.

The Space Marine coughed, spitting out blood, “Yes, I am fine, help me up and let us see what has happened to the rest.” He said as he reached out his hand.

With a grunt, Loharn lifted the heavy Space Marine to his feet and walked out of the room. The scene outside was no less gruesome; Tau bodies, wrecked drones and even Space Marine corpses could be seen amongst the pile. The lights in the central area had been turned on, bathing the room in bright white light. After fighting for so long in the dark, everything seemed surreal at first. Squad Tarol was present, bearing similar scars and damage as Squad Phrameus. The walls were pocked marked with many bullet holes, and several smoking craters could be seen on the floor.

“Brother Tarol.” Phrameus uttered as he staggered towards the other squad captain.

Tarol caught Phrameus in his arms before Phrameus could fall face down onto the ground.

“What has overcame him, Inquisitor?” Tarol asked Loharn urgently as he hefted Phrameus’s body onto his shoulder.

“Xenos spell. He needs urgent medicae care and much rest.” Loharn replied.

A mutter could be heard from Phrameus’s parched lips.

“What is it, Brother?” Tarol immediately responded, leaning close to the Space Marine and straining to hear.

“Mission accomplished. Clear out and report back to base.” Phrameus replied, before giving one last violent fit of cough and slipping back into unconsciousness once more.

Fighting With Faith- Thirty-Ninth Entry


Starut cursed. Not only was he cheated into thinking he had control over the Biovores, but he was also tricked into protecting them as they moved around, receiving orders from the unseen Hive mind, millions of kilometers into the depths of space and probably several hundred millions of organisms deep in its own festering bowels of the hive ship.
The advancing tide of enemy transports was like a wave of roaring metal, surging forward at incredible speeds, kicking up great clouds of dust and soot, plunging forward to lay waste the defenders of the warehouse walls.

A nearby hulking form of a Biovore spewed out its spore mines, giving an obscene belching sound as moist and sticky fluid spurted out of its opening on its wet and stretched back, flinging a cluster of spores into the advancing enemy. Although livid over his assigned mission, Starut was somewhat still satisfied with the positive contributions his brood of Biovores was doing. Hopefully, after this battle, Master Barnel would see fit to reward him with enhancements. They had managed to severely damage the advancing Titan, rendering its left arm unusable, probably unfixable till battle’s end. However they had not managed to thwart the many advancing enemy Chimera transports, of which Starut was sure had already infiltrated into certain parts of the warehouse, disgorging its troops.

Starut smiled at the thought of the hidden Ripper swarms, Hormagaunts and Termagaunts broods lying in wait along the walls, waiting to spring an ambush at the right time.
The dim room which Starut and his brood were in shuddered. Starut simply shrugged it off. It was merely an explosion, possibly a direct hit on an ammunition dump or a breach in the wall several levels down.

Starut’s cultist group of fifteen was huddled around the room, one of the hundreds of cultist groups deployed along the warehouse walls giving fire support to the defense effort. The room was dusty and dim, the only source of light coming from a massive crack on the wall which the Biovores spewed their spore mines through. Blocks of rockrete and rubble lay strewn around the room, giving the cultist ample makeshift seats and covering positions as they aimed their various range weapons to the oncoming mass of enemies and firing. Their weapons ranged from converted, looted or self-constructed weapons. Among such were laspistols, bolt pistols, lasguns, and even heavy support variants of missile launchers and lascannons.

“Starut!” Cultist Shaolsen, who was covering the backdoor, called out from behind, “Enemy troops broken in! They’re in the South hanger-directly beneath us. We have orders to hold our position and resume bombardment.” He said as the room shuddered lightly once more, sending dust raining down upon them.

“Got it.” Starut said as he sighted several straggling soldiers running towards the breach in the wall along the barrel of his converted lasgun and firing upon them. The soldiers were clambering out of an overturned Chimera transport, probably bombed out from the defenses on the walls. Several figures fell, too dusty and distant to properly identify their features. One figure, probably a medic, stopped and turn, running back to the victims. Starut laughed out aloud and aimed at his head. With the bobbing head of the medic directly in his scope, Starut fired.

Detonations, gunshots and shouting could be heard from the corridor outside the room now. The fighting seemed to be getting nearer, no less intense. Starut could hear the horrifying, yet assuring shrieks of various Tyranid organisms making their way to the source, in return receiving harsh chattering of lasguns and grenades. Starut could also make out the disturbing sounds of Asat Guardsmen screaming, being massacred as millions of years of evolving alien genes turned upon them, killing and slaughtering at insane speeds.

“Group! Form up at exit door, we shall thwart any attempts by the enemy to break into our room- protect the Biovores at all costs!” Starut bellowed over the cacophony of las shots and explosions.

Starut’s cultist group immediately filed out of the door, making quick sprints to covered areas along the corridor. Starut gestured for five of his cultists to cover the others as they moved down the corridor, nearing the tube shafts and emergency stairwells at the end of it.
The corridor was sparsely lit with glow globes hanging at the sides of it. Cracks and fault lines ran along the walls, as though the very matter of the warehouse was rupturing. Light shudders reverberated through the corridor, drawing cautious glances from the cultists around them and dust and rockrete to flake down upon them.

“Starut, behind. Hormagaunts.” Shaolsen shouted from behind.
Starut immediately stepped out of the way, into an alcove in the wall, just in time to see the slick and glistening forms of several Hormagaunts leaping towards the stairwell, claws extended and fangs revealed menacingly. The Hormagaunts seemed to not have noticed Starut and his group.
Why would they? They’re simply organisms with simple skills. Starut thought to himself.

Starut shuddered. He glanced warily around; making sure no one saw it. He may have served in the cult since it had formed several years ago, but he had not gotten used to the horrifying nature of such aliens.

Starut found it queer that though so different in traits and genes, they served the same purpose. Eradication of the weakling Imperium and perfecting their gene pool was their cause. However the deeds, thinking and philosophy of Starut and such Tyranid creatures were worlds, if not galaxies apart. Sometimes Starut wondered who was in charge.

The Hive fleet provided much-needed Tyranid warriors, numbering in the millions. The cultists in return sowed the seeds for corruption within the Imperium; ready to receive the benefactions and reinforcements form the unseen Hive Mother.
So far, Starut could not perceive the answer, the intricacies of politics amongst the Master cultist and Tyranids seemed to contain information Starut felt he was not capable of understanding yet, or maybe even comprehending.

The detonation of a frag grenade beyond the door he was hiding behind snapped him out of his reverie. The door swung open violently, smacking Starut hard on the face.

“Shit!” Starut hissed as he rubbed his sore nose. Starut stepped back out into the corridor, regrouping with his group. A sucking sound caught his attention as he walked down the corridor. Starut looked down. The floor was covered in slime, probably excreted by the many Tyranid organisms passing through it. Starut cursed.

The corridor was shaking visibly now. Small, thin crack lines could be seen wounding along the walls, and small chips of rockrete began pelting the cultists within. This caused Starut to wish he would be given the order to withdraw from the walls as soon as possible.

“No shafts.” Starut said as he walked past the tube shafts and towards the stairwell. Several cultist groups that had received similar orders to hold the walls emerged from nearby rooms, some covered in ash and rockrete fragments, entering the long and spiraling stairwell to provide resistance at the lower levels. “Can’t you all think? A stray bullet to the shaft is all we need to end up at the bottom under rubble.” Starut said irritably, annoyed at the quizzical glances from his cultists.

Starut and his group clambered down the stairwell, occasionally pausing to look over the railings. They were six floors above and all Starut could see was fellow cultists and Tyranids clambering, scampering and skittering down the stairs. The obnoxious mutants were already deployed at the lower levels, their vast numbers and expendability earning them their place in the defense.

Starut soon reached the bottom, looking at a scene which Starut himself felt so minute and vulnerable. The vastness of the South Hanger was displayed before him, with its high vaulted ceilings above the hanger that stretched over half a kilometre long and nearly a kilometre wide. Long cylindrical silos, suspended engines, broken down machineries and now corpses littered the area. From his perception, Starut estimated several thousands of cultists were already present in this hanger, with the same number or even more Asat Guardsmen pouring into the breach in the wall at the far end of the hanger.

The hanger was a war-zone; its walls were on the verge of crumbling, obviously not built to withstand such a pummeling. Fire and explosions were occurring throughout the compound, with grenades and gun chatter adding to the cacophony. Far ahead, near the breach in the walls, Starut could make out Tyranid and mutant forces combating the invading Asat Guardsmen. Even from where he was standing, Starut could hear the desperate screams and shrieks from the combatants.

A cultist group dashed past him, its leader bellowing orders for them to seek cover amongst the ruins and machines. Several groups ahead of him were forming up behind a collapsed silo, getting ready to mount a counter-attack at a weak point perceived in the Asat Guardsmen assault formation. Several rocket contrails flew over the hanger, ending in a fiery blast of heat over at the other side of the hanger. Gunshots, shouting and explosions were ever present.

Starut gestured for his group to join the converging cultist groups. As he neared, Starut nodded, calling out the other groups’ captain names as he was familiar with them and indicating their support.

The captains nodded, one of them, who Starut knew by the name of Altin, called him over.

“Starut!” Altin yelled “We are going to sneak around their spearhead, hitting them from the right side.” Altin said as he looked at Starut, eyebrows raised. “You got that?” He inquired.

“Yes!” Starut shouted back. “Orders are to hold the walls at all costs?” He said.

“Yes. I assume you too, and everyone else around here!” Altin yelled, gesturing to the running figures of cultists all around them.

Starut was about to reply when a whistle was blown. It was high pitch, piercing through the mighty roar of the battle.

“That’s our call! CHARGE!” Altin bellowed to everyone as the three hundred or so assembled cultists began making their way over collapsed silos, wrecked machines, burnt out husks of vehicles and hideously mangled corpses.

Starut began running, taking extra care not to trip over any pipes and debris on the floor. He could see the yellow coloured uniform of the Asat Guardsmen, spitting on the ground in distaste. Several of them turned and saw the approaching wave of cultists; however they were silenced before they could utter a word.

They looked like stains in the hanger begging to be cleared! Starut thought.

“Shit, shit!” A cultist beside him hollered in pain as a las round through his right thigh. Starut looked down at the prone figure and grunted. He could not afford to stop and help him. Killing was needed to be done, not saving. He thought.
Even if there was no killing to be done, I wouldn’t be bothered either. Starut thought to himself again.

Starut charged on, shooting occasionally at a passing enemy as the cultist wave neared the weak point in the Asat Guard’s assault formation. If they were to succeed, Starut knew the forward elements of the enemy’s attack would be cut off from the main force, giving the cultists, Tyranids and mutants forces ample time to slaughter them and marshal their forces. From there, with the spearhead of the enemy’s attack blunted, it would be possible to repel the remaining Asat elements within the hanger.

***

The cultist wave smashed into the Asat force. Men died within seconds as their enemies came out from nowhere and killed them. Bayonets, blades and guns were stabbed and shot into the backs of the unbeknownst soldiers, drawing pathetic cries from their drowning throats as blood, bone and sinews tore and splatter. Several Asat Guardsmen however did manage to realise the direction from which their assailants came from and fired upon them.

However, as how a well drilled military body reacts to sudden situations, the remaining Asat Guard army eventually turned upon them, drawing out close combat weapons and flinging curses at the cultists. The cultists responded with eerie silence, gesturing the Guardsmen to put their words into action and leaping into bitter melee.

Starut swirled around, slashing and hacking away. He was skilled in the art of close combat and soon he was covered in the blood of his enemies. He breathed heavily as he beheaded another Asat Guardsmen, with more blood splattering onto him. Starut blinked away the grime and sweat in his eyes and looked around. The cultists were fighting hard, with many dead Guardsmen already at their feet. However their numbers were little compared to the still reinforcing Guardsmen coming in from the breach. This could not go on.

“CULTIST!” Starut bellowed over the cacophony of grunting, screaming and cursing. “WE CANNOT HOLD THEM, RETREAT!” he said as he turned his back on the fighting and fled. Cultists that head him turned and fled too, joining Starut as they made their way back to friendly lines.

Starut began running away, stopping occasionally to snap off a shot or two from his converted las pistol as the pursuing enemies. He continued this way for five minutes before realising his mistake.

Starut was lost. After all the intense fighting, he had forgotten from which way they had attacked. He now traveled through unfamiliar parts of the hanger, occasionally chancing upon a cowering or injured enemy and ending his misery.

“Shaolsen, split up. We can’t be caught together. Whatever happens, meet up back with the Biovores. Take care.” Starut said, as he turned right heading down a small avenue littered with collapsed silos and burning materials.

“Yes Starut. May the Hive Mother watch over you.” Shaolsen replied as he turned the other way and continued running.”

The other cultists were left to decide whom to follow, several branching off, finding their own way.

Starut had no time to stop to watch Shaolsen go, but deep inside he felt a twang of sadness. Shaolsen is a good soldier, he thought. He fights, listens and obeys. He was also a thinking soldier, which further proved his worth to Starut.

Starut continued walking. He trod quietly through the ruins, careful to make as little noise as possible and gesturing for the other cultists following him to do the same. He also was on full alert, constantly observing his surroundings to detect anything moving.
A sound of crushing metal could be heard from ahead. Starut stopped, straining to hear what the sound could be.

What is causing such a sound? He thought as he resumed his pace and neared the source of the sound.

As he neared, the sound of crushing metal became louder; it seemed as though the metals being crushed had feelings and were screaming in agony at their disposition. Starut soon saw what was causing it and whirled around. Without a word, he began sprinting from where he had come from, telling himself to never look back.

The loyal cultists that still followed him stood dumbfounded, looking at the running figure of Starut, only to soon realise their folly a moment to late and were mowed down gruesomely by twin-link bolters mounted on advancing Chimera transports. The wave of metal machines with the strong and bold Asat Guard emblem engraved onto its front hull moved onward, spiting bolter shells into the flailing and writhing bodies ahead of it. Several cultists did managed to react in time to run away, however many more were shot mercilessly down.

Heedless of his dying brethren, Starut ran and ran and ran.

Fighting With Faith- Thirty-Eigth Entry

The twenty-two minutes of hell. The twenty-two minutes of helplessness, holed up inside a transport, while shitloads of bombs, spore mines and enemy fire rained down upon them. The twenty-two minutes of hearing exploding transports and screaming comrades, being torn apart and blasted to a million pieces, never to be put together again.

Benlian looked up. In the gloom, he could vaguely make out his men. They were tucked into their seats, their heads bobbing around as their transport made its arduous journey to their destination. Surprisingly, they didn’t look worried. Directly opposite him, Benlian could see Stratile doing a guard check on his lasgun. It was probably what he did when he was nervous or to while away the time. Benlian turned his head right. Beside him, sat the still and silent form of Shralk. His eyes were open and blank, staring into space.

Benlian leaned over. “How’s it going?”

“Huh?” Shralk snapped out of his trance. “Oh, nothing, just waiting till we reach.” Shralk said, casting his gaze onto Benlian.

Benlian waited for ten seconds, looking sympathetically at Shralk. No response.

“Was a terrible sight wasn’t it?” Benlian said.

Shralk sighed. “Yes, never knew spore mines could damage a human so badly.” He took off his Imperial pendant, which hung around his neck, and started to finger it, turning it around and around in his palms.

“Well, more’s to come. And we’re going to need you more then ever. Have you assigned your assistant?” Benlian said.

Shralk pointed across the hold, to a soldier he only recognised by face. He too seemed sad and sullen, constantly locking and unlocking his lasgun’s firing mechanism. He had his eyes closed.

“Tielun. It’s Benlian.” Shralk shouted over the roaring engines across the hold.

Tielun did not respond at first, but immediately snapped to attention after five seconds. “Yes, Shralk? Oh hi Captain Benlian.” He said nervously.

Benlian nodded and whispered to Shralk, “Make sure he’s always ready. Like you.”

Shralk gave Benlian a wink and answered, “Hell, he’s more then that!”

With that, Benlian turned and leaned back onto his seat. Somehow he didn’t feel nervous too, Benlian remarked to himself. Somehow, their transport still-

The transport suddenly rocked wildly from side to side, however this time it seemed as though the explosion was right outside the vehicle. Benlian felt his insides turned upside down as the transport he was in flipped over and landed upside down. Tortured metal screeched and explosions shock the transport.

Benlian shook is his head, clearing the stars that seemed to be swirling around him. He wriggled his toes to make sure it was still there. He could taste and smell blood. “Head count!” he calmly ordered as he unbuckled his belt and tried to work his way around the flipped over transport. Several seats were torn off its hinges, its passengers lying sprawled on the floor. Smoke was drifting from several parts of the hold, along with sparks due to overloaded circuits. Several moans and groans could be heard.

Benlian made his way to the driver’s seat. Its head was smashed by the caved in hull of the transport, its body crushed between its seat and the control port. It was beyond repair. Benlian looked down onto the control port, surprised it was still working. He leaned closer to it and realised, from the tactical map, his transport was no more then fifty metres from the main wall and Titan Azrael had already done its job by clearing a hole in it.

Green blips denoting friendly transports were already working its way through the breach, about ten already at the forefront of the attack were already disembarking its soldiers. Benlian was shock to see the many other red blips, denoting destroyed, crippled or last seen transports. Within a radius of two hundred metres, Benlian could make out eleven red blips. A mighty green star on the map clearly denoted Titan Azrael. It was walking nearer to the wall, about sixty meters behind Benlian’s transport, still firing its Volcano cannon and other powerful guns onto the various gun emplacements and artillery batteries located on the wall.

Now visually aware and alert of his surroundings and the advancement effort, Benlian made his way to the side hatch, which was already opened with several limping and dazed forms clambering out of it. Benlian could make out an injured Lent, still clutching fervently onto his lasgun, amongst the crowd. Shralk and Tielun were still in the transport, tending to three other injured soldiers who couldn’t seem to be able to walk.

“Shralk! We’re moving on. Get Tielun to stay with them. I’ll activate a res-point!” Benlian called out, extricating one out of his two res-point devices from his waist pocket and activating it. He threw it into Tielun’s outstretch bloody hands and signaled for Shralk to follow him.

Res-points were short termed for Rescue-points. Such devices work like beacons; when activated, it alerts central command of dire situations out at the front and prompts it to send reinforcements, medical supplies or heavy support. Being precious and valuable, only two are issued to every company captain, only to be used in the worst of cases.

Benlian leapt out of the wrecked vehicle and looked around. His soldiers were already taking defensive positions around the vehicle: behind boulders, other wrecked vehicles and ruins. Smoke, sand and soot stung Benlian’s eyes. A completely burned out Chimera transport wreck could be seen no more then ten metres away. Charred, broken and mangled bodies within it were all evident to the harsh bombardment their insertion point had received.

Chimeras still roared by them, throwing up powerful gusts of sand. Through the haze, Benlian could make out the hulking giant of Titan Azrael, unleashing power and energy beyond his understanding and stomping forward. A powerful crack of thunder followed by a sonic boom resounded off the distant walls of the battlefield as the Titan fired its Volcano gun, scoring a huge crater on the walls but not breaking it. Several minor chain explosions could be seen along the walls as the shot seemed to have been tactically planned.

Out here, all Benlian smelled was smoke and all he could see was blazing wrecks of Chimeras and corpses. The usual yellow sky with its twin suns overhead seemed distant, obscured by the heat and haze being generated from the battle below.

Spore mines, bombs and enemy fire still rained down upon them, a particular bomb exploding twenty metres away.

“SHIT! Benlian, we should move out!” Kennil bellowed through the cacophony.

Benlian nodded. Although so near to death, Benlian still felt specially calm and cool. He felt that if he was to die in this moment and place, so be it. The Emperor decides all for the best of all, he thought.

“Bel Company, scatter formation. Make your way through the walls and group up at staging point Aplha. Go!” Benlian ordered.

From here, it was a mad sprint. Explosions ringed off Benlian’s ears while bullets whizzed past him, Chimera transports roared by them, sand and smoke swirling around them. Benlian could already make out silhouettes through the haze, of people disembarking from their transports and making their way to their respective Staging point.

Within ten seconds, Benlian, along with the rest of his company, were in the confines of the warehouse. They were in a vast hanger of some sort, where plane wings and engines hung suspended on chain pulleys. The far walls of the hanger could be seen, with both humanoid and alien figures running along the lifts and gangways. Smoke and haze still drifted into the building, and the deadly battlefield mere meters away seem distant and dull.

Benlian didn’t know whether to feel safe or worried. He looked around, already seeing various companies making their way through the hanger. Several transports were already firing its armaments into swarms of Tyranid broods rushing towards them. Gunfire could be heard at the other end of the hanger, evident of the cultists’ awareness of their presence.

“Bel Company,” Benlian gasped for breath, “Staging point Alpha is beyond the hanger, in the next room. Move out!” Benlian said as he signaled for Kennil to take over Squad Belues.

Kennil gave Benlian a nod and a thumbs up, turning his back and making his way through the hanger.

Benlian caught a shimmer to his left. He whirled around, simultaneously whipping out his lasgun and brining it to bear. All he saw was many tall cylindrical pillars, probably fuel and lubricant storages. Suddenly, an obscene claw ripped out of the nearest cylinder, next to him. Benlian yelped and leapt backwards, firing his lasgun into in. Black ichors ran through the holes through which Benlian’s lasgun shots had made.

Benlian and his squad immediately could hear several more similar sounds, and were horrified to see more claws, talons and blades slicing open the cylinders with ease, revealing horrifying alien heads, sharp serrated teeth, and the terrifying fact that they had just stumbled upon a Tyranid Hormagaunt brood.

Fighting With Faith- Thirty-Seventh Entry

What Benlian thought of safety and security under the embracing shadow of the Titan high above them was proven otherwise as palm-sized spore mines fell out of the sky, producing hissing and sucking sounds as they struck home onto armour, flesh and bones. All around him, people started doubling over, their biological systems already beginning to be mutated by the extremely acidic toxins and bacteria being injected into their body systems.

A soldier beside him threw up blood before falling to the ground, thrashing about wildly as though being prodded cruelly by electrocuting rods. Benlian could see a gross spore mine clutching tightly onto his torso. All around, more and more were claim victims to this surprise spore mine attack, screaming in agony and dying in pain.

“Board your transports, NOW!” Benlian roared over the sickening scene and sound of a level of carnage he had never witnessed before. He felt so helpless, even the medics around seemed at a loss at such a sudden number of critical condition patients in their care, with hell’s shit still raining down upon them.

This is definitely not how things should have begun, Benlian thought.

Somewhere off, Benlian could hear a low, booming klaxon, signaling their advance to the warehouse walls. Several loud thumping sounds could be heard, throwing up great gusts of dust and sand around them, which Benlian soon realised were the huge leg pistons that the Titan was moving, raising its left arm at the same time, revealing it’s charging stance in all its powerful and awe inspiring glory. It brought its weapon to bear on the distant walls of the warehouse, no more than five hundred metres away from its current position.

Benlian was no more than five paces away from his Chimera transport, its tight confines and gloomy interior never seemed more inviting. It was already scoured in many places by spore damage; however the vehicle would be strong enough to carry them across the field to their objective. Above the turret hatch, their transport gunner was urging and waving them on, flailing his arms frantically as he watched Bel Company sprinting the last few metres to safety.

Benlian clambered onboard, followed by fourteen other Guardsmen that crashed into the gloom after him. They all were panting heavily; sweat visibly flowing down their faces. They looked around, uncertainly.

“Where’s Kennil- and Joil? Lent too!” Marcum gasped out, eyes still wild and wide as he looked around the transport. Some had their faces cast down; others had their eyes closed in fervent prayer. Others glanced inquisitively back at Benlian, expecting a sort of command from him.

None came.

Deep in his mind, Benlian knew that to go back out into that hell storm would be fatal, both to his company and the advance as a whole. All companies were required for this crucial yet risky part of the mission.

“We wait.” Benlian said. He looked out of the exit hatch, still seeing hurried figures and silhouettes amid the hail of spore mines. Several transports were already leaving the scene, heading into a spearhead formation that led towards the warehouse.

Many dead bodies were already on the floor, some Benlian wished he had not seen. Unknown alien organisms crept out of the corpses, some still wriggling out of dying victims, causing their prey to scream ever more desperately and wildly as their company captains knew better than to place the mission over their men, leaving them to their own grisly fate.

After two agonising minutes, Benlian was about to give the call to advance as a soldier within the transport, nearer to the rear exit gave out a shout.

“There they are! Three- no four of’em!” He exclaimed as he reached out.

Joil and Kennil were running as fast as they could, supporting a limping Lent in between them. A frantic looking Shralk was following behind them, hastily applying bandages and salves onto Lent’s leg wound.

The rest of the company urged them on, beckoning them to be faster.

Soon, they were in the safe embrace of their fellow Guardsmen and Chimera transport, which Kennil express his gratitude by giving Benlian a wink. Benlian entered the cockpit, gesturing the driver to join the advance. He then headed back into the passenger hold, counting the number who made it.

One was missing, and all Benlian needed to know was a grim nod from Shralk to know what had happened.

They were in a more composed state now. Shralk went from person to person, tending and prescribing salves, bandages and medicines to the people who needed it. He soon approached Benlian, who Benlian dismissed with a gesture.

When he was done with the rest, he went back to Lent, in the corner of the hold, prescribing him painkillers and further cleaning his wound.

“Ok listen up, that wasn’t in the plan however worse shit is coming.” We’re currently traveling our last five hundred metres to the walls, where within this period Titan Azrael would be giving us heavy support by blasting a hole in it.” Benlian shouted over the roar of the engines. “Anymo-”

Boom, a loud explosion could be heard. Eyebrows were raised and everyone made their way to the side windows to see what was happening.

Benlian thought that was the Titan doing its work, but the cursings and shock exclamations given off by his soldiers made him think otherwise. Benlian immediately made his way to the nearest window, elbowing and nudging people aside as he peered out of it.

At first, he couldn’t make out the large amounts of sand that was being churned up by the many Chimera tracks around his, momentarily obscuring his view. However, Benlian soon recoiled in horror. The sand around him was actually thrown up by the impact of a Chimera transport blowing up.

Soon, multiple detonations began landing around them, some hitting home on Chimera transports, blowing vehicles and its passengers within it to oblivion, some managing to cripple them. Their transport was rocked wildly from side to side, sometimes leaping clear off the ground as a bomb exploded beside them.

“Holy shit…” Stratile muttered under his breath.