Cyrus had rushed to the Apothecarium as soon as the Thunderhawk had docked, leaving Xanthis to be carried by Chapter serfs. He stood over the Captain's body, head bowed. The Captain looked like a corpse. His skin was tight and coarse, and his multiple wounds leaked black blood. His right arm had been amputated at the shoulder. The Captain's unconscious brow was furrowed in agony, his remaining eye closed. Locked in a stasis field, Captain Thule would wait until the Blood Ravens discovered a cure for the poisons that had devastated his body.

Cyrus heard the hiss of the automatic door and turned to face Gordian as he walked in, wiping his gauntlets with a rag. The apothecary had worn his armor ever since Thule had been injured. He moved to stand next to Cyrus.

"Sergeant," he said, "I thought I had heard about your return."

"What happened?" Cyrus simply asked.

"He underestimated the tyranids. His force overextended itself and was nearly overrun. He fell to a tyranid warrior. Magnus slew it and I have spent the last day and a half dissecting it."

"And? Can you cure him?" asked an impatient Cyrus.

"Not with what I have. One of the objectives given to Borian's force on Typhon was to discover a tyranid reclamation pool. The biochemical data we receive from that should allow us to cure Captain Thule, as well as create a poison to kill the Tyranid Norn Queen."

"A poison…" Cyrus said to himself. "Who devised this plan?"

"It was Techmarine Martellus, Sergeant Cyrus."

"I see." Said the Sergeant, to no one in particular. "I take my leave then. Do not let him die, Apothecary."

"I will not fail." Swore Gordian.

Having failed to find Martellus in his workshops, Cyrus traveled to the bridge. It was empty of marines. After consulting the watch officer on deck, he traveled to one of the astropath chambers nearby. There he met Martellus, as well as the Sergeants and Aramus. Standing near them was the frail form of an astropath, his large robes and hood nearly covering his whole body. As the scout sergeant entered, Tarkus turned.

"Cyrus, we have missed you greatly." The others nodded sullenly. Even Thaddeus looked disheartened.

"What is the reason for gathering here?"

Thaddeus brightened as he said "We have finally received an astropathic message from other Blood Ravens. We were about to listen when you arrived."

Cyrus stepped into the small room and shut the door. "By all means, continue."

Hidden in the dim light, the astropath spoke. "Commander, this is Captain Angelos aboard the Battle Barge Litany of Fury. Techmarine Martellus has informed me of the tyranid threat in subsector Aurelia as well as his plan to defeat it." The astropath had taken the voice and tone of Gabriel Angelos. "It has little precedent, and will be very risky. To deliver such a poison, the main hive ship must be attacked while it feeds. This would put your strike force in grave danger. As for Captain Thule, we can only pray that the data yielded by the digestion pool will lead to a cure. The Litany of Fury is travelling at full speed towards Subsector Aurelia, but we are more than two weeks away. You must hold out until then, by any means."

The message ended at that, leaving the astropath breathing heavily. The group of space marines moved to one of the tactical rooms nearby before saying anything else. Once inside and seated, Cyrus said, "Third Company or not, if this poison does not kill the Norn Queen, we are doomed. Even if the plan works, our chances are still slim."

"You fear the alien Cyrus?" asked Avitus.

"I know no fear Avitus. But I am the only one who knows what we truly face. Tyranids. A foe literally without number. Billions upon billions of beasts that only wish to consume, all controlled by a single vast consciousness."

"You have fought them before?" asked Thaddeus.

"Long ago," replied Cyrus, "when I served in the Deathwatch. We were assigned to a world called Casio Tertius in the closing days of a Tyranid invasion. We were ordered to capture a beast known as a zoanthrope. They are command and control units for the xenos, and are fearsome psykers as well. This species had never been taken alive before, and it was the duty of the kill-team to do so. Thirty marines, the elite of their chapters, went. Only eight returned alive. But we took the beast with us. They are not a force to be underestimated."

"What is the best tactic to use against them Cyrus?" questioned Tarkus.

"Shoot the big ones," said Cyrus with a smile. "Killing them disrupts the link to the Hive Mind. The psychic backlash could be powerful enough to kill smaller beasts."

"Your advice is invaluable Sergeant." Said Aramus. "With the aid of the Emperor, the beasts will defeated quickly, and with minimal losses."

"Praying for minimal losses during a tyranid invasion is folly Commander." Said Cyrus, resignation in his voice.

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Meridian was a nice change for Sergeant Merrick. It had been only a short trip on that Mechanicus vessel before he was reunited with his regiment. The 203rd Vendoland regiment was severely understrength and General Hastus had been forced to consolidate their position in the upper parts of Angel Hive. While it was nice to be out of the forests of Typhon, Merrick would never get used to having a roof over his head while outside. When he looked up, all he could see was metal, with only a bit of sunlight sneaking through cracks in the ceiling far above. When he had returned to his unit, his makeshift squad was attached to a grenadier company. Soon they were fitted with carapace armor and hellguns. Merrick had never fired a hellgun in anger, but had been told they were very powerful.

His platoon was on a routine patrol today. The forty men were patrolling a hab area built for industrial workers. The area had been home to multiple riots in the last few days. Merrick had also been informed that ork looters had been sighted in the area. A few ork craft had made it through the planetary defenses when the planet came under light attack a week before. Merrick's squad walked through the hab block, large buildings rising on the side of the twenty yard wide road. Each building could contain hundreds, if not thousands of workers, who lived in dark, cramped conditions. Merrick's squad advanced slowly, ready for any danger. They encountered few citizens on their path, most hid within their habs without working. To the Administratum, that was unacceptable.

Merrick checked his chronometer, getting a reading of 15:00 hours. Even though it was day, the combination of the partial metal roof and the soot in the air created a twilight that reduced the squad's visibility to less than a hundred yards. The squad had to be careful if they didn't want to be ambushed.

Suddenly the point-man raised a hand in a fist and dropped to his knee. The rest of the platoon followed suit. Merrick moved up with Lieutenant Drak, the platoon leader. The carapace armored guardsmen stopped next to the point-man and stared out into the distance.

"I thought I saw movement sir. On the other side of that plaza. Can't be sure though. Impossible to see anything in this bloody smog." The grenadier raised his hellgun, panning it across the road before him. Drak made two swift hand motions and the squad took up a tactical formation. They advanced in two wedges into an open area. It seemed like a small recreational center, completely abandoned. It was an open field of rockcrete, with benches positioned liberally throughout it. At the far end, about seventy yards away from the platoon, there was a statue of the Emperor standing as tall as the buildings around it.

The squad quickly advanced and dropped into cover behind a small wall that marked the edge of a rockcrete scrumball court. At the edges of the plaza, Merrick could see movement. The Lieutenant opened his satchel hanging off his belt. He pulled out his orders, a mass of crumpled papers. Scanning through them quickly, he said to Merrick, "Sergeant-Major, our orders state that we are to fire, even if we do not have hostile confirmation."

"Sir, there could be civvies in the line of fire!" protested Merrick.

"Rather a civilian die than a guardsman." Said Drak sadly.

"Well sir, I'm not happy about it, and if you're wrong there will be hell to pay." He waved forwards two men, each carrying bulky grenade launchers. The men raised their weapons and each fired a grenade toward the far side of the plaza. Seconds later the squad was on the move, firing at anything they thought was a target. Screams of pain filled the air, quickly drowned out by the crack of hellgun fire. When the shooting stopped, Merrick's fears had been confirmed. Nearly thirty civilians had been killed. Merrick crouched down next to a young woman. She had been shot in the chest. Next to her was a young boy, shredded by shrapnel. His blood formed a wide pool, dripping into the gutter near the curb.

Merrick stood and looked away, his expression grim. He was about to speak out to Lieutenant Drak when one of his men tackled him. As soon as he hit the ground, the building behind them was consumed in a tremendous explosion. A large hole had been blown in the hab building. The edges of the hole glowed red hot and dripped with slag. The squad was under small arms fire seconds later. Shuriken fire tore four of the men to pieces in seconds. Merrick could see black armored figures down the street ahead of them.

"Eldar, shoot'em men!" shouted Merrick. He brought his hellgun around and settled it against his shoulder. He aimed at one of the shifty figures and pulled the trigger. Just as he did so, the thin alien ducked and the orange bolt sailed harmlessly over his head. Then the Eldar returned fire, sending dozens of shuriken flying towards Merrick, who dropped into cover as quickly as he could. He felt a series of thuds against his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Safe behind a small wall, he examined himself for injuries. He noticed three metal stars protruding from his chestplate. Moving very carefully, he pulled them one by one out of his armor. Suddenly he was thankful for the heavy, constrictive armor. He turned and brought his gun up again. The platoon was falling back under fire from the Eldar. Merrick caught another in his sights, and this time fired a burst of shots. The Eldar managed to avoid one, but was thrown of its feet by two others. The hellgun had cleanly bored through its flexible wraithbone armor.

Another explosion rocked the plaza. The ground twenty yards behind Merrick was marred by a giant hole. Moments later, Merrick saw the Eldar vehicle. It was sleek and black, and on one side there was a large, cut crystal mounted on the hull. A second piece near it fed a stream of light into the crystal, and seconds later a wide beam of energy was fired towards the platoon. Eight men were vaporized instantly now that the tank had a clear line of sight on them. With a shout, Lieutenant Drak ordered a tactical withdrawal. The remainder of the platoon ran across the plaza as the fire prism tank fired its cannon again, killing another six. Merrick and the rest of the grenadiers dropped behind a small fountain and raised their weapons to return fire, and saw nothing to shoot at.

Merrick cursed, the fething Eldar were gone. The Sergeant Major looked his platoon over. Less than half were still alive. He heard one of his men, Guardsman Alek, speaking into his vox. "Yes, sir. Right away. Roger that, I'll tell him." Dropping his vox mike, he said, "Lieutenant, the General reports that the Eldar are everywhere. The 203rd is under attack all over the spire. We are under orders to regroup with the nearest Company and make our way back to the rest of the 203rd. The regiment as a whole will then move into defense of Angel Gate from the inside."

Merrick stood up. Dozens of people were coming out of their houses. Covered in dust and blood, they wandered towards the guardsmen. They looked lost and confused; their sunken eyes showing the classic signs of the thousand yard stare. They closed on the platoon, asking for help. Merrick frowned as Lieutenant Drak told them that he couldn't help them. He didn't even attempt to protest though. He didn't like it, but Drak was right. There were not enough of them to protect the civilians, and the platoon wouldn't be in the area for much longer anyway. Turning away from the sobbing civilians, Drak shouted out their orders, and the platoon set out towards Angel Gate to join up with the rest of the 203rd Vendoland.

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This world made Idranel sick. Its manufacturing facilities were nothing compared to the gifts of the bonesingers, and the stench and smog they created was disgusting. She and Draoi stood in a wide street in the underhive, the glow lamps on the street corners doing little to illuminate the damp, dark alleyways. In ages past, the Eldar had used this world as a trading post. Some of the webway gates built then still functioned, and Idranel had used them to bring her force stealthily onto Meridian. Surrounding the two Eldar, were dozens of others. The pathfinder Ronahn, the Banshee Exarch Tyrea, Arcadia, Exarch Heulen of the Swooping Hawks, Spiritseer Uiremon, Aerelth. All had come with Idranel to save the Tears of Isha, the most valuable item to an Eldar.

"Comrades. The plan is simple." Announced Idranel, raising her voice so all could hear her. "Disperse throughout this city and attack the mon-keigh military units. We must force them to regroup, at their primitive gate. The forge will be open to attack if this goes as planned."

"Farseer, would it not be wiser to eliminate them separately? If they consolidate at that gate, no matter how skilled or numerous we are, displacing them will be impossible." Questioned Huelen.

"Huelen, orks always move to a fight. And when the Great Devourer arrives it will move to the site of most resistance. My plan is to make the Forge that place. The mon-keigh will be too busy fighting orks and tyranids to even notice us."

"And if they do notice us, Farseer?" asked Huelen.

"Then we will kill them all." Finished Idranel.

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It was eight o'clock in the evening. Administrator Elena Derosa was already working overtime and it looked like the night wasn't going to end for her any time soon. That morning, Governor Vandis had been complaining of bad dreams and headaches, and decided to spend the day with his council, leaving Administrator Derosa to deal with the day to day functioning of the subsector, quite a task for a glorified secretary. She sifted through the large piles of paper on her desk. Requests for riot suppression, food shortages, gunfire in noble spires. Meridian was going to hell. She heard a knock at the door and looked up. Adept Karl walked in, carrying a new packet of paper under his arm. He carefully stepped over the loose paper that covered the floor, as well as one or two empty amasec bottles.

"Throw it on the pile with the rest." Ordered Derosa, now reading about the Arbites requesting assistance purging mutants in Hive Blaumos, half the world away. She had nothing she could give them. She opened one of her desk drawers and pulled an official looking sheet of paper from it. On the top it said "Request reviewed and denied". The rest of the paper outlined vague reasons why the Governor could not answer this request (or any given request) at this time. She signed her name and put it in an envelope.

"Administrator, I think you'll want to see this one." Said Karl, handing her the packet after Derosa sighed and extended her hand. She scanned the top page. Two emotions ran through her head. Terror was first. Eldar were in the hive. They were everywhere. The guardsmen of the 203rd Vendoland were being attacked from everywhere at once. Where guardsmen were absent, the Eldar attacked communications centers and supply depots. Four of the major manufactorums were disabled. Angel Forge however, was secure however, under the watchful eyes of the 85th Vendoland regiment in its entirety.

"The Hive is falling apart," said Derosa in disbelief. She put her hand to her forehead. She had a feeling all of this stress would give her a fever. "Leave command of the regiment to General Hastus. Governor Vandis had knowledge of tactics, but I do not. Give the good General full command of his forces."

Karl nodded as Derosa's vox chimed. She picked up the receiver and immediately said "I don't have time for this, put them on hold." Karl watched as her face turned inquisitive, then fearful, and finally grew a wide smile, as if all of her fears had been washed away.

"Karl, come with me," Derosa ordered, running out the door, the tails of her red dress coat trailing behind her as she sprinted to the emergency situation room. The overweight adept waddled behind her, pulling at the collar of his shirt. As they entered, they were greeted by the tactical staff that counseled Governor Vandis. The distinguish individuals stood stiffly in their dress clothes, standing before a video wall. Presented on the grainy display was the bridge of a starship. To the pleasure of Derosa, a group of Space Marines stood in the picture. Their armor was the color of dried blood, and their shoulder pads were the color of bone. At their center was a young Astartes with combed brown hair. His expression was serious, and the other marines seemed to defer to them.

"I- My Lord Astartes, welcome to Meridian orbit," said Derosa. Even though she had heard of their arrival over the vox, it was completely different when speaking to one. "I am Administrator Derosa, assistant to Governor Vandis."

"I am Aramus." Responded the brown haired marine. "You will give us access to Angel Forge immediately." There was no patience in his voice. Derosa had the impression that this one tended to get what he wanted. At this point, she knew the defenses of the Hive would fall without the Astartes. However, Angel Forge was under the authority of the Governor, and no one but the Magos could override his orders. If she tried, Derosa could be executed for treason.

"My lord, that would be impossible right now. The Forge's schedule is set years in advance by the Governor."

"Where is the esteemed Governor?" asked a marine with grey hair and augmetics, scorn in his voice. "Is he too proud to speak to Blood Ravens?"

"My Lords, Governor Vandis has been ill these past two days. The only people he will see is his privy council." Derosa did not want to anger the marines; they were the only hope she had. "I only wish the Governor was here. There is far too much for someone as unqualified as me to handle."

"We do not care about your situation Administrator." Said the grey haired marine.

"Avitus, we should listen at least. What sort of situation?" asked a bald marine, standing next to the one called Aramus. Derosa brightened on the inside. He was concerned. Perhaps he could convince Aramus to fight against the Eldar for her.

"The Eldar are attacking key positions across this Hive. The Imperial Guard regiments stationed here are being routed. Please, I beg you. If you could use your expertise to deal with the Eldar, then I may be able to convince Governor Vandis or the Magos to allow you special access to Angel Forge."

"Commander" said the bald marine. "I know we are on a tight schedule, but we cannot allow the Eldar to destroy Meridian's infrastructure before the tyranids arrive."

"I concur Tarkus. It could disrupt our usage of the Forge." Said Aramus. "Administrator, deliver to us your tactical information and we will deal with the Eldar. However, we will use Angel Forge in the near future, permission or no."

"I will do my best. Before, your Sergeant Tarkus mentioned the tyranids. There have been rumors that these aliens are in the sector."

"Not rumors, Administrator. We have fought them ourselves. The tyranid threat is the reason we must access Angel Forge with such haste." Tarkus said.

"My lord, surely this threat is something you can handle on your own?" asked Derosa. She didn't believe that a Space Marine couldn't fight a simple alien.

"With the whole Chapter perhaps." Replied Tarkus. "But with less than sixty Battle-Brothers, we cannot face this threat without help."

"Administrator." Said brown haired marine wearing carapace armor. "Have there been reports of mutated wildlife or strange spores in the air? Possibly attacks on civilians?"

"No, there haven't. The Magos Biologis has researched the tyranids extensively and informed me personally that there was no trace of them on our planet." Derosa was quite sure. The Magos had visited her yesterday. He did not inform her however, of what kind a threat they were. For an Astartes to be concerned, they must be truly fearsome.

"That is impossible." Replied the marine. "Tyranids do not simply pass worlds by. Unless. . ." his eyes widened, but then he shook his head and spoke softly to himself. "No. That is highly unlikely."

One of the tactical staff whispered something to Derosa and she nodded. "Commander, the tactical data has been sent. I thank you for your assistance. Emperor be with you."

"And with you as well Administrator." Returned the Commander.

After the link cut, Derosa sighed and crumpled into a chair. "Administrator?" asked a concerned Karl.

"I'm fine. Let's just hope I can live up to my end of the bargain. The Astartes will not fail at theirs." After a moment to catch her breath she said "Karl, get me the vox code for the Magos Technicus. Negotiations need to begin immediately if I'm going to get the Cogboys to move an inch."

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"The Eldar are moving in force, Commander." Said Tarkus, looking over the tactical information sent from the Administratum office on Meridian. "The Administrator was right. The Guard are being routed. We must deploy immediately if we are to do anything."

"Sergeant Tarkus, what do you believe the primary targets are?" asked Aramus.

"Here," said Tarkus, pointing to a position in Angel Hive. "There is what seems to be an Eldar fire prism grav tank wrecking havoc amongst the manufactorum and surrounding hab blocks here. This is also a threat." He said, pointing to an area in the Capital Spire. "There seems to be a wraithlord destroying noble houses. There is no doubt a warlock in the vicinity."

"I see." Concluded Aramus. "We must split our forces. Avitus, you and Cyrus will destroy the grav tank." The two sergeants nodded as Aramus continued, "The rest of us will engage the wraithlord and the forces that no doubt surround it. Thaddeus, make sure to pack melta bombs, we will need them."

"Commander," said Cyrus. "The Eldar are attacking at random, or that is what they want us to think." He pointed to a spot on the maps, less than ten miles from Angel Gate. "The guardsmen are falling back towards this location. If the Eldar wish to annihilate them, it would be done here. The streets are too cramped for the guardsmen to maintain order. They would be slaughtered."

"We will regroup there then. If the Eldar try to press their advantage, we will face them. Enough talk. To the drop pods, we have no time to waste."

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Tarkus' squad was seated in the drop pod. Nikephoros was performing last minute checks to his bolter. Finally he was ready to get back into combat. He looked over at Lyon, sitting across from him, and nodded in acknowledgement before affixing his helmet. Paulus was well again too. The wounds he received at Fellhammer had only recently healed, and he was just as happy to return to the squad. With Azra's death however, the squad was down to six marines, four under the Codex mandated standard. Commander Aramus joined them in the drop pod, taking one of the four empty seats. He had a content smile on his face up until the moment of launch, when a serious expression replaced it, ready for battle.

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Avitus and Cyrus knelt behind a slab of rockcrete, torn from the ground. They had the smallest force, and a difficult task ahead of them. They could see flashes in the darkness in the distance. The industrial area they had dropped in was silent save for the sounds of gunfire resonating off the metal factories and warehouses. As far as either of them knew, any guardsmen in this area had long since retreated. Cyrus stood, and motioned to the four other scouts. The squad advanced, Avitus' four marines trailed behind them, hefting their heavy weapons. At the next intersection, Cyrus dropped to his knee behind a razor wire barricade. He looked around the corner down the intersecting street. Seeing nothing, he motioned the squad forwards. He could hear the prism cannon's discharge in the distance. They had a ways yet to travel.

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In contrast to Avitus' team, Aramus' force was in combat the instant they exited their drop pods. They landed very close to the wraithlord's position, as it was attacking noble houses situated on the upper spire, open to the sky. Aramus jumped out of his seat in the drop pod, already hearing gunfire. The Eldar were only ten yards away at the farthest. He immediately shot a guardian that was attempting to gain some distance. He felt pain on his cheek. A shuriken had grazed him, leaving a deep gash. Harkon had stayed aboard the Armageddon to help Gordian. Suddenly Aramus was wishing he had worn a helmet. He shot that Eldar and then pressed forwards. In the distance he could see the wraithlord, tearing at the buildings around it with a giant single edged sword. More than fifty Eldar stood between it and Aramus' force.

Augustine tore his chainsword through a guardian that had been unlucky enough to be right next to their drop pod. It was good to fight again. His wound had kept him out of combat for far too long. The drop pods had landed in a nobleman's estate. The Eldar had swiftly moved in and killed the hired guards, and set about destroying everything of value. The exquisite plaza the Astartes had dropped in was already ruined when they arrived. Augustine followed Thaddeus as he charged. Though the Eldar were deadly, they had been caught by surprise when the drop pods had landed. Thaddeus chopped through three before they had even thought to turn their guns on him. The six assault marines dropped behind an elaborate plant display, already shot to pieces. Tarkus' squad advanced steadily, unloading disciplined bolterfire into the aliens. Augustine could see Nikephoros and Lyon fighting side by side.

"Squad, activate jump packs." Ordered Thaddeus. Seconds later, the squad crashed down on a group of Eldar setting up a weapons platform. Thaddeus' power sword cut the wraithbone construct into pieces. The Eldar quickly pulled back, running at high speeds towards the wraithlord near the nobleman's palace. The assault squad was under fire. Brother Alaris dropped to his knees, bleeding from several injuries in his legs and abdomen. Thaddeus quickly grabbed him, throwing him out of the line of fire. They were isolated, ahead of the main group. Augustine and the rest of the assault squad dropped into cover, firing their bolt pistols at the Eldar.

"Remember your training brothers!" cried Augustine, "The Eldar are deadly!"

Thaddeus stepped back; a shuriken was protruding from his helmet. Dropping behind a stone wall, he removed his helmet, wincing at the sudden influx of noise not blocked by the autosenses. He recovered quickly, and resumed firing as the rest of the force advanced. He paused in his shooting when he heard s noise behind him. A trap door on the lawn, covered in grass, opened up. From it came a large group of men in red battledress, bearing ornate lasguns. Thaddeus assumed they were guards from the Noble estate they were on. They must have been hiding, waiting for the precise moment to reveal themselves. The guards silently began firing at the Eldar, to little effect. Augustine smiled when he saw them. They would be a perfect distraction.

For some reason, thought Lyon, he was hitting the Eldar much better than the rest of his squad was. Even Sergeant Tarkus was looking at him in what could pass for amazement. Lyon aimed at a group of Eldar taking cover behind a fallen statue and fired. He half expected one to duck his shot. He was thoroughly surprised when one of the Eldar was thrown back, upper torso gone in a spray of blood.

"A good kill Lyon." Congratulated Nikephoros. "Perhaps the Techmarine was right; your gun's machine spirit is strong."

"Aye, thank you brother, but there are more to kill. Perhaps some of the citizens here are still alive. We must save them if possible."

Tarkus' squad advanced behind Commander Aramus towards a large flight of stairs. The Eldar around them were retreating faster than Aramus could catch them. Evidently they didn't want to suffer too many casualties. Halfway to the stairs, Aramus reached Thaddeus' position, now reinforced by the estate guards. The full group pressed forwards again, and met the Eldar at the stairs, where a stand was attempted. Brother Brochus from Tarkus' squad fell, his leg torn off by a mass of shuriken. Six of the guards fell as well, melted by some sort of plasma weaponry. Thaddeus squad charged the stairs with Aramus as Tarkus' squad attempted to protect Brochus, stopping his bleeding with some coagulant stims.

"Nikephoros, watch over him, we will advance." Ordered Tarkus.

"Understood, brother-sergeant." Replied Nikephoros. He was displeased. Was he unworthy to fight because he had been wounded on Calderis? Would Brochus suffer the same shame?

"Nikephoros." Groaned Brochus. "I have a bolter. Go and join the others."

"Nonsense. My brother is wounded and I am ordered to protect him. I would never leave his side."

"How noble." Laughed Brochus. "I thank you then." He immediately brought up his bolter, firing towards the drop pods. "We are flanked, Brother!" Eldar had surrounded the Space Marines. Nikephoros quickly grabbed Brochus' backpack, dragging him behind a hedge. It wasn't much cover, but it would have to do. Both marines began firing at the new enemies, who were unable to close the distance under fire.

Nikephoros opened his vox. 'Brother-Sergeant, we have been flanked. We will kill them, but assistance may be required."

"I copy that Brother. For the Great Father and the Emperor."

"Yes indeed." Said Nikephoros as he fired into the foolish aliens.

Aerelth fought alongside Uiremon against the mon-keigh. He could see clearly with the old seer near him. The obscure shadows in his sight had consolidated into figures. His sight was dim usually, and ever changing. He could see the souls of the animals moving to attack them. Most dark, shifting in the darkness. He could see two however, bright. One nearly as bright as Uiremon. He panned his numerous weapons, unleashing hails of shuriken and energy. He felled one with his shuriken cannon, removing its leg. He only wished he had killed it. It was wrong to leave an animal in suffering. Uiremon stood at his feet, unleashing blasts of fire and lightning from his hands, his shape wavering in the sight of the humans. His powers made him very difficult to hit indeed.

Aerelth was still slow however. Too slow to stop the leaping mon-keigh from flanking him. He turned to fire his shoulder mounted starcannon as one of the dim ones threw something. He reached out his hand to slap it away, and his arm exploded. Aerelth was dead, there was no pain to feel. He had no flesh and blood left, dead as he was. He took four giant steps back, Uiremon following him, charging his psychic energy. For a moment, the mon-keigh stopped shooting, and Aerelth heard the spiritseer's voice, urging him to run. The two fled into the darkness past the estate, the Astartes not pursuing.

Nathaniel Augustine blinked. Thaddeus had removed the Eldar walker's arm with a melta bomb, and suddenly the xenos were gone. Before they had vanished, Augustine thought he could feel something coming from the Warlock at the construct's feet.

"Sergeant Thaddeus, I believe this was Eldar witchery that allowed their escape." Stated Augustine.

"How so?" asked the Sergeant, reloading his bolt pistol as the Astartes exited cover. Two from Tarkus' squad were wounded. Brochus was down below without a leg, and poor Paulus had caught a bit of plasma from the wraithlord's starcannon. His right arm was burnt, but it would heal quickly.

"I felt something coming from the Warlock just before they vanished. Something psychic."

Draco tensed at this. The pale assault marine had tasked himself with watching Augustine for signs of corruption. He would not believe that his psychic powers would come to any good. Even Augustine being checked by the librarians did not ease his wariness. And now he could feel the effects of other psykers. Draco reminded himself to speak with Lyon again when they had a chance. Surely Augustine's friend could talk him into seeing the librarians again. Though the closest librarian was Iyason, who had decided to remain on Calderis, protecting Argus by himself.

"Good hit Thaddeus." Said Aramus, walking towards the assault squad. "Before we rest, we must return to the drop pods. More Eldar gather. Let us teach them the meaning of war."

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They had found the tank. Cyrus and Avitus' squads were positioned in an abandoned hab block. Two hundred yards away, the fire prism was shooting everything it wished with its powerful laser.

"Avitus. My scouts will distract it. Have Brother Linus deal the killing blow with his missile launcher."

"No, Cyrus." Argued Avitus. "Your scouts' light armor will not stand up to the shuriken fire. Linus, give your weapon in exchange for one of Cyrus' men's." The marine nodded and handed his missile launcher away in exchange for a bolter.

"Be sure with your aim." Said Linus, his voice distorted by the vox grille. "You only have one shot."

"He will not miss with the Emperor guiding his aim." Said Cyrus, standing. "Let us go." The two squads moved quickly out of the hab building. To their left was a large industrial storage area. Avitus' squad moved into it, hoping to catch the attention of the fire prism on the other side. Cyrus' squad followed the road around the storage area, planning to capitalize on the distraction Avitus would provide.

Reaching the edge of the storage area, Avitus could see the back of the grav tank. It was floating away from them, down a road parallel to the storage sight. If it went another fifty yards it would intersect the street that Cyrus would use to flank it. That could not be allowed. Avitus' squad took cover behind a stack of metal pipes and opened fire. The Eldar around the grav tank dropped to the ground, a few torn apart by the heavy bolter rounds. Avitus laughed as he dragged the heavy weapon across the aliens.

"Die xenos!" He shouted. "Devastation is upon you!" He killed another with his heavy bolter. Arkadios, a survivor of the hamlet battle, fired his heavy bolter as well, his shots impacting the rear of the grav tank, hoping to disable it. Next to him were Linus and Pamphilos, firing with their bolters. The fire-prism turned and fired its cannon. The shot flew over the heads of the devastators, impacting another stack of pipes behind them.

"Move marines!" shouted Avitus. The devastators quickly leapt from cover, running into across the street, out of sight of the grav tank. Avitus could hear the tank turning to follow them. He and his squad had run into another industrial storage area, this time holding what looked like leman russ tank turrets. He and his squad dropped behind a pile of I-beams and leveled their weapons at the entrance they had come in. Seconds later, the humming grav tank swung into view, gracefully turning its turret to fire at the devastators, who began firing at the cockpit, hoping to kill the pilot. It fired, its shot going wide. Seconds later, the crystal powered up again. Avitus tensed, he hadn't expected the weapon to charge up so quickly. There was no time to run. Before it could fire, an explosion rocked the tank. It spun out of control before crashing into a wall lining the street. Its cracked chassis burned bright in the night. Avitus and his squad moved to the street, meeting up with Cyrus. The scout sergeant had his sniper rifle across his shoulder, walking side by side with his squad. Linus quickly retrieved his missile launcher, returning the bolter to the scout.

"A good kill Cyrus" praised Avitus.

"It was the shot of my initiate, Argippa. Do you hear, initiate? You have been congratulated by a sergeant." Said Cyrus.

"T-thank you, Brother Sergeant Avitus." Argippa said quickly.

"Hahaha, you have trained them well. How respectful." Laughed Avitus. "Now, this is no time for idle chatter. Let us call for the thunderhawks so we can regroup with Commander Aramus. There are more aliens to kill."

"Yes. Each victory is simply the prelude to the next battle." Nodded Cyrus.

The booming noises got louder as Eliphas descended. Tired of watching Amphion sit cross-legged on the floor, the Dark Apostle set out through the dim, narrow corridors to discover the source of the infernal racket that plagued the ship. He marched through the halls. His ornate power armor, deep red with grey trim, clanked as he strode over the rust covered floors, the pattern of oxidation shifting randomly. All the while, shadows twisted through the dim red light, casting unnatural shapes on the walls. Slaves scurried back and forth, chased by screaming taskmasters, some human, some Astartes. Eliphas had been on the Monument of Sin for almost a week. He had not grown accustomed to its Lord and Master at all. Araghast was truly unbearable to Eliphas. The Master of Hounds was that sort of man that believed he possessed qualities of intelligence and intellectualism, yet in fact did not. This simple lack of self-awareness infuriated Eliphas, yet at the same time pleased him, as he knew perfectly well how easy it would be to undermine Lord Araghast's command.

The noises grew louder. He could hear shouting; enraged, fanatic shouting, as well as the roars of chainswords and the clashes of blades upon armor. Eliphas estimated he was less than a thousand yards from the center of the monstrous ship, though he knew that he had not covered enough ground to be there. Eliphas could only assume that the ship's halls were completely divorced from laws such as distance and direction, and that a member of the crew simply had to want to go somewhere, and after a short travel would arrive. Eliphas wasn't sure, but he believed the ship was alive. He had seen the eyes watching him as he traveled its corridors, the shadows and flickers of movement at the edges of his vision.

He stopped at a large brass door that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. With a slight push it opened, revealing a chaotic crowd standing around a square pit of dark red sand. Looking closer, Eliphas realized the sand itself wasn't red, the sand was simply saturated in so much blood that it appeared to be. Around the pit stood nearly two hundred chaos space marines, most armored, nearly all helmetless. The vast majority cheered with pride and enthusiasm. Spit spewed from their snarling lips and they beat their hands on their chests. It was all for the sake of the combatants.

The pit was twenty yards wide and sixty long. The walls were marked with razor wire, separating the combatants from the crowd. On one of the sidelines was a short metal tower, where an announcer stood. He was silent now, intently watching the fight before him. Eliphas moved through the mass of Astartes, who were too busy roaring in bloodlust to notice his passage. He stopped at the foot of the tower and looked down into the pit. Maneuvering over the sands below were two Black Legionnaires. One wielded a chainsword, swinging wildly towards the other, who carried a brutal single bladed axe, its head dripping with blood. It seemed they had been fighting for quite a while.

The swordsman leapt back, trying to increase the distance between them. He bent over, breathing heavily as the other Legionnaire prowled in front of him, eagerly awaiting the combat to begin anew. The swordsman was injured; multiple wounds were visible through cracks in his black and gold power armor. His long grey hair and short beard were drenched with sweat and blood. His fight had been long and hard. He rose to his full height and readied his combat stance, holding his chainsword with both hands. The axe wielder stood with no definable stance, simply slouched to his right side, holding his axe loosely in his right hand. He looked poised to move at a second's notice. To Eliphas, the axe wielder did not look like a close ranged fighter. It was mostly in his face, which was thin and unscarred. The marine was clean shaven, with black hair that hung messily about his head. Looking into his eyes however, Eliphas could see the truth. The chaos marine's eyes were wide with joy, taking in every single aspect of the combat before him.

The axe wielder flew forwards, bringing his weapon down in a diagonal chop aimed at the left shoulder of his foe. The swordsman barely brought his weapon up to block, the revving teeth of the chainsword squealed as it bit into the axe. In an instant, the axe wielder spun and hacked upwards with his axe, aiming for the undefended stomach of the swordsman. The Astartes with the axe barely missed. His opponent had taken a precise step back and had dodged the blade by less than half a foot. The swordsman capitalized on the opening and swung his roaring blade towards the head of the axe wielder. The crowd's cheers rose in intensity as the blade tore through the air, reaching a peak as the axe wielder simply sidestepped the attack.

Eliphas realized the axe wielders lack of stance was his true strength. He did not have a set range of motion. Any location was defendable, any enemy could be attacked. Like a switch had been flipped in his personality, the axe wielder charged, screaming. The swordsman was driven back, desperately trying to avoid the blade. He was successful, for a short amount of time. His concentration was broken when his foot slipped in a puddle of fresh blood. He looked down for a second to regain his footing, and in that time his sword arm was torn off at the elbow by the flailing axe. The crowd began chanting "Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood!" as the axe wielder slammed the head of his weapon into his unarmed opponent's chestplate. The chants descended into uncontrolled screaming and baying. The axe wielder gripped the hair of his dying opponent as he dragged his axe through him. Finally he removed his blade and swiftly chopped off the swordsman's head, holding it aloft for the frenzied crowd to see.

"Blood for the Blood God!" shouted the victorious marine.

"Skulls for the Skull Throne!" responded the crowd. This was the realm of the Khornates. Few marines aligned to other Gods would dare walk in this part of the ship. Two burly, shirtless marines lifted the corpse from the pit, tossing it onto a pile in the back of the huge room. The swordsman joined a hill of dozens.

"Once again," came a booming voice, "The former World Eater, Brother-Slaughterer Paskal is the victor! He has slain six tonight, and he has only just begun! Much blood will be split in the name of Khorne tonight!"

Atop the rickety metal tower near Eliphas stood the helmeted announcer. It was his voice that now echoed throughout the large chamber. Eliphas quickly climbed to the top and faced the marine, who tilted his head at the Word Bearer.

"You are the Inheritor?" asked the marine, recognizing the colors of Eliphas' armor. His voice had a certain quality that Eliphas found familiar. The way the marine spoke almost reminded Eliphas of himself.

"I am Eliphas, Dark Apostle of the Word Bearers, and honored the title Inheritor." Replied Eliphas proudly.

"Zephus-Hassan, formerly of the Word Bearers." Stated the helmeted marine. "I was shanghaied into the Black Legion after Corai's Folly." Eliphas recognized the name of the battle, a great loss for Chaos at the hands of the combined forces of the Doom Eagles and Cadian 412th regiment. The surviving Word Bearers were forced to join their Black Legion rescuers. Eliphas was more than pleased, not just because he had found a fellow brother, but because many others may be on the Monument of Sin.

"How did you end up on this forsaken ship?" asked the Inheritor, a grin coming to his face. His black toothed smile looked like another scar had already engraved itself on his already brutalized visage.

Zephus-Hassan raised a hand in a partial shrug. "The Monument of Sin was one of the ships that came to our rescued. Unneeded of course." He added hastily. "The children of the Aurelian are always ready to die for Chaos Almighty."

"It is so," replied Eliphas. "How many of our Brothers our here?"

"Forty eight." Said Zephus-Hassan. "Others will join your cause. Our... evangelism has been quite effective."

"Does Araghast suspect anything?"

"No, Apostle. However, is it wise to speak of such things here?"

"Look around, Brother Zephus-Hassan." Said Eliphas, gesturing to the crowd around him, still screaming in rage and elation at the blood spilt earlier. "Do you believe anyone here is eager to listen?"

"He might." Said Zephus-Hassan, pointing at the far side of the pit. Eliphas looked to where he was pointing. The Dark Apostle caught a glimpse of someone exiting the chamber followed by five figures, walking stiffly as though their power armor joints were rusted. They bore the insignia of the Thousand Sons on their black armor. "Sorcerer Bercastle," continued Zephus-Hassan. "He was a former member of the Prodigal Sons. However he was cast out by Ahriman for reasons unknown to me. Now he serves Neroth, the head Sorcerer aboard the Monument."

Eliphas scowled. The Sorcerer would be an issue if he were to discover Eliphas' plan. He would need to deal with the troublesome little Tzeentchian. "If it becomes a problem, Zephus-Hassan, I will deal with it. Who else will join us?"

"Brother-Slaughterer Paskal would be a good prospect, Dark Apostle. He cares only for death and blood. He joined Araghast because he offered more glory for Khorne than his previous leaders."

"Yes, of course." Hissed Eliphas. "It is good to have you Brother. Spread the word if you will. It is time to get to work."

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"Farseer, the humans are broken and unorganized. We must press this advantage if we are to sufficiently weaken their defenses." Drochasal Draoi and Farseer Idranel stood in a field of corpses in the lower levels of Angel Spire. The darkness of the narrow street had been perfect for the two Eldar. They had set an ambush for retreating guardsmen, and had caught them off balance. The two Eldar psykers had slaughtered dozens of the ambushed guardsmen. The survivors had broken and ran without order towards the hab blocks outside Angel Gate, where a fallback point was being established. The two Eldar walked carefully over the corpses as they moved into a small intersection. At each street corner was the beginning of a new had block, each building abandoned and ravaged by the war that had engulfed Meridian.

Idranel closed her eyes, brow furrowed in concentration. After a moment, she opened her eyes again and said "Aerelth has lost an arm, and in total, forty Eldar have died today. Many at the hands of the space marines."

"What do the prophecies say of this Farseer?" asked Draoi, not a single ounce of worry in his voice. He looked up at the metal roof above him, upon which Angel Gate stood. His fine senses could detect the screams of dying animals, the sound of lasfire, screams for reinforcements and for deliverance. He gripped his ornate witchblade in his right hand.

"The prophecies are not clear. I have seen much death, though whose I do not know. Yet there is hope. There are two here that will be our saviors, though I fear few of us will live to see Ulthwé again. However I will do my best to increase that number." Idranel walked ahead of Draoi, moving through the intersection. She was making for the giant stairways in the distance that would lead to higher levels.

"Two saviors?" asked Draoi. He was used to strange prophecies. In fact, may times the predictions he heard had come to pass in ways that were completely opposite the original interpretation.

"Yes. But I realize now I have not answered your question, Warlock. The space marines must certainly be dealt with. However it would cost many lives to destroy them ourselves. We must place them on such a path where their fate is the same as the Imperial Guard on this world. It would be best to allow the tyranids to grind them to oblivion." The farseer closed her eyes again. Seconds later, Draoi could hear her voice in his head. Brothers, sisters, harass the mon-keigh that wait outside their gate. They must be discouraged from attempting to interfere with our movements.

"Shall we go, Farseer?" asked Draoi.

"Yes, Warlock. The songs of battle ring strongly in my ears." The two psykers broke into a run towards the distant stairway. Soon they were joined by other Eldar, all moving for the same objective.

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Martellus stood on the bridge of the Armageddon, leaning over his vox cogitator, which sifted through the hundreds of vox messages that the Armageddon intercepted every hour. The bridge was silent, only a few chapter serfs were present as the ship was currently in high orbit. Servitors buzzed at the consoles that regulated life support and even the astropaths were not on station. Apothecary Gordian was in the Apothecarium, attempting to use the dissected remains of the tyranid warrior to discover a cure for the poison that was killing Captain Thule. Even with the help of Harkon, the skilled Apothecary had made no progress.

As Martellus scrolled through the intercepted messages presented on the static filled screen before him, the bridge's vox caster buzzed. The watch officer answer and soon patched Martellus through.

"Techmarine," said the voice of Aramus. "We have forced the Eldar to retreat. Cyrus' team also reports success."

"Very good Commander." Replied Martellus. He stood and walked towards the front of the bridge, where a glowing tactical display was projected over a table. A servitor quietly sat next to it, its mechanical fingertips checking the wiring for defects. "I am uploading the current tactical information to Tarkus' map display, as you do not have a helmet. It appears the Eldar are attacking the first defensive line outside of Angel Gate. The 203rd Vendoland regiment that has established a position there has suffered severe casualties."

"I copy that Techmarine. Dispatch Thunderhawk transports for our recovery and relocation to Angel Gate." Aramus ordered.

"Right away Commander. Two Thunderhawks are being dispatched. Bring death to the aliens for me."

"I intend to, Techmarine." Promised Aramus as the link cut out. Martellus walked back to his cogitator. The display confirmed that eight new messages had been received in his short absence. Martellus thought about sighing, but then realized that was a distinctly un-mechanicus thing to do. Then again, friends were a distinctly un-mechanicus thing to have as well. Martellus decided to sigh as he scrolled through the contents. One in particular interested him. It was from the Typhon system, sent a few days before. He pressed a key and listened to the garbled message. "Commander, this (static) -ergeant Borian. (static/unintelligible) discovered the location of the Astronomic Array. Vox (static) I repeat, vox unsecure. We are en route. (static) –nid presence minimal but more contact expected. Borian out."

Martellus was satisfied to know that Borian's team had discovered the location of the Astronomic Array. The Astartes on Typhon would be isolated until Meridian was secure however. Power armor did not have a vox powerful enough to receive such long range messages. Martellus opened his own vox again and contacted Commander Aramus. He would be pleased to hear the news.

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Merrick trudged up to Rally Point Tetra with Private Alek at his side. The young grenadier had lost four fingers on his right hand. Even though the bleeding had been stopped, shooting with his right hand was now impossible. Merrick's "platoon" was a shadow of its former self. Only seven men walked with Merrick, most wounded lightly. Their grey carapace armor was chipped and battered and even their backpack power supplies for their hellguns were nearly out of power. The rally point was five hundred yards in front of Angel Gate, in a plaza surrounded by hab blocks. Sandbags and command tents had been hastily constructed, but Merrick could see that this was not going to be a permanent defensive position. Command didn't even know how many Eldar they were dealing with, much less where they were.

He walked into the rally point, saluting the sentry as he passed. The young guardsman looked terrified, clutching his lasgun with shaking hands. There were five hundred guardsmen populating the Rally Point. If this was all that was left of the 203rd, Merrick knew the Eldar meant business. He and his platoon, small enough to be a squad now, pushed through the tired bodies of other guardsmen, making for the Command tent in the center. Gray drab, marked with an Imperial Aquila. The platoon waited outside as Merrick entered the tent, nearly knocking over a bumbling tactician. Merrick didn't care enough to apologize. In the middle of the tent, illuminated by a glow lamp was a paper map of the Angel Forge level of the Hive. One of the Regiment's commanding officers, Colonel Morgan, stood over it. The Colonel was old, a veteran of a dozen worlds and it showed. His face was wrinkled and scarred, much more so than General Hastus, who didn't seem to be present. Even so, the Colonel's physical presence had not diminished over the long years and he still stood a head taller than Merrick. Colonel Morgan turn at Merrick's entry and greeted him with a handshake.

"Sergeant Merrick. We thought you were dead, thank the Emperor. Where is Lieutenant Drak?"

"Caught a shuriken burst to the chest an hour ago." Said Merrick disappointedly.

"A real shame." Said a visibly saddened Morgan. "We've lost a good man."

"We've lost a lot of good men sir." Replied Merrick. "With all due respect, where is General Hastus?"

"Took a sniper round before we set this post up." Said Morgan. "We leveled the place we thought the shot came from. At least that Eldar won't be troubling us anymore, Emperor be praised."

"What do we do now? My men are wounded, low on ammo, and generally pissed off. We've taken more than seventy five percent casualties and we only have two confirmed kills. This kind of combat is unsustainable."

"You aren't the only platoon that has suffered casualties, Merrick." Admonished Morgan. "The 203rd as a whole has suffered more than ninety five percent losses, with little to show for it. I've ordered the retreat to Angel Gate. We'll regroup with the 85th and plan for a possible combat patrol in the near future. Hell! We might be so low on men that we'll be absorbed by the 85th!"

"We should retreat while we still can. We have no clue when the Eldar will press their attack." Said Merrick as he exited the tent. He regrouped with his squad, who had taken the time to replace their backpack power supplies and consume a few packs of rations.

"What now Sarge?" asked private Alek, looking healthier after receiving a bit of morphine for his wounds.

"We fall back to Angel Gate. Get ready to move." Merrick slung his rifle and the squad followed him as he made his way towards Angel Gate. The other guardsmen were only now beginning to pack up their gear. They were at the edge of the camp when Merrick heard a shout to take cover. He didn't stop to think as he dove behind a pile of bricks, tossed from the hab buildings after some sort of impact. Seconds later, an explosion consumed the Command tent. Merrick caught sight of a dagger-like Eldar skimmer out of the corner of his eye.

"Eldar Viper!" shouted a guardsman before being thrown off his feet by a sniper round. Other guardsmen were now laying down suppressive fire towards their left flank. They had no idea what to shoot at.

"Fall back to Angel Gate!" shouted Merrick. The squads near him reacted, and the surviving officers spread the order. The remainder of the 203rd regiment made their way towards Angel Gate under intense sniper fire.

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Idranel sat cross-legged on the roof of a hab building, her singing spear laid down across from her and Draoi behind her. She reached out with her mind, feeling the threads of fate from every living thing for miles upon miles. Earlier she had discovered the thread of the one called Morgan. In three cycles, his orders would result in the deaths of multiple Eldar. Now he was dead, and her kin could sleep easy. She drew her hands across the threads, unwinding them and following them through all the events of their lives. She felt the thread of Kyeldon, the pilot of the viper that had killed the mon-keigh Morgan. She reached the end of his thread seconds later. Death at the hands of a human anti-aircraft gun. Kyeldon, she projected, shift your course four meters to your right. Suddenly his thread extended for a large amount of time.

She searched on, finding a long thread. He would kill many Eldar soon. She thought to contact Ronahn, the nearest Eldar capable of killing him. She decided otherwise when she saw how much help he would be in the future. However, this one near him would have to die. He would be dangerous in the near future. Ronahn, look west. Mon-keigh with four missing fingers on his right hand. End him.

She waited. The thread did not end. Ronahn, what is the situation?

I lost him farseer. He seems to want to live. Came the response. He is out of my line of sight.

Just to be sure, Idranel checked Ronahn's thread. A long life awaited him. He was very valuable. He had already killed the mon-keigh General. Hastus was his name. If Idranel hadn't been watching, the subsequent counter-fire would have killed the ranger. Idranel's hand slipped over her own thread, but she released it before viewing anything. Farseers were always taught to never check their own threads. By knowing their own fates, they would try to change them, inevitably resulting in their outcome. Her only chance of stopping her own possible death would be to read the thread of her killer. And of all the beings around her, not one would end her life.

She continued to pick and read threads. She found a batch of Eldar threads, nearly twenty. They were stationed in the building adjacent to the one Idranel sat upon. Each life would be cut off in four minutes if she did not do anything. Their killer was unclear; all she could see was a maelstrom of fire and blood. She checked Draoi's thread. She didn't follow it to the end, but he would live longer than four minutes so the Warlock and most likely herself were not included in this event.

My kin, clear that building. Death approaches. She received a psychic grunt in response from the guardians inside. She reached out again, touching the thread of Huelan, Hawk Exarch. He was flying east, alone, towards Idranel's position. She gripped the thread and saw the world from the sight of the Exarch. She was subject to the turns of his head and the vibrations in his body. His head turned to the left and Idranel could see he was flying next to a large mon-keigh gunship. Its red form was bristling with heavy weapons. The Exarch was undetected but unable to damage such a large craft with the weapons he possessed.

Huelan, we will regroup lower in the city. Do not put yourself at risk. With the Space Marines coming, Idranel needed to get her warriors to safety.

Naturally Farseer. We would not want to put our plan in jeopardy with a foolish attack. Checking his thread again, she felt him pull away from the gunship, diving down and speeding away low to the ground.

Eldar, disperse into the Hive. The space marines will be here soon and we must not risk excessive casualties. The last thing Idranel saw before pulling her sight back to the tangible was several threads of her guardians increasing in length, as well as several Astartes threads. She stood, picking up her spear and descended swiftly down a fire escape with Draoi.

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Merrick panted as he reached the Gate. They had been under sniper fire the entire time and he had nearly lost Alek. The private had been exceptionally lucky, unlike the poor soul that ended up taking the bullet for him. All told, around four hundred of the 203rd were left. Merrick never saw Colonel Morgan die, but he certainly wasn't at the gate with them. The 203rd was met by green armored men of the 85th Vendoland. They were grenadiers like Merrick, their visors of the carapace armor obscuring their features. Merrick had forgotten when exactly he had lost his helmet, but it was nowhere to be found.

"I'm Sergeant Wadden Hurst, 85th Vendoland," said one of the men guarding the Gate. "Who is in command here?"

"Our command structure is virtually nonexistent thanks to the damned Eldar." Merrick nearly shouted. "More importantly, why aren't those fraking earthshakers firing?" Merrick pointed at the powerful cannons mounted on Angel Gate as he yelled.

"We have no targets. Ammo is limited." Responded Sergeant Hurst.

"What kind of damn excuse is that? Shoot everything! There aren't any friendlies out in that hellhole."

"Not my call to make." Hurst said calmly. "If your men would follow us, we need to close the Gate. You can receive medical treatment inside."

Merrick nodded wearily before Hurst gasped in awe, "Sweet Emperor! Look at that!" He pointed and Merrick turned. With a deafening roar of engines, two boxy red gunships swept in front of Angel Gate. Each carried multiple heavy bolters and lascannons, and mounted on the top behind the cockpit was a massive cannon. Merrick recognized the outline of a Thunderhawk gunship from the manuals he had read in basic. The two craft hovered for a moment before pouring heavy bolterfire into the distance. Merrick hoped they actually had targets and weren't just trying to suppress the enemy. Missiles streaked out from their wings, demolishing a hab building in the distance. Neither gunship fired its main cannon, most likely because it could raze an entire block. The gunships did not land. They only hovered for a moment more before pulling off and soaring into the skies. Merrick took one last look at the departing Thunderhawks before following the waving Hurst into Angel Gate.

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"Commander," said the voice of the Thunderhawk pilot over the intercom. "We fired at the only lifesigns we could detect, but it seems we were unable to kill any. All hostile forces have withdrawn into the lower levels.

"They flee from us brothers!" laughed Aramus from his seat. "Cowards! Where is your mettle?"

"Do not wish for combat so soon Commander." Warned Cyrus. "They will return. I am sure of it."

"And we will kill them again." Promised Avitus. "No matter how many come."

"That we will, but they Tyranids may be here by then as well." Said Cyrus gravely.

"When we return to the Armageddon, we will perform a deep scan for any Tyranid activity and then attempt to gain our access to Angel Forge." Aramus sheathed his weapons and marched back into the Thunderhawk. Cyrus could see the disappointment in his eyes. The Commander wanted a fight.

"And if the Eldar return?" asked Tarkus.

"Then it is as Avitus says." Replied the Commander. "We will kill them all."

"Where is our access Administrator? You have kept the Emperor' finest waiting for far longer than any other man would dare to!"

"As I said a week ago Commander Aramus," Sighed Administrator Elena Derosa, "Acquiring access for Angel Forge is very difficult. Even with the help you provided against the Eldar, the schedules are slow to change." Derosa once again found herself standing in front of the view screen in the Capitol Building, speaking to the Commander of the Blood Ravens that had saved them a week before. Adept Karl stood next to her in the tactical room. Other tacticians and government officials hugged the edge of the room, looking away from the video as if catching the eye of the Space Marine would lead to certain death.

"I have no time to waste Administrator. The tyranids will no doubt arrive on this planet soon, if they are not here already. We will gain access to the Forge. By any means." Aramus' firm voice came over scratchy on the vox, his image shifting with the bands of traction on the screen.

"I implore you Commander. Wait a bit longer." Derosa pleaded.

"The tyranids will not wait Administrator Derosa." The Commander said irately.

"Concerning these tyranids," said Derosa, fidgeting with the collar on her red dress coat. "Our planetary scans show none of the byproducts you warned about."

"Trust not in your pathetic scanners." Said Aramus. "We Blood Ravens will conduct our own investigation. Place orbital defense systems on alert immediately."

"I will give the order myself Commander." Replied Derosa.

"Is the Governor ill?" asked Aramus. "Why has he scorned us through his lack of presence?"

"The Governor has withdrawn with his privy council to his crisis bunker." Said Derosa, a hint of distain in her voice. "He seems to want to avoid speaking to you."

"Such disrespect. Relay to me the location of this crisis bunker."

"Commander, why would you need such information?" asked Derosa cautiously.

"Administrator, tell me." Said Aramus, ignoring her question. "Could he ignore me if a drop pod crashes through his roof?"

"Commander!" said a horrified Derosa. "I am sure he means no disrespect. I beg you; leave Governor Vandis well enough alone."

"As you wish." Said a visibly irritated Aramus. "Nevertheless, the position of his bunker remains necessary. In the event of a tyranid invasion he must be secured."

"I understand. I trust you to not misuse this information." Derosa waved Adept Karl off to send the Blood Ravens the tactical data.

"Of course Administrator." Grumbled Aramus.

"Commander, how long will it be until you begin your investigation?"

"Six hours. That is the time the planning shall require. If new information arises, I shall inform you. As for you, I expect results concerning Angel Forge. The Emperor protects. Let none find us wanting." Without even pausing to let her speak, Aramus shut off the video link, leaving Derosa in silence. She unbuttoned her collar and removed her hair tie, shaking her head. Her brown hair fell lightly across her back as she slumped into a chair. The Space Marines were going to tear up the Hive again. Although, for all the damage they caused, the Eldar would have surely destroyed more had they not arrived.

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The maps of Meridian were certainly numerous. Even when limited to Angel Hive, Cyrus had dozens of levels and five spires to sift through. The scout sergeant was perched on a stool in one of the tactical chambers on the Armageddon. On the other side of the map table stood Tarkus and Aramus. To Cyrus' right and left were Thaddeus and Avitus respectively. Their squads were in the armories, preparing for combat whether or not they would be selected for battle.

"Where is Techmarine Martellus?" asked Aramus. The Techmarine had a habit of sitting in on these sessions and his absence was noted.

"Working with Gordian." Said Cyrus, hand on his chin. "Something about attempting to reproduce a tyranid bio-toxin. I believe this is a good starting point." With the last statement, Cyrus pointed at a location on one of the maps. It was in the upper levels of Spire Urizen, marked Hydroponic and Agriculture research. "If any mutated plantlife is to be found, it will be there." He pushed a couple of maps aside in a flurry of paper. "This is also a good location." His finger was now on a level of Capitol Spire.

"Why there Cyrus?" asked Avitus. "The place seems to be deserted. No hab blocks or even manufactorum in sight."

"Exactly. If tyranid vanguard organisms land, they create a nest from which to launch their attacks throughout the surrounding area. If we could acquire the data, I am positive we would find a high number of disappearances on this level of the Hive."

"Cyrus," began Tarkus, "what do you have in mind?"

"My squad will deploy alone. We will investigate each of these locations as a whole squad. We cannot risk taking more than my scouts. Any unusual activity will alert the vanguard organisms to our arrival."

"And what if the xenos prove too much for you?" asked Avitus.

"I would have Thaddeus' squad prepared to drop in case of trouble." Said Cyrus as if it was the most natural thing in the galaxy.

"Hmmph." Snorted Avitus. "I thought as much. Call for me when you need a real Space Marine."

"I will be sure to." Interjected Thaddeus. "Tarkus does not seem to answer his vox often. It would be kind of you to act as a messenger."

"Haha. You have a spark in you that just needed a little tending Thaddeus." Laughed Avitus.

"Very well Cyrus." Said Aramus, ignoring the Devestator and Assault Sergeants. "Prepare for the drop. I will be on station for tactical support."

"Understood Commander." Confirmed Cyrus. He turned and walked out of the room. Avitus and Aramus left moments later, leaving Thaddeus and Tarkus alone.

"Sergeant Tarkus," said Thaddeus. "When the tyranids do arrive, what will become of Meridian's people?"

"They must trust in the Emperor to protect them. We will do our part, but we cannot help everyone Thaddeus." Tarkus shook his head sadly as he said this. Though Space Marines were powerful, there was no way to protect an entire Hive World with such a small force.

"Would the Commander ignore them entirely?" asked Thaddeus.

"I believe the Commander will make the decision he believes is best." Said Tarkus. He turned and exited the room, leaving Thaddeus alone. The brown haired Sergeant turned and ran his fingers across one of the maps laid out on the table, imagining how many people lived on every inch that was represented on paper. He stood there, wondering if the Commander's best decision would be the right decision.

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"All this rain." Muttered Sergeant Major Merrick. "It's like the Emperor is pissing on us." Merrick had been a member of the 85th Vendoland for a little less than three days, and had a new set of green carapace armor to go with his promotion to the rank of Sergeant Major. He had quickly been integrated with a squad stationed at Angel Gate. Currently the squad sat fifty yards inside the Gate behind a row of sandbags and razor wire. The six grenadiers lounged on ammo grates and broken blocks of concrete. To either side of them were heavy weapons teams. Their heavy bolters and mortars were constantly being checked and rechecked in the event of an Eldar attack. No guardsman had ventured out of the Gate in 32 hours. The risk of Eldar counterattack was too great.

"It can't be helped Sarge." Said the ever smiling Remer. "You know how crappy the weather of Hive Worlds are."

"That's Sergeant Major to you, Private Remer." Scolded Sergeant Wadden Hurst, seated next to him on his folded up sleeping mat. Hurst had always been a part of the 85th Vendoland. He had served for almost five years before the regiment was assigned to Meridian. He quietly flipped through his Uplifting Primer, scanning it with his grey blue eyes. His helmet lay at his feet. His face was aristocratic, so much so that he always looked poised to place a monocle on his bony nose. His thin figure looked almost unfit for combat. Those that knew him well however, marked him as a very capable combatant and leader.

"'Course, Sergeant Hurst. My mistake, Sergeant Major Meri'k" joked Remer again. The Private leaned back on the concrete block he sat on, showing off his muscular arms. He only wore the chest plate of his carapace armor.

"Private Remer." Continued Hurst. "Why is it that you aren't wearing your full loadout?"

"Look at it this way Sarge. The Eldar haven't got through the Gate, and we aren't gonna go through ourselves." He paused to scratch at his head. Lice had hit the regiment bad, and even though every head had been shaved, there was still plenty of scratching occurring. "So I say, why wear more than what's necessary?"

Hurst sighed. He would always lose arguments with the Daredevils. "Alright boy, just as long as you keep that thing up and running." Hurst pointed down at the cylindrical grenade launcher sitting on the concrete block next to Remer.

"Oh this?" said Remer, looking at the weapon like it was his lover. "I'll never let her out of my sight. You can count on that."

"Nyaaah." Yawned the other member of the Daredevils. "As long as you keep your eyes on that thing Lenham, I'll be the best shot. You should look at the enemy more often."

"That a challenge Vornas?" asked Remer, sitting up straight.

"You bet it is. Next run, I'll have five times the kills as you." Boasted Borik Vornas. He was also quite muscular, a side effect of lugging around a grenade launcher and demolition charges all day. In contrast to Remer however, he wore his full plate including his helmet. His breathing apparatus hung loosely off the mask, revealing a scarred and burned face. Vornas had acquired the title of Daredevil in the line of fire. His many burns from his own explosions attested to that.

"And now they argue." Smiled Hurst, looking at Merrick. This was business as usual for the members of the 4th Grenadiers Company. Argue, sleep, keep watch, and argue more.

"Better than nothing." Said Merrick. He turned to look behind himself at the shivering Alek. The unfortunate trooper had caught pneumonia a day before. The medbays were full however and he had been sent back to Angel Gate. "How are you holding Private Alek?"

"Fffff-fine sir." Stuttered the Private, teeth chattering. He wrapped himself tighter in his standard issue blanket before letting out a fit of coughs.

"How is that hand of yours?" Merrick asked, gesturing to the augmetic fingers that Alek was now sporting on his right hand.

"They tighten up in the cold sir."

"Sounds like it hurts like gak." Merrick replied.

"Tttttt-they do sir."

"Carry on, private."

Merrick looked next to Alek. Sitting on a tank trap was Private Kippler. He was quiet and quite stealthy for such a large trooper. He was taller than Merrick and Hurst and was only a tad shorter than Vornas, the tallest member of the squad. Kippler was very easy to miss. Mainly because he didn't speak very often. Merrick didn't exactly think he was unsociable, just not keen on talking. He would certainly respond when spoken to, and Remer even had daily conversations with him about the finer points of target shooting. While Kippler preferred a single shot to the target, Remer would always advocate a grenade, destroying the target and everything around it.

"You see anything with those eagle eyes of yours Kippler?" asked Merrick.

The quiet grenadier turned to Merrick, pushing his eyeglasses up with the palm of his hand. Merrick thought they were for show. He had seen Kippler both with and without his glasses, and the guy was a godly shot either way. By far the best in the squad, despite Remer's boasts.

"Gate's in the way, sir. Nothing to report." His voice sounded like a whisper even when he raised it so Merrick could hear over the rain. Merrick nodded approvingly.

"Be sure to tell us if the Gate goes anywhere."

Kippler laughed quietly. "I'll be sure to sir."

Satisfied with two audible sentences, Merrick turned back to Hurst, asking "Have you heard from Zeke and the others?"

"No sir. They haven't returned from HQ yet." Said Hurst without looking up from his primer.

"Probably enjoying hot food Sergeant Major." Chuckled Remer.

"Ohh those bastards. I'll teach 'em a lesson when they get back." Vornas mimed a few punches in the air.

"They better get back quick." Someone said. Merrick turned around, shocked that Kippler had spoken without prompting.

"What do you mean Kippler?" he asked.

"There's something wrong with the sky." He said, pointing up.

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"Initiate Pindarus, secure that sample. There will be hell to pay if we do not get it back safely."

The scout recoiled at Cyrus' bark and quickly made sure the bio-sample was secure in its metal case. Cyrus' squad had secured the sample from the agricultural research area without incident. The researchers were too terrified to protest. It amused Cyrus to see a fearful techpriest, and he wondered what Martellus would do if someone tried to steal his research. Kill them, most likely.

It had taken another two hours, but they had traveled lower level by level on foot. Cyrus thought it was prudent not to call for Thunderhawk transport. His initiates could use fieldwork in an urban environment. The ten man squad was now descending the stairs onto level 26 of Spire Urizen. This was one of the unheated levels, home to mutants and other assorted scum. The walls were lined with vulgar graffiti and most of the glowlamps lining the street were either offline or broken. Despite the darkness, the scouts could see far into the distance due to their enhanced optics.

As the scouts reached the bottom of the stairs, Cyrus moved to the left, dropping behind an overturned waste disposal can. He looked across the slums before him. The stairs stood at the head of a T-shaped intersection, roads leading to the left and right, as well as one ahead. The roads to either side led around the slums. They were not Cyrus' objectives. Directly in front of the squad was a long, trash-covered road, lined with habs and small businesses. Every building was covered in ganger marks. Many of the windows were shattered and furniture and assorted debris was spread liberally around the area. There was little ambient noise. Cyrus could hear a few gunshots in the distance. Stubbers most likely. Probably rival gangs clashing.

"Initiates, forward." Ordered Cyrus with a chop of his arm in the direction of the intersecting road. The scouts moved in two lines, each hugging the edges of the street. Cyrus caught sight of what seemed to be a seedy bar, now empty and darkened, its windows boarded up. He quickly broke down the door and moved in, his squad following.

"Final equipment check." He ordered as he opened the breach of his sniper rifle. He checked to make sure the round was chambered. If there were tyranids, the round would be important.

"Heavy bolter locked and loaded brother-sergeant." Said Argippa. "Hellfire rounds chambered as ordered."

"Very good initiate." Nodded Cyrus. "be sure to hit. Those rounds are devastating against tyranids."

The rest of the squad quickly sounded off and Cyrus gave the order to move on. Xanthis exited at Cyrus side and asked, "Sergeant, what is this ammo you have given me?" He gestured at his combat shotgun.

"You loaded every other round as I ordered?" Cyrus asked as they moved further down the ruined streets, moving past a mound of burning tires.

"Yes Sergeant. I have never seen ammunition like this in our Chapter's armories." The black skinned scout rarely spoke so much at once. He must have been desperately intrigued.

"It was a parting gift from the Deathwatch. I was given fifty of those rounds. I trust them with you, and no other."

"How many do you have left?" asked Xanthis.

"Fifty, including the five in your weapon now. Do not waste them, for I will give you no more." Replied Cyrus. The squad stopped at a second intersection. Cyrus heard gunfire from the north east. More stub fire, heavier now. The gunshots were semi-automatic. Cyrus estimated twelve guns, firing rapidly. The fire was coming from what looked to be a community compound, a recreational building filled with exercise rooms and places to meet. Naturally it was in shambles. Its looming form was unlit, four blocks off. The squad swiftly crossed the street and moved between houses, hidden in the shadows.

"Why have you not taken advantage of these weapons yet Sergeant?" questioned Xathis, "you have not been in the Deathwatch in years."

"I have been awaiting a situation that warrants their use." Replied Cyrus.

"What do these shells do, if you hoard them so carefully?"

Cyrus rounded a corner, panning the area in front of him with his sniper rifle. Two more blocks to the community building. As they moved, he spoke again. "I was the one who test fired the weapons during my service. After seeing their power, I would not dare use them in regular combat. Do not miss, nor fire at anything within five yards of a battle-brother."

"Yes sergeant." Replied Xanthis. The rounds must be deadly if that was the safe distance needed. As the squad ran down the final block to the community center, the gunfire rapidly increased. Cyrus could only hear two separate guns now, but they were firing erratically. Moments later the scouts found the first bodies. Cyrus wasn't sure if there were dozens, or if there were just a few spread very well. The road leading to the darkened building was covered in gore and limbs. Cyrus recognized the frenzied work of a tyranid beast. The dead seemed to be gangers. Some of the more intact bodies bore tats and piercings.

"Stay alert initiates, tyranid contact imminent. Keep your eyes on the shadows. Let none find us wanting in the eyes of the Emperor."

"Sergeant, we have proof, should we not withdraw?" asked an initiate.

"A worthy question, initiate. Visual contact is always a scout's job. Besides, if vanguard organisms are left alive they will wreck havoc among our rearguard and supply lines. We go forwards."

The squad tensed. For some, this would be only their second round of combat. Others like Argippa were the eldest of the initiates, calm and prepared. Xanthis was unperturbed. He had fought tyranids before. Although, the beast or beasts here seemed to be much stronger than the ones from Calderis. The double door to the community center was hanging off its hinges. It used to be a high class glass door. Now it was simply a bent metal frame surrounded by broken glass. On the wall next to the door, the words "The Hawk Raider's hideout! Enter and die!" Directly under it, in smaller graffiti was "What the frak is a hawk?"

The gunfire had all but stopped as Cyrus' squad entered the building. Their footsteps on the tile floor echoed loudly through the white walled center. They moved through a lobby of sorts, filled with more bodies. The deeper they moved, the more evidence of a fight they found. Here, in a ball court a group of gangers had desperately fought enemies that seemed to have come from every direction. Bullet holes marked the walls all around the gangers. They apparently hit nothing, as the only blood staining the ground was their own. Cyrus could smell something alien in the air. It was certainly tyranid, though not of a Hive Fleet he had fought before. Past the ball court was a darkened hallway, lights flickering. He couldn't see much, even with his enhanced eyesight.

His vox beeped in his ear. "Sergeant Cyrus." Came the voice of Aramus. "We have possible contact with a Tyranid vessel. Remain vigilant."

"Understood Commander, we will finish this and regroup with you. We have encountered numerous bodies, but I would like visual confirmation and a kill to back it up."

"Understood. Keep us updated. You are out of Thaddeus' drop range." Replied Aramus.

"I copy. Retask him if you can to assist your actions. Cyrus out." He dropped his hand from his ear and hefted his sniper rifle again. This wasn't a good location to fight a tyranid.

"Squad, prepare to vacate the building." He noticed a flicker of movement in the hall's darkness and made to raise his weapon. Before the barrel rose above his hips, two fleshy ropes lashed out, impaling initiate Flavius. Seconds later, the screaming scout was wrenched back into the darkness. Screaming and horrid ripping sounds could be heard. Cyrus' squad paled at the horrible fate of their brother. Xanthis dropped to his knees, aiming his shotgun.

"What are you waiting for Xanthis? Two shots!" ordered Cyrus. Xanthis didn't even acknowledge the order before firing. His first shot was a normal shell, and had no visable effect on whatever had killed Flavius. He racked the slide and fired the second. A loud crack was heard after impact, and all was quiet. The squad shuffled forwards behind Cyrus, who walked calmly into the hallway, pulling something from his side pouch. He cracked the light wand and tossed it to the floor, where it fell into a smooth basin carved into the tile. A sphere five yards in diameter had been scooped from the building, leaving smooth stone behind in a gently sloping basing on the floor. A ragged bloody object was lying in the middle of the sphere of destruction.

Cyrus crouched and tasted some of the blood, spitting it out immediately. "Lictor. I thought so. Those flesh hooks are quite distinctive."

"Sergeant." Said Xanthis, "What was that round?"

"A work of arduous research." Replied Cyrus. "it took years of work to recreate that round from the heretical technology of the primuls. Captain Ulysses of the Iron Snakes was a key member of the force that captured the vehicle that mounted such a device. When the impact occurs, the core of the shell collapses into a highly unstable, miniature black hole that tears itself apart in less than a second, taking anything nearby with it."

"Such power." Said Xanthis in awe.

"Indeed. Do not waste it." Said Cyrus. He turned his back on the lictor's ruined body. Flavius would be mourned later.

They were exiting the community center when Cyrus' vox beeped again. He raised his hand to his ear again. He thought he could hear the sound of heavy guns. "Cyrus reporting. One dead. Tyranid lictor killed."

"I copy Cyrus." This was not Aramus. Martellus had answered the vox. "However, a crisis has formed. The Tyranids are here."

"I see." Said Cyrus. He swallowed. He was isolated and unable to get transport. He waved to his squad as he talked. The scouts broke into a run, heading for the stairs that they had arrived from.

"It is not a Hive Ship Cyrus. Simply an auxiliary vessel, though the mysetic spores are still numerous. With the Emperor's watchful eye, the anti-air defenses should deal with many of them."

"Where have the others deployed?" asked Cyrus. The roof above the scouts was marked with gaps, providing a little sunlight for the scouts. Through them, Cyrus could see a brown haze in the clouds. He could also see the tracers from anti-air artillery.

"Avitus has been deployed to Angel Gate. Thaddeus and the Commander have dropped to secure Governor Vandis and the Council from their Command Bunker in Capital Spire. Tarkus went to secure Administrator Derosa."

"I copy. Where am I needed?" Cyrus' squad charged up the stairs. As they ran towards the next flight, a brown fleshy object landed in front of them and pulsed with unnatural life. Argippa didn't hesitate before unloading a burst of hellfire rounds from his heavy bolter. The mysetic spore writhed in the acid bursts and soon was melted down to a green sludge. Cyrus could see other spores dropped in the streets. One or two at a time. He ignored them, running towards the next flight of stairs without pause. They had objectives.

"I have voxed the Commander. He wishes you to assist Avitus at Angel Gate." Relayed Martellus.

"Understood, Cyrus en route." The scout reached the next level. The top of the stairs offered a full view of the sky, revealing the horror of the invasion. Thousands of spores fell from the sky in a large, hazy arm. The anti-air guns all over the Hive fired without pause, the shells exploding spores by the dozens. Fluttering above were the spiny forms of gargoyles, their leathery wings carrying them across the Hive.

"Prepare yourselves initiates." Said Cyrus as he checked his rifles ammunition count again. The round was still there. It was the sniper version of Xanthis' shotgun shell, and much more powerful. There were only two in his possession, and he had to make his count. He removed it from the rifle, and placed a regular bullet in its place.

"Now you will enter a battlefield unlike any other, an arm of the Hive Fleet. Even if we prevail here, these will not be the last tyranids you see." He closed the bolt and checked his map display. Then he led his squads through the manufactorums and hab blocks, pressing towards Angel Gate, a Spire and a half away.

"Frak this and frak command!" shouted Vornas as he followed Merrick through the Angel Forge industrial district. "Why can't they make up their mind?" He raised his grenade launcher and fired ahead and to the right at a group of ork looters. The frag grenade exploded at their feet, easily penetrating their crude armor and tearing their bodies to shreds. Merrick dropped prone as more orks approached from the left, from a gap between two warehouses. He fired two bursts, hitting one of the orks. Though wounded by the powerful hellround, it didn't fall and Merrick was forced to aim and fire again to confirm his kill. The orks dove into cover, which struck Merrick as odd. Perhaps these orks were like the ones he encountered on Typhon.

Merrick's five stormtroopers spread out to find cover. Vornas and Hurst dropped behind a metal barricade, while Alek, Rimmer, and Kippler moved to crouch behind a formation of crates to Merrick's left. They quickly laid down covering fire for their sergeant, pouring hellfire at the orks near the warehouses. Merrick quickly leapt up and ran towards Vornas and Hurst. Shoota fire trailed his steps and Merrick jumped forwards to escape the shots. He slammed into the ground hard, but was pulled to safety by Hurst. As he recovered his senses, he heard a heavy impact on the ground. He looked over the barricade, hellgun raised. A large brown sac had landed near the ork position, around six feet in diameter. In seconds, it burst, spewing forth six limbed xenos with razor sharp talons shaped like scythes. The small sphere unleashed more than twenty of the aliens. They were upon the orks in seconds. Though stronger and tougher, the orks only managed to kill ten before being cut down. Merrick didn't hesitate to fire, whatever these things were, they were not friendly. Vornas had reached a similar conclusion, firing another frag grenade into the new xenos life forms. The concussive force of the grenade, as well as the shrapnel from the explosion, quickly killed the aliens.

"What in Throne's name were those things?" asked Merrick as he stepped out of cover. He could hear gunfire everywhere, the boom of ork shootas and the crack of lasguns.

"Most likely the aliens command warned us about, as well as those things Kippler spotted dropping from the sky." Hurst stepped out of cover and brushed the dust off his hellgun. "Where to now Sergeant Major?"

"East. We've been ordered to find those damn generators, and by the Emperor, we will." Merrick took off running, the squad following in a wedge formation. He crossed a small bridge over a river of electrical pipes and moved into one of the multiple generator sectors of Angel Forge.

Above, the sky was full of tyranid spores and anti aircraft flak. Seconds after Kippler had pointed it out, the first spores impacted the Forge are. Reports of ork looters had forced Command to retask Merrick's squad in search of them, before they were ordered to assist techpriests at the nearest generator.

Up ahead was a ramp was built into the metal floor of the Forge district. On a raised platform at the end was the sparking form of a promethium fueled power generator. The rectangular box was marked with exposed cables and was sparking with electricity. Around it, twelve orks in black and white checkered armor tore the thing to pieces for parts.

"Kill em." Said Merrick as he opened fire. He shot one of the orks four times in the back, and it fell heavily on the generator. It convulsed for a moment as the electricity poured through its body, before slumping to the ground, smoking. The rest of the orks turned, brandishing their crude melee weapons and charged. Vornas and Remer refrained for using their grenade launchers in fear to breaking the generator even more. Instead, the Daredevils fired with their las pistols. The orks charged, shouting their distinctive warcry as the grenadiers hosed them will hellfire. When the orks were half way, only eight remained. One fired its primative pistol and threw Hurst from his feet. The squad shifted fire and that ork fell a second later, perforated numerous times. When the first ork reached Merrick, it stood alone, wounded dozens of times. It sluggishly swung its axe. Merrick jumped back, before shoving his hellgun into the ork's eye and pulling the trigger four times. The ork fell, the back of its head gone.

"Waddy, you alright?" asked Merrick as he rushed to the sergeant's prone form.

Hurst coughed and sat up. The bullet had struck him in the chest, with enough force to knock him down but not enough to pierce his armor.

"I am fine." He replied. "but my name is Wadden, not Waddy."

"My mistake. Secure the area will you?"

The squad secured the generator and Alek voxed Command to inform them of the completed objective. The squad was prepared to hold the position against further attack.

"Yes sir, of course." Said Alek into the vox. "I will relay the orders immediately. On our way, over and out."

"What is it Alek?" asked Merrick, already fearing the answer. Command was probably about to change their orders, judging by the conversation.

"A change in orders sir." Replied Alek, unaware of Merrick's prediction.

"Frak this, I knew it." He muttered. After a moment of silence, he said, "Well go on."

"Yes sir. We've been ordered to return to Angel Gate. Command was unclear as to why. The seemed to be in a hurry."

"Late to their medal polishing session no doubt." Laughed Merrick. "Alright lads, let's move."

The squad moved southeast, exiting the generator sector and passing across one of the Angel Forge area's easternmost road out of the three main thoroughfares. They encountered sporadic ork looters, but not enough to seriously trouble the grenadiers. The newly arrived xenos were another matter entirely. They emerged from sewer grated, leapt out of shadows and spewed from the spores that constantly escaped the anti air fire. Thought they died easily, they were hard to shoot and both Vornas and Hurst were wounded on the trek back to the Gate. When the squad reached the central road of the Forge area, they were joined by a large mass of guardsmen in green flak armor. By Merrick's best guess, it was an entire company of a hundred and forty men.

"Let's go" shouted Merrick. He trailed the mob. Alek ran at his side. Vornas ran, cradling his slashed arm. He had strayed to close and received a nice injury before beating the xeno to death with his grenade launcher. Hurst limped behind, his leg cut by a piece of shrapnel from an exploding spore. Over the heads of the running guardsmen, Merrick could see Angel Gate. The fraking thing was open. Those purple carapaced aliens were pouring in, only slowed by the volume of lasfire sent their way by the increasing number of defenders.

As they neared the Gate, Merrick's squad passed their previous position, the roadblock with the heavy weapons teams. The heavy bolters were completely out of ammo, the entire crews of both teams dead. Sitting next to a tank trap was a grey armored guardsman wielding a long las. Next to him was a corpse in similar armor, his chest looking like it was eaten from the inside out. Merrick jogged up to the living guardsman after the company had passed.

"What is this?" he asked the sniper, who turned and stared at him with impersonal eyes.

"Private James Cost, 85th Vendoland, 4th company, special weapons squad. The corporal and I were sent to support the defense of Angel Gate, but he caught a round from one of those aliens." He pointed at the corpse next to him. The dead man had a long las like the private, as well as numerous charge packs.

"What are those things?" asked Vornas.

"We haven't been told. Apparently they are all over the Hive." The sniper looked back down his scope and fired a shot aimed at Angel Gate's battlements, killing one of the aliens.

"Why is the damn Gate open?" Merrick asked. He suddenly noticed the absence of the booming artillery. "And why aren't those earthshakers firing?"

"Orks tampering with the power supply."

"We just secured a generator." Replied Merrick.

The sniper fired again. "They've hit generators all across the Forge area. It will take more than one to bring the Gate back online." Kippler moved forward, taking the long las from the dead body. He quickly made sure it was in working condition and then took the dead corporal's charge packs.

"Ahh, whatever." Said Private Cost. "He's dead, he won't be needing that anymore."

"Private, you'll come with us to Angel Gate; we'll need your sharpshooting." Merrick ordered Cost quickly and with a tone that did not beget argument.

"Well alright." Cost said, his voice monotone. "But I'd be better off here." He stood and slung his rifle, before looking up at the sky. "What's that?"

Merrick turned around and looked up to see a red streak coming down, trailing smoke and fire from atmospheric reentry.

"Angels." He said, and charged towards Angel Gate.

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Avitus walked out of the smoking drop pod and stepped out of the crater it had left in the rockcrete. His squad of three followed closely with their heavy weapons at the ready. They had landed far behind the Gate, directly in front of the entrance to the Forge itself. They seemed to be near living quarters for the tech-priests. On either side of the squad were flat roofed, single story habs. For all Avitus knew, the Magos lived in them. Tech-priests cared little for comfort or even basic necessities. Some techpriests even locked themselves in awareness pools. They remained suspended in amniotic fluid, perfectly connected to their machines.

Avitus lead his squad forwards at a light jog. Ahead was a small plaza at the head of a three way fork in the road. Directly ahead was the main road of the Forge area, leading to Angel Gate. After checking his helmet map display, Avitus confirmed that the roads on either side lead to the worker habs. Between the roads lay the warehouses and temporary research facilities. The buildings were all single story, though much of the structures were hidden below the rockcrete, out of sight. He caught movement coming towards him from the road to the left, and hefted his heavy bolter to face it, stopping only when he noticed the guardsmen running towards him.

"Lord Astartes, help us!" one of the guardsmen shouted. Only then did Avitus notice the pursuing forms. Leaping creatures with cream colored hide and purple chitinous armor. "Tyranids," cursed Avitus. He noticed their front limbs were sharpened into scything talons, poised to tear flesh and even cut bone. The beasts were on the guardsmen in seconds. The hormagaunts moved like lightning, tearing the guardsmen apart in a frenzy. Four guardsmen broke from the group and ran without heed towards the space marines, who racked the slides of their heavy bolters.

"Fire brothers." Ordered Avitus, pulling the trigger of his weapon. The trail of bolts erupted throughout the melee, annihilating the creatures and giving the Emperor's peace to the guardsmen that still lived. The other marines fired, but it was simply posturing, the xenos were dead. All that remained of the slaughter was the gore coating the ground, sliding towards the storm drains with the rain.

"You've saved us my lord." Praised one of the surviving guardsmen, on his knees. He was young, less than twenty by Avitus' guess, though the irritable Astartes was never adept with guessing the ages of mortals. Tears were streaming down the boy's face and his rifle was nowhere to be found. The other three survivors seemed to be in the same condition.

"Only because you could not save yourselves." Replied Avitus gruffly. These guardsmen were wasting his time. "Speak now. What is the situation?"

"Y-yes my Lord. These xenos came out of nowhere. They're fast, and… Emperor protect us, there are too many of them. The orks are here also."

"Greenskins." Sneered Avitus, to no one in particular. "Where there is one, there are a hundred."

"Yes, m-my Lord. The orks have been tampering with the power supplies for the Gate. They've found a way to open it."

"Damn them." Said Avitus. "Very well. Brothers, we move on the Gate. If the tyranids approach in force from outside the range of the anti-air guns, we will be there to face them."

"What about us, my Lord?" asked the guardsman, rising from his knees, his posture returning. He looked up at Avitus with hopeful eyes, realizing now he stood in the presence of a living myth.

"I could not care less about you." Avitus growled, "Go cry under your cot while the real warriors do the fighting." Avitus didn't care to hear his response. Guardsmen were cowards, the lot of them. They had abused his village when he was a child and killed his brothers on Kronus. They deserved no respect whatsoever. He turned on his heel and led his squad down the central road.

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Beneath a wide stairway, ten levels below, the Farseer Idranel once again reached out to feel the threads of Fate. Standing guard over her was her loyal bodyguard, Drochasal Draoi, as well as twelve Black Guardians. The Guardians stood at the ready, prepared to deal with any threat to their farseer.

Idranel swept her hands through the spectral threads, each second in the material world an hour in the astral realm she now traveled. The space marines had come to Angel Gate. No matter what choices they made, the tyranids would never be completely defeated there. She felt the threads of the guardsmen; many would die in the next few hours. At the very edge of her vision, she felt the threads of another group of space marines. Moving to save the human leader. His thread was nowhere to be found. She paused for a moment. She had earlier dispatched some guardians to that area, it was on a whim, when she had arrived on Meridian, that area had rang strongly with the threads of Fate, though she could not determine anything. She searched for the Guardians, finding a torn thread. She gripped it, viewing the last things he saw in his life. Death at the hands of the Bane of Iyanden. She projected her thoughts, attempting to contact the other guardians she dispatched. Idranel felt a dull pain behind her eyes, something was combating her sight. She returned to her trance, not to search the threads, but to project her spirit body.

Incorporeal to all but spririts, Idranel soared across the battlefields of Meridian, invisible and silent. She passed desperate guardsmen fighting off swarms of leaping creatures, Space Marines tearing through orks and tyranids alike, civilians running for their lives. She searched on for the thing that resisted her. In the darkness of a vehicle repair center, Idranel found her mark. She was suddenly assailed by another spirit being. She pulled back and erected psychic barriers. The enemy was unknown to her, though it was definitely tyranid. The monstrosity tore through her barriers and slashed at her form with a clawed hand. She conjured a shield, and struck back with a spear of pure light. The beast recoiled, impaled. Seconds later, it countered, slashing her side with a barbed whip. Pure light dripped from her wound as she concentrated her power. She created a barrier around the form of the enemy, who rapidly expanded its form trying to escape.

She would not allow that. The barrier sphere tightened, and slits appeared across its bright form as the beast-projection was imprisoned inside of it. Idranel conjured dozens of blades, surrounding the sphee. With a single action, she slid the blades through the slits in the sphere, stabbing the monster within dozens of times. She dissipated the barrier. The spirit form was gone, and the influence it had over the area had vanished. She searched for its source, finding a tyranid dead behind the depot. It mainly consisted of a large, armored head, with a snake-like tail descending from the base of the brain. The tail was not near enough to support it however. It must have moved through its own psychic energies. The beast was dead, bleeding from dozens of stab wounds, though no blade was near. Idranel returned to her body and surfaced from her trace.

"Farseer?" asked Draoi, his hand on the hilt of his sheathed witchblade. "You are wounded."

Idranel felt the pain in her side and reached down. Her hand came away bloody. Any wounds sustained to the spiritual body would affect the physical. The wound was not life-threatening, though it would hamper her combat abilities.

"It is nothing. I encountered a belligerent beast while searching for deceased kin." She replied with strain in her voice.

"Fallen kin? To the tyranids?" asked Draoi.

"Yes. One has died, and his squad is nowhere to be found."

"Perhaps they are out of your range, Farseer?"

"That may be so." Replied Idranel. "Nevertheless, we must move to the rally point, no doubt Arcadia knows of the soulstone to be recovered." She stood painfully, Draoi grabbing her arm to help her up. She breathed deeply and leaned on her singing spear for support. The wound was worse than she had thought.

"Perhaps I should avoid direct combat, Warlock." She said, out of breath.

"I will endeavor to make that so, Farseer." Replied Draoi. "When do we move on the mon-keigh gate?"

Idranel paused, attempting to scry the future, though the pain in her side made it difficult. "Hours still. We must gather our forces." She walked out from under the stairway. The rain felt good on her face, seeping into her clothes and soothing the tear in her side. Draoi calmly followed her with the guardians.

Idranel projected to the Eldar on Meridian. Brothers, sisters. Rally to the north of the mon-keigh Forge. It is nearly time. In the name of Ulthwé, we will destroy the mon-keigh and the Bane of Iyanden alike.

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"This is for Captain Thule!" shouted Thaddeus as he tore another one of the tyranids apart. His red armor was already stained with the darker blood of their adversaries. His squad, totaling six, and Aramus were tearing through anything that stood in their way as they charged to the location of Governor Vandis' crisis bunker. Oddly, it was in the middle of a residential district. The Astartes fought their way past hab buildings and public transit lines, destroying any tyranids they encountered.

"Sergeant Thaddeus," said Aramus over squad to squad vox. "The bunker is four hundred yards to the south east. We will turn left at this intersection. Thaddeus quickly relayed the order to his squad, which pressed forward with increased vigor. Tyranid contact was sporadic. The space marines only encountered the locust like creatures when a mysetic spore landed near them. These spores however could bring more than ten tyranids into the fray. Here, in an alley between a hab building and a waste disposal area, four spores had fallen.

Nathaniel Augustine swung Thanatos in a wide arc. Four hormagaunts died, their hides torn by the chainsword's screaming teeth. He raised his bolt pistol and fired into the horde, killing more. These beasts seemed sluggish, their reflexes dulled. He snapped out of his thought as a group leapt at him. The squad was to his left, and his flank unsecure. The hormagaunts brought him to the ground. He struggled and managed to throw one off with his left arm. He reached from where he laid and grabbed his fallen chainsword. He hacked another two to death, though he could not reach the one tearing at his right arm. Calmly, he brought his right arm up to touch the xeno and composed himself for a moment. Seconds later, he stood, letting the charred beast fall from his smoking grip. He retrieved his bolt pistol and reloaded, pouring more rounds into the tyranids around them.

"Are you well Brother?" asked Mnason from his left. The fellow psyker had pulled back to reload his bolt pistol, but the aliens were already fleeing. Like animals, thought Augustine. They contained none of the intelligence that Sergeant Cyrus spoke of.

"Aye," he replied. Mnason was a loyal brother. Augustine would not call him a friend, but at least Mnason understood where he sat as a psyker. It was certainly disappointing to have been rejected by the Librarium. During such a tumultuous time, there had been little time to properly train any psykers, no matter how powerful. As such, Augustine, Mnason, and many other initiates had been completely ignored as far as their powers went. Some disliked this, calling them "unsanctioned", though the use of the powers was actually encouraged by many members of the Chapter.

"You should not be so cavalier with that fire, Augustine." Said another assault marine.

"I do not seem to recall your promotion to Brother-Sergeant, Draco." Replied Augustine.

"I am not your commander, Augustine. But no good can come from that power if it is untrained. Yours as well Mnason. For the good of us all, please refrain from using it." Draco had always been wary of psykers it seemed. Augustine thought it highly strange, especially when their Chapter Master was also their Chief Librarian. He wondered how many other marines had similar prejudices.

"I will make a note of that." Said Augustine as he brushed past Draco. Aramus was already moving ahead again with Thaddeus on his heels. The squads emerged from between the buildings to a road perpendicular to the alley they just exited. Across the street was another large hab complex, these buildings painted a bright white in contrast to the grey behind them. Aramus looked left and right and a flash of disappointment crossed his face. No tyranids here. The Astartes crossed the street and moved between two hab buildings. They were met by a tide of civilians, rushing to escape a group of freshly dropped mysetic spores. Augustine suspected these were not the first spores they had encountered, the looks of fear on their faces spoke of death.

"Forward!" shouted Aramus. "Kill the xenos so we can move on to the Governor!"

Aramus charged ahead. Thaddeus hung back even as his squad advanced. Thaddeus was very young for a sergeant, only a fresh 74 years old. These people were his people still. He looked through the rushing masses of humanity. Forty civilians fled screaming past the Angels of Death. A group of tyranids broke from the group Aramus charged into, and rushed towards the civilians. Without a thought to his own safety, Thaddeus dove into the beasts, his power sword killing any within reach. He grunted as a talon pierced his armor below the hip and dropped to a knee, before swinging the pommel of his sword into the head of the creature, killing it instantly. Thaddeus felt an arm on his shoulder and heard the roar of a chainsword. Augustine was lifting him up with his right arm while swinging Thanatos with the other.

"We must move on Sergeant, lest we be surrounded!" He tore another one of the hormagaunts down with his chainsword. Two tyranids tore into the civilians, killing six. Thaddeus quickly shot them, his expression grim under his helmet. Another group of gaunts moved towards the civilians, sensing easy kills. They raised fleshy weapons and fired. Projectiles flew towards the cowering people, before being intercepted by Thaddeus. Flesh eating beetles crawled across his armor, unable to harm him. Moments later, the gaunts were killed by the chainswords of Hypion and Alaris. Draco was fighting ahead with Aramus.

"Sergeant. We must follow the Commander." Implored Augustine. "We have not the time and we have not been ordered to protect the people here."

"Brother Augustine, protect the civilians." Ordered Thaddeus.

"As you order, Brother-Sergeant." Replied Augustine. He stood in front of the group, intercepting any tyranid that attempted to approach. Thaddeus turned to the group and looked for a leader. Finding none, he lightly grabbed the shoulders of a young man.

"You." He said. His voice must have sounded terrifying through the helmet vox, as the man shuddered and shrieked momentarily. "You will take these people west across the bridge. Take them to the Arbites Precinct in the upper levels of the Capital Spire. You will b-" he stumbled backwards in the middle of his sentence. A large gout of acid had struck his head, melting through one of his green eyepieces. He quickly removed his helmet, before raising his bolt pistol and shooting the termagaunt from where it stood on top of the hab building next to them. Hypion and Alaris quickly activated their jump packs, soaring up to the same roof. Thaddeus could hear the bolt fire, there must have been more. He turned back to the man.

"Do you understand me?" Thaddeus asked. The man seemed less frightened after seeing Thaddeus face.

"Yes my Lord. Did the Emperor send you?" The man seemed about to cry from joy. He tightly clutched an Aquila pendant that hung from an iron chain around his neck.

"Yes, he did." Smiled Thaddeus. "We have come to save you all. None will find us wanting."

"Bless you Space Marine." The man sobbed. He turned and the others began to follow. One remained for a moment, staring at Thaddeus intently. Thaddeus examined the old man. Around Thaddeus' age, with none of the youth. He may have been younger though, perhaps only in his early sixties. The life on a Hive World was hard. The man resembled the Assault Sergeant in the face, though his was very wrinkled and stained from work in the manufactorum.

The man said a single word before turning to join the other fleeing hab dwellers. "Thaddeus." But Thaddeus did not hear, he had already activated his jump pack and rejoined the battle.

Nathaniel Augustine moved ahead once again, catching up to Aramus. Their Commander was just now killing the last of the tyranid gaunts that had been lurking in the complex. The Commander stabbed down into the last beast, before pointing at Augustine and Draco in quick succession.

"Brothers, ascend to that building ahead. The bunker should be just past." He pointed at a building in the center of the hab complex, most likely where the communal washrooms were. Giving a slight nod, Augustine activated his jump pack and soared to the building, followed closely by Draco. They landed heavily and were surprised they did not simply fall through the floor. Draco moved to the otherside of the metal roof, Augustine following him on his right side. They reached the edge of the building and looked down. Nothing. All that stood on the other side was a large rockcrete plain with lines marked in paint. Augustine suspected it was a construction zone in preparation for another hab building.

"Commander," Draco said into his vox. "The bunker is not here. I see no place for a secret entrance either."

"That is impossible. The coordinates were given by Administrator Derosa herself. One moment, we will be there shortly."

The two assault marines stepped off the edge, only activating their jump packs at the last second. To their right, Aramus and the rest of Thaddeus' squad rounded the building. The marines regrouped before moving forward into the large open space. Aramus raised his armed to shoulder height, as if gesturing to the earth in hopes of summoning the entrance to the bunker.

"Did she lie to us Thaddeus?" asked Aramus.

"I did not hear a lie in her voice Commander." The Assault Sergeant replied. "I could be mistaken however."

"If it is a lie, she will regret it." Promised Aramus. He raised a hand to his ear and said, "Aramus to Armageddon. Do you copy?"

Martellus' voice was scratchy over the vox, audible to all. "I am here Commander. What is it you require?"

"Thunderhawk extraction on my position."

"Understood Commander. I will dispatch one as soon as I can. Did you recover the Governor?" Martellus sounded stressed, his voice tense and his sentences more clipped than usual.

"No. Either Dersoa lied to us, or she was deceived as well. The bunker is nowhere to be found."

"I see. I will look into this Commander."

"What is the situation up there, Martellus?" Thaddeus asked.

"We are in combat with a tyranid cruiser. It is wounded by orbital fire, but it will take more effort to kill it. It's avoiding us for the most part, dropping the majority of its mysetic spores near Angel Forge. I suspect the xenos are attracted to the heat it generates. Avitus will be able to hold them for a time, but I suggest that he be reinforced quickly."

"Yes. Four marines cannot hold against this horde indefinitely. We await your arrival." He cut the link and lowered his hand. The assault squad stood around him, awaiting orders.

"We will secure this location. In the meantime, I will contact Sergeant Tarkus. He must join us at Angel Gate as well if we are to fight off the Tyranids and protect the Forge."

"Stay close administrator." Warned Ocella Lyon. He gently pushed Elena Derosa ahead of him as he turned in his run and fired his bolter at the pursuing tyranids. He was satisfied to see two of the beasts explode, their chitin shattering with the impact. Lyon turned back and followed at the tail of his squad, which was running down a large thoroughfare, pursued at a distance by tyranids. The squad was in a circular formation, with their valuable cargo in the center. Elena Derosa and the major tactical officers ran with all of their might to keep up with the Space Marines. The areas they ran past were the rich districts of the Capital Spire.

The Astartes had landed in the street outside of the main Administratum building, but did not have the manpower to secure it. They quickly secured Administrator Derosa and her key aides. Their orders were to move them to a nearby Arbites Precinct. It was a key rally point for PDF and enforcer groups and was becoming a refugee camp for displaced civilians. They were less than a mile away, and while contact was minimal, tyranids still hounded them.

"Brother Lyon, was it?" wheezed Derosa as she ran. "How much further?"

"Two miles." Lied Lyon. By telling her a longer distance, it would feel much shorter. He turned over his shoulder and fired again at some termagants that joined the pursuit. Two died, completely shattered by the bolt rounds. If this was all the tyranids had to offer, though Lyon, how was it possible that they destroyed worlds? He thought back to the corpse of the beast brought back with Thule. They had not encountered a beast of that size yet.

"I think I might die before that, Space Marine." Said a breathless Derosa. She was sweating heavily. In her heavy red dress uniform, she was not at all prepared for a long distance run, even if it was less than four miles. The same was true for her staff. If it were not for the threat of gribbly death at the hands of tyranids, Lyon doubted they would have been running at all.

"Nonsense," Lyon scoffed. "Keep breathing, do not talk, and think about something else. I did longer runs at the age of twelve."

Derosa didn't respond, saving her breath for her running. She lowered her head and pumped her arms, following the fat, but surprisingly agile form of Adept Karl. She was surprised at first, but then realized he must have been fairly fast, as he was a runner for the Administratum. Now she was wondering how he stayed so fat. Pain filled her legs, and clouded her vision. Her senses were soon reduced to the simple motion of her legs and arms, as well as her ragged breathing. How was she so out of shape? She maintained a proper diet and had been told that she had a fine figure, though she rarely agreed with that last part. She could hear voices, but she was too tired to process them into actual words.

"Friendly contact ahead, Brother-Sergeant Tarkus!" shouted Nikephoros. He ran at the head of the formation. His bolter was slung at his side, and in his hands was a freshly painted flamer. Its perforated barrel was lit with a small pilot light. At the push of a trigger, a jet of promethium would pass through the barrel and ignite. The stream of flaming liquid would stick to anything it hit, burning until the fuel exhausted itself. Not even a douse of water would extinguish the flames. As such, it was perfect for destroying large numbers of foes, or enemies in cover. Nikephoros had been issued with this weapon before the drop. He did not know its name, or its history. Martellus had been in a rush.

Ahead of the Astartes was a roadblock of sandbags and steel "hedgehog" type tank traps. Behind them stood the black armored forms of the Adeptus Arbites, combat shotguns at the ready. The Arbites also seemed to have brought out their heavy weapons, interspersed with the Arbites armed with shotguns were those wielding heavier weapons. Nikephoros spotted flamers, small caliber bolters, and hellguns. Where the tank traps or sandbags were absent, enforcers and Arbites with suppression shields and shock mauls to repel any tyranids that strayed too close. While they would be effective against the first waves, Nikephoros knew if larger tyranids arrived, the Arbites would be no match, even with their armored vehicles they no doubt possessed.

As the group neared the roadblock, the closer space marines fanned out as they turned about face to shoot the gaunts chasing them. In line formation the squad held their ground. The meager number of tyranids quickly died to the bolters of five Astartes, Brochus was still aboard the Armageddon after losing his leg to the Eldar wraithlord. Tarkus turned and walked into the makeshift refugee camp. The squad remained where it was, shooting any tyranids they saw to take the heat off the Arbites.

"Lord Astartes," said an Arbitrator in full black carapace armor. "I'm Arbitrator-Captain Welsh. We've formed this rally point here, and we've managed to kill everything we've encountered."

"When the larger beasts come," said Tarkus, "even these defenses will be overrun."

"Yes sir. We have contingencies for something like that. We are prepared to retreat into the Precinct. Its well fortified and will take a lot to bring its walls down."

Tarkus looked behind the Arbitrator at the Precinct house. Unlike the other buildings around it, it was made of pure black plasteel. It stretched high into the air, the peaks of its spires reaching into the next level of the Spire. Its walls were fifty yards high and mounted with razor wire and auto-defense turrets. It also contained bulkheads on the inside that could be sealed in case of a wall breach. The armories maintained enough ammunition to arm a regiment of the Imperial Guard. Its storehouses could keep ten thousand fed for a month.

"Your preparations are worthy of Rogal Dorn, Arbitrator." Said Tarkus. "You understand that we cannot remain here?" He removed his helmet for a moment of fresh air.

"I thought you would say that my Lord." Said Welsh. "Oh Throne, that was rude of me wasn't it?" He quickly flipped up the visor of his carapace helmet, revealing a surprisingly young face for an Arbitrator-Captain, no more than forty.

"That does not matter. This is a warzone after all. I entrust Administrator Derosa to you. She is valuable to the war effort."

"I won't let her out of my sight Lord Astartes." Confirmed Welsh.

As Welsh turned to leave, Tarkus' vox beeped. He raised a hand to his ear and said, "Tarkus reporting, go ahead."

"Sergeant. This is Aramus. Where is Derosa?" Aramus sounded impatient. Tarkus looked up to see Welsh gesturing for Derosa and her aides to enter the Precinct house. The tactical sergeant quickly stepped forward and put his other hand on her shoulder stopping her. She turned to him with a look of surprise on her face.

"Here Commander. What do you need from her?" he asked.

"Is that Commander Aramus? May I speak to him?" Derosa asked. Tarkus flipped a switch and the speaker turned on. Derosa continued, "Commander, can you hear me? What is it you require?"

"You lied to us Administrator." Accused Aramus. Derosa's eyes widened with shock. All the while, Arbitrator-Captain Welsh stood, feet planted and unsure of what to make of the situation.

"I can assure you Commander that I have not lied a single time since we have spoken. It is a sin in the eyes of the Emperor to lie, and worse to lie to one of his Angels of Death. What is the matter?"

"The Governor's bunker was not at the given coordinates. All that is here is a hab building under construction."

Elena Derosa furrowed her brow. "Commander, I checked those coordinates twice. If there is nothing there, it means I was given the wrong coordinates."

"Governor Vandis has dropped to new depths to ignore my presence." Spat Aramus. "He will bear my wrath when we meet."

"As long as you do not hurt him, Commander." Allowed Derosa.

"Can shouting kill?" asked Aramus. He was clearly fed up with the Governor.

"I have trouble seeing anyone but an ork kill with a shout, even you Commander," Said Derosa. "I assure you, I have not deceived you."

"I believe her Commander." Said Tarkus. "She would not lie to us so blatantly.

"Very well. Martellus is looking into it. I have called for a Thunderhawk to collect Cyrus' squad. It will pick you up as well for redeployment to Angel Gate, the attack there is increasing in intensity. Aramus out."

"Thank you, Sergeant Tarkus. I would rather not be on the bad side of your Commander." Derosa said. She smiled at him, craning her neck to look him in the eye.

"It is nothing Administrator. The way I see it, you are a loyal servant of the Emperor. You would not lie to us."

"Again, thank you." Said Derosa as she followed her shuffling aides into the Precinct house.

Tarkus put his helmet back on and opened the squad to squad vox. "Marines, prepare for extraction. We are relocating to Angel Gate. There is more work to be done."

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"Sergeant Merrick!" Shouted Private Alek. "Space Marines at our six." Merrick paused from his shooting to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, four Space Marines were approaching from behind. They wielded heavy weapons, one missile launcher and two heavy bolters. They leapt over Merrick's position without a word and moved towards a small guard tower directly in front of the open gate. They stood in the open next to the tower, bracing their heavy weapons. Then they opened fired into the tyranids pouring towards the gate. Inspired by the sight of Space Marines, many guardsmen resumed their fire with greater tenacity. The anti-air guns had long since fallen silent. They were out of ammo. Some donkey-cave hadn't checked the supplies, though Merrick. This could get bad quick. The Gate had to hold out. Though tyranids were getting through the sewers already, if the Gate fell, the Forge would be lost. The company that held the Gate was already down to half strength, but the arrival of the space marines had significantly bolstered their defenses.

"Take cover!" shouted Kippler. Seconds later, Merrick could see large green round things falling from the sky. They impacted ten yards from Merrick's squad. On impact, the green orbs exploded, sending acid and bony shrapnel flying in all directions. Twelve of the guardsmen were melted by the acid, with a half a dozen others wounded by shrapnel. A piece of bone struck Remer on the head, stunning him.

"Thank the Emperor I decided to actually follow the primer for once." He exclaimed, feeling his dent in his helmet.

"I did warn you." Said Hurst as he fired.

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Avitus fired from where he stood, his heavy bolter held fast in his grip. The tyranids were increasing in number. They were nearly a living carpet pouring towards the gate. He pulled the weapon across the line of tyranids. He followed the tracers as they impacted and exploded, sending bone and cartilage flying. To his left and right, Pamphilos and Arkadios also fired their heavy bolters, cutting down the tide just as easily. Every twenty seconds or so, Linus would send a frag missile into the horde, the concussion and shrapnel killing dozens of the chitinous beasts. Avitus could see lasfire at the edges of his vision. Even such weak weapons were felling the tyranids, and the guardsmen certainly could not miss. There were far too many for that. Still, they should leave the fight to real warriors. Avitus was surprised they had not turned and run like the first ones he had encountered.

In the middle of the horde of gaunts, Avitus spotted a larger tyranid. It stood nine feet tall with two pairs of scything claws. Its large headcrest resembled the beast that felled Thule.

"Kill that one Linus!" shouted Avitus. "Kill the big one." Linus complied, sending a krak missile from the snout of his missile launcher. The missile impacted the tyranid warrior directly in the chest. The implosion caused by krak missiles tore the head torso of the xeno apart. Immediately, the gaunts around it began spasming, turning on each other and moving erratically.

"Cyrus was right brothers." Said Avitus. "Shoot the big ones." He fired his heavy bolter into the now feral tyranids. They could win this. Just as long as they had enough ammo.

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"The Thunderhawk's estimated time of arrival is ten minutes." Said Aramus. The area seemed secure. There were no tyranids to be found. Thaddeus nodded and looked around at his squad. He sat on the foundation of what would be the new hab building. Alaris, Draco and Mnason sat with Thaddeus and the Commander. Fifty yards to the front and back of him were two other hab buildings. On their roofs, acting as lookouts, were Nathaniel Augustine and Hypion. So far, they had not seen any tyranids worth nothing. Thaddeus hoped the aliens were not chasing the civilians they had sent away.

Augustine paced the hab building's roof. His eyes were sharp, though not like Brother Lyon's. Still, he could keep a good watch. He reached the southwest corner of the building, the furthest point from the squad. He looked across the spire level from where he stood. Ahead of him was a manufactorum district. It seemed to Augustine that the hab he stood on housed the workers. Something caught his eye. Tyranid bodies, around two dozen in an area used to mould rockcrete. He could see other humanoid bodies as well.

"Sergeant Thaddeus." He said into his vox. "Permission to investigate something? I will be gone no longer than five minutes."

"Very well. Draco will accompany you." Replied Thaddeus. Augustine looked up, following Draco's form as he dropped onto the roof.

"Brother Augustine, where are we going?" Draco asked. He moved close to Augustine to follow his pointing hand, before nodding and activating his jump pack. Augustine activated his a second later, jumping after his brother. They landed hard, digging into the dirt with their armored boots. The area was strewn with tyranid bodies, just as Augustine had thought. No lasgun or bolter had killed them though. The xenos were cut to ribbons by shuriken fire. Sprawled against a large rockcrete tube was a fallen Eldar. His flexible black armor was pierced by dozens of stab wounds and his blood mixed with the ichor of his killers, who were dead at his feet.

"Eldar." Spat Draco. "This is good though. Our enemies fight each other. Perhaps the orks should join in?" He walked the breadth of the dirt covered area, searching for survivors. Upon reaching the chain linked fence at the edge, he turned back.

"I find myself agreeing." Said Augustine with amusement in his voice. He walked up to the Eldar and crouched down, examining the body. He carefully raised the chin of the dead guardian, examining his face. The dead Eldar died with an expression of neutrality, as if it was his very purpose to die here. Augustine sighed. The Eldar were far to consumed by the thought of Fate. On the Eldar's chest, right above where a human heart would be was a stone the size of a human palm. It glowed red and slowly pulsed with ethereal light. Augustine reached out and touched it. He pulled back quickly, hearing screeching in his head. He did not know why, but he was compelled to take it. It would be wrong to leave the soulstone here, for Augustine knew what would happen if it were to break. Even though the Eldar were the enemy, Augustine would not allow the destruction of their soulstones. He swallowed, prepared himself, and removed the stone from where it was mounted in the armor. Augustine thought he could hear other voices in his head, though even if he could confirm he was hearing things, they were unintelligible. They whispered at him like wind passing through a thin hallway and vanished as quickly as the shadows a man can see at the corners of his eyes on a dark night. He stood before placing the stone in one of his belt pouches.

"What is that?" asked Draco, returning from his short search.

"An Eldar jewel. It was mounted on his armor. Come, let us return to Thaddeus."

"Why did you take it? You know that we are taught to abhor the tools of the alien." asked Draco.

"I could not leave it here." Replied Augustine.

"I do not trust you, Brother Augustine. You know this." Draco's voice was not accusatory. He was simply stating facts. "I saw you speak to the dying witch at Fellhammer. Do not give me any more reason to distrust you."

"You have no reason to distrust me." Replied Augustine.

"Destroy that jewel. Or shall I?" asked Draco.

"I will not allow that. If we destroy it, the soul inside will be tortured for eternity by Slaanesh. It would directly serve the purpose of the enemy." Said Augustine.

"So says the one serving an entirely different enemy."

"A lesser enemy, Brother Draco." Responded Augustine as he activated his jump pack. Draco quickly followed him, leaping as well towards the building they had come from.

After they landed on the roof of the hab building with a great crash, Aramus voxed them again. "Extraction in two minutes. It seems Cyrus and Tarkus are already at Angel Forge. Our Thunderhawk must have been delayed." Aramus sounded ready to return to combat.

"Do not forget what I have told you Augustine," said Draco as he jumped down to Thaddeus'position.

"I am no traitor." Said Nathaniel Augustine.

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The Thunderhawk ramp lowered and Tarkus and Cyrus finally arrived at the fabled Angel Forge. Directly behind the Thunderhawk was the cylindrical form of Avitus' drop pod. Directly ahead, Tarkus could see Angel Gate. For some reason, the gargantuan structure was open. Through his helmet HUD, he saw three green triangles representing Avitus' squad holding off a living carpet of tyranids. He immediately opened a vox link to the devastator. "Avitus, Cyrus and I have arrived. Status?"

"The tyranids are without number." Said Avitus as if he had simply dropped a plate of food. "We cannot hold forever. Greenskin looters have deactivated key generators. This has opened the Gate and deactivated many of the defenses, including the self loaders for the earthshakers. Techpriests cannot risk going alone due to the xeno threat. The guardsmen here are something else though. You should see them."

"That almost sounds like respect, Avitus." Replied Tarkus.

"Almost." Chuckled the devastator. "I hate to say this Tarkus, but I need reinforcements."

"Tarkus," said Cyrus, "Go to Avitus. Leave the generators to me."

"Understood. Go then. For the Great Father and the Emperor."

"Indeed." Cyrus moved down the left road, while Tarkus and his squad ran forwards towards Angel Gate. Nikephoros ran beside Ocella Lyon. It was clear that tyranids had avoided the Gate defenses. As the squad ran, hormagaunts leapt out of the shadows to attack. While deadly to guardsmen, the space marines batted aside the hormagaunts as if they were children. Fleshborer beetles struck their armor, but they paid it no heed. Bursts of boltfire clogged the storm drains with tyranid blood. Fifty yards from the Gate, Tarkus' squad passed the results of the tyranid spore mine bombardment. They leapt over flooded craters two yards deep. Nikephoros could see the battle at the Gate clearly, even in the dead of night and with the rain so heavy.

Only Avitus' squad had the tenacity to stand in the open, shrugging off all firepower that hit them. In the cover near the edges of the Gate were over a hundred green armored guardsmen, pouring lasfire into the swarm. Avitus must be very short on ammunition, thought Nikephoros.

As they approached Angel Gate, Tarkus spotted a familiar face. He locked eyes with the guardsman the Strike Force had saved on Typhon almost two weeks before. The bald guardsman saluted them from where he lay behind a row of sandbags. His squad contained seven men, the majority in green carapace armor, and a single man in grey flak armor, aiming down the sight of a long las. With no time to delay, Tarkus jumped over their position, breaking into a sprint to reach Avitus. The guardsmen at the sides of the Gate saw him as he ran, breaking into cheers. More space marines had arrived to save them.

The arrival of Tarkus had two distinct effects. First, the tyranids that slipped past Avitus in ones and twos were quickly stopped by pinpoint bolterfire. The tactical marines also employed their newly issued flamer to burn the xenos to death in great numbers. This and the covering fire greatly lowered the number of tyranids closing with the Astartes.

The second effect was on the guardsmen. After seeing the Space Marines heroically leap to their aid, the guardsmen broke from their miniscule cover and moved forward to support the Angels of Death. The volume of lasfire was immense and the cracks of individual shots melded together into a whine that could be heard from miles away. The tyranids were pushed back even farther.

Nikephoros leveled his flamer at the now restrained horde and pulled the trigger for a long burst. Dozens of gaunts were caught in the jet of promethium and the stench of burning flesh filled the air. He pulled the trigger again, immolating another group. The horde swelled forwards, the added bolterfire from Tarkus' squad and the guardsmens' lasfire killing even more. At Nikephoros' side, Ocella Lyon set his bolter to burst, firing four shots at a time into the tyranids. Tarkus himself did the same. Ammo did not matter, aim did not matter. They simply needed to buy time for Cyrus. Nikephoros saw a larger tyranid in the mass. Remembering what Tarkus had told him, he leveled the flamer and pulled the trigger. His weapon sputtered, letting out a small burst of flame.

Nikephoros cursed, the canister was empty. Without stopping to reload, he switched the flamer to his left hand had unslung his bolter. He fired it single handed at the warrior beast. It was inaccurate, but he finally hit. The round entered the beast's head and killed it instantly. The shock of its death sent the surrounding gaunts into a feral state.

"A good kill Brother Nikephoros." Said Tarkus. "See that Brothers, shoot the larger ones! They command the others!" As he reloaded his weapon, Tarkus pulled a grenade from a pouch and threw it. The shockwave killed at least four dozen by his count. Explosives were highly effective against such a tightly packed foe.

"Brother-Sergeant!" shouted Lyon, "What is that?" Lyon did not even need to point at the giant, lumbering tyranid moving towards them. The mass of gaunts parted at its passing. Its hoof-like feet shook the ground with every step. It was at least thirty feet tall, with two scythe limbs and an additional two crab like claws. It was hunched over, its head even with the top of its torso. Its back was covered in jagged purple chiton and it had no headcrest unlike the many warrior beasts encountered. Its maw was filled with small jagged teeth and two large tusks protruding up from its jaw. Tarkus knew what it was from the briefings that Cyrus had given him. He also knew that if they did not act now, they were all going to die here.

"Carnifex!" he shouted. "Avitus, bring it down!"

"Linus!" shouted the devastator sergeant. Linus' missile launcher fired and the missile struck the carnifex head on. For a single second, Tarkus thought they were safe, that the beast was dead. When the smoke cleared, the carnifex was virtually unharmed. It tensed its body and charged. The space marine ran backwards as the carnifex swung one of its scythes, hitting the gatehouse in the middle of the gateway. The small tower was completely demolished, boulders flying into the guardsmen in cover behind the Gate. One piece of around five hundred pounds struck Tarkus, knocking him onto his stomach. He rolled over to see the carnifex standing over him. Tyranids were pouring through the Gate now. Guardsmen scattered like flies, cut down by the hormagaunts as they tied to escape. They were doomed. Tarkus closed his eyes as the carnifex raised one of its scythes.

"ARAMUS! DROPPING IN!"

Tarkus' eyes shot open in time to see a red flash crash onto the top of the carnifex. The impact was tremendous, shattering the chiton on its back and forcing the carnifex to stab a talon into the ground to remain standing. Tarkus jumped to his feet, watching in awe. Aramus held his power sword in a reverse grip with both hands and stabbed down onto the top of the carnifex's head, impaling it fully. The monstrous creature shuddered and tried to shaking the Commander off. With a great battlecry, Aramus pulled his blade out through the side of its head. The Carnifex stepped to the right, alive even though it had almost been decapitated. With a second swing in the opposite direction, he lopped the head from the carnifex, and jumped off its headless body as it went through its death throes.

He landed on the ground facing Tarkus, before spinning around to kill a group of gaunts. His boots and greaves were lined with cracks and scratches. He must have fallen a long distance. At Tarkus; side, Nikephoros looked into the air. Descending on wings of fire was a Thunderhawk gunship, its ramp down. Out of the belly of the gunship came Thaddeus' squad. Nikephoros had the suspicion that Aramus simply did not want to wait for the Thunderhawk to descend. Thaddeus squad activated their jump packs as they hit the ground, taking up position near Aramus, stopping any tyranids that sought to break the defenses. Above, the gunship opened fire with its heavy bolters, cutting a swath through the ranks of the tyranids. Nikephoros emptied his flamer again. He had burned so many tyranids it was as thought the ground itself was on fire. He unslung his bolter again and kept firing. They may have won.

Nathaniel Augustine cut down another gaunt, shouting a wordless battle cry. The timing was good, though Aramus had leapt out of the Thunderhawk with nary a jump pack in an effort to close. Even Thaddeus would not risk his men with a jump from that height. He was short on opportunities to look, but it seemed that Lyon was alive. Miraculously, everyone seemed to be in one piece. Thank the Emperor for that. Now to kill the rest. As he continued to cut and shoot, he heard a creaking sound. The ground in front of the marines was opening. Four rectangular pillars emerged from the ground, holes in their widths. Then the extendable gate emerged from its wall and interlocked with the pillars. In unison, the firing of the earthshakers began again. The entire gate complex was powering up. With nothing to replenish the tide, the remaining tyranids were slaughtered like animals.

"Cyrus here." said a voice over the Gate loudspeakers. "Objective complete."

All around them, the guardsmen were cheering. "Praise the heroes of Angel Gate!" Augustine thought he could hear. He looked over to Ocella Lyon. His brother was covered in dust and ichor. Nikephoros stood next to him. The Pale Monster, hidden behind his impassive helmet, gripped Lyon's shoulder. Was it praise? Or simply relief? Augustine did not know. He joined them, nodding at his Brothers.

"Astartes," they heard over the vox. "Prepare for extraction." Aramus sounded satisfied. Few marines could say that had not only jumped from a Thunderhawk sans backpack and landed on a carnifex.

"Tarkus' squad will remain on station for clean up." Aramus reconfirmed a second later. Lyon made the sign of the Aquila to Augustine as the two marines rejoined their squads. They had won. Augustine looked up at the sky, taking off his helmet. The rain had stopped.

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Arcadia ran through the manufactorum district like a whisper. She dodged tyranids, orks and fleeing mon-keigh. Twice she had to quickly silence orks that had spotted her. She killed them in seconds, two swipes of her power sword, four pieces of ork hitting the ground. The tyranids were harder to avoid. They could smell her. She took longer routes to avoid them, though it delayed her little. For a Howling Banshee, no terrain was impassible. She crawled up walls, swung from overhands and jumped from roofs. Nothing could slow her down. As the sun peeked above the horizon, she reached the place where her Uthwé ally had died. The tyranid corpses were numerous, he had died well, though Arcadia would rather that he lived and these tyranids remained on the loose. She crouched next to the body and reached out a hand to remove the soulstone. Gone? It was gone! How dare they! She could feel the energies and residual psychic forces. A psyker had taken Jyunal. Arcadia stood and unsheathed her power sword once again. She gripped it tightly. It was her purpose, her responsibility! She must keep the souls of the fallen safe from the Great Enemy She would not fail. The Banshee of Biel-Tan sped towards Angel Gate. She would join the attack of her kin, and she would find the thief! If Jyunal was now with the Great Enemy, the thief would suffer a thousand agonies before dying.

"Commander," scolded Martellus, "You should take better care of your armor. These cracks could be bad for the lasting integrity of the ceramite."

"You have warned me before Techmarine Martellus." Replied Aramus. He sat on a metal bench inside Martellus' workshop in the Armageddon, wearing a bone colored robe. He leaned back against the cool plasteel wall, looking across the room at Martellus. The red armored Techmarine paced slowly around Aramus' suit of power armor, which was standing in the middle of the room. The red and bone colored armor was covered in nicks and cracks, especially on the greaves.

"I know I have Commander, and yet you do not listen. How did these cracks occur anyway?"

"I jumped out of a Thunderhawk, onto a carnifex." Aramus said, his voice neutral.

"What." Said Martellus. It wasn't a question, simply a statement of incredulity. What Astartes in his right mind would jump out of a Thunderhawk, onto one of the most dangerous xenos in the Galaxy? Other than a Space Wolf, of course.

"Pardon me?" asked Aramus.

"Pay it no heed, Commander. I understand that you must lead the others into battle, so I will quickly patch up your armor."

"I thank you, Techmarine." Said Aramus, standing. He slapped Martellus on the shoulder and walked out, heading towards the bridge.

Martellus sighed. It was becoming a habit. The Commander was far too reckless, especially with the tools of the Machine God. How could Martellus be expected to fix his armor if this happened more than once? Martellus reached out his servo arm and grabbed a tube of repair cement. He could fix it quickly, but it wasn't going to look good.

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The bridge of the Armageddon was quiet. The majority of the human crew had retired to their quarters. Apothecary Gordian sat in the command chair. Mounted on a dais, he could see every corner of the bridge. Sitting on the steps on the right that lead up to his chair were Thaddeus and Cyrus. They had come to speak with Gordian immediately, if only out of habit.

"And so," asked Thaddeus, "what happened to the Tyranid vessel? Did it manage to escape?"

"No" replied Gordian. He removed his helmet and shook his black hair around. "The cruiser is no more. Our last salvo shattered it into thousands of pieces."

"I see." Said Cyrus. "And still the Hive Ship remains undiscovered."

"If there is one." Suggested Thaddeus, nodding his head hopefully.

"There must be one. A single ship the size of that cannot create such a shadow in the warp." Cyrus said adamantly.

"Yes." Said Gordian, "I do not believe that ship would survive alone in deep space, especially if it is as alive as you say it is Cyrus."

"Those cruisers depend on the Hive Ship for food. It cannot be far away."

"Where is Tarkus?" asked Gordian.

"Tarkus decided to stay onsite at Angel Gate for the cleanup operations. His squad returned here however." Said Cyrus.

"Indeed." Confirmed Thaddeus, "Tarkus believed the ork's movements suggested of a plan in the works. They were attempting to open the Gate. Tarkus believes that they have an ulterior motive."

They heard soft footsteps and turned to the entrance to see Aramus, dressed in his robe. He walked up to stand next to Gordian, who nodded at him with respect.

"Apothecary, I trust the battle went well?"

"Yes, Commander. Little to no losses." Replied Gordian.

"You do the Emperor honor, Apothecary." As he spoke, the communications officer stood and walked over, a slip of paper in his hand.

"My lords, we are receiving communication from a. . . Administrator Derosa." He stared carefully at the paper as he pronounced the name. "Should I patch him through?"

"Summon Sergeant Avitus, and then do so."

Moments later, with all the present Sergeants at his side, Aramus allowed the video link to Derosa to be opened. The picture was small and graining. Derosa sat at a steel folding desk with a young arbitrator at her side. In the background, soldiers and civilians bustled around. The ambient noise crackled over the vox and made the sound quality painful for the ears.

"Commander," said an amused Derosa, "I did not think you capable of removing your armor."

"There is no time for trivialities Administrator. Where is our access to Angel Forge?"

"Commander, Blood Ravens. I must confess something. I have indeed secured your access to Angel Forge. But not with the Governor's permission."

"What?" asked Thaddeus in shock. This was treason.

"I have not been entirely truthful with you Commander. Governor Vandis has been ordering me to delay you for the entire time you have been on Meridian. You must understand I attempted to get you the access. However, when I pressed him last, he did not answer at all. Only a few hours ago did I manage to learn the truth. Governor Vandis has fled the system, indeed, the entire sector. He and his House Soldiers are all but gone from Meridian."

"Coward. I knew it from the first time I saw him." Said Avitus. At his side, Cyrus wondered if Avitus had ever actually met the Governor.

"Indeed Avitus." Said Aramus, "Perhaps it is good that Vandis fled. This way he could possibly escape my wrath."

"Regardless," said Cyrus, "You took a great risk. You could be hanged if he should return."

"Vandis was a coward that fled the system, Sergeant Cyrus. Commander Aramus stands ready to fight in the name of the Emperor. If anything, it took me far too long to discover where my loyalties belonged. I will remain on standby here, coordinating refugee and PDF movements."

"You do the Emperor proud, Administrator." Said Aramus. "With this access, we will be able to strike back against the Hive Fleet."

"My Lords," shouted the Comm officer, "transmission from Sergeant Tarkus. He reports that the orks are on the move outside of Angel Gate!"

The Sergeants tensed, prepared to move. Aramus nodded slightly. "And we shall aid him!" he shouted. Gordian pressed a button on his console as the Sergeants filed out, cutting the link with Derosa. He opened up the ship's vox com and spoke, his authoritarian voice echoing across the entire craft, "Adeptus Astartes, prepare for immediate combat. All Astartes to the drop pods. The Emperor protects. Let none find us wanting."

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Ocella Lyon usually found himself in the chapel after combat. This time was no different, and after a few moments speaking with the always pleasant Automemos, Lyon was deep in prayer. He knelt behind a pew in the darkened chapel, the silence only broken by his muttered prayers and the crackle of candles on the walls. He prayed, "Emperor, hear my humble words. Take to your sides your blessed people, that have died scared and alone this night. And bless those who fight in your name. Bless the guardsmen, the PDF, the Arbitrators and the enforcers. Bless as well th-"

"A good prayer, Brother Lyon." A voice said, interrupting the speech. Lyon stood and faced the intruder. Like Lyon, the man was an Astartes, in full power armor save a helmet. His grim, pale face and bleached hair was only half illuminated by the lighting.

"Brother Draco." Said Ocella Lyon, clenching his fists. "I thought our business was finished the last time we spoke."

"I fear it is not, Brother Lyon." Draco said humorlessly. His jaw was clenched tight and his eyes were devoid of all amusement.

"Speak quickly. You are no friend of mine, Draco."

"Such hostility." Draco replied. "I mean for the best. Brother Augustine has gone too far this time."

"I have heard enough of your conspiracies Brother Draco. I will not tolerate such talk about my sworn battle-brother, and yours as well."

"Hear me out at least, Brother Lyon." Requested Draco. Lyon sighed, it seemed that Draco wouldn't leave without giving voice to his theories.

"As you wish. Speak your case, Brother." Lyon allowed.

"Yes. When our squad and the Commander were searching for the Governor's command bunker Augustine to-"

Before he could finish, he was cut off by a blaring voice over the ship's vox com, "Adeptus Astartes, prepare for immediate combat. All Astartes to the drop pods. The Emperor protects. Let none find us wanting."

"Yes?" asked Lyon after the announcement had ended. "Finish your accusation Draco."

"No. Battle calls." Replied Draco.

"Yes. Perhaps it is good that we do not finish this discussion." Nodded Lyon.

"We will finish. We meet here after the battle." Said Draco as he turned to leave. "May the Emperor protect you, Brother Lyon, until then."

"And you as well. Let none find us wanting." Lyon said, but Draco was already gone. Lyon bowed his head for a moment, and finished his truncated prayer before quietly exiting the chapel.

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"What's all the fuss about?" asked Vornas.

"Something about ork movement a couple miles north of the Gate." Replied Alek. He had his vox caster between his legs and was fiddling with the dials, trying to get a proper signal.

"Whatever. We're safe here." Said Sergeant Major Merrick. It was true. After the battle of Angel Gate, his squad had been relocated. The six men, seven actually, were having a nice rest on the second defense line of Angel Forge, west side. Basically that meant that the squad was halfway between the entrance to Angel Forge and the monolithic Angel Gate. They were on the left side of the central road, positioned on one of the raised bastions on the area that lined the road, which was dug into the ground. They had a two hundred and seventy degree field of vision, only their rear was unprotected. From the position, they could fire on the Gate, the road, and the Forge entrance. It was an unparalleled defensive position.

"Yes, sir." Said Vornas. He sat up and looked towards Angel Gate. He had a bad feeling, but he couldn't place it. Everything seemed normal. Hurst was ragging on Remer for not putting his full plate on, and Alek had just pinched his finger in the vox caster's mechanism like the unlucky bastard he was. But still, something was wrong.

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From atop the roof of a bombed out warehouse, Drochasal Draoi could see the streaks of the mon-keigh assault pods. They would touch down in minutes. He reached out with his mind and touched the mind of his Farseer, his oldest friend, Lantillifieth Idranel. They come.

Thank you Drochasal. He was shocked to hear her call him by name. He rarely had that pleasure. The time that they had once used each other's given names had long passed. Seconds later, her voice touched his mind again. My kin. The mon-keigh have taken the bait. Our time has come. With what I have learned, I can destroy their forge. Victory will be ours.

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Aramus was greeted by Tarkus mere moments after exiting his drop pod, which had landed in front of Angel Gate. The entire Strike Force stood behind him, even Brochus, who was now fitted with a crude augmetic leg at his insistence. Though it would be painful and slow, Brochus did not want to miss any more combat. Harkon, who had come as well, had promised to give him a more intricate leg as soon as they reboarded the Armageddon.

Tarkus made the sign of the Aquila, and then unslung his boltgun. "Commander, the orks are moving towards a cluster of storehouses to the north of here."

"Very good Sergeant Tarkus, your guess about an ulterior motive was correct. Let us move out and kill the xenos."

"Let none find us wanting Commander. Squad, rally on me. Follow the Commander's advance."

Aramus broke into a run with Cyrus quickly catching him to run at his side. Brother Xanthis had finally returned to combat, the surgery on his knee finished. Aramus was glad that so many of his Brothers had returned to the fight. Even Automemos, the venerable chaplain had come. Perhaps he had felt this battle was especially important, or perhaps he had misunderstood when he had heard Gordian say "all Astartes". Either way, Aramus was glad to have him.

In less than ten minutes at their pace, they reached the storehouses. Over two hundred orks were pouring into the complex, which was made up of a walled perimeter and a group of armored buildings made to resist orbital bombardment. The orks had brought down the walls and were now bashing their way into one of the buildings, led by a large ork with a power klaw.

The Astartes hit the orks on their right flank at the rear. Led by Aramus, the Blood Ravens caught the orks completely by surprise. Aramus cut down orks by the dozens, Thaddeus' squad and Automemos at his side, while Avitus brought down ranged orks with his squad. Tarkus and Cyrus circled around and caught the orks on the other flank, trapping them in a pincer movement. The ork with the power klaw died to Linus, a krak missile impacting its face. Brother Nikephoros burned more than twenty with this flamer and killed a multitude of others with his boltgun, its shots tearing through the heaviest armor the orks could place in between them. The last ork died six minutes after the Blood Ravens commenced their flank attack, with one Blood Raven casualty. Brother Brochus took a choppa to the chest after his leg failed him. He would recover, but he would miss more combat, much to his chagrin.

"Commander." Said Cyrus. "I recognize this symbol." He pointed at a coat of arms on the wall of one of the storehouses. "It is the insignia of House Vandis."

"You do not think that the scum has hidden weapons here?" asked Avitus. The devastator had taken up position outside the compound, panning his heavy bolter across the streets and ruined buildings to see if any targets would present themselves.

"There is only one way to find out." Said Thaddeus, walking up to the door. "Permission to use krak grenade Commander?"

"Granted." Said Aramus. He, along with the other marines moved away from the armored door as Thaddeus planted the grenade. With a loud crack, as per the name, the door imploded on itself. Tarkus stepped into the darkened room before letting out a growl.

"Commander. These are relics of the Chapter. Weapons and armor from our history that we thought lost."

"Not only is he a traitor." Spat Avitus. "He is a thief as well."

"This type is an example of all that is wrong with Meridian. Without men like this…" Thaddeus seemed disappointed. Perhaps he had come to expect this from leaders of Hive Worlds. He shook his head sadly.

Aramus stepped inside the building. It certainly was a treasure trove of Blood Raven artifacts. Back banners hung on the walls and there were at least three full suits of power armor. He could even see a suit of Terminator armor in the back. He reached out and picked up a weapon, a mighty thunder hammer. He gripped the haft of the weapon, and inspected the iconography on the hammer faces. The side of the hammer had a depiction of the death of Horus, with the Emperor striking him down with a lance of pure light. The hammer faces were covered in names, each a hero of the chapter. There were still spaces left open. This hammer was known as Remembrance, he remembered it from his lessons in his induction. It had been lost more than two hundred years before. If a hero of the chapter killed a mighty foe, truly legendary, with this weapon, his name would be carved into one of the faces of the hammer. Though he was no great hero of the Chapter, Aramus could not leave this weapon here.

His vox beeped and when he answered, the monotone voice of Martellus spoke. "Commander, Angel Gate is under heavy attack. The Eldar have returned with a vengeance. Reports are scarce, but the xenos may have breached the Gate itself."

"We must respond," said Aramus, "however, we have discovered dozens of Chapter relics in one of Vandis' warehouses. We cannot afford to leave them behind without protection."

"Chapter relics!" Martellus nearly shouted. "I will dispatch combat servitors and tarantula turrets. In fact, I am moving to the drop pods now. I will be on site momentarily."

The link cut before Aramus could say anything else. No matter, with Martellus personally coming to oversee the recovery, the relics were safe. He took Remembrance with him. Tarkus grabbed a plasma gun, checking the load to make sure it was fresh. His bolter hung at his side. All the Astartes present had heard the news of the Eldar attack when Martellus had opened the link. They would need all the firepower they could get.

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"Frak! Frak! FRAK FRAKING FRAK!" shouted Merrick. "Where did they come from?" He fired his hellgun towards Angel Gate on full auto, the orange rounds doing little to suppress the Eldar that were pouring over the battlements. Winged humanoids flew overhead, pouring laser fire into helpless guardsmen below. There was a flash, and Merrick was thrown from his feet by a massive shockwave. When Merrick stood again, he saw pieces of Angel Gate landing all around him, some large and others small, around the size of a man. A gaping hole was left in the wall, filled with two Eldar skimmer tanks.

"Sergeant Major! The Gate's gone!" Shouted Kippler as he pulled Merrick to his feet.

"Frak you Kippler! I can see that!" Merrick began shooting at the dozens of Eldar that were running through the Gate. He was so glad that his squad was so far away. The guardsmen were being torn to pieces, and any that retreated were cut down before they could take ten paces. Merrick could barely hit any of the black armored Eldar, and the light blue ones flying above weren't even worth the ammo to try. The numbers were far higher than anything Command had predicted. Too much armor too. Merrick saw a section of the wall crack, and a large humanoid construct climbed on top of it. It had one arm filed down to a point, and another normal one. On the arm that was whole, the construct had multiple ranged weapons. It fired bursts of shuriken fire as well as plasma bolts from a shoulder mounted weapon into the dozens of guardsmen around the Gate.

The skimmer tanks charged up their strange crystal cannons, and fired again. Merrick ducked as the beams fired, even though he knew that if they were aimed his way, there was no hope of survival. One of the pink beams passed overhead, impacting near the Forge and melting a large hole in the plasteel building that it hit. Vornas stood shakily and began pumping frag grenades towards Angel Gate at a high launch angle, dropping them like mortars. Next to him, Alek fired frantically. The squad was fighting back against impossible odds. From atop the building behind them, Cost shot and killed two of the black armored Eldar. It didn't matter though. The Eldar would be there soon enough. They'd be overrun like the others.

"Alright squad, fall back to the west. This position will be flanked if we stay here!"

"You heard the Sergeant Major!" shouted Hurst. "Move west!" He fired his underbarrel grenade launcher and began jogging west. Merrick fired another shot before grabbing Vornas and dragging the Daredevil with him. The crazy son of a bitch wanted to keep fighting. Last to follow was Alek, hefting his vox caster. His hands clenched his hellgun tightly. Even the tyranids hadn't pressed them this hard. Alek prayed the Astartes would save them again.

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Draoi supported Idranel. Her bleeding had only now stopped after her encounter with the zoanthrope. She was in no position to fight and as her bodyguard; it was Draoi's job to protect her. Four of the humans' primitive lasers came their way, and with a single thought, an invisible barrier deflected them, sending the beams harmlessly into the ground. He heard a crash to his left and looked as he walked with Idranel. Aerelth dropped to street level amongst dozens of fleeing guardsmen. He dragged his good arm around, pumping out thousands of shuriken. Any guardsmen hit by the bursts exploded into puffs of blood, with little but chunks left to bury. As he killed, Aerelth projected across the entire battlefield.

Fear nothing. Your ancestors are here. You are our children. Dead though we are, we shall not abandon you.

"We must press forward, Drochasal." Said Idranel. She shrugged off his arm and stood up straight, flexing her grip on her singing spear. "We cannot tarry long. The Space Marines will return soon enough." She ran forwards, leaving Draoi behind. Soon she was joined by Exarch Tyrea and the Howling Banshees of Ulthwé. The one of Biel-Tan, Arcadia, was not in sight.

Draoi projected his own voice across the battlefield now. Eldar, our advance is unstoppable, but the Space Marines will be here soon. Prepare to hold them while the Farseer performs her task.

Lasgun fire from the right. He turned and sprinted towards the interlopers, moving like the wind. The guardsmen did not even see the thing that killed them. Draoi shook the blood from his witchblade and looked back to the Gate. More Eldar were moving in. The Farseer had committed every Eldar on Meridian to this fight. It would be enough. It had to be enough.

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The Eldar had tricked them. Aramus was furious. The Strike Force had been on the move from the second the first turrets had landed. Aramus sprinted, heedless of formation. Remembrance was in his right hand and his bolt pistol in his left. His power sword remained sheathed. Thaddeus' squad was constantly jumping, aware that they would need to return to Angel Forge as soon as possible. He could see the Gate ahead, a thousand yards away across the desolation that was Angel Spire. It was shattered by Eldar firepower, the same as the wall around it. He spat, cursing the Eldar and their trickery. His vox beeped and he answered with a curt, "Aramus."

"Commander." It was Derosa. How had she gotten his personal vox? "Angel Forge is under attack. Many of the guardsmen there have retreated, and we believe the Eldar have reached the Forge itself."

"I am well aware Administrator." Aramus replied angrily. "I am about to rectify that situation."

"We are also reading some strange readings from the Forge itself. I believe the Eldar are using their ethereal powers to overload the Forge."

"And that means?" asked Aramus. He had no time for this.

"It would result in the destruction of the entire world. The guardsmen are rallying as we speak, but your help is required. Reach Angel Forge and kill the Eldar. I beg you."

"Aye. The witches will die. Meridian is safe."

The Astartes closed on the Gate. The few Eldar remaining there turned to engage. Too few, and stretched too thin, thought Aramus. He shot two, and the rest were cut down by Thaddeus' squad as they crashed into the ground. The Astartes pressed into the gateway, underfire from three dozen guardians. Though the fire was fierce, only Brother Hypion was wounded, his right arm torn to shreds. No matter how intense the fire, the Blood Ravens advanced. Thaddeus' squad jumped, landing amongst the guardians. In close combat, no guardian could match a space marine in anything but speed. They died like flies up close.

Aramus swung Remembrance one handed, smashing a guardian off its feet. He stomped on the alien's head to finish it. A krak missile flew overhead, striking an Eldar skimmer tank before it had even had the chance to fire. Aramus grinned. Though the Eldar were deadly on the attack, defensively they were weak, especially when trying to hold a fixed position. Down the central road, he could see storm clouds coalescing over the Entrance to Angel Forge, which was sunk deep into the plasteel.

"Brothers, advance. We must reach the Forge's entrance, at any cost!" He jogged ahead on the central road, firing his bolt pistol. Thaddeus' squad advanced with him along with Cyrus' and Avitus', Tarkus took the rear, firing his plasma gun at any targets that presented themselves. Nikephoros and Ocella Lyon fired their bolters. The Eldar were launching hit and run attacks on the advancing column of Space Marines. What they lacked in toughness, they made up for with elusiveness. Even the guardians, the civilian-soldiers, took many rounds to actually hit. Lyon felt a rush of pride every time he saw the burst of dark red blood from a direct hit. A group of Eldar appeared on their right, but were gunned down by a fusillade of lasfire. Lyon was happy to see two dozen green armored soldiers advancing in from the west, with more following them. If the world was truly at stake, there was no point in retreating.

"Massed Eldar, left flank!" shouted Cyrus. His squad stopped and opened fire, though the enemy melted away as soon as they had arrived. Cyrus heard a crack, and easily recognized the sound of an Eldar sniper round. "Sniper! Eyes open brothers." Xanthis leaned against him, holding Cyrus' arm tightly. Cyrus looked at him in shock. The scout was bleeding from a wound in his chest. His grip loosened, and Xanthis slumped to the ground. Before he could check to see if his Brother was alive, his vox opened without his command.

"Nemerian was the best of us, humans. And now he is avenged." Eldar in the vox. It was the one from Typhon, Cyrus was sure of it. He grabbed Xanthis and dragged him back towards Harkon, who was treating a mobile Hypion. From what he could see, Xanthis was still breathing. He may live yet.

"Commander." Said Cyrus. "Eldar ranger, right flank I believe. Permission to pursue?"

"Kill him Cyrus." Ordered Aramus, who was crouched behind the roadblock that stood halfway between Angel Forge and the Gate. Cyrus wordlessly rallied his scout and they pushed right, into the sector that housed the elite workers of Angel Forge. He would kill that ranger, not only for Xanthis, but because he failed to do the same on Typhon.

Though their numbers were lessened with Cyrus' departure, Aramus did not delay. He advanced again, after only a moment's pause for Harkon to stabilize Xanthis. The scout would live. He charged forward, slamming Remembrance into a guardian that strayed too close. By now, the numbers of the guardsmen pouring in were reaching into the hundreds, and the numbers of the Eldar were thinning. As skilled as they were, they could not kill everything. Suddenly the Space Marines were under fire from the air. Laserfire stabbed down at them, striking multiple marines and killing a group of guardsmen. Though it was accurate, the shots were no better than Imperial lasguns. Despite what the Eldar thought, humans could match them occasionally in firepower.

Tarkus aimed up with his plasma gun. Blue armored Eldar soared above the Blood Ravens. On their backs were glittering white wings of wraithbone. They flew in intricate patterns, firing down at the immobile marines. The shock of the attack was lost soon, and return fire began to take its toll. Lyon shot one out of the air, his boltgun bursting the alien's ribcage. Tarkus saw another with even more exotic armor, wielding a specialized version of the laser weapons the rest carried. He quickly aimed his plasma gun and fired. The blue orb of plasma struck the Eldar on the wing, sending him tumbling into the ground. Aramus charged forward as the alien shakily stood, drawing a single edged sword. Hammer and sword clashed and the Eldar stumbled back, losing his grip on his weapon. Aramus swung again and threw the Eldar from his feet. Then he aimed his bolt pistol at the fallen Eldar and fired once, killing it. It takes a thousand years to train an Eldar warrior; it takes only a second to kill it.

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"Charge!" shouted a Commissar, brandishing his chainsword. All around the Space Marines, guardsmen were pushed into the fray by their officers. Merrick was reluctantly among them. As they had retreated west, the squad had met up with a large group of rallying guardsmen. Now Merrick and the rest of his grenadiers grudgingly attacked. All around him, the regiment was being cut down by shuriken fire. But for every few guardsmen that fell, an Eldar died, its armor either burst by an Astartes bolter, or torn to pieces by a ludicrous number of las shots.

"Let's go!" shouted Vornas as he fired towards a group of guardians with his grenade launcher. Two of the three Eldar escaped the blast, only to be mowed down seconds later. "Let's see em fight all of us!" The Eldar pulled away from the massed guardsmen, laying down suppressive fire that did no good. The Commissar's weren't going to allow the guardsmen to be pinned.

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"Huelan is dead, Farseer." Said Draoi. Under his helmet, his eyes were shut in sadnesss. He had known the Exarch for many years, and yet he had died without even a single Space Marine kill to his name. Something was wrong, they were dying too easily.

"Yes. My wound… I cannot concentrate my powers and watch the threads of Fate at once." Idranel floated above the ground, her entire body glowing. The songs of the storm echoed through her head and dark clouds formed above her. She would use the power generated to destroy this Forge, and the world with it. Then the tyranids would have nothing to feed on, no reason to attack these worlds.

"Idranel, will you make it in time?" Draoi was worried. The Astartes were not even being slowed. Without Idranel's sight, they were blind to the attacks of the enemy. Dozens of Eldar had already died, and more were charging into the fray, all to protect Idranel, for if she died, their reason for being here died as well.

"Hold them back for me, Drochasal." Asked the Farseer.

"As you order, Lantillifieth." He replied.

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"Warp spiders to the left!" shouted Aramus before diving behind a tank trap. Soon the air was filled with monofilament shot. Dozens of guardsmen disappeared, sliced into slabs of meat. Tarkus fell back, clutching his head. A deep gouge had been torn above his eye. He tore off his helmet, and began returning fire. The bulky warp spiders pulled back into the ruined buildings.

"Thaddeus!" ordered Aramus, "Kill them!"

"As you order." Replied the Assault Sergeant as the squad activated their jump packs. They landed heavily, throwing up dust all around. The warp spiders had not jumped yet, and Augustine didn't know why. One stumbled into view, and Augustine's chainsword removed its head. The body fell with a clatter.

"Spread out and kill them all!" shouted Thaddeus. Augustine pressed northeast, towards the Gate. The buildings here had been shattered by heavy Eldar firepower, and rockcrete chunks littered the ground. He encountered guardians in ones and two, and chopped them down with ease. He walked down a small flight of stairs and stood in an octagonal area around fifty yards wide. In the center was an elevator into the Forge, but it had been shattered by artillery days before.

Augustine advanced with bolt pistol raised. He felt that he was being watched. He slowly turned. Behind him was an Eldar dressed head to toe in bone colored armor. Its shoulder was marked with a green insignia, one that Augustine did not recognize. The Eldar, female he noticed, had a power sword unsheathed in her left hand. She had a bag hanging on her belt, which seemed to be glowing.

"Thief." Spat the Eldar in accented Low Gothic. Then it attacked. Augustine's first thought was the bolt pistol. The Eldar slid forward and kicked it out of his grip, sending it into the shadows. He swung Thanatos, missing entirely. He ducked back, barely dodging her return stroke. The Eldar pressed the attacked swinging multiple times. He dodged twice, and blocked a third with the side of his chainsword as Thaddeus had taught him, letting the power weapon slide off without damaging his weapon. She spun and attacked again, slashing horizontally. He dodged, but not quickly enough. The blade cut a line across his chest, marking the ceramite. The Eldar dodged his counter attacked and back flipped out of reach.

Augustine concentrated his powers, his right hand bursting into flame. He charged towards the alien female, alternating swinging his hand and Thanatos. She dodged again, and Augustine got the feeling she was toying with him. He received a slash on his right arm, not crippling, but painful. Now he was sure that she wanted him to die a death of a thousand cuts.

"Stop this nonsense alien!" He shouted.

"You will suffer for taking the stone from the fallen!" the Eldar shrieked. Augustine stepped back, extinguishing the flames on his arm. Before he could move any more, the Eldar was upon him again. He suffered four more superficial cuts to the chest and legs. He rolled away, his blood clotting quickly. Then he realized what she was talking about. He panted and reached down to his belt, opening a pouch and removing the glowing red stone he had taken a few hours before.

"This?" he asked. The Eldar raised her blade, but paused before attacking again. "It was no trophy of mine. Take it if you wish." He placed it on the ground and stepped back five paces.

"What?" asked the Eldar.

"Our Chapter knows of your situation regarding death."

"So you took it?" Arcadia could not believe her ears. How could an animal understand this?

"If a tyranid had broken it, the dead one's soul would have been forfeit, correct?" Augustine asked.

"Yes," the Banshee replied. She did not believe he was lying. If he truly took it as a trophy, he would not give it up so easily.

"You are my enemy, but your deaths suffice for me. I have no urge to strengthen the Ruinous Powers." Arcadia quickly ran forward and recovered the soulstone. She silently placed it in the bag with the others and looked back at the Space Marine. He was tense, waiting to see if she would attack him again.

"I do not trust you any more than you trust me mon-keigh. I wish your death as well, but it is possible you acted with pure intentions. Let us part on neutral terms."

Augustine smiled. Suddenly, bolt fire engulfed the area. Arcadia jumped back behind cover, but the rounds were not tracing her. The bolt rounds followed Augustine, who dove behind a cluster of barrels. The metal did little to stop the rounds, and a piece of shrapnel lodged itself in his leg. Augustine cursed his losing of his own bolt pistol.

"TRAITOR!" shouted a voice. Augustine heard the sound of a jump pack and the subsequent crash of landing. He rolled out of cover, and barely managed to stop the first slash of the chainsword.

"Draco!" yelled Augustine. "Stay your blade!"

"Never!" He swung towards Augustine's head, who brought up Thanatos to block. Draco was much bigger than Augustine, who was the shortest one in the Assault squad. Augustine ducked the next slash and moved back, limping from the shrapnel in his leg. Draco attacked twice more in quick succession. Augustine blocked one, but took a deep cut on his right leg from Draco's roaring chainsword.

He had had enough. Augustine concentrated and brought the flame to his palm again. He attacked with all his might, launching every manageable attack he had against Draco. Though he was only misguided, Augustine would not allow himself to be killed by a Brother, even if that meant killing his Brother himself. He swung his fist towards Draco, only to have the flames bounce harmlessly off his armor. Changing his tactic, he reached up, gripping Draco's face. The other marine screamed and slammed the pommel of his chainsword into Augustine's temple. Augustine stepped backward, readying his blade once again. Draco's helmet had a dark burn mark, the gray ceramite showing from where the paint had burned off. Augustine attacked once more and Draco casually blocked and swung back. Augustine ducked and slashed Draco's waist, cutting him lightly. The larger marine responded by kneeing Augustine in the helmet as hard as he could. Augustine fell back, unconscious, even with the protection his helmet provided. The impact had cracked his faceplate and vox grille. Draco raised his chainsword for the killing blow. "Those that allow the alien to live shall share the crime of their existence." He muttered as he brought his weapon down.

Augustine was only out for ten seconds. His HUD showed only static, and he quickly removed his helmet. He looked up at Draco. The marine's chainsword had been cut in two, and a deep slash was in his chest. Behind Draco, facing away from Augustine, was the Eldar, her blade unsheathed. With a sigh, Draco fell to his knees; even his enhanced cells could not stop the bleeding. He slowly removed his helmet and looked at Augustine. His eyes fell to gaze at his shaking hands, covered in blood, then slumped forward onto the ground, eyes dull.

Augustine did not know what to feel. His life was saved, but his Brother was dead. His savior stood before him, but she was an abominable alien that had killed a sworn Brother of his. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Eldar began first.

"He is dead. A life saved for a life saved. We will finish our duel another time."

"Wait," growled Augustine. "You have killed my Brother. I cannot allow you to leave."

"He attempted to murder you, and you now seek to avenge him?" She let loose a quick statement under her breath, in a tongue Augustine could not understand. "You cannot defeat me in a duel, you must have realized this."

"Perhaps I cannot beat you, but raise your blade nonetheless." Ordered Augustine, rising to his feet with Thanatos ready.

"No." Arcadia replied bluntly. "I will not kill a wounded animal. Pray to your Emperor that we meet again. Then you can have your revenge."

"Nathaniel Augustine is my name." he said. "Live in dread, knowing the name of your killer."

"I am shaking in my armor." replied the Eldar. "I am Arcadia. I am not so arrogant to say that I am your killer, but remember my name regardless."

"I have no choice in that matter." Said Augustine. The Eldar cocked her head, as if she was chuckling. She turned her back to Augustine, and in a blur was gone. She could have certainly killed me, thought Augustine, with speed like that. He retrieved his bolt pistol from the shadows, and then opened up a link to the rest of the Strike Force. "Nathaniel Augustine reporting. A Battle-Brother has fallen; do not let his sacrifice be in vain."

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Sergeant Wadden Hurst advanced up the central road, side by side with Sergeant Major Merrick. It seemed that the 85th Vendoland had deployed in their entirety. Nearly a thousand guardsmen clogged the street, charging towards the entrance to Angel Forge. The amount of Eldar in their way paled in comparison. The black armored warriors fought well, each killing five or more guardsmen, but it was not enough. The road behind Hurst was marked with burning vehicles, destroyed by the remaining Eldar skimmer tank before one of the space marines had affixed a melta bomb to its hull. Hurst aimed at a group of black armed Eldar setting up a heavy weapon, and fired. As he thought, his shots missed, and the Eldar attempted to relocate. One fell as they withdrew, dozens of las shots finally finding a weakness in its armor. To Hurst's right, Merrick and Private Alek cornered and killed another guardian.

"How many kills was that Private?" asked Merrick.

"Four today sir."

"Very good lad." Merrick finished. The squad continued forward, pushed by the masses behind them. Merrick could see that the space marines had almost reached their objective.

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Aramus charged up the final stairway that separated him from his objective. Only Tarkus' squad was still with him. Cyrus was hunting the Ranger, Thaddeus was regrouping, and Avitus was holding off a flank attack launched by a group of howling banshees. The guardians in the way died as quickly as usual. They had far too many targets to deal with, due to the amount of guardsmen that continued to arrive. They also didn't seem to be as decisive as Aramus was used to. He swung Remembrace, throwing a guardian off the railing that it stood before. Directly ahead was an area sunken into the floor of the level. It was the entrance to Angel Gate. Floating in the middle of the area was a glowing Eldar, lightning crackling between her and the storm clouds above. The electricity flowed from her into the ground, pouring into the power circuits of the Forge. Next to her was a black robed warlock, a witchblade in his hand.

Aramus ran down the stairs that led to the entrance. Tarkus' squad fired at the glowing Eldar, but some sort of shield protected her. Guardians appeared from the flanks, counterattacking and forcing Tarkus to shift his attentions, leaving Aramus to fight alone.

"Kill those guardians Brothers." Ordered Aramus. "I will deal with the witch!" He made to move towards the floating one, which he assumed was the farseer, but was met by the warlock, blade raised.

"Human, I admire your tenacity, but I cannot allow you to end the Farseer's plans." His voice was smooth and in unaccented low gothic.

"You are brave to stand against me alien!" boasted Aramus. "Perhaps your kind has courage after all."

"And perhaps yours has skill. You understand the science of war, but not the art." Draoi attacked, slashing his blade at Aramus' throat. He was repelled by a force of invisible energy. Jumping back, only then did Draoi notice the metal crown mounted on the Space Marine's backpack. After the impact, the effect was visible. A flickering blue energy field surrounded Aramus. An iron halo.

Aramus charged, swinging Remembrance. Draoi easily dodged, and attacked back, but no strike could break through the field. Aramus switched Remembrace to his left hand, and drew his power sword with his right. Fighting two handed, Draoi was pushed back. Though the Eldar could launch dozens of attacks at an open Aramus, he did not know if any would get in. Even if Aramus took a hit, the field would recover in time to block the next.

"Haha!" laughed Aramus. "Meet your death!" He swung both his weapons inward. Draoi avoided the sword and stepped back to barely dodge the thunder hammer. He counter attacked, slashing his blade at Aramus from every angle. Two strikes pierced the shield, and dealt Aramus a pair of scratches on his breastplate. Aramus used both weapons simultaneously, but Draoi was quick enough to avoid nearly every blow. Aramus swung low with his power sword. Draoi jumped over the blade but wasn't prepared for Aramus to use the momentum of his swing to spin around, committing to another swing with his hammer. The hammer face struck Draoi on the shoulder and the side of the head. Only a quick application of his powers saved him from certain death. He spun in the air and landed ten feet away, stunned. Aramus moved to Idranel, hefting Remembrance. With all his might, he threw it at her floating form. With a sound like breaking glass, her barrier broke and the hammer struck her.

Idranel fell to the ground, alive but hurt. The impact had been lessened as the hammer had to break the psychic field. She rose to her feet, looking for her singing spear as the human slowly approached her. She felt so weak. Her limbs felt like jelly and her mind was foggy. She pointed her hands at the helmetless human and unleashed her psychic power. It was pathetic. The lightning barely troubled him as he drew his power sword to kill her. Draoi was still recovering from the hit he took. Idranel stumbled back, trying to escape the human. He picked up his pace, and raised his blade to finish her.

A flash of wraithbone.

Draoi looked up to see the human Commander pinned against the wall of the Forge. Holding him by one hand, the great wraithlord Aerelth pressed him into the wall, denting the plasteel.

Draoi. My sight in this world dims. My soulstone, pay it no heed. Save the Farseer.

With that, he threw the human over the railing, back towards the Gate. Following his last request, Draoi grabbed Idranel and ran northwest. They could not go out the Gate, but perhaps there was another way out. He projected out to the force, Eldar, retreat to the webway gates. We have failed. After a few minutes of carrying her, Idranel had regained enough strength to run with him. She was slow however, stumbling occasionally and never reaching her full speed. They just might make it.

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Aramus awoke in mid air. He shook his head to clear his mind, and was thrust back into a world of pain as he skidded across the ground. He climbed uneasily to his feet. He looked back towards the entrance of the Forge. With a single leap, the one armed wraithlord landed atop the lip of metal, scattering Tarkus' squad. The thing reached down with its one good arm and lifted up one of the marines, before slamming him with the force of a freight train into the side of the Forge. Dropping the marine, the wraithlord charged towards Aramus, its speed at odds with its size. Aramus aimed his bolt pistol, the only weapon he had, and began firing. The rounds scored the wraithlord as it approached, but did not harm it much. The guard had begun firing as well. Hundreds of last rounds impacted the wraithlord every second. Only one or two found weaknesses in its armor and even that was not enough to stop it. He grabbed Aramus once more, and lifted him high into the air.

Aramus fired his bolt pistol point blank into the "head" of the wraithlord, in reality a long, bulbous piece of wraithbone. The rounds exploded harmlessly, but left small pits in the armor. The wraithlord swung Aramus sideways, scraping him against a building before releasing him. Aramus tumbled painfully. Tarkus ran to his side and helped him up. Aramus' armor protested even such a simple movement. Tarkus shoved something into Aramus' hands. It was Remembrance. The hammer crackled with energy. Aramus hefted it and prepared to counter attack.

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Aerelth had to cover the Farseer's escape. After throwing the space marine leader again, he turned his weapons on the regular humans. His shuriken catapults and starcannon obliterated anything they hit, and Aerelth killed dozens in his first volley. Their shots hit him everywhere, but only the most accurate shots could pierce his wraithbone carapace. His right leg buckled, and Aerelth fell to a knee. Behind him, one of the space marines had shot him with a plasma weapon, and the leader had his hammer again. The masses in front were getting close as well. He lashed out with his left arm, filed to a point, tearing through the guardsmen that had nearly reached him. He rose back to his full height and turned to face the space marines. He took one step and a missile struck him from behind. He turned to face the shooter and was hit by a plasma round from behind again. They were cutting him to pieces, but it did not matter. Idranel would be safe.

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Linus had landed a good hit, and had distracted the wraithlord long enough for Tarkus to fire another shot. Aramus saw jump packs in the air approaching quickly. Thaddeus squad landed between Aramus and the wraithlord. They scattered to avoid a telegraphed swing of its pointed arm, and Thaddeus tossed something at it. For the second time, Thaddeus' melta bomb destroyed the wraithlord's arm. It stepped forward immediately and backhanded Thaddeus with the other, sending him flying back and falling over the lip of the pit behind Tarkus' squad. Linus, from Avitus' squad fired another krak missile. It impacted the wraithlord's left shoulder, and destroyed the plasma weapon mounted there. Aramus ran forward, Remembrance raised. The wraithlord, overwhelmed by the amount of enemies, turned too late. Aramus' first strike shattered its one remaining hand. As it tried to stand, Remembrance slammed into its knee, wrenching its leg in an unnatural angle. It could do nothing but reach out an arm as Aramus brought the thunder hammer down on its head. It's outstretched armed went limp, and all movement ceased.

"Commander." Said a breathless Tarkus. The Space Marines in the area rallied together. The guardsman, who had recently been charging with the Astartes, now spread out to hunt the remaining Eldar.

"You are well?" he asked.

"Yes. Though Brother Eplis is in dreadful need of an Apothecary."

"And Thaddeus?" Aramus asked nonchalantly.

"Alive, a few broken bones." Came a response on the vox. Thaddeus limped up the stairs from the Forge, still clutching his weapons.

"It seems the witch escaped." Said Tarkus. "Damnable things."

"She cannot have gone far." Aramus opened his vox. They had not been fighting for long, and the witch was slowed due to her wounds. She could not be far. "Cyrus. Eldar Farseer and bodyguard moving west. Eliminate if you can."

"I copy. I will keep an eye out. The ranger eluded us, but there are plenty of other targets."

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Idranel sagged in Draoi's grip. Her bodyguard had removed his cracked helmet and looked down at her with those blue eyes, usually so calm. Now they were frantic, though his face wouldn't show it. Her feet didn't want to move, and only with Draoi's help did she manage to walk at all. They were under fire from nearly every direction. Dozens of guardsmen pursued the pair, and las shots traced them with every step they took. However, Draoi had plunged himself into the sea of threads as they ran, unwinding the skeins of Fate while actively avoiding killing shots. He read dozens of threads at once. He knew the moves every guardsman would make before they even thought of it. Draoi and Idranel moved masterfully through cover, untouched by killing shots, only hit by rounds that would glance off their rune armor. Every few minutes he would turn and unleash a roiling blast of energy, killing groups at a time.

As Draoi half-dragged, half-led her, Idranel read the threads as well. Aerelth had saved her, but was now trapped in his shattered body, a prisoner to the wraithbone that once gave him mobility. She dragged her hands through the threads, seeing exactly how much she had failed. They had killed hundreds of humans, but only one of the Space Marines was dead. It was her fault, she realized. She was the one that had forced the Eldar into such a position, by demanding that they defend a fixed point. She sighed inwardly, and then felt a thread that chilled her blood. A human, two hundred yards to her right, lining up a shot. His thread diverged. He had one round in his magazine. He would either shoot Draoi or her. Draoi could not see him; he was distracted with closer threats. His finger was on the trigger. The human had made his decision. Idranel surfaced.

She pushed herself in front of Draoi as the sound of a solid projectile gunshot filled the air. Draoi's expression changed from surprise, to shock, to panic. He quickly dragged her into cover behind a building, out of the line of sight. Guardsmen pursued, but Draoi launched himself at them. He tore through them in a rage, chopping them to pieces. He could see the sniper that had shot Idranel, he was leaving now, moving east his job apparently done, though only one of his targets was dead. Draoi cut down the last screaming guardsman and returned to the Farseer's side in the shadow of a building. The building sat at a gap in the floor in the spire level. Ten feet from them, a wide hole, hundreds of yards in area, provided a view of the levels below. Idranel's chest was bleeding heavily. Her rune armor had slowed the shot, but it had pierced nonetheless. Her dark red blood was pooling under her, and even Draoi, who had no experience in medicine, could see it would be fatal. He crouched next to her and took her hand. It was cold, and her already pale face was turning whiter by the second. She had a small smile on her lips.

"Lantillifieth." He said, sadness filling his voice. "Why?"

"No reason." She replied quietly. "Drochasal. Go from here."

"No, I-" he started. But her eyes closed and her hand went limp. He stood, his sadness giving way to thoughts of revenge. As he drew his witchblade once more, he felt a small tug on his robe. With the last of her strength, Idranel held Draoi by the hem of his robe.

I will not let you die for me.

Draoi let out his breath in anguish, crouching next to her once again. I did not ask for this, Lantillifieth. He cradled her in his arms. After a thousand years of stoicism and solely inward emotion, Draoi allowed himself a few tears. The few tears that stained his eyes soon turned to streams, with nothing holding back years of emotion bottled up. He placed his hand on Idranel's waystone, still dim and unfilled.

Do not hurry to follow me.

No, please do not die here, Lantillifieth. Not in this place. Journey with me back to the Craftworld, to the Dome of Crystal seers. That should be your resting place, at an old age, your days of battle long passed.

I will miss you, I am certain. I regret . . . so much. So many things, so many paths I did not take.

I will avenge you. I swear it.

Do not. I do not want you to die for me.

Lantillifieth. . .

I feel the call of the infinite, Drochasal. It is. . . So . . . Beautiful . . .

Drochasal placed his hand on her waystone. It was glowing red, and giving off a faint heat. Lantillifieth Idranel, his Farseer, his oldest friend, and his unrequited love, died in his arms in the middle of a bright Meridian day. He quietly removed her soulstone, affixing it to his rune armor, before calling his powers to him once more. Flames projected from his open right hand, and engulfed the pale corpse of his Farseer, consuming her. With tears streaming down his face, a lifetime in the making, he mourned her.

When the flames had done their work, he cast the ashes into the air. Lantillifieth Idranel became one with Meridian. As dust in the wind.

Martellus turned the delivery mechanism over in his hands. An innocuous thing, the mechanism. It was made to fit into the Narthecium of an apothecary, and would contain vials of deadly toxins that would destroy the Hive from the inside. Simple enough in theory, thought Martellus, but extraordinary in practice. The Hive mind, from what Cyrus had told him, was very wary of attacks like this. To truly poison the Hive Fleet, it would be best to attack the Norn Queen herself. Without attacking the source, the tyranid microorganisms in each of their ships could detect and eliminate any toxins.

That was where this mechanism could succeed where any other would fail. Each delivery would also include specialized nanomachines programmed as antibodies. They would protect the poison until it did its work, which would not take long. Nanobots were not uncommon in the Imperium. Martellus had nanobots regulating his healing processes. However, each different type of nanobot required a different STC readout. The STCs were ancient machines from the Dark Age of Technology that could produce any machine. None remained, and only scant instruction printouts from these legendary devices could still be found. Martellus would give his very life to find even a broken STC device. The readout held by Angel Forge was believed to be from an STC long lost by the Imperium, but none could verify the fact. Needless to say, it was beyond ancient, and nearly unique in the sector. It provided the instructions for making these antibody nanomachines. Now the Hive Fleet was vulnerable. Only two things remained, an intricate scan of the Hive Fleet's weaknesses, and a biotoxin made after analyzing a pure sample of tyranid DNA. Both would be found on Typhon.

Martellus stood and walked to the battered suit of power armor in the corner of his workshop. It was ruined. The breastplate was dented, and the hastily mended greaves were cracked and shattered once more. One of the pauldrons was missing and the other was split down the middle. Martellus shook his head. The Commander had outdone himself this time. Even if it was a wraithlord, he did not have to simply face it head on. Martellus wondered if he could even fix it, and if the Machine Spirit inside would forgive the crimes done to its vessel. He retrieved a toolbox from a work bench and sat down next to the armor, looking up at it. The ship began to rumble. Tarkus' force must be back now. They would break orbit soon.

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Perhaps for the last time, Aramus viewed Elena Derosa through the video feed. She seemed much calmer now, flanked by her fat aide and the Arbitrator-Captain that had been with her lately. Her hair was untied and fell across her shoulders and she had changed out of her stiff uniform, probably for the first time in days.

In contrast, Aramus was in bad shape. His face and body were covered in scratches and bruises. He wore a cream colored robe that revealed his impressive musculature, but also the many light wounds he had received over the course of the last few days. With Martellus fuming over his armor, Aramus was left unable to enter combat for the time being. In the two days after the battle of Angel Forge, Tarkus had led four strikes against the continued resistance of tyranid forces. There had been no sign of the Eldar since the death of their leader at Cyrus' hands. Aramus was eager to join his brothers, but there was no armor to wear, and the suit of tactical dreadnought armor recovered had not been thoroughly examined yet.

"Commander Aramus," said Administrator Derosa. "It has truly been an honor to see you in action."

"Aye." Replied Aramus, "You performed admirably under pressure as well, Administrator. You should have been a sister of battle."

"Well- I" Derosa didn't know how to respond to that. She fidgeted in her seat, feeling her ears turn red. She straightened herself and said "I thank you for your gracious words Commander and again for your aid. I know that Meridian will not be free for some time, but without the help of the Blood Ravens, we would have fallen long ago."

"It was expected of us. Our honor would not permit a planet under our watch to fall."

Derosa smiled. "You do your Chapter proud. I plan to return the favor when you decide it is time to face the Hive Fleet. The guardsmen on Meridian are rallying, prepared to fight and die in the Emperor's name. Wherever the final battle will take place, they will be there."

"And there has been no more contact with Eldar forces?"

"No. The Eldar have withdrawn entirely it seems. And with your help, the tyranid presence on Meridian is significantly lessened."

"It is good to hear that those witches have turned tail and run. We can leave Meridian in high spirits then."

"Yes. May it be years before we have to see you again Commander, if at all." Derosa made the sign of the Aquila.

Aramus laughed heartily, a deep chuckle that was as overbearing as the rest of his personality. He smiled as he cut the link. He might even miss the Administrator. He turned to smile at Apothecary Gordian, who stood at the entrance to the bridge.

"A good leader of men, for a mortal. Do you not think?" Aramus asked.

"Indeed Commander." The Apothecary responded. He stepped forward onto the bridge and ascended the stairs to the command chair. He brushed dust off the seat with his mighty gauntlet and sat down. "Even after Governor Vandis fled the sector she handled herself quite well. I hear she is being supported as a candidate for the next Governor."

"If she knows what it good for her, she would just seize the seat."

"From the conversations I have seen Commander; I do not think she would do that. It would not be like her to break the law for her own gain."

"You seem to respect her Apothecary." Said Aramus.

"Indeed. She would be good for Meridian. I hope she is right. I hope we never have to return."

Aramus nodded as he left the bridge, his job done. As much as he loved the glory of combat, Hive worlds were the worst. So many civilians. There was never a venue for a proper battle.

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The rain had never returned since that day, thought Merrick. He stood surrounded by the noise of construction and troop movement. An arm shook him and he glanced sidelong at Wadden Hurst. The Sergeant shouldered his rifle and moved past Merrick with a shrug, the rest of the squad following. Merrick sighed and marched forward with a small slouch in his step, towards the ruins of Angel Gate. He had heard they were going to rebuild it within the month and the repair of the rest of Angel Forge was already in progress. The Guard wouldn't be there to see it though; they were being mobilized for some other reason. Well, it couldn't be worse than standing against that Eldar attack. The six men moved, joining a mass of green armored guardsmen, all from the 85th Vendoland. Though the casualties were immense, apparently they would still be useful.

Honestly, Merrick was glad to be leaving Meridian. As long as they didn't return to Typhon, he'd be happy. His squad was more or less intact, though he never did learn of what became of Zeke and the other three missing men. Most likely killed far from Angel Forge, their bodies never found. As Merrick passed through Angel Gate, he looked up at a hole in the roof above, offering a rare look at the smoggy night sky. A few lights above were visible. Perhaps the Space Marines were up there. Fierce and dreadful saviors, quietly leaving the site of their triumph.

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In the darkness of the armory, the marines of the Armageddon Strike Force removed their power armor and calmed the machine spirits of their weapons after their final excursion on the surface of Meridian. The long room was dark and smelled of oils and incense. All around Tarkus, his brothers busied themselves with their wargear, polishing their armor and maintaining their weapons so that the machine spirits would not rebel. Tarkus removed his helmet after placing his gauntlets on the bench before him. He reached up, and ran a finger along the fresh scar that marked his brow above his right eye. The tough scar tissue split his eyebrow in half, and its rough pink flesh had not yet begun to fade.

"That wound Tarkus," Said Cyrus, walking over after placing his sniper rifle on a rack. "When did you receive it?"

"After you left us during the battle at Angel Forge. I was hit by an Eldar deathspinner. The Emperor protected me. Were it any deeper, I would have lost an eye like Captain Thule."

"How did Captain Thule lose his eye, Tarkus? He never told us when we asked." said Thaddeus, gathering around with his squad. Soon the entire group stood around Tarkus, waiting to hear the story.

Seeing no way out, Tarkus spoke. "On Kronus, dueling the Necron Lord."

"But the records state that Mikelus was the one that slew the Necron Lord." Said Augustine from behind Thaddeus. He had done his research, thought Tarkus.

"So they did." Said Avitus. "But those who were there saw that Mikelus was destroying a group of immortals at the time, and died of his wounds soon after. Thule was the one that cut the head from the Lord."

"As long as I have known Thule, I have not known him as a swordsman." Thaddeus did not know what to make of the new information.

"Captain Thule was always an excellent shot." Replied Tarkus. "However, throughout the entire Kronus campaign he carried a power sword as well. During the battle under the Thur'Abis plateau, Captain Thule anticipated the close ranged fighting and left his heavy bolter behind to focus solely on hand to hand weapons. Soon after the Kronus campaign, Captain Thule presented his blade to the reliquary of the Blood Ravens. It now resides in this ship."

"Yet another thing that Captain Thule never told us." Thaddeus shook his head in amazement.

"He was not one to boast." Said Cyrus. "He always prided those under his command and he never took credit for anything. He always used to say that it was the greatest honor of his life to serve beside his brothers in arms."

Tarkus nodded. Thule was a great Captain and leader. His injury and incapacitation had hurt the Company greatly.

"Speaking of Kronus, Tarkus." Said Thaddeus, "You fought the Necrons there as well did you not? How do they compare against the tyranids?"

"The necrons are the most dangerous foe I have ever met on the battlefield." Said Tarkus. "Their technology is like nothing I have ever seen. Even their most basic weapons can atomize a marine in seconds and scar a mighty land raider. However, I believe the tyranids are a greater threat to the galaxy as a whole."

"Were the necrons not a great threat on Kronus?" asked Paulus.

"They were, though we thankfully did not have to face them at their strongest. Mere days after they awoke, the Tau faced the full force of the necron menace. They were driven from the world in a matter of hours. By the time we had arrived, the necrons had begun to move north, to engage what we later learned were the Eldar. Thule took advantage of the situation and launched an immediate strike on Thur'Abis Plateau. We struck their rearguard, and still suffered severe casualties. Soon after that, we destroyed the Eldar, and captured their Farseer. They were unprepared for an attack so soon after weathering the necron advance."

"Why would the tyranids be a greater threat then, if the necrons are so powerful?" asked Thaddeus.

"Kronus was a rarity. Necron attacks are usually limited to small raids. The most they tend to do is destroy entire worlds. Tyranids are known for consuming whole sectors however."

"But Tarkus," said Cyrus, "There are reports that necron attacks are increasing every year. I have also heard that much that we once held true about that ancient race was false."

"How so Cyrus?" asked Thaddeus.

"We have been told that the necrons were mindless automatons. While the Blood Ravens never encountered the necrons personally on Kaurava, we were contacted by them."

"They spoke?" said a shocked Nikephoros. He had done some studying in his scant free time, and had believed the texts when the spoke of the necrons as simple machines.

"Yes." Cyrus replied. "They informed us that resistance was futile. The Necron Lord of All Kaurava told us to 'surrender and die'".

"That is grave news." Said Tarkus. "If the necrons are truly intelligent, then they may have an agenda."

"Yes. However it may be so ancient, we could never grasp its true purpose, which may lie another million years from now."

Tarkus nodded somberly and one by one, the marines exited the armory. Not another word was said, and only the sounds of the rumbling engines filled the thick air.

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In the days after the failed attack on Angel Forge, a great despair hung over the Eldar camp on Typhon. The few survivors only brought grief with them as the returned one by one from the webway gates. The ancient temple on Typhon was now home to two hundred and fifty Eldar; all that remained of the four hundred some strong force that had left Ulthwé almost a month before. Last to return was Arcadia, the banshee of Biel-Tan. She bore with her the last of the soulstones from the fallen. Even Aerelth was returned, his soulstone recovered from right under the noses of the humans.

Arcadia squatted on a tree branch, twenty feet above the ground. The news of Idranel's death had not affected her as much as it did the Ulthwé, who were deep in mourning. Of course, she was saddened, but a banshee's thoughts turn to vengeance, not grief in times of death. She wished revenge on those that had ended the lives of her kin. Yet, for all of their supposed evil, one had aided her greatly. She had reached an agreement with an animal, and aided it as well. Though, this was not the first time a Biel-Tan Eldar had reached an accord with a Blood Raven. She thought back to a certain Farseer that hailed from her Craftworld. The mon-keigh she had dealt with was true to his word, and had aided her greatly. Perhaps Arcadia's mon-keigh would do the same.

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It did not take long for Cculan to find Draoi. The warlock had been alone for the past two days, refusing to see any others. He sat on the temple battlements, legs dangling over the precarious edge as if he was prepared to jump though Cculan knew he would not. The Dire Avenger walked to his side, and when he received no response he sat next to the warlock on the outcropping. For a while, neither side anything. Cculan was content simply to sit with the Warlock and view the night sky, filled with stars. After ten minutes or so, Draoi broke the silence.

"It should have been you at her side." He said quietly, as though he was simply exhaling.

"It would have made no difference." Said Cculan.

"I am simply a warlock. You are the Blue Lance of Ulthwé, the Hound that guards her steps and temples! You could have saved the life of Idranel where I failed."

"It was the Fate of Idranel to die on Meridian." Said Cculan. He placed a hand on Draoi's shoulder. "No matter who stood beside her, she would have died that day."

"No. Only a seer understands the skein of Fate. Do not pretend that you do."

"If she could see that death possibly awaited her and embraced it, does that not mean she chose to die there? That she did not have some purpose?"

"She- Lantillifieth saved my life."

"Then she would care not for this grief Drochasal. She will return to the Craftworld and be one with it."

"The ones who have done this must die."

"That is anger speaking." Warned Cculan. "It is not my place to say this Drochasal, but you have had enough time for grief. Take your emotions into check. We need an effective leader."

"And that would be me?"

"I could name no other. But I will not allow more of my kin to die in the name of petty revenge. Farseer Idranel was an intriguing woman and I will miss her greatly, but I do not think she would want Eldar lives to be lost, simply to satisfy an urge."

"Revenge or not. We cannot leave here. The Tears of Isha are remain on this world. We do not have enough time to remove them all from the Fallen Craftworld before the tyranids arrive."

"And so?" asked Cculan.

"We have one recourse left." Said Draoi. "The Avatar of Khaine."

Cculan immediately said, "If a life is required, mine would suffice."

"No, Exarch. While your offer is truly sincere and appreciated, I have need of you. Flanre of the Scorpions has come from Ulthwé for this purpose specifically."

"I see. What is it we will do with the Avatar? Destroy the humans?"

"There is no more reason to. We must simply preserve the Fallen Craftworld."

"As you command. May Khaine bless us. Lead us with an open mind and a sharp blade Warlock."

"And may the Blue Lance of Ulthwé drive deep into the heart of the foe."

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In the storage holds of the Monument of Sin, a gathering took place. In the sweltering heat and thick air, the faithful and converted congregated. The bare room, devoid of any decoration or furnishings was filled instead by two hundred chaos space marines. In their center was Eliphas the Inheritor of the Word Bearers Legion. With him were his brothers, absorbed by the Black Legion after an unneeded rescue. They were not all however. Every Word Bearer has a measure of evangelism in him, and the converts had been many. Those displeased with Araghast, those willing to serve the Dark Gods more completely, and those that cared not who their master was; all stood ready to hear the orders of their new master.

"Brothers." Boomed Eliphas. "I am pleased. The Dark Gods have blessed me with a stalwart force, ready to bring death to any foe. Araghast is weak. Araghast is a fool. Under my leadership, the Monument of Sin will bring death to ten thousand systems."

A low rumbling chuckle filled the room, broken at times by the maddening laughter of scattered Khornates. Eliphas smiled. Zephus-Hassan had been right. There had been marines willing to defect from every conceivable origin. Eliphas could count a group of plague marines, as well as a few noise marines in the group. By far the largest groups were the Khornates and the former Word Bearers, who accounted for nearly half of the force.

"Lord Eliphas." Said a surprisingly gentle voice. "What will be done with those who refuse to accept your offer?" A tall Astartes in the customary black power armor stepped forward. His shoulder was colored pink and bore the symbol of the Emperor's Children Legion. His unhelmeted face was handsome and unscarred and his long white hair was braided down his back. On his left hip was a thin blade.

"A good question, Brother Tydeas. They will join or die." Eliphas said simply. "Any I suspect to be harboring sympathies to the previous regime will find themselves in the thick of combat without support."

"Of course." The Slaaneshi marine responded. "We cannot allow for malcontents to eat away at us from the inside." The irony of the statement was not lost on Eliphas.

The large doors on the side of the room swung open, and a figure walked in, dragging two objects behind him. The crowd parted for him and soon the marine stood before Eliphas. Paskal grinned, his smile splitting his face. He threw the objects before Eliphas, where they landed with a clatter. Eliphas looked down at the mounds of shredded ceramite and flesh, trying to make out limbs and other features. They were so brutalized that Eliphas could only assume that they were once men, as there was no real evidence to the fact.

"You were followed?" asked the Dark Apostle.

"Yes." Drawled Paskal. His armor and face were dripping with thick blood, as was the black axe on his back. None of it seemed to be his. "They did not even put up a fight, and they only screamed for a few seconds."

"I find it hard to believe that an Astartes would scream." Said Zephus-Hassan. The Word Bearer locked his arms and stared at Paskal, not sure what to make of the situation.

"You would be surprised what someone would do with seconds to live." Said Paskal. "They will not trouble you again Lord Eliphas."

"Good. As I have promised, you will always have blood to spill."

Paskal grinned and nodded before joining his fellows. As he passed Tydeas he spat on the ground before him. The Slaaneshi marine stepped back, a look of disgust and exasperation on his face.

"Eliphas the Inheritor. You are truly amazing, being able to gather such a large force."

"Who is there?" said Eliphas, turning his head and looking for the speaker. "Show yourself in the name of Khorne!"

"He is no master of mine, Word Bearer." Eliphas turned to his left. Out of the shadows in the corner of the room came an Astartes in the colors of the Black Legion, save for a blue pauldron. His helmet reached up in two prongs and he carried a staff in his right hand.

"Sorcerer Bercastle." Said Zephus-Hassan quietly. The mass of Astartes pulled away from the former Prodigal Son, and he walked calmly to where Eliphas stood.

"I thought I would have to deal with you, Sorcerer." Said Eliphas. "I am glad it is sooner rather than later. How did you enter? The guards are not dead are they?"

"No. They are not dead. I have been meaning to speak with you Lord Eliphas."

Zephus-Hassan stepped forward, hand on his sidearm. "Do you think you can just walk in here and then leave safely? We will not allow you to report this to Araghast."

"What will you do? Kill me? I can assure you, Brother Zephus-Hassan, I have no intention of informing Araghast of anything."

"And why is that?" Zephus-Hassan asked. "You are the disciple of Neroth, certainly you answer to him."

"Neroth is a tool. The Great Schemer has given me an opportunity to use that pyromaniac as a stepping stone." Bercastle shrugged. "Alas, the patronage that Araghast and Neroth could provide has run dry. It is time for a new master."

"I do not trust him Lord Eliphas. I believe we should kill him and be done with it." Said Zephus-Hassan, turning to look at the Dark Apostle, who stood with a neutral look on his scarred face.

"I am inclined to believe you, Brother Zephus-Hassan." Said Eliphas, stepping forward. Bercastle hastily moved back, half raising his staff. "Sorcerer, what skills can you provide to outweigh your possible treachery?"

Bercastle visibly calmed as Zephus-Hassan looked on incredulously. "I thought you would see reason, Dark Apostle."

"I do not like this Lord Eliphas."

"Enough. Sorcerer, speak."

"Very well. This ship is my plaything. Surely you have noticed the bizarre geometries and shortened travel times."

"I have," said Eliphas. "What does that have to do with you?"

"All who walk aboard the Monument of Sin are thrall to its strange layouts, but few understand it."

"And you do?" asked Zephus-Hassan.

"Precisely." Said Bercastle, standing tall. "This ship has spoken to me many times and I have replied. I have full access to the ship at a thought. How do you believe I came here?"

"Through your own powers. It is not unknown for sorcerers to teleport." Zephus-Hassan still did not trust Bercastle, and his hand remained on the bolt pistol at his side.

"That is true. In fact, much of my study involved the use of the warp for travel, and I am quite adept at it. What say you, Lord Eliphas? Am I fit to serve you?"

"I should think so, Sorcerer Bercastle. Do not incur my wrath, through any means. I will be in touch."

"Very well, my Lord." Said Bercastle. He walked past Eliphas and by the time Zephus-Hassan turned to watch him, he was gone.

"My Lord, is working with a Tzeentchian truly wise?"

"He is the Lord of Change after all, Zephus-Hassan. Araghast has stagnated. Bercastle will be useful. If the time comes that he should be eliminated. I will leave that to you."

"With pleasure."

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Ocella Lyon quietly slipped into the Armageddon's morgue. On a metal gurney in the dark, cold room was the body of Draco, the only brother to die at the battle of Angel Forge. Draco's body was stripped of all gear, and his armor was laid next to him. The already pale man's skin had sunken and the blood had pooled in the lower half of the body. His wounds were clearly visible. A slash on the waist, a light burn on the face, as well as the cut in his chest that killed him. There were two more punctures in his chest. They were the deep gouges that Harkon made to recover his progenoid glands.

Lyon sighed. Draco had told him of urgent news, and now he was dead. What could it have been? Shaking his head, Lyon assumed it was simply more rants about his Brother Nathaniel's psychic potential. The first thing he had wondered after learning of Draco's death was the circumstances. He had thought to check the helmet recording, but Martellus had informed him that the helmet was damaged and no recording was possible. The only witness was Augustine, who said a howling banshee killed Draco and then knocked him unconscious before escaping.

Lyon furrowed his brow. If that were true, and Augustine was truly knocked unconscious, how did he survive? The banshee surely could have killed him as well. There was no way to confirm, as Augustine's helmet had been near irreparably damaged by a tremendous force. A thought came to Lyon's mind.

Nathaniel Augustine killed Draco.

Lyon shook his head fiercely. That was impossible. Nathaniel barely knew of Draco's distrust and Draco would be not so stupid as to openly attack a brother! Besides, Martellus confirmed that the death was caused by a power sword. Only Thaddeus wielded one. Yes, it would have been impossible for Nathaniel Augustine to kill Draco. Though, his story still did not sit easy with Lyon.

He stood, and exited the morgue, walking back towards his room. Despite his trust and his oaths, something had dawned on Ocella Lyon. Draco was dead, and Nathaniel Augustine needed watching.

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Chapter 23: Return of a Hero


The bridge of the Litany of Fury was silent, the faces of the crew grim. Gabriel Angelos sat powerless in his command chair, watching Apothecary Carnegie give Codicier Ourous the Emperor's Peace. The bridge was clear of navigators and astropaths. Those less potent psykers were busy dying horrible deaths in their rooms. The Shadow of the Warp had completely taken the Litany of Fury two days before. The view of the Warp seen from the screens on the bridge was one of turmoil. The recently calm warptides had become a maelstrom of color and patterns, leaving dark scars against the red miasma that pressed against the Gellar field. Half-seen shapes writhed and fled the engulfing warp squall, searching for calmer currents. Aided by two other marines, the apothecary carried the dead telepath out of the room, leaving Angelos and Jonah Orion as the only remaining Astartes.

"Hallevelt?" asked Angelos. His voice was weary, and he could almost guess the answer.

"Dying. He will not let me see him." Jonah Orion's wrinkled face was creased even more from pain. The Shadow of the Warp affects all psykers differently, but it is universal in the excruciating pain that it gifts its victims. Gabriel could only wonder how Orion was still functioning.

"How long do we have, Brother Orion?"

"No more than two days. Our last navigator will die then, and I soon after." He shuddered for a moment, and then opened his eyes. They were bloodshot and sunken deep into his head.

"Then our Brothers will be alone against the horde."

"We can only pray to the Emperor for their deliverance." Said Orion.

Gabriel Angelos stood and departed the bridge. Orion remained where he sat, too tired to look, much less follow. The 3rd Captain of the Blood Ravens walked the halls of the Litany. He had passed the point of desperation, passed the point of hopelessness. A strange calm had settled on him. The brothers he met were the same, carrying out their tasks with an assuredness that made Angelos proud. The Emperor had a purpose for them. If they were to be lost in the warp, never to be seen again, so be it.

The chapter serfs were quiet. Almost all had a gaunt look to them. Their warp dreams must be dark of late, thought Angelos. As a Blood Raven, he was freed from that particular form of suffering. The Sus-an membrane malfunction that the Blood Ravens possessed completely removed their ability to dream. Angelos suspected that the howls of the Warp were wreaking havoc in the minds of the serfs. They would begin dying soon as well.

Angelos found himself at his unknown destination. He quietly pushed open the door to the astropath's bedroom, absently noting that it was the same astropath that he had first used to contact the 4th Company at the beginning of this incident. He lightly stepped inside the disheveled room, closing the door behind him. The room, like its occupant, seemed to be in its death throes. The cot was torn in two and had been flung across the room. All the illuminators in the room had been shattered as well and the glass covered the deck. In the center of the room, wrapped in a thick blanket, was the astropath. His glass eyes had been torn out, probably by the astropath himself, and blood wept from the open sockets. The psyker's head was covered in fingernail scratches and the nails themselves covered the ground around him. All over he bled from the broken glass covering the ground.

He turned as Angelos approached. "Who is it? What do you wan- my Captain, I apologize." His voice was nearly hysterical. Angelos could see that his frail, almost skeletal, hands still clutched the Aquila pendant that he seemed to always wear.

"Can you send a message for me astropath?" Angelos asked.

"It may kill me my Lord, but the Emperor waits for me on the other side."

"He does. Are you prepared? This is for the Commander in subsector Aurelia. My last message to him."

"I am Captain. Begin when you are ready."

"I will. Thank you for your sacrifice." Angelos cleared his throat and spoke. Soon after he stopped, the astropath sighed and slumped to the ground, dead. Angelos covered the body with the blanket that lay on the floor and left the room just as quietly as he entered.

"What now Captain?" asked Orion as Gabriel Angelos returned to the bridge.

"Continue on the present course. If we are to die, we will die facing forward with our heads held high."

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Aramus climbed out of the smoking drop pod and took a few steps, the soil and vegetation crunching under his boots. Typhon's sun was high in the sky, and the heat and humidity made the air thick. The other drop pods soon emptied and the marines gathered, prepared to move out of the small clearing they had dropped in. According to scans from the Armageddon, the last known position of Borian's squad was about a mile north, across a ravine and onto more mountainous terrain. It was too risky to drop in the rocky terrain ahead, so this site had been chosen.

"Gunfire to the northeast and north. Do you hear it?" asked Tarkus. The tactical sergeant checked his helmet map display. Borian's force was indeed to the north. It seemed that they had found the array in their weeks here after all. They had a couple marines badly wounded, but none dead yet. They would not respond to hails and it seemed they were in heavy combat.

"I hear it. Those are not bolters." Said Aramus. "We should advance quickly." He drew his power sword and bolt pistol. While he would have liked to bring Remembrance with him, Martellus had insisted that it was not necessary for this type of combat. Aramus had reluctantly left it in the ship's reliquary for further examination by the techmarines.

"We should." Martellus said with a bit of haste in his voice. "We cannot allow harm to come to the astronomic array." Martellus gripped his relic bolter tightly, wearing an ecstatic smile under his helmet. He was about to see the astronomic array of Typhon, a relic from ages past. It had taken Borian's force the better part of a week to discover its location, and like many of the marines, Martellus was wondering just how they managed to discover something so well hidden.

The group of Astartes advanced, with Aramus and Tarkus' squad taking point. Martellus and Harkon moved in the rear of the formation, watching for sudden ambushes. The clearing that they followed veered to the right. Aramus noticed that the ground was covered in crushed vegetation and footprints. This area had not been clear for that long, it had been marched clear. The reason was soon apparent. As the Astartes moved around a large rock formation they entered another natural clearing. Periodically dispersed throughout the clearing were the remains of buildings constructed from brown rock, made by the very first inhabitants of Typhon who had lived and died thousands of years before. What may have once been a trading outpost or small town was now a battleground for two alien species.

The orks and tyranids had arrived in great numbers. The tyranids had most likely come following Borian's Astartes, and the orks simply wanted a fight. Dozens of both races clashed in the ruins, firing weapons and tearing into each other in hand to hand combat. To Aramus' force, the objective had not changed. No matter how many aliens stood between them and the array, they must all die.

"Forward." Said Aramus, the tone of his voice unchanged. "Kill them all." The Blood Ravens moved into the clearing at a jogging pace and began engaging both groups. The orks were caught off guard at the new arrivals, but the tyranids switched between opponents with ease. They were still shot down like flies however. Tarkus and Aramus advanced together. The Commander cut down anything in his path, while Tarkus' squad kept stragglers from flanking him. With Avitus' support on the left flank, they drove a wedge deep into the alien forces.

Thaddeus' squad had leapt ahead as soon as Aramus had given the order, leaving the control of the right flank to Cyrus' squad. With the skills and weapons they possessed, it would be enough. The five marines landed in the midst of a brutal melee. More than twenty tyranid hormagaunts were locked in combat with a squad of ork 'ard boyz. The claws of the tyranids, though sharp, were not consistently killing the orks, and the greenskins' numbers had remained strong. The impact of the squad's landing killed four gaunts and a particularly unlucky ork. Thaddeus immediately laid into the group with his power sword, his squad on his heels. Nathaniel Augustine emptied his bolt pistol into an ork. Only two rounds pierced the armor out of the ten, but those two still destroyed its upper torso completely. He raised Thanatos and slashed towards the neck of another. The chainsword whined as it bit into the ork's metal collar, but the sound was soon replaced by the melody of tearing flesh as the teeth breached the layer of metal. The armor the orks wore certainly looked primitive, most of it looking like it had just come out of a garbage dump, and more than likely did. Despite the appearance however, the toughness was undeniable.

Augustine holstered his bolt pistol and called the flame to his right hand. After what had happened with Draco, he had promised himself he would only use it when no one was watching, or as a last resort. The more he thought about it though, the more he realized that everyone already knew he was a psyker, and few had the same prejudices that Draco had. He brought Thanatos down on the body of a hormagaunt, bisecting it with a spray of alien ichor. With a swing of his right hand, he immolated another group. He tore through another two before he realized the hormagaunts were in a frenzy, attacking anything within reach. He looked to Thaddeus. His Sergeant stood over the body of a tyranid warrior that had entered the melee while Augustine was distracted with the hormagaunts. With the synapse creature dead, the gaunts were stripped of their intelligence. Augustine turned and immediately used the respite to attack the orks. With Thaddeus leading them, the orks were quickly killed, followed by the remaining tyranids.

The Astartes continued to advance, and purged the clearing of all alien life without a single casualty. Neither xenos force was much of a threat when they were distracted fighting each other. Even when every ork and tyranid in the clearing was dead, Aramus did not pause.

"Onward Brothers! To glory!" He shouted. The marines responded with a short cheer as they moved to the other edge of the clearing. The ground quickly turned from dirt to stone, and trees became less and less common. Ahead was the ravine, a massive tear in the level ground that dropped hundreds of feet below. A river flowed through it and to the Astartes' right; a large waterfall fell past them into the depths. Directly in front of the marines was a rock bridge that would allow them to cross, slick with spray from the waterfall. The bridge and the cliff side beyond were swarming with orks and tyranids, in fierce battle. It did not matter to the Blood Ravens. These aliens died just as quickly. After carving a bloody path across the bridge, Aramus' force reached the other side, where the tyranids had overrun the remaining orks through sheer numbers. The space marines killed them in mere minutes. The path to the array was now open.

"The gunfire ahead is fierce." Said Aramus. "Our Brothers must require our aid!" The ruins on this side of the ravine were extensive. The buildings were still standing for the most part, with only a few collapsed walls and columns. Ocella Lyon could see a large metal antenna reaching into the sky from behind a large wall of brown stone. Fifty yards ahead, a flight of crumbling stairs led to the top of the wall. The Astartes ascended the stairs and finally viewed their prize.

The astronomic array had been cleverly hidden. The mountainous area had prevented most orbital scans from discovering its location, and even the space marines were unable to see it until they had crossed the ravine. The array was a metal structure built into the cliff side, and had been placed inside a valley. The array was flanked by sheer drops on three sides, and could only be approached from the west. The large antenna reached more than two hundred feet into the air. Though many communications arrays existed on Typhon, few could match the power and precision that this one could.

Lyon watched the orks and tyranids clash below. There were three ways into this valley like area. The first was the way Lyon himself had come. The second was from the west, another forested area from which hundreds of tyranids came. The third way was from the north, directly ahead of Lyon. A gap in the mountainous terrain allowed for a tide of orks to enter the array area. The two alien groups clashed. Lyon looked towards the array and his spirits were lifted. In cover in front of the metal structure were nearly twenty space marines. They were Borian's, left on Typhon days before. They had managed to take the array. The ground in front of them was covered in gore and corpses. More alien bodies were added to the pile every second. The entire approach to the array was covered in spiked pits, bladed traps and the occasional landmine. Were it not for the clever snares placed, the array would have fallen long ago. The closest stairs leading down from the wall were broken, and to go around would mean going into the thick of the tyranid swarm. Aramus seemed to review his options for a moment, shrugged, and then jumped off the wall, landing twenty feet below with a crash. Lyon looked to his right. Martellus was cringing, part from the fact that the Commander may have broken his armor again, but mainly because this was the only safe method of to get off the wall. Lyon felt sorry for the Techmarine as he watched Martellus reluctantly jump. Lyon and Nikephoros tilted their heads at each other before they both stepped off, as if saying "what were we to do?"

"Marines." Said Cyrus, "Follow the wall here. Do not engage the foe before we regroup with our Brothers." Following his advice, Aramus trailed the wall around and then followed the cliff edge towards the array. Borian's force diverted fire and shot any orks or tyranids that tried to pursue the marines that were en route. They moved carefully, avoiding every trap in the way, and with little incident, reached Borian's marines.

"Well met Sergeant Borian." He said as he dropped into cover. He aimed his bolt pistol at the mass of aliens and emptied it before reloading and repeating the action.

"Indeed Commander. I will report this mission a success." Borian's armor was battered, and he was covered in mud and xenos blood. The other squads were in similar shape. Closer to the array, four marines sat with their backs against rocks, too wounded to fight.

"Apothecary Harkon," said Aramus, "deal with those wounded." Harkon ran to them and opened his narthecium. As he did so, the rest of the newly arrived space marines took cover, significantly bolstering the firepower defending the array. Avitus' heavy bolters, finally in a position that would do some good, tore apart the multitudes like paper. Aramus saw that Mercutio's squad was in good condition, and that its Sergeant was leading them as good as ever. He was firing his plasma gun at a group of ork lootas on a ridge to the north, his ever present helmet unchanged since the last time Aramus had seen it. Aramus was also surprised to see a techpriest fighting alongside the space marines, firing a well polished lasgun. Had Borian recovered one of the techpriest camps and found a survivor?

"Sergeant Borian," said Cyrus. "Where is Ariston? Was he not with you?"

"He was, but we came upon this place two days ago with the help of tech-adept James, and set about fulfilling our other objectives."

"James is an odd name for one of the machine cult." Said Aramus, busy firing his pistol at an approaching tyranid warrior.

"That is what I said Commander." Said Borian. "But he was the last surviving priest at the camp we found, and they had a map to the array, so I was not going to press the matter."

"Yes, yes." Said Cyrus impatiently, "Ariston?"

"Of course Sergeant Cyrus. Even with the help of the tech-adept, it took us more than a week to get here. When we arrived, the tech-adept powered up the array to confirm its status. He then scanned the surrounding forests for prime locations for tyranid digestion pools. Ariston left this morning to search for them. I received a message an hour ago reporting that he was closing on a pool."

"Why did it take him so long to get moving?" asked Cyrus.

"We were under attack soon after we arrived. The orks came first and we set up traps to slow their advances, but their numbers just kept growing. There was a lull this morning and that is when Ariston left. Soon after, the tyranids arrived.

Just as Cyrus said, the numbers of orks and tyranids entering the area only seemed to increase. With howls of joy, the orks threw themselves into the brawl. They were led by two large war machines, not unlike an Astartes dreadnought. Their heavy grasping arms were capped with saws and pincer claws that turned tyranids to paste. The orks pressed forward, driving into the tyranid swarm. In an instant the situation reversed itself. Orks were suddenly being cut to pieces by creatures with four clawed arms, not even the heavy armor the orks wore could stop the lightning fast blows. From his time in the Deathwatch, Cyrus easily recognized the creatures as genestealers, some of the fiercest tyranid shock troops, and also potent infiltration units.

As the tyranids and orks clashed, the space marines did not sit by idly. The fired hundreds of rounds into the mobs and culled their numbers quite significantly. A shot from Linus' missile launcher removed one of the arms on an ork dreadnought, and it was soon overrun by genestealers. The razor sharp claws parted the armor in seconds and the howling greenskin was removed from its vessel, the wires embedded in its skin tearing out one by one. The genestealers ripped it limb from limb in milliseconds. Another missile from Linus destroyed the whole group with a blast of shrapnel. The marines fired from range, it was too risky to send in Magnus or Thaddeus' squads.

More and more, the tyranids began to gain an advantage on the orks, whose numbers were thinning. More and more tyranids poured out of the forest, led by a floating snake-like creature with a massive armored head. The thing fired bolts of psychic energy into the orks, breaking bones and liquefying anything hit.

"Tyranid zoanthrope!" shouted Cyrus. "Kill that thing before it turns its powers on us!"

Avitus hosed the creature with heavy bolter fire, but the bolts were stopped by a field of psychic energy and exploded harmlessly in mid air. Tarkus squad opened fire on it as well. Tarkus, like Aramus, had left the plasma gun he had recovered with the techmarines for inspection. His bolt rounds were stopped just as Avitus' was. Nikephoros was also using his bolter to engage the foe. As much as he would have liked to burn it, his flamer was out of range. He and Lyon knelt side by side, firing four round bursts at the zoanthrope, which was launching dozens of psychic bolts at the second ork dreadnought and was too busy to deal with the marines. The amount of bolt fire seemed to be taking its toll, as the rounds were stopped closer and closer to the tyranid. The beast lifted up the remains of the ork vehicle with its mind and crushed it into a small sphere of scrap metal and bone. Finally, one of Nikephoros' bolts grazed the long tail of the creature, and with a crack, the shield dissipated. Before a second had passed, the amount of firepower already moving towards it had destroyed it utterly, leaving a film of gore on the ground in every direction.

The tyranids reverted to their feral state for only a moment before the tyranid warriors in the swarm took control. Lyon saw something odd in the midst of them. A scrawny floating tyranid with half a dozen long tentacle arms, dripping with yellow fluids. Unlike the zoanthrope, this creature was floating due to large gas filled sacs that lined its body, and the air around the tyranid was filled with a yellow vapor. Orks caught in this cloud fell to their knees, choking and sputtering as they frothed at the mouth. They were quickly ensnared in the creature's tentacles and melted entirely.

"Commander!" Lyon shouted. "What is that thing?" He had never even heard of a tyranid of this type.

"I know not! Cyrus, do you know this?"

"Not personally, but I know of it. It is a venomthrope. Beware, its poisons are deadly."

Apothecary Harkon ran to the Commander and crouched next to him. He spoke quickly. "Commander. It would do us good to get a clean kill on that creature and quickly put it in stasis. Its venoms may provide a clue on how to treat Captain Thule. With that creature and a sample from a digestion pool, I am certain that Gordian and I could revive him."

"Cyrus, can you do it?"

"Yes. But Harkon and Martellus would need to be quick with their stasis field. The poisons in tyranids are not maintained well after death. I would give us a two minute frame of opportunity."

"Very well. Magnus, Thaddeus, cover Harkon and Martellus."

Cyrus leveled his rifle, balancing it on a fallen pillar. He aimed carefully, using the scope's thermal functions to get a precise shot lined up. He fired. The shot flew and impacted the creature's head from the side, removing its brain matter while not bursting any of the gas balloons. The dead creature drifted slowly, the gas not yet gone from its balloons.

Harkon and Martellus were on the move instantly, with Magnus and Thaddeus' squads watching their flanks, keeping tyranids from interfering. They charged the floating corpse, and began preparing the stasis field as they ran. Four pillars would need to be placed, and then activated. The area the pillars surrounded would be completely frozen in time. Martellus tossed two pillars to Harkon as they ran, carefully avoiding the traps that Borian's force had set up. A group of genestealers moved towards them, but they were mowed down by Tarkus' squad. Harkon looked back. The rest of the strike force was advancing. Mercutio's squad was moving to their left, blocking the orks. Avitus was laying down cover fire ahead to try and keep the tyranids' numbers at a manageable level.

The two marines reached the dead venomthrope. The gas was beginning to dissipate, but Harkon was still thankful for his helmet. Even with his enhanced biology, the toxins may still be deadly. They surrounded the creature and placed the pillars into the ground around it. This was only a temporary measure, when the area was secured, they would enhance the field for transport. With the pillars in place, Martellus began operating a small control device. A moment later, the field activated. The venomthrope stopped all movement, and was encased in a field of shimmering air. Not a single particle in the field moved, and anything that touched the edge of the field was repelled.

Nikephoros slung his bolter and raised his flamer as they advanced. He immediately doused a group of termagaunts in lit promethium before turning the weapon on a tyranid warrior. The strike force was focusing on synapse creatures, trying to break the link to the Hive Mind. Another zoanthrope approached, and Aramus charged it. He dodged two psychic blasts and swung his power sword at the floating tyranid. It caught him, and threw him thirty feet before Linus hit it with a krak missile, killing it. Aramus stood up to see the numbers of the swarm dwindling, and the orks gone entirely.

"Area secured Commander." Said Tarkus as he gunned down the last of the genestealers. The tyranids had exhausted their numbers completely. With almost half a battle company, victory had been assured.

"Praise the Emperor. Apothecary, Techmarine, what do you require?"

"I have already called for two Thunderhawks," said Martellus. "They will be here shortly. I have also asked for the deployment of tarantula turrets, but we will need a squad to remain behind to ensure the safety of the array."

"I will stay Commander." Said Avitus. "My squad's heavy weapons will butcher anything that comes near."

"Your zeal is noted Avitus. Prepare lanes of fire now." Aramus sheathed his power sword. "Will it not be good to return to the Armageddon, Sergeant Mercutio."

"It will Commander." He replied. "My armor could use some cleansing, and I am running low on ammunition."

"Always thinking about battle? Would it not be good to eat some real food?" Aramus grinned at the helmeted Sergeant.

"You would be surprised how tasty the wildlife is on Typhon, Commander. Though it took a day or two to realize that bolters do not make good hunting equipment. Were it not for the fact that we Astartes can go without eating for days, we may have starved here."

Aramus laughed and moved to confirm the status of their secured venomthrope with Harkon and Martellus. The thunderhawks would be there soon to collect Borian's force and the venomthrope. Soon after the gunships departed, Aramus' force was on the move towards Ariston's last known position, leaving Avitus' squad behind to watch over the now captured array.

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"A good find Brother Harkon." Said Gordian. The senior Apothecary donned his surgery robe as the rack bearing the stasis locked venomthrope was wheeled in by Martellus and Harkon. They placed the stasis field near a surgery table, and laid their tools out on pedestals next to it.

"How long do we have to complete the analysis?" asked Harkon.

"Possibly ten minutes," Gordian replied as he moved to a wall console. After pressing a few buttons, the temperature in the room dropped below freezing. "The cold air here will reduce the speed of decay. The poisons should remain in their pure form. Martellus, will you remain here? We may have need of you when we revive Thule."

"I will stay. I must say this however. I am no Apothecary, but I do not believe Thule will be able to fight again. Even if we are able to revive him."

"I have confirmed that." Said Gordian.

"Honored Brother Toro was laid low on Kronus . His sarcophagus requires a new occupant."

"Thule of all people is worthy of that honor. You should go, Martellus."

"I will. It will be ready within the hour."

Martellus left the Apothecarium as Gordian and Harkon prepared to operate. They stood on opposite edges of the table with Gordian next to the stasis field. With a flip of a switch, the field deactivated and Gordian quickly lifted the venomthrope's corpse, placing it on the table. Harkon immediately jammed the syringe into the thing's body. He filled the syringe with strange yellow-green bile. It seemed like the venomthrope's blood was a poison itself. He filled twelve other syringes. Each had a different type of poison that came from a different part of the body. Quickly, Gordian took the fluids to be analyzed. He placed them in a large machine built to analyze liquids down to the last microbe. In seven minutes, each was done. After quickly disposing of the poisons, Harkon returned to find Gordian printing out the analysis from a large cogitator.

"Any results Apothecary?" he asked.

"One, here." Said Gordian, passing Harkon a long page. Harkon scanned the contents. He thought back to their analysis of Thule's poison. Each part matched, and many of the parts missing from Thule's were found here. A cure could almost be made.

"This is wonderful Apothecary." Harkon said.

"Yes. But parts of the gene-code are still unknown. It decayed while we rushed to preserve it."

"Perhaps the digestion pool sample could fill some of these gaps?"

"It is worth a try. I have a suspicion that these decayed parts of the gene code are common to all tyranids. Every sample we have taken has not contained those pieces."

"The digestion pool sample should have it then. It would contain living microorganisms."

"Very well. Go with them Harkon. I will leave the proper recovery to you. Recover it and return here immediately."

Harkon made the sign of the Aquila and ran to board the Thunderhawk being readied to extract Aramus.

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Ariston's squad was pinned down not fifty yards from the digestion pool they had stormed. It was easy enough at first. The tyranids had been few in number and there were no synapse creatures around. The ten man squad had charged in and procured a bio-sample in minutes. As they tried to withdraw however, the tyranids' numbers increased more and more. Now his squad was taking shelter behind a formation of rocks and trees with their backs to a cliff. He pressed himself against the ground as a spore mine went off above him. There were dozens of termagaunts out there, and a few biovores too. Three of his squad was dead, and almost everyone else was wounded in some way. Ariston himself had a piece of spore mine shrapnel in his right leg, taken before he could reach cover. They had been here for most of the day, and now the muzzle flares of their bolters were fast becoming the only illumination they had.

He looked over the rock, raising his combat shotgun. The termagaunts were staying away, firing their fleshborers and deathspitters from a distance. The biovores were out of sight, but from the arcs of their spore mines, he suspected there were three or four. Two scouts to his left were firing their bolters, and scout Saul on the right had finally gotten his heavy bolter in working order. He fired at the termagaunts in hesistant bursts, killing a few before dropping back into cover. Ariston crouched again.

"Saul, how much ammunition is remaining?" he asked.

"Half in this box, two other boxes after. Probably around two hundred and fifty bolts Sergeant."

"That is not much. Keep fi-" Ariston finally noticed his vox beeping. He moved a hand to his ear to answer. "Ariston here." He said. Saul began firing again, a bit more confidently this time.

"Sergeant Ariston!" said a surprised voice. "You finally answered."

"Commander Aramus?"

"Yes. Thank you for responding. We have a lock on your position. We are closing fast on foot! Hold your current position!" The link cut out. Ariston was relieved. They were saved. He reached down to his waist and made sure the sample was safe. It was in a glass vial attacked to his belt. He heard a cry to his right. Saul fell, clutching his right arm. Fleshborer beetles swarmed over it. In the seconds it took the things to die, they had torn great chunks of flesh from his arm. He dropped his heavy bolter in pain. Ariston made sure the scout was safe in cover before bringing up his combat shotgun again. He fired at a group of termagaunts that were trying to close, killing two.

Without any warning, the termagaunts that had been content to stay back and shoot charged forward. Perhaps they sensed the confidence that Ariston had now? Perhaps they knew that more were coming. No matter the reason, they charged. Ariston's few remaining scouts fired everything they had, but did little to thin the swarm. Ariston himself tossed his last grenade before firing his shotgun repeatedly. A termagaunt leapt over the rock he hid behind and Ariston bashed it away with the butt of his shotgun. He fired once more and was empty. With no time to reload, he reached down and picked up Saul's heavy bolter. The heavy rounds kept many of the termagaunts at bay, and any that closed were swatted by the heavy gun. Ariston saw a tyranid warrior brood approaching. He turned the heavy bolter on them. Two died in the hail of armor piercing rounds, but the heavy weapon ran dry before he could kill the last. He drew his bolt pistol and emptied it, but still the warrior came on. Ariston prepared himself. He would grapple with the tyranid warrior, and he would lose. But he did not care, the Emperor was with him.

New bolterfire tore the warrior to pieces and more Blood Ravens appeared, charging in fron the scouts' left, towards the direction of the digestion pool. Commander Aramus led them in their charge. Tarkus and Thaddeus squads set about annihilating the enemy, while Cyrus moved to cover Ariston's squad. Thaddeus' squad leapt out of view using their jump packs and the biovore fire stopped after thiry seconds. After Cyrus had confirmed that Ariston had a bio sample from the digestion pool, Tarkus' squad went and destroyed it. Nikephoros' flamer lit the pool like it was promethium and the small capillary towers around it burned as if they were torches.

When the fighting had lessened, Ariston said "Commander. Thank the Emperor you came when you did. We were about to be overrun."

"We could not allow the sample to be in jeopardy." Aramus replied. He opened up his vox and told the Armageddon they were ready for pickup. A few minutes later, a Thunderhawk was overhead, ramp lowered. Leaning out from the open transport compartment was Apothecary Harkon.

"The pilot says he cannot land, Commander!" shouted Harkon. "The uneven terrain would be hell on the engines with twenty marines aboard. We could not take off again safely. Throw the sample here!"

Aramus cursed and threw the sample in a high arc. Harkon caught it easily and passed it to another marine.

"Return this to Apothecary Gordian." He said.

"What of you Apothecary?" asked the marine.

"There is healing to be done." Harkon said as he jumped from the ramp, landing in the midst of the marines below with a loud thump. He stood up, marveling at the dent he left in the forest floor. He quickly moved to treat the wounded marines in Ariston's squad. The marine stared down for a second before pulling back as the Thunderhawk ramp closed. The gunship then fired its engines and rocketed back into the upper atmosphere to return to the Armageddon with the sample.

"Brothers, let us move on to another extraction point." Said Aramus. Since the terrain was too rough here, the Astartes would have to move to another position. Their best bet was southeast of their current location. The marines began to move. The still living scouts in Ariston's squad carried the dead. Even though there was nothing to recover as far as gene seed went, they would not leave their bodies here to rot. Tyranids closed to engage them, but were quickly pushed back by a fusillade of bolter fire.

After almost thirty minutes, Harkon contacted Gordian, "Will that sample do, Apothecary?"

There was a pause on the vox, before Gordian responded. "Making anti-venom now, stand-by."

The Astartes moved at a running pace towards the south east. As they moved, they noticed that the soil was becoming thinner and thinner, and trees were scarcer. Large capillary towers reached into the sky and there was more than one tyranid hive in the area. These small, fleshy structures were living spawn from the Norn Queen herself, and were able to churn out dozens of gaunts a minute. The space marines burnt every alien thing they found. When Nikephoros turned his flamer on the hives, they squirmed and screeched, though they had no mouths. It disturbed the pale marine greatly, but that only made him want to burn it more.

"There brothers!" shouted Aramus as he cut down a tyranid warrior. "The extraction point is close!" He leapt into a swarm of termagaunts, slashing with his power sword. He had grown quite adept at killing tyranids since they had first encountered them. As he finished off the gaunts he noticed something odd. Even though he had killed a tyranid warrior, the lesser creatures around them had not turned feral. There were no zoanthropes in sight, so how had they kept their link with the Hive Mind. Though it puzzled him, there was killing to be done, and he quickly ended that train of thought.

Harkon was watching the flanks, trying to protect Ariston's squad. He flipped his bolter to burst fire and shot down a group of hormagaunts trying to close. He felt and impact on his back and reached up, pulling a hormagaunt off of himself before throwing it into the ground. A claw pierced his side, and he pulled another off his back before stomping it into the dirt. Hormagaunts were pouring towards the squads from the rear. Harkon quickly reloaded his bolter and began firing. He killed most of them, and the ones that closed were broken with quick barehanded strikes. As he finished off one with a chokeslam, Gordian contacted him again.

"Antidote 98% percent successful. Even Captain Thule's weakened systems can deal with what is left. Martellus is busy preparing the sarcophagus."

"When he's ready, go ahead and drop him. The numbers are increasing here." Harkon reloaded his weapon again as he spoke. He turned his weapon on a warrior brood armed with barb stranglers and killed two. A shot from one of Tarkus' marines killed the last.

"That is easy for you to say Harkon. It takes quite a bit of work to get a dreadnought up and running."

"We may need it I said!" shouted Harkon as he bashed the brains out of a termagaunt with the butt of his bolter. He walked backwards, shooting any tyranid he could. There must be hundreds in these woods.

Thaddeus' squad led the advance with Aramus. The assault marines killed gaunts by the dozens. They were smart enough now that when a tyranid warrior approached, they would take them in pairs. One would distract and the other would kill it. Though if Thaddeus or Aramus attacked one, it was dead already. Even tyranid chitin could not stop a power weapon. Leading the group, the marines reached a wide open clearing, free of tyranid structures or trees. The ground was grassy and seemed to be untouched by the tyranid life. As the rest of the marines moved into the clearing and found cover, they noticed that their pursuers had pulled off, and they were no longer under attack.

"What is this?" asked Thaddeus. He had not lowered his weapons yet, and was fully prepared for a trap.

"Be careful." Said Cyrus. "They are most likely regrouping. Prepare yourselves."

"Cyrus is right Brothers." Said Aramus. He opened up his vox and contacted the Armageddon. "Aramus to Armageddon. We have reached the extraction point. Requesting Thunderhawk."

"It is on the way Commander." Came the watch officer's response.

The marines were tense. Nothing came to attack them, and the jungle was quiet. Then they heard something. Movement from far off.

"What is that?" asked Nathaniel Augustine.

"I am not sure." Replied Cyrus. It sounded like the breaking of branches. "Prepare for contact. Possible carnifex."

Aramus tensed, gripping his power sword tighter. They had no real heavy weapons with them. The heavy bolter from Ariston's squad would not be enough to kill a carnifex, and Thaddeus' melta bombs would require them to get within the range of the scything talons. He did not know if he could repeat the stunt he pulled on Meridian.

As the noise grew louder, the marines noticed that the earth was shaking. The trees at one end of the clearing were moving as well. The marines quickly pulled away from that area and aimed their weapons at it. Suddenly, the jungle exploded with activity. Dozens of gaunts poured out of the trees in all directions. Thaddeus' squad leapt into action, trying to prevent the other squads from being drawn into the melee. Termagaunts fired from the treeline, and Cyrus' squad opened up on them. Then a clump of trees on the edge of the clearing opposite the marines toppled over.

Replacing them was a monstrous tyranid creature. Though not bigger than a carnifex, it stood taller. It had a pair of scything talons, as well as a sword made of chitin and a sinuous whip. It screeched and advanced.

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What was this feeling? Why was there only pain? He had a memory of sleep and more pain. Where were his brothers? What was this blackness that he floated in? What were these tubes down his throat?

"All transmitters connected. Powering up armored carapace." Came a voice.

Martellus, he thought. Colors swam before his eyes. He could see, but not naturally. It was as though he was seeing through the eyes of someone else. He could not feel his legs, but when he tried to move, he did. He tried to speak, and a booming noise filled his ears.

Was that his voice, he wondered? He could see technical readouts in his head. A claw, an assault cannon.

A dreadnought. It was coming back to him, or so he thought. He had a vague memory of poison. Something had happened to him on Calderis, or was it Kronus? Was there a need for him now? Enemies to kill? He walked forward, trying to adjust to his new legs. A drop pod was ahead. It was time for battle.

"SHOW ME THE ENEMY. I WILL SHATTER THEIR FRAIL BODIES." Boomed Davian Thule, reborn as a dreadnought to fight forever in the Emperor's name.

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Cyrus cursed. A Hive Tyrant. He thought about using the round, but he could not. The thing was too close and he could risk killing his brothers. Xanthis was aboard the Armageddon, still receiving treatment for his wounds from Angel Gate. His rounds were not here either. Cyrus aimed his weapon at the head of the Tyrant and fired. He hoped to delay it a little. As it approached, the Blood Ravens tried to divert as much firepower at it as they could. Ariston used the heavy bolter, but was soon beset by hormagaunts. The beast was intelligent, and was using smaller tyranids to defend itself.

Harkon opened up his vox as he fired. "We need that help now Apothecary!"

"Final preparations completed a few minutes ago. Drop pod en route."

The Hive Tyrant reached the Blood Ravens and swung its bonesword down in a high arc. Aramus immediately leapt into the path of the weapon, raising his power sword to defend. The Tyrant easily overpowered him and he was only saved by the glowing iron halo. With a backhanded swing of the scything talons, Aramus was thrown across the clearing. The Hive Tyrant laid into the other Blood Ravens, wounding Brother Alaris of Thaddeus' squad gravely and killing Cyrus' scout Pindarus. The marines scattered away from the Hive Tyrant, firing everything they had at it while simultaneously trying to defend themselves from the other tyranids in the area.

Nathaniel Augustine was out of ammunition. He quickly called the flame to his right hand and slammed his fist into the face of a gaunt. It did not matter anymore. Living was more important than discretion. He would burn the whole planet if he could. The Hive Tyrant approached and with a short burst of his jump pack, he leapt away. Something in the sky caught his eye and he looked up. A red trail was coming down. A drop pod. What sort of reinforcement could a single drop pod provide? Even another squad would not last for long against the Hive Tyrant.

The drop pod landed between Augustine and the Tyrant, and when the doors dropped, Augustine gasped involuntarily. Fifteen feet tall, made of the strongest adamantium and plasteel, a bipedal red machine stood. It was squat, with two short legs in a wide stance holding up a rectangular case. It had a single arm, with a four fingered claw wreathed in energy. On the other side was a powerful assault cannon, the oiled barrels gleaming in the last rays of the setting sun. A dreadnought, one of the most powerful warmachines the Adeptus Astartes could field. With heavy strides, it exited the drop pod, moving towards the Hive Tyrant.

"I AM DAVIAN THULE. AND I SHALL BE YOUR DEATH!" it boomed with a mechanical voice. It opened fire with the assault cannon as the Tyrant charged. The heavy slugs tore the bonesword wielding arm to pieces and when the Hive Tyrant slammed into it, the armored behemoth gave no ground. It reached up and tore off one of the scything talons, before firing its assault cannon again at point blank range, wounding the Hive Tyrant greatly. The Tyrant tried to flee, but the dreadnought's arm grabbed it firmly, and held it down in front of the assault cannon. When it released the tyranid, it was riddled with high caliber slugs, and weakly tried to escape. With a single slam of its heavy arm, the dreadnought burst the head of the Tyrant.

"SUCH IS THE FATE OF ALL XENOS" It said. The psychic backlash in the area was so great that the tyranids in the area simply died, torn from the Hive Mind violently. The Blood Ravens gathered around the dreadnought, admiring their savior. Thaddeus walked up in front of it.

"Captain Thule?" he asked.

The dreadnought seemed to look down at him. After a while, it spoke. "GABRIEL? IS THAT YOU? THE . . . SECRETS OF KRONUS SHALL NOT PASS MY LIPS."

"Captain Thule, it is Thaddeus, do you not recognize me?"

"Captain Thule is delirious, still recovering from the wound that he received. We must allow him to rest." Harkon placed a hand on the upset Thaddeus' shoulder.

"Still," said Aramus, "it is good to have such a proud warrior with us again. Even if he is confined to a dreadnought."

"The Thunderhawk comes." Said Cyrus. "Prepare for extraction."

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Back aboard the Armageddon, Tarkus and Thaddeus spoke with Apothecary Gordian and Techmarine Martellus in the vehicle bay. Thule's sarcophagus was removed from the armored form and stowed away.

"Will he recover his memory soon Gordian?" Asked a worried Thaddeus.

"He will. The poison is still running through his body, but even Thule's weakened immune system should beat it. He will be well in a few days."

"Though we may never truly have our Captain back. He will certainly be changed." Tarkus' voice was grave. He knew the costs of being placed in a dreadnought. Those Honored Brothers were constantly taken by weariness and memory loss. In some older chapters, dreadnought occupants would sleep for years, only waking on the eves of great battles. Some, like Bjorn the Fell-handed, only woke once a century.

"That may be so. But we must pray to the Emperor." Said Gordian. "In other news, while you were down on Typhon I received astropathic communication from Calderis. We have finally discovered the location of the ork warboss."

"Thank the Emperor!" said Thaddeus. "Now we can hunt it down and kill it once and for all. The greenskins will not trouble us after that."

"Yes. But before that, we must use the astronomic array to scan the Hive Fleet for weaknesses. Only then can we leave Typhon."

"I was planning to travel down tonight." Said Martellus. "Communication from Avitus informs us that there has been little tyranid contact. It seems the Hive has withered without its Tyrant."

"Yes it has." Said Cyrus, as he entered the room with Aramus. "It may give us a few days of rest. But we cannot wait for long."

"Cyrus is right. We must use this opportunity to quickly kill the warboss, and then prepare for our final confrontation with the tyranids." Aramus was as ready as ever.

"With Thule at our side, our chances are much greater." Said Thaddeus.

"Yes," said Martellus. "I will contact Administrator Derosa before I leave for the surface. We must inform her of the approaching battle if she is to send her soldiers."

"Do so. We must hurry if we are to take advantage of this lull." Said Aramus.

"It looks like things are coming to a climax." Said Thaddeus as Martellus exited the armory.

"Do not sound so excited Thaddeus. That 'climax' may cost the lives of some of your brothers." Tarkus replied sternly.

"You are right. I apologize. Lately, combat has changed for me."

"In what way?" asked Aramus.

"It has been less of a rush, more routine. I do not get the thrill that I used to."

"That is you leaving behind the last of your humanity, Thaddeus, and becoming an Astartes in full." Tarkus said with a touch of almost paternal pride in his voice.

"I do not wish for that." Thaddeus replied. "Our humanity makes us strong; I do not want to throw it away so casually."

"It simply happens, Thaddeus." Said Tarkus. "We are not human, and we should not consider ourselves such."

"Yet we live to protect them?" asked Thaddeus.

"We live to kill the alien, mutant and heretic." Said Aramus proudly.

"Both wrong." Said Tarkus in a rare moment of assertion. "We live to serve the Emperor. That is all. To do so we must be more than mortal."

Aramus smiled and nodded. Even he could admit Tarkus was right here.

"I see." Said Thaddeus. "I will hold onto my humanity for a while longer I think.

"Be careful Thaddeus." Said Aramus. "Human minds are easily taken by promises of power."

"I am not so weak to desire such a thing. I wish only to protect humanity."

"Very well." Said Tarkus. The marines left the vehicle bay and awaited the return of Martellus and Avitus. More battle was ahead, and on the horizon, a chance of victory.

Soon after Martellus and Avitus returned to the Armageddon from the surface of Typhon, the ship broke orbit and sped towards Calderis. The Warp was dark, and storms beset them the whole journey. Though the trip passed without incident, the navigators and astropaths were deeply disturbed, and all said that they did not care to repeat such an ordeal.

The Armageddon was positioned over the night side of Calderis, hidden in the vast blackness of space. Its bridge was quiet, even with the preparations for battle currently taking place. Gordian looked down from his command chair at the techpriest that was pelting him with complaints. Gordian did not like picking up stragglers, but they had no choice when this particular one led them directly to the astronomic array. Besides, the Mechanicus priesthood would not be pleased if they learned that the Blood Ravens had abandoned one of their adepts. And so Gordian had to deal with it, unfounded complaints and all.

"All I am saying Apothecary," blathered the techpriest, "is why can you not deliver my back to my compatriots? It would not be much of a delay to travel to Meridian and back. Whatever matters you must attend to can wait."

Gordian sighed inwardly and looked down at the diminutive man dressed in the deep red robe. He clutched a data slate to his chest like it was his family's only possession and his mechadendrite shiftily moved around, as if guarding its territory. His face was half obscured by the hood of the robe, but Gordian could still see one augmetic eye glowing blue.

"Adept James." Said Gordian. "I cannot delay the transport of my battle-brothers simply because you wish to rejoin your priesthood. You will be returned in time, but this planet requires our aid first. The orks will be threatening the capital city of this planet in less than two days if we do not intervene."

"If I recall correctly, this planet is near the technology levels of the Terran Iron Age. Why would this Omnissiah forsaken rock be important to anyone?"

"It is the home of fierce nomads," said Gordian with a sense of calm he did not have. This techpriest was trying his patience. "and is one of our Chapter's recruiting worlds."

"That is of little importance. You can simply recruit after the orks are defeated."

This techpriest, for all of his machine cunning, was either very stupid or very ignorant, thought Gordian. If the Blood Ravens delayed and the orks destroyed Argus, many of their possible recruits could die, threatening the Chapter for years to come.
"Thank you for your concern techpriest James. If you would return to your quarters now."

The techpriest could see that it was not a request. With a stiff nod, he left the bridge, leaving Gordian in silence for some time. The Apothecary leaned back in the command chair, before calling up a tactical display formed from the results of a planetary scan recently conducted by the Armageddon. Aramus had gathered his sergeants and was preparing a plan already, and the Commander had told Gordian that orbital bombardments were being considered as one of the primary methods of attack. Gordian would do well to know how the battle could proceed.

Gordian had been wondering how the tyranids had fared on Calderis, and this orbital scan confirmed his suspicions. The orks, along with the fierce desert storms and heat, had destroyed many of the aliens before they had a chance to adapt. The tyranids had been pushed to the poles, and were now mostly reverted to a feral state, with few synapse beasts to link the swarm back to the Hive Mind.

The orks, fueled from days of neglect from the Blood Ravens and their recent battles against the tyranids, were moving in force towards Argus once more in a large armored convoy. Scans approximated five thousand orks, led by their Warboss in a custom battlewagon. Gordian hoped the Commander had a plan. Intense bombardments could still leave many orks alive. This would require a personal touch.

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"And so," said Aramus, leaning over the tactical map, "we must proceed carefully if we are to eliminate the orks with few casualties. Their numbers are great, and so is their firepower."

"The greenskins are far from Argus." Said Avitus from the back of the darkened room. "We should use the Armageddon to pound them into the dirt with its heavy guns." The devastator sergeant's face was illuminated menacingly by the light from the tactical map table. After delivering his proposal, he uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, awaiting the replies of his Brothers.

"I agree," said Chaplain Automemos. "We should not even acknowledge the orks as worthy opponents. They should be crushed like the pests they are."

"We cannot be so sure that would work." Said Cyrus. Behind him, Mercutio and Ariston nodded. "Orks are difficult to purge through simple bombing. This will require Brothers on the ground."

"I. . . AGREE WITH. . . CYRUS." Boomed a voice through the room's vox caster. Before the meeting had begun, Aramus had Martellus set up a vox link to Davian Thule, who awaited deployment orders in the vehicle bay. Though he was still tired and the tactical rooms were no place for a dreadnought, Aramus thought it would be wasteful to ignore possible advice from such a great tactician.

"THE ORKS. . . WILL REQUIRE. . . ADDITIONAL FORCES." Thule continued. The pauses in his speech were still present, most likely a result of his fatigue. It would likely take a year or more for Davian Thule to become completely used to his new existence.

"So we take the fight to them, after an orbital bombardment?" Asked Thaddeus. "That would be a precise application of steel rain."

"No." said Cyrus, almost too quickly. "Steel rain simply requires drop pods, and only works properly with five companies or more. Even if we launched a strike like that, if we lost the initiative we would be slaughtered in minutes by their numbers alone. We are Astartes, not gods."

The assembled marines nodded quietly. There would be great risk in a drop pod assault. Aramus stroked his chin with his gauntleted hand.

"Yes. That would work." He said. "Brothers, I have determined our final plan. It will work, I am certain of it. We will bombard the ork armored column completely and totally. After the bombardment, Thunderhawk gunships will quickly destroy as many ork vehicles as they can. Cyrus and Ariston will harass the orks as they advance on foot to Argus. We will have already evacuated the civilians to a safer location if possible. When the orks enter, Avitus will quickly destroy what is left of their vehicles."

"I see." Said the Devestator Sergeant. "That would force them into deadly chokepoints."

"Yes. Mercutio, Borian, Magnus, you will take advantage of these chokepoints to interlock fields of fire and gun down the greenskins without mercy."

"The confined streets of Argus will make for a great killing field." Said Thaddeus. "What would you have my squad do Commander?"

"Your squad, Tarkus, and I will make for the Warboss when it is isolated. We must kill it quickly."

"AND WHAT. . . OF ME. . . COMMANDER?" Asked Thule.

"Captain Thule. . . You may go where you wish, though I would appreciate your efforts in defending the civilians."

"UNDERSTOOD. NO HARM. . . SHALL COME TO THEM."

"Your commitment is praiseworthy Captain Thule. Brothers, let us go. Today marks the end of this warband's reign of terror on Calderis. For the Great Father and the Emperor."

"For the Great Father and the Emperor!" replied the Sergeants, standing now to gather their squads together for the coming fight. The Commander was correct. If they won here, only one foe would remain in their path to victory in the sub-sector.

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Drochasal Draoi walked the darkened halls with the rest of the procession. The fallen Craftworld was silent, but also filled with mental noise. Draoi could hear the voices in the infinity circuit. He wished that the force he had could recover every soulstone here, but they did not have the numbers or the time. Their only choice was to weather the storm of the tyranids, and recover the soulstones afterwards. Behind Draoi came the procession of the Young King. A dozen Aspect Warriors led the procession, and in their midst, Flanre the scorpion. He walked, free of his armor and covered head to toe by the blood runes of Kaela Mensha Khaine.

The procession entered a large rectangular chamber. At the opposite end, a large iron door sat. Around the perimeter of the room were the statues of all six major Phoenix Lord. Draoi knew all their names by heart, Jain Zar, Maugan Ra, Asurmen, Karandras, Baharroth, and Fuegan. They were the warriors of legend that forever would fight for the Eldar race, all the way to Rhana Dandra. The procession moved to the center of the chamber and spread out into a circle with Flanre, the Young King, in the middle. He sat on the ground cross-legged, silently staring at the double doors ahead of him. A faint yellow light began seeping through the cracks in the door, nearly imperceptible at first, but getting stronger as the minutes went by. Draoi shifted uncomfortably. The temperature in the large chamber was increasing bit by bit, and the procession had begun chanting a low rumbling hymn to raise Khaine himself from his deep slumber. The powers here were weak, and the effect of the procession small, it would take almost a full cycle for the ceremony to finish.

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The citizens of Argus awoke with a shock two hours before dawn. The roar of Thunderhawk engines heralded the arrival of the entire Blood Raven 4th Company. In less than ten minutes, the capitol city of Calderis was bustling with activity. Ariston and Cyrus' squads immediately left the city, heading west to scout out the approach of the orks. The rest of the marines began preparing the city for the inevitable ork attack while Aramus addressed the citizens.

"Citizens of Argus." He said, projecting his voice so all could hear. "The greenskin horde approaches, and this city is where they shall die. The Blood Ravens will not allow harm to come to you or your families. However, in order for us to fight properly, we need to concentrate you in an easily defendable location. The Capitol Building is the easiest for this purpose, so I ask that in these next hours, you gather necessities and move your families there."

The citizens shuffled off to their homes after Aramus' address. They were relieved that the Space Marines had shown up, but no one liked being forced to leave their homes. After they had dispersed Aramus moved to speak with Tarkus.

"Sergeant," he said, "I would have your squad ensure the proper relocation of the civilians. We must not allow harm to come to them, and for that, we must have every one of them in the Capitol Building."

"You are right Commander. It is our duty to protect them. I will ensure that this is done. Though, if the Capitol Building is damaged, they could all be killed."

"Then we will not allow the orks to damage it, will we?"

"Very good Commander." Said Tarkus. He left to deliver the orders to the squad. They would have to stockpile food and water as well, lest it be destroyed in the battle. The continued livelihood of Argus relied on the Space Marines now, and Tarkus could not allow anything to go wrong.

The sun was beginning to rise. Cyrus' squad was wrapped in their camo cloaks, lying prone on a ridge almost a thousand yards from the ork convoy. The terrain only got rockier as the orks entered the areas around Argus. Closer to the city, Ariston's squad lay in wait, armed with a recently issued missile launcher to eliminate the lightly armored ork trukks.

Cyrus rested his sniper rifle on the edge of the ridge, quietly watching the ork column. Next to him, Xanthis fidgeted as he tried to find a good position to rest the sighting mechanism. Shaped like a large pair of binoculars, this device would allow the scout squad to mark targets for bombing by Thunderhawk. He eventually settled down and brought the binoculars to his face.

The ork armored column was miles long, and kicked up large plumes of dust and acrid smoke that reached high into Calderis' bright blue sky. The convoy was made up of a hundred or more ork trukks and battlewagons made from a ramshackle assortment of wood and scrap metal. No two vehicles were alike and Cyrus never failed to be amazed at the sight of them. How could such vehicles not simply fall apart?

Cyrus felt a tap on his shoulder and turned. Xanthis was pointing to his chronometer. Cyrus quickly checked his in turn. After confirming the time, his expression tightened, and he looked up at the sky. He could see streaks moving down at incredible speeds, too fast for drop pods.

"Scouts, dig in deep." He warned. "And open your mouths or the pressure will burst even your Lyman's ear."

Heeding his advice, the scouts pressed themselves into the sand, covering their heads with their hands. Cyrus looked up as the streaks neared the earth. When they were about five hundred yards above the earth, they burst, engulfing the front end of the convoy in a massive explosion. Seconds later, the shockwave hit Cyrus' position. He could feel the rumbling of the explosion in his bones, and the earth itself was shaking. The heat was tremendous, even at this distance, but that was expected from Astartes magma bombs. He looked up again as the second bombardment began, this time a lance strafe of the entire column, now trapped by the flames of the previous explosion. Bright beams of blue-white light impacted the surface up and down the convoy, shot from some of the Armageddon's Cobra class escorts. The beams maintained their compositions for five seconds before vanishing, replaced by yet more explosions. Unlike the magma bombs, these explosions cleared much faster, blowing the dust away from the convoy, and revealing the scenery for Cyrus.

The convoy was in ruins, with less of a third of the vehicles remained and many of those were no longer functioning. The bombardments had left deep craters in the ground and had vitrified the sands, creating impressive glass sculptures. The remaining orks were now piling out of their vehicles, prepared to march on foot to Argus. It seemed to Cyrus that the orks were more angry than scared. No doubt they were disappointed that their enemy refused to fight them head on and were ready to pay them back in full when they finally met them.

Cyrus opened his vox and said, "Cyrus to Thunderhawk detachment. We are prepared to mark targets for your approach."

"We are on our way Sergeant Cyrus." Said the pilot leading the formation. "Mark targets and we will anoint them with the righteous flames of the Emperor."

"Send it; these orks could use a good cleansing." Cyrus closed the vox and slapped tapped Xanthis' shoulder with his open palm. The scout, already looking down the binoculars, pressed a button on the top of the device, and a small beam, barely visible in the sandy air, shot down towards the orks.

"Ork target is marked, proceed when ready." Said Cyrus. Then he heard a powerful rush and looked up. A wing of Thunderhawks had already passed his position was flew over the orks. They left in the air several bombs that strafed the ork targets previously marked by Xanthis. For the third time that day, the ork convoy was rocked with explosions, destroying yet more of their vehicles. For the next ten minutes, Xanthis continued to mark targets, killing hundreds of orks before the Thunderhawks had to return to the Armageddon to reload.

"Sergeant Cyrus. We will begin harrying the orks now." Said Ariston over the crackling vox.

"Understood. Estimated guess . . . around twelve hundred orks remaining. Aim for the vehicles if you can. For the Emperor, Sergeant Ariston."

"Indeed Sergeant Cyrus."

Cyrus unwrapped himself from his cloak and rose to a crouch. He motioned to his squad and said, "Quickly, we must move back to Argus. Sergeant Ariston will delay the orks for a while, but they will still attack in great numbers." The scouts stood, and following Cyrus, began their miles long trek back to Argus.

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The ceremony continued and the chant was unbroken. Though Drochasal Draoi was a mere observer, he found himself compelled to join the ethereal hymn. The chant spoke of the histories of the Eldar and its long mythological cycles. Currently, the chorus recounted the tale of Eldanesh, and his death at the hands of Khaine, whose hands were forever stained with the blood of the valiant Eldar warrior. The haunting words made Draoi's blood churn. He was incensed, for no determinable reason. He placed his helmet on the floor next to his feet and clutched his chest. He felt this sensation every time he joined the procession, but it never failed to disturb him. Once complete, the Avatar would instill a sense of fearlessness in Draoi that he would embrace and even enjoy. But as it was now, he hated the partially formed bloodlust that would eventually encompass him. It was a feeling of incompleteness that was a complete anathema to Eldar.

Hours passed. The iron doors on the other side of the chamber remained shut, but the light from the cracks now shown bright and red, and a thick intense heat was beginning to form. The chanting chorus was exhausted, but they could not stop now. The ceremony was only half done. The Avatar had only just been roused from his sleep, and needed now to be prepared for his sacrifice.

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Cyrus found himself in the highest tower of the Argus Capitol Building, aiming his sniper rifle at the large dust cloud that heralded the arrival of the ork horde. He thought of the battle here a month ago, and how he had stood on the same roof fighting the same enemy, and how that battle would be a skirmish compared to this one. As a force of habit, he checked their defenses once more. He could see the entire width and breadth of Argus from where he crouched, back against one of the stone supports on the tower, rifle resting against a railing. To his left was Argus' gate, protected by the full force of the Blood Ravens 4th Company, and in the middle of the square in front of him was the immovable form of Davian Thule. The dreadnought was to guard the Capitol Building, where the civilians sought shelter from the coming battle. Near the door of the Capitol Building, a group of Tarkus' marines were escorting the last of the civilians into shelter.

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Ocelly Lyon calmly waved the trail of civilians to the shelter in the back of the Capitol Building. Tarkus had sent him to assure their safety before going to speak with Codicier Iyason, the sole protector of this city during the Armageddon's absence. It felt good to be off Typhon and back to his old home. He had removed his helmet, and the hot desert wind felt comfortable, almost nostalgic. Next to him, Brother Eplis kept watch. It was Eplis' first return since his injury at the hands of the wraithlord on Meridian, and he was eager to get back into the fight. He drummed his fingers on his boltgun impatiently, and repeatedly looked at the large dust cloud that was forming to their west.

"Calm yourself, Brother." Said Lyon. "You are scaring them." He motioned to the hunched citizens. Not a single one spoke, but their mincing steps and fretful glances betrayed their true thoughts. Eplis looked over at Lyon. There was nothing written on his face, and Lyon assumed that he had gotten the message. Above anything else, Lyon wanted to put a strong front up for the regular people. If they could not trust in the Astartes, then all was lost.

Lyon looked back at the line of people, something had caught his eye. A woman had stepped out of the line and was now looking up at Lyon. She held a baby in one arm, and a young boy of about eight years old clutched her free hand, staring up at Lyon. His eyes passed over the woman. Young, she still wore the loose white desert clothes that signified that she was under thirty years old. Her dark skin was smooth, and Lyon found that he could not look directly into her bright blue eyes. They seemed to pierce right through him. He looked cursorily at the infant, silently sleeping, as his gaze moved down to the child at the woman's side. The boy stared quietly up at Lyon, a look of awe on his face. This may have been the first time he had ever seen an Astartes. Lyon crouched down to get closer to the boy, who barely came up to his knee.

The boy worked his jaw for what seemed like an hour, before saying in a quiet, scared voice, "Space Marines can't die can they?"

"No," replied Lyon with a small, regretful smile, "they do not." He began to ask the boy's name, but the ground rumbled deeply as he opened his mouth. He stood, his expression turning serious as looked down at the boy's mother. She bowed her head quickly and pulled the boy inside the building. Lyon pulled his eyes away from the staring boy and donned his helmet. He turned and saw that Eplis had done the same.

"What was that?" asked Lyon, unslinging his bolter.

"Artillery shell. Vox says it hit half a mile behind us." Replied Eplis. "The Commander reports that Ariston's force has returned and that the orks are close behind them."

"We must rejoin Sergeant Tarkus then."

"Onward then." The two tactical marines moved to the west, where their squad waited to ambush the orks. They joined up with Tarkus' squad fifty yards from Argus' gatehouse. The gateway to Argus was open and unbarred and with all resistance hidden from sight, as if inviting the orks in. Any other foe would be wary of a trap, but the orks would not wait to check. They would plunge directly in, and it would be their undoing. The Blood Ravens had prepared multiple firing lanes. The orks would be massacred without area to maneuver.

Behind a large stone wall to the north of the gateway, Aramus crouched with Thaddeus and Tarkus' squads. He could hear the roar of engines. The vehicles that remained were low in number, but they had to be taken care of quickly. Aramus estimated that they were less than half a mile from the gate now. Out of sight, the Blood Ravens were positioned in a semi circle formation around the gateway. Liberally spaced heavy weapons would make short work of ork vehicles.

Ocella Lyon tensed, and pressed his back against the corner of the high wall. He could hear the hideous language of the orks and the throaty growl of their trukks. The first of the orks were coming through the gate now. Lyon breathed deeply and calmed himself. As risky as it was, they needed to allow more orks to enter Argus before springing their ambush. Thirty tense seconds passed. Lyon looked to his right at Commander Aramus.

He was sporting a large grin as he whispered into his vox, "Now."

Lyon spun out of cover as the world exploded. Around two hundred orks and three trukks had come through the Gate. They were dead in seconds, reduced to bloody chunks by the volume of firepower from half a battle company. Lyon pulled the trigger of his bolter without aiming; there was only a general direction he needed to point in. A plasma bolt from Tarkus melted the engine of a trukk, and it swerved to a stop before it could escape the ambush. The other two were destroyed by pinpoint missile and plasma fire. The orks, caught off guard, fired erratically in the open, and few lived to reach cover, hiding behind low walls and stone water pots near the gate. The earth shook as a battlewagon attempted to go through the gate. Priority shifted and it was soon under heavy fire. Bolt rounds exploded harmlessly off its surface, but the heavier plasma rounds and missile rounds took their toll. A plasma round from Tarkus took a wheel, and it went out of control, impacting the gatehouse. The structure collapsed, raining stones down on the small gateway as yet more missiles from Avitus and Mercutio's squads finally destroyed the battlewagon.

Lyon aimed his bolter at the gateway. The destruction of the battlewagon had clogged the entrance with wreckage, and now the orks were being easily shot down as they tried to enter. On the downside, he thought, the oily smoke from the fires obscured the marines' line of sight, and there was no way to tell how many orks waited on the other side. The killing was easier now. The orks would squeeze through in tens and twenties and were easily shot down by accurate bolterfire, and their bodies would join the others piled in the gateway.

Unusual movement caught Lyon's eye near the Gate, not from the small area that orks continually tried to storm, but from the large pile of rubble that used to be the battlewagon. The wreckage shifted and large slabs of stone slid down the pile. Lyon was about to brush it off as an ammo cook off as the pile erupted. The stones were tossed aside as if they were pillows and in their place stood the biggest ork Ocella Lyon had ever seen. It was at least twelve feet tall, with biceps the size of Typhon tree trunks and tusks as long as Astartes combat knives. Its heavy armor stopped every round that had the misfortune to hit it, and its power klaw gleamed menacingly on its right hand. It raised its spit flecked mouth to the sky and howled so loud that Lyon's autosenses cut off his hearing to protect his eardrums.

The ork, who Lyon assumed was the Warboss, reached next to it and grabbed a piece of the shattered battlewagon. After a moment of strain, it lifted the metal chunk, at least the size of a dreadnought, and hefted it above its head. Lyon's jaw dropped in horror as he realized what the ork was about to do. With a loud roar, the Warboss tossed the chunk at the line of Astartes, bowling down one of the walls that Borian's squad hid behind. The Warboss then pushed the rest of the battlewagon out of the gate, ignoring the dozens of rounds that hit it as the orks poured through the widening gap.

"Tactical withdrawl!" shouted Aramus. "Protect the Capitol Building!" He stood and swung Remembrance, finally reclaimed from the reliquary, in a wide arc at the charging orks. A group stumbled back, and was engulfed in a torrent of white hot promethium from Nikephoros' flamer. Nikephoros panned the flamer around, igniting the ground and buying the marines' precious time.

"Fall back and protect the civilians!" ordered Tarkus. He fired one more plasma bolt at the Warboss, missed, and led his squad back towards the square. Aramus slowly followed, enacting a fighting retreat alongside Automemos and Harkon. Lyon ran backwards, firing his bolter at the growing numbers of orks. Bolterfire came down from overhead. The scouts in the upper floors of the Capitol building were trying to lay down covering fire, to no avail. The orks would not be stopped. Lyon saw the Warboss charge, shrugging off fire from Borian's entire squad as he rammed them. He crushed two marines instantly with his power klaw, and was about to remove Borian's head when Codicier Iyason engaged the beast. Borian's squad withdrew as Iyason slashed at the Warboss twice with his force axe, drawing spurts of thick red blood. The Warboss countered with a swing of its power klaw and was stopped for a moment by a field of shimmering nothingness. The librarian's efforts were for nothing, as the power klaw forced through the field of psychic energy and gripped Iyason around the waist. Lyon watched in horror as the codicier was sheared in two. The two halves fell to the ground amid a rapidly expanding pool of blood.

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Nathaniel Augustine fought for his life amongst the tide of orks. Every marine in the squad fought only for himself. Augustine had long since emptied the magazine of his bolt pistol and there was no time to reload in combat this fierce. Every ork that got in his way was either cut down or immolated. They were moving back towards the square as quickly as they could, but it was up to the assault squads to cover the retreat of dedicated range squads. The squads of Magnus, Thaddeus, and Commander Aramus fought a desperate battle against the advancing tide. The fire support from Cyrus was doing little to slow the mass of orks, and Avitus was not yet in position.

As the assault squads entered the open area in front of the Capitol Building, a hail of assault cannon rounds heralded the arrival of a new combatant.

"FACE ME GREENSKINS." The mechanical voice of Davian Thule shouted. "EVEN IN DEATH I STILL SERVE."

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The heat was indescribable in the chamber now. The slow haunting words had become fierce and guttural, heralding the rise of the Avatar. Draoi watched as the great iron doors at the other end of the chamber slowly opened, revealing a swirling inferno of flame and magma. In the room on the other side of the doors, Draoi could see the seated figure of the Avatar of Khaine, forty feet tall and glowing orange with the flames that roiled within it. Its molten blood was fully alight, but it could not arise yet. It required a sacrifice.

Flanre the striking scorpion stood. Sweating profusely, the painted eldar walked forward towards the Avatar chamber. Draoi watched in awe, imagining how painful each step must have been. As he entered the room, the iron doors shut behind him. Now Khaine would take his sacrifice. Draoi shuddered as the screaming began.

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The hail of high caliber culled the ork lines heavily, shredding bodies and even destroying some of the vehicles that had followed the Warboss through Argus' gate. From his perch atop the Capitol Building, Cyrus looked out at the unfolding battle. The tide of orks nearly reached back to the gate of Argus itself, and the Blood Ravens were in no position to hold them off. Captain Thule was doing his best, but he would fall eventually, no matter how many orks he killed. He cursed quietly. He had no other choice. He had to use one of them. He quietly opened up one of his pouches and withdrew a long black sniper bullet, hollowed out in the middle with some sort of red substance floating in it. He opened the bolt on his rifle and put inserted the round. He brought the scope up to his eyes and aimed. This shot would take some time.

Lyon and Eplis fell back. The orks had finally scattered the assault squads, and the two tactical marines had been lost in the rush. The stood in front of the entrance to the Capital building, shooting down any ork that approached. Lyon turned to face the entrance as he fired. The boy that had watched him earlier was standing in the entrance. Lyon wanted to ask what stupid reasoning had brought him into this danger, but did not need to be told that now was not the time. He stepped in front of the door and turned around to usher the boy back inside to safety. As he did so, he heard Eplis scream and spun around. An ork nob had broken far through the lines and Eplis was unable to stop it. The nob's double edged chainaxe grinded through Eplis' power armor and bisected his fused ribcage, spilling his organs across the ground. Eplis' dying scream became a gurgle and soon ceased entirely. Lyon ran forward and planted his bolter in the eye of the nob as it tried to wrench its weapon out of Eplis' mangled corpse. He pulled the trigger and the bolter barked. He let the headless ork fall as he rushed back to the boy. He stood with his eyes wide, in shock at witnessing the death of a space marine. Lyon quietly brought him back inside. He knew what the boy was feeling. He had the same ideas once.

Cyrus had the shot lined up. It would minimize structural damage and destroy as many orks as it could. Yet now, Cyrus found himself hesitating. All these homes, built with the sweat and blood of these people would be destroyed in a flash. He quickly crushed this feeling. Their lives mattered first and foremost. They could rebuild after the orks were dead. With a heart of steel, Cyrus pulled the trigger.

The shot struck halfway between the gate and the Capitol Building. For an instant, the wind silenced, and the air hung heavy. Then the unstable Dark Eldar technology build into the round began its devastating work. The west section of Argus was swallowed by a yawning black hole. The dark vortex collapsed on itself, pulling hundreds of orks into the abyss and demolishing dozens of stone houses. As fast as it came, the unstable black hole vanished. It left in its wake a smooth basin of stone, dug deep into the ground. It was all that remained of the west side of Argus.

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"Captain Thule!" shouted Aramus, before the sound had even died. "Protect the civilians! We have the initiative now!"

"UNDERSTOOD. . . I WILL NOT ALLOW GREENSKINS TO TAINT THIS PLACE." Said Thule, moving in front of the door to the Capitol Building. His assault cannon continued to pour out rounds into the decimated orks. With Thule defending the civilians, the orks would be at a great disadvantage.

Nathaniel Augustine recovered his wits quickly and swung Thanatos in a downward arc, removing the head from a distracted ork nob. He paused as the ork fell to look up at the roof of the Capitol Building. He could have sworn the shot that caused this devastation came from there.

"Press forward brothers!" shouted Aramus. He crushed a group of orks with Remembrance and then ran forwards. Augustine could see that he was trying to make his way to the Warboss. Thaddeus' squad moved forward with Aramus, cutting down the thinning numbers of orks. Whatever had dug that hole in Argus had killed the majority of the attacking greenskins. Augustine paused and moved behind Hypion to reload his bolt pistol. As he did so, Chaplain Automemos landed in the midst of the orks ahead of him, smoke trailing from his jump pack. He lashed out with his crozius Arcanum, separating limbs from bodies and heads from necks. His gleaming skull helmet was covered in viscous blood and it seemed that he had seen some of the thickest combat in Argus.

The assault marines followed Aramus and Automemos through the worst of the combat, gouging a bloody path to the Warboss. As they approached, it dropped the marine it was carrying, one of Magnus', and charged. Like a wrangler dodging a grox, the marines scattered to escape its deadly momentum. Aramus squared off against the giant ork as it turned, snapping its power klaw open and shut repeatedly. Thaddeus' squad held of the rest of the scattered orks as the main force of the Blood Ravens rallied and advanced. Aramus dodged two wild swings of the power klaw and swung Remembrance defensively at the Warboss. It easily batted the thunder hammer away with the klaw and grabbed Aramus with its free hand. It shook him, forcing the Commander to drop Remembrance. Before it could bring the power klaw down on the helpless Aramus however, a power sword stabbed through its back, protruding from its armored gut.

"Save yourself Commander!" shouted Thaddeus from behind the Warboss. Aramus tore a combat knife from his boot and jammed it into the ork's bicep. The skin was tough, but Aramus forced the single edged blade straight through and forced the ork to drop him. He rolled as he landed and scooped up Remembrance, taking the time to smash an ork that was flanking Automemos. He readied himself and turned back to the Warboss.

Thaddeus held onto his sword desperately as the Warboss struggled. It tried to swing behind itself with his power klaw, but Thaddeus pressed himself into the greenskin's blind spot. Then the ork gripped the protruding end of the blade with his power klaw and squeezed. Normally it would be impossible to snap a power sword with brute strength, but when the producer of the force was a monstrous ork that had recently thrown a battlewagon, logic excused itself. The power klaw broke the sword in half, and the Warboss easily pulled itself off the rest. It immediately spun to try and kill Thaddeus, but the assault marine had already jumped away with a quick burst of flame from his jump pack.

Tarkus quickly rallied the Blood Ravens, and pushed towards the Warboss' position in hopes of supporting Aramus. His squad took the lead with Mercutio, protecting Borian's decimated squad and Avitus, who was just now finding a good position to shoot from. Soon his heavy heavy bolter was thumping out rounds, and the orks near Aramus were dying quicker than ever. Leaving the regular orks to his squad, Avitus turned his weapon on the Warboss, hosing it with its high explosive ammunition. Davian Thule stood firm at the entrance to the Capitol Building, blocking it with his implacable form. Any orks that closed on him were either torn to shreds by his buzzing assault cannon, or crushed utterly by his powerful close combat weapons.

Aramus and Automemos attack simultaneously, with Magnus supporting them from the flank. The three marines struck at the Warboss in succession, each delivering small wounds as the Warboss tried to fend them all off. Automemos' crozius, though weaker than Remembrance or Magnus' power fist, was much quicker and dealt many minor wounds to the Warboss. Bolt rounds scored of its heavy armor, and due to the sheer volume of shots, many found their mark, digging bloody pits into its tough skin. As Tarkus' reinforcements swept in, the Warboss was becoming overwhelmed with sheer numbers.

Thaddeus swept in on his jump pack, wielding a chain axe lifted from the corpse of a dead ork. It dug into the front armor of the Warboss but failed to penetrate. The Warboss quickly grabbed him with his free hand. Thaddeus dropped the axe and reached up with both arms, desperately holding the arm that held the power klaw away from his face. It moved closer and closer to Thaddeus' helmet, and the assault sergeant could feel his muscles failing him. Two rounds hit the arm, and Thaddeus was able to force the klaw away from his face. Those were sniper rounds, he thought. He kicked out, trying to free himself. The Warboss laughed a bit at the pathetic effort, even as Automemos' slashed it again. It leaned back and then thrust its head forward, headbutting Thaddeus with all of its might. Thaddeus' head spun, and his grip loosened. The power klaw sped towards his body, but was stopped inches away by Magnus' power fist. The distracted Warboss dropped Thaddeus and backhanded the interloper, sending Magnus flying backwards before he recovered with a burst from his jump pack.

A trail of bolt rounds from Lyon and Brochus trailed their way up the Warboss' body, ending with one shattering its jaw. Its laughs and shouts grew in hideousness, and its fighting became more frenzied. To Lyon though, even though the ork was losing the battle and was horribly wounded, it seemed to be having a lot of fun. Augustine noticed as well as he spun in close and hacked into a leg with Thanatos. Even with its jaw in pieces, the Warboss seemed to have a grotesque grin on its face. It reached down with the power klaw and gripped another of Magnus' marines, tearing his arm off. The marine fell with a scream, and Aramus charged up, swinging Remembrance fiercely to protect Harkon as he dragged the marine out of the combat. The power klaw stopped Remembrance in the middle of its swing and began to lift it up before a heavy bolter round struck the arm on the elbow, breaking it.

Aramus tore the hammer out of the grip of the klaw and swung again, breaking the ork's arm completely. The heavy klaw pulled the limp arm down to the ground and Aramus used it as a platform to jump at the ork, swinging the hammer towards it's screaming face. In the middle of the leap, the Warboss punched Aramus with its free arm, launching him backwards. Then a missile from Linus hit the Warboss on its shoulder, removing the arm with the power klaw in a flash of light.

The Warboss stood as if energized by the pain. He grabbed his severed arm and swung it, driving Automemos back. He swung it again and threw Mercutio from his feet with a club made from a hundred pounds of ork arm. The marines pulled away as the Warboss went berserk, swinging the arm with no regard to its own safety. It dropped its arm and lifted a large double bladed chain axe off the body of a dead nob. The marines kept their distance, pouring bolt rounds at its head and torso. Nikephoros drenched it with burning promethium, but it still came forward. Thule's assault cannot tore into its chest and limbs, but it just howled and walked forward. Tarkus and Mercutio's plasma guns fused its armor to its body, but it did not stop for even a second. Finally, Aramus dodged a swing of the chain axe and closed in. The Warboss launched its knee up and knocked Remembrance from Aramus' grip. The Commander quickly unsheathed his power sword with an upward slash, tearing a large rent in the Warboss' chest. It howled again, and Aramus shoved his blade through the open mouth, directly into the ork's brain. The ork stared down at its killer for a moment, before lowering its head and moving down the blade. Aramus' jaw dropped and he tried to pull back, but the ork grabbed his arm, holding him fast. It moved closer and closer, intent on goring him on its large tusks. Just before it reached him, it sputtered once, and breathed its last before dropping to the ground with a heavy impact. Aramus sighed with relief and said a quick prayer of thanks to the Emperor for his mercy.

The battle was won, and the orks were dead, but at a terrible cost. Eight brothers were dead, and almost half of Argus was destroyed. When the citizens emerged from the Capitol Building, they saw their precious homes, built with their own hands, devastated, and their city turned into a pyre for the corpses of the orks. Lyon could not bear to look at the woman again, or the boy at her side. Both had expressions of horror and intense loss, as if they would never get back what they lost this day. The boy especially seemed broken. He looked accusatorially at Lyon, as if blaming him for the destruction, or perhaps the death of his innocence. Speaking quietly under his breath, Lyon swore to the Emperor. He would never allow a person to suffer in front of him again. He would protect everyone he saw, with his life if he needed to.

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Nikephoros sat next to Tarkus at the edge of the deep basin. They both were helmetless, sitting calmly under the setting sun while waiting for the Thunderhawks.

"Are you not going to mourn for Eplis, Sergeant?" asked Nikephoros. He looked over at Tarkus, who had his usual stoic expression.

"The death of a Brother requires vengeance, and it was achieved by Brother Lyon." Said Tarkus.

"I do not understand Sergeant." Replied Nikephoros.

"What is the duty of the Astartes?"

"To serve the Chapter." Nikephoros replied immediately.

"The Emperor, not the Chapter. But you are correct. Our duty is to serve until death. When a Brother dies, he has completed his service. While vengeance is required for his killer, no mourning is required for a fallen brother."

"How can you not mourn the loss of family Sergeant?" Nikephoros was curious, not angry.

"You are not as old as I, Nikephoros. When you are, you will have seen many brothers die."

"You are desensitized then?" asked Nikephoros.

"It is not something I can simply tell you Brother. You will understand yourself one day. The death of a battle brother is a day of praise to the Emperor that he was allowed to serve for so long, and when I finally die, I will not be enraged. Such righteous fury will disappear as the killing wound is struck. I will simply thank the Emperor that he allowed me to serve so completely." Tarkus finished with a small smile, and Nikephoros looked on, wondering if he could ever understand.

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Augustine found himself wandering the square after he finished putting orks on the bonfire. As he walked, he saw Cyrus speaking with a group of Argus citizens. The sergeant had a look of intense regret on his face as he spoke. The people slowly walked off, leaving Cyrus alone. He sat down on a pile of shattered stone as Augustine approached.

"Sergeant Cyrus, what was that about?" Augustine asked.

"I was informing them that I intended to make amends."

"For what?"

"That crater there. I caused it with an experimental weapon. It was a last resort." Cyrus nodded his head to the large pit dug into the city.

"We won, did we not? You were the one that taught me that victory requires unorthodox tactics."

"Yes we won. But now the consequences must be faced. This city is ruined, and when this war ends, if this war ends, I will return here."

"To make up for the crime of victory?" asked Augustine, smiling.

"Do not make light of this." Cyrus said sternly. "These people did not ask for this, and I destroyed their homes. I will return here and help rebuild. It is my duty. Know this Nathaniel Augustine, the ends do justify the means, but that does not mean the consequences do not have to be faced. Hundreds of years ago, a veteran Inquisitor named Gregor Eisenhorn thought the only way to beat a fierce Chaos champion was to use the power of Chaos against him. Eisenhorn was victorious, but the cost was great, and Inquisitor Eisenhorn forever sought to atone for the crimes he committed in gaining his victory. Never forget this."

"I cannot, Sergeant." Augustine replied somberly. He had not expected such a lecture from Cyrus at this time. Despite that, he would never reject a lesson from his old Sergeant. He stood by, waiting silently for the Thunderhawks to return them to the Armageddon, to prepare for their final challenge in this war.

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Draoi stood with the now silent chorus. As a group, they stared at the closed iron doors, and at the intense red light and heat emanating from it. Behind them, the screams of Flanre had not ceased in hours. Though he wished to leave, Draoi felt it was his duty to the scorpion to listen to every moment of it. No Eldar knew what happened to the Young King. Some believed that he became one with Khaine. Draoi had a far different theory; one that he himself prayed was not true. He suspected that the Young King's soul was destroyed entirely in the fiery inferno that was the Avatar's existence, and that Khaine was brought into his fierce bloodlust by consuming that Eldar's soul. Whatever the truth was, it was beyond painful, and would take hours yet. Though now the rage filled Draoi. The emotions that he had to usually keep in check were now flowing free. His blood was pumping, and he could feel the call of war. The end was upon them now. The Hive Ming would certainly feel the Avatar coming to life. In a cycle or two, the Eldar would face the full might of the Hive Fleet, and they would win.

Chapter 25: Preparation for the End


Perhaps for the last time, the Armageddon orbited Typhon. The returning trip had taken a day, and it was as though the currents of the Warp pushed the strike cruiser to its new mooring. The Shadow of the Warp had been nearly nonexistent. When asked, the astropaths said it was as though the Hive Mind was turning a blind eye to them, and that they were insignificant. Regardless of the reasons, the Blood Ravens accepted this as the Emperor's blessing that had allowed them to reach Typhon on such short notice. In high orbit, they met with multiple troop ships from the Imperial Guard that carried every man that could be spared from Meridian.

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"I will expect you guardsmen to follow us in." said Aramus.

The man on the viewscreen smiled and said, "Naturally, they will. The sector is at stake and you Astartes are throwing your whole lot in. We can't miss out on this." The man was around forty years old, slim but strong. He wore the uniform of the 85th Vendoland well, and it seemed like he was accustomed to the battlefield from the way he carried himself.

"You do us honor General Castille. Simply await our orders, and send everyone. This may very well be a one way mission."

"The Emperor points and we obey, Commander. Castille out." The Guard general cut the link and Aramus turned to Gordian. The Apothecary was finishing the final surface scan, and comparing it with results gleaned from the astronomic array.

"Have you done it Apothecary?" Aramus asked.

"Yes Commander. I have quite a bit for you." Gordian replied.

"Speak then, time is short." Aramus said curtly.

"It is, scans from the Armageddon report that the main Hive Ship is descending on the planet to feed. I am printing readouts from the astronomic array as well. These readouts will determine the best places to deliver the bio-toxin that I have created. Also, as a minor note, the tech-adept we recovered on Typhon has been returned to the subsector fleet."

"Is that all?"

"No. It also seems that the Hive Ship has sent the majority of its forces to the southern continent. This leaves the area marked by the astronomic array poorly defended. I can find no reason for this behavior aside for a large amount of thermal energy emanating from a particular location in that area. There is nothing notable there."

"A strange twist of fate. Thank the Emperor." Said Aramus.

"Indeed Commander. Also, there is an astropathic message waiting for you. I had it recorded and brought here."

"Who is it from?" asked Aramus.

"It was sent almost a week ago by Captain Angelos. It is . . . well, listen for yourself." He walked over to a command console and pressed a few keys. Moments later, the soothing voice of Gabriel Angelos filled the bridge.

"Commander." Said Angelos, "I have disheartening news. The Litany of Fury has been completely immersed in the Shadow of the Warp caused by the tyranid fleet. Our navigators and librarians are dying and this astropath is sacrificing his life to send this message. It is unlikely that we will ever emerge from the Warp alive. If this is to be our fate however, we die with pride, for the Hive Fleet is spending its precious energy to combat us. It is up to you now Commander. You are the only hope for our recruiting worlds. I know that none will find you wanting. In the name of the Great Father and the Emperor, I, Gabriel Angelos, Captain of the Blood Ravens 3rd Company, do make this final statement. As a final note, tell Captain Thule, should he ever wake, that the secrets of Cyrene will die with me."

Aramus' expression turned sullen as the recording ended. He looked at Gordian and said, "Then it is as I had suspected, we are alone."

"Never alone Commander, the Emperor will always be beside us."

Aramus smiled at that. It was certainly true; the Emperor had never failed Aramus throughout what he was now calling the Aurelian Crusade. He wondered now if the Emperor planned to have him survive. The 4th Company had less than half its strength mustered. The odds were certainly against them, but Aramus would fight either way. The honor of the Chapter and Aramus' own honor called for it. He could not back away now.

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Ocella Lyon knelt behind the familiar pew in the chapel. Unlike most of the other times, he now wore his power armor, and took care not to scuff the stone floor of the holy room. He looked up at the icon of the Emperor that was affixed above the altar and offered words of prayer. He prayed for the safety of his Battle-Brothers like always, and also took time to pray for the guardsmen that would no doubt be joining them. As he said the prayers however, he felt uneasy. He had seen the reports; Tarkus had passed them to the whole squad. Even with a large amount of the defenses elsewhere, the Blood Ravens would still be facing a foe without number and without fear. If the toxin failed to work, all would be lost. Before he could let the feeling of hopelessness take him, he immersed himself in prayer. The Emperor would not forsake them, today or ever. They would not be found wanting in his eyes.

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In the armory, Nikephoros cleaned his weapons in preparation for the coming fight. Laid out before him on a soft cloth mat was his flamer and bolter, each broken down into their component parts. He took each piece and gently rubbed it with a rag dipped in sacred machine oil. Martellus had told him that this oil would appease the machine spirits, as well as provide a blessing from the Omnissiah. Nikephoros had taken this to heart. There was nothing worse than having a weapon malfunction in the middle of battle, even more so when the weapon was a flamer.

He lifted the weapon as he reassembled it. He made sure the piping for the promethium was untangled and that the pilot light was not bent or clogged. Finally, he checked the canister attachment for any nicks or dents. Satisfied that it was in proper condition, he placed the weapon aside before moving to his bolter. He went through the same routine. He inserted the firing pin carefully, and made sure the trigger mechanism was smooth. Once the weapon was prepared as well, he set it aside, and placed his ammo and combat knife on the mat.

He confirmed that his magazines were flawless. If one's lip was dented when it was placed in the bolter, it could cause a massive malfunction. Then he took one bolt from each magazine and carved "kill the alien" on it as a blessing. As he lifted his combat knife for inspection and maintenance, Nikephoros heard the door to the armory open. He stood to look at the door, and saw Nathaniel Augustine walk into the long room, face nearly obscured by the low lighting.

"You." Said Nikephoros. His tone equated to that of a man looking at a bug on his leg.

"Brother." Said Augustine. It was not much of a greeting, but it did not seem like a veiled insult to Nikephoros. The blond assault marine moved to a bench next to Nikephoros and placed his weapons on it, unfolding his own matt and tools.

Nikephoros watched Augustine perform the same tasks that he had done minutes before. The assault marine looked at his weapons as though they were tools though, and not like partners, as Nikephoros himself did. To Augustine, the weapons were merely a path to victory. That did not mean that he did not take care of them though. Like Nikephoros, his maintenance was thorough, but it lacked the personal affections that Nikephoros gave his weapons. One thing that sparked Nikephoros' interest was Augustine's combat knife, a thick double edged blade that seemed very familiar to him.

"That combat blade," said Nikephoros, breaking the silence, "where did you get it?"

Augustine silently removed the gauntlet on his left hand and showed the faded scar tissue on the palm and back to Nikephoros, who chuckled a bit.

"You thief." He said.

"I was sure that it was a gift." Said Augustine, a slight smile on his face. "Would you like it back?"

"I'd not care to have the same scar." Said Nikephoros. He took his own combat knife and placed it down in front of Augustine. It was thin and single edged, almost stiletto like. "I guess this must be yours."

Augustine examined the blade for a moment before nodding. "It is. I assumed it was simply lost on Calderis."

"I could not leave a weapon behind, it would be a waste of good steel." Said Nikephoros. He smiled, the scars on his face stretching.

Did he still hate Augustine? He did not know anymore. Perhaps he was becoming more of an Astartes. Such grudges were beyond them. He did still find him a bit irritating though. That callous nature could get on the nerves. Naturally, Nikephoros was not as idealistic as Lyon, Emperor be praised, but he had heard rumors that Augustine had advocated sending guardsmen into the maw of the tyranids to distract them. He was not sure if these rumors were true, as they were possibly Draco related, Emperor rest his soul, but he was still uneasy around Augustine.

"Brother Nikephoros." Started Augustine. "I feel that we should attempt to quell the bad blood that has been between us. Our final battle looms, and though I hold no thoughts of friendship for you, I feel it is best to go into battle as Brothers."

"That is noble, Brother Augustine. I believe I can agree to that on one condition."

"What would that be?" asked Augustine.

"A rematch in the practices cages upon our return, with our original knives. I'll beat you yet."

"Very well Brother. But I will not make it easy on you."

Nikephoros held out his hand, and after a pause, Augustine took it. They were not friends, but if they were to die on Typhon today, they would die side by side as Brothers.

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Merrick awoke with a groan as the Commissar walked through the billets, banging on the bunks with her bolt pistol. She shouted out in her shrill, commanding voice for the guard to "get their asses out of bed before she personally threw them out an airlock." Merrick slowly got to his feet and began dressing, wondering how the Commissar could handle the smell. Perhaps though, he underestimated women. The 85th was a single gender regiment, so there were no female troopers. Commissar Elle Connor was the first exposure to a female in the combat divisions of the Guard he had ever had. He looked at Remer, who was climbing out of the bunk next to him, with a taunting grin on his face.

"Gonna ask her again Remer?" he joked as he finished putting on his fatigues and began to put on his carapace armor.

"Frak you Sarge, that's not an experience I want to remember." Remer replied.

"That's Sergeant Major, Remer." Said Merrick. He always brought up that particular question whenever he and Remer caught sight of the Commissar. The first day the squad had been formed, they were met by the new company Commissar, who happened to be Connor. Remer, in his infinite stupidity, asked her if she was seeing anyone. Merrick was really glad that Connor was fairly lenient, and only did half the things she threatened to do, otherwise he would have lost a good grenadier that day. He was lucky to get off with latrine duty for the next four years. Luckier than Alek at least, he had gotten a few lashes for stumbling while he should have been saluting.

Once dressed, the Company gathered outside the billets in one of the troop ship's large common rooms. It stank of cheap liquor and gak, and the floors and walls were covered in grime. On one side of the large room, the techpriests had wheeled in a large projector screen, and the other side had a projector mounted on the wall. The rest of the room was filled with chairs facing the screen.

"Think we are going to watch some holovids Sarge?" Vornas asked Hurst, who was adjusting his helmet chin strap. "I certainly love Gaunt's Ghosts."

"But their representation of the Jantine Patricians is wholly inaccurate!" said Alek, walking alongside the larger grenadier. "They carried the mark V Cadian pattern lasgun, not Mark VII Bakka."

"Don't sweat the small stuff Alek." Said Vornas. "It's a good show, and from the talks I've had with some of the women in the munitorium historical department, it's well researched."

"How much talking were you actually doing?" muttered Alek, cursing his own luck.

The seventy eight men that remained of the 4th grenadier company took their seats as the already dim lights in the room went out. Techpriests scurried around, and soon a map appeared on the screen. Merrick recognized the features of Typhon from his time at the communications array. He had made a habit of studying maps. You never knew when it could come in handy.

"Shut up!" shouted Connor, and the room quickly quieted. The company had quickly learned it was best not to piss her off. When they were suitably quiet, Captain Lars Uther walked in front of the screen, a pointer in hand. He wore the carapace armor well, and towered over the fairly diminutive Connor. His unscarred face beamed with enthusiasm.

"Glad you could join me gentlemen. I was thinking Connor and I would have to make the assault on our own." He aimed his pointer at the screen as red circles began marking locations. "Our mission today, is to assist our Blood Raven allies on any task they deem necessary. It seems they have a weapon to kill these Emperor damned things for good. We need to make sure they have sufficient support. The entire regiment is going down. Here is how deployments are going to go. . ."

This was it, thought Merrick. It was now or never. This one, they had to win.

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The screaming stopped for the first time in almost two cycles. Draoi stood uneasily, waiting. The heat was nearly unbearable and every Eldar in the chamber was quite ready to leave, but the success of the ceremony had to be confirmed first. Slowly, the iron doors swung open and the wave of hot air hit Draoi and the others. Unbearable at first, the heat become agonizing. He looked at the open door quickly. The light from inside nearly burned his retinas. The ground shook as the molten giant stepped out of the room. Forty feet tall, with skin of steel and blood of magma, it left Draoi speechless. It looked down at them as its weapon formed in its left hand, a long spear of black metal, fire running across its length. This was one of the many forms of the Wailing Doom. Its right hand dripped continuously with the bright red blood of the hero Eldanesh, struck down by the Bloody Handed God at the beginning of the War in Heaven.

"DO YOU SMELL THAT?" the giant said, its voice echoing in the heads of every Eldar present. "MORE BODIES TO BURN, MORE WALKING SACRIFICES TO KHAINE. FOLLOW ME MORTALS, AND WE SHALL KILL THEM ALL."

The mighty Avatar of Kaela Mensha Khaine strode out of the chamber, leaving molten footprints behind. Draoi quickly followed. Where the Avatar walked, the Eldar followed, eager to spill the blood of their enemies. With their god himself leading them, victory was assured.

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The bridge of the Armageddon was bustling with chapter serfs, all preparing for the imminent drop. In the rear of the bridge, Gordian spoke to Harkon before the younger apothecary went to join the drop.

"Harkon, be sure to take care of the gene seed quickly. The spores in the atmosphere will make them go bad much quicker."

"I will be quick Apothecary." Said Harkon.

"Good. You have learned a lot. You are more than ready to be the 4th Company Apothecary."

"What do you mean, Apothecary? You are not going to die here."

"Of course not. By the way, you may call me Gordian now. Emperor be with you Harkon, Apothecary of the Blood Ravens."

"May he and the Unknown Primarch be with you as well, Gordian." Harkon replied.

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"I will be supporting you from Thunderhawk II, Commander." Said Martellus. "My tarantula turrets and fire support should take some of the heat off of you."

"As expected from you Techmarine." Said Aramus. "We will be counting on you." He turned to the Strike Force, assembled in the drop pod bays. Mercutio, Borian, Magnus and Captain Thule would remain behind on the Armageddon, and were not gathered. The rest of the marines would join the first wave. If the resistance was too great, the others would join them to overwhelm the tyranid defenses.

"Brothers," started Aramus. "I would like to say a few words."

"That is your right as Commander." Said Thaddeus. "It would be unseemly for you to not speak at all."

"These thirty-one days have been tumultuous times for our Chapter. You marines put yourselves behind my banner, that of an outsider, and fought against foes that would leave ordinary men quaking in fear. For this I praise you. Even when your Captain seemed lost, you never faltered. You fought with all your might, and those that died, died with honor and tenacity that will be forever remembered in the histories of our great Chapter. In the eyes of the Emperor, and of the Unknown Primarch, you have not been found wanting. Come with me now, loyal Blood Ravens, my brothers. In the name of the Great Father and the Emperor, victory here, or glorious death, not one step back."

The assembled marines let out a cheer, with shouts of "For the Emperor!" and "Onward to glory!" running back and forth across their ranks. Then they piled into the drop pods and rocketed down towards the surface of Typhon, where their final struggle would await them.

The valkyrie assault carrier shook violently as it descended. Inside, Merrick's squad, along with Captain Uther's command section of the 4th Grenadier Company, were finishing their final preparations for the drop.

"Hey Boss," Said Remer as he buckled on his helmet. "What's with all the turbulence?"

"No clue." Said Sergeant Major Merrick, voice muffled by his rebreather and face mask. "May have something to do with why were ordered to mask up. Typhon was breathable a month ago."

"It's the spores." Kippler said quietly as he screwed a barrel on his long las. "They're so thick in the air that they are affecting the way the drop ship moves."

"Leave it to Kippler to know." Said Sergeant Hurst. The aristocratic fireteam sergeant was completely prepared before even stepping on the valkyrie for the descent. He sat quietly next to Commissar Connor with his hellgun between his knees.

The Guard was deploying in mass, ready to assist the Astartes on their assault. To do so, the large troopships had moved into the high atmosphere, where the guardsmen were loaded onto valkyrie transports for the final descent. Once the valkyrie born troops secured a landing zone, the large regimental landers would make planetfall.

"Never fear grenadiers." Said Commissar Connor with a smile. "The Emperor protects. It will take no effort for him to protect this gunship."

Before the words were dead in the air, the valkyrie jerked violently to the left and dove. The guardsmen in the passenger section held on tightly as they were buffeted about and desperately hoped their seating restraints would hold out.

"Pilot, what in Horus' name was that?" shouted Captain Uther. He leaned forward into the pilot's compartment and his eyes widened in horror. From the foggy windshield, Uther could see that the entire formation of dropships was beset in all directions by flying tyranids with leathery bat-like wings. These creatures, gargoyles, would try to bring down every ship they could. He watched in horror as a group of gargoyles flew into the engines of a nearby Vulture gunship, bringing the whole craft down in a flaming wreck.

"Masks on," he shouted as he dropped back into the passenger compartment. "Seating restraints on, and open those doors. We need to keep these frakers off our ship."

The squads quickly complied and then opened the Valkyrie's side doors. The change in air pressure nearly threw them from their seats immediately, and the roaring winds engulfed them. Without even giving an order, Captain Uther began firing his bolt pistol out of the right door into the swarms of flying tyranids. One of his squad members hooked himself to the craft and stood in the doorway, firing his lasgun on full auto. Though it was only a dent in the mass of creatures, they did well to keep them away from their transport.

"Open that rear door and get on that heavy bolter!" shouted Commissar Connor. She moved to the left door and opened fire with her las pistol. Hurst stood next to her, firing his hellgun. The heavier rounds obliterated the gargoyles with ease. A moment later, another burst of air informed them that the rear door had in fact been opened, and the crack of bolterfire commenced. Suddenly,a group of gargoyles massed together and rammed the right side of the valkyrie, rocking it. Commissar Connor, who was unhooked, stumbled forward towards the open door. Hurst quickly grabbed her under the arms, but found himself falling forward as well. He was wondering if the line could hold both of them when a pair of strong arms grabbed him about the waist. He looked back, and recognized the shape of Vornas. The burly grenadier dragged both Hurst and Connor back into the safety of the valkyrie, where they tumbled down to the floor of the shaking craft once more.

Hurst was pulled to his feet thankfully quick. The safety restraint had been digging into his neck for few agonizing seconds. Breathing heavily, he nodded at Vornas as the Daredevil slapped him about the head and back, checking to see if he was alright. He looked around the cabin of the valkyrie. Connor was shakily taking a seat and strapping herself in. Hurst wondered if it was her first time in actual combat. No veteran, even one unaccustomed to valkyries, would neglect to hook up when they decided to stand. In the rear, Sergeant Major Merrick and Alek worked the heavy bolter around, killing anything in range. From what he could see, the other craft in the formation were also firing back at the interfering tyranids, with modest success. Multiple valkyries and vultures fell to the ground in balls of fire, and Hurst was sure he could spot flailing limbs and burning bodies amongst the debris.

"We're almost there!" shouted the pilot. "Prepare for deployment, ETA three minutes!" Hurst looked out of the right door. The gargoyles were veering off, heading off the right flank of the formation. He thought he could see some large hulking flyer in the spore clouds in that direction, but the craft descended to quickly for him to confirm. Whatever the matter, the flying things were pulling off. Captain Uther was on the vox, checking up on the rest of the Company and the advance force as a whole. This formation was one of eight and it seemed that each had suffered about equal casualties.

Merrick left Alek's side as the rear door closed for landing. He moved back to his seat slowly, holding on to the railing above him to steady himself. The valkyrie's velocity slowed, and the craft gently touched the ground a few minutes later. The two squads stood as the rear door opened once again, and the guardsmen quickly deployed, panning their weapons about. No targets presented themselves and the two squads quickly rallied with others in the formation. Quickly Captain Uther formed a command post and secured the landing zone, a vast area cleared from trees.

Merrick could see Typhon had suffered in the past few days. The air was thick with clouds of green spores and the horizon was blocked by a vast elongated shape, hovering in the atmosphere. This was the Hive ship, its long tendrils embedded into the earth of Typhon to feed. All the trees and plant life in this area had either been stripped entirely or had been overrun with invasive tyranid species. Capillary towers and long tough skinned veins lined the surface. Each of these led back towards the ship to provide it with nutrients. Two of these large veins had been designated as the primary objectives. The poison that the Astartes carried would be delivered through these and hopefully would be the death of the Norn Queen that lived within the Hive Ship.

In the minutes the 4th Grenadier Company spent waiting for their reinforcements, they faced little tyranid resistance. Gaunts came in ones and twos, and were easily cut down by lasfire. The occasional synapse beast appeared which required additional firepower, but even then, little threatened the landing zone. Soon, bright lights peering through the murky skies informed the 4th Grenadier Company of their arriving reinforcements. Large bulk landers descended almost lazily from the skies, untroubled by gargoyles. One was about to land on their zone, and Merrick could see other lights in the distance, preparing to deploy at the positions secured by the other advance teams.

Merrick's squad lay prone behind a dead tyranid feeder vein. Even in death its skin could stop most bullets and even offered partial protection from bolt rounds. In the distance, Merrick could see the taller capillary towers and the movement around their bases. They were most likely swarming with tyranids. They were also one of the first objectives.

A group of gaunts leapt into view a hundred yards or so away and were quickly cut down by hellfire from the squad. They had become used to the strange movements of the smaller creatures during their fighting on Meridian. Behind them, Commissar Connor walked the line, encouraging the grenadiers when she could. She stopped next to Kippler and crouched down.

"Those towers out there," she said, pointing a gloved finger at the hive structures in the distance. "How well defended are they?"

Kippler quietly put his long las scope to his mask's eyehole and slowly panned it. "I'll wager around two hundred gaunts, assorted big nasties." He said quietly.

"It should be no problem for us then." Connor said confidently. "I trust you men will be right beside me when we attack."

"Yes ma'am, we will be beside you." Said Merrick from her right. "I can't think of any reason to run in front of a Commissar after all."

"You should be glad I know you have a sense of humor Sergeant Major." Laughed Connor, the probably pleasant sound muffled by her breather mask. "Cause I'd kill you if you meant that." Her tone didn't change, even when threatening death. That, thought Merrick, was what made Elle Connor a good Commissar, more than anything else. She could laugh, she could smile, she could relax, but she was always on duty.

"Don't I know it, ma'am." Said Merrick. He log rolled to his right to Alek's spot behind a boulder. "Lad, anything on the vox?"

"Not much, the atmosphere is frakking it up mighty." Alek fiddled around with the dials, but only static came from the headset. "Last I heard was something about the Astartes' deployment."

"Alright then, keep it up." He turned around and sat against the boulder, looking back at the landing zone. The large troopship had landed and its front ramp was lowered. Around a thousand guardsmen were held in each and the landing zone was bustling with activity. Though the 85th Vendoland had little in the way of armor, they had extensive amounts of heavy weapons. These arms, ranging from heavy bolters to autocannons, were being unloaded first in preparation for the advance. They would be highly valuable when a fixed position needed to be held.

Suddenly, a whistle blew, followed by the shout, "Contact right!" Massed lasfire began firing at dozens of gaunts approaching from the right of the landing zone. Merrick drop prone next to the boulder, Connor standing above him. The two of them fired into the swarm without pausing. There was no need to aim when there were that many targets. The entire landing zone focused on the hostiles, and thought there were hundreds; they were all killed in a few heart pounding minutes. The cost was light; only 47 guardsmen on that flank had been killed, caught by surprise by the silently moving hormagaunts.

As the lasfire died down, Alek called out to Merrick. When he approached, the vox man said "Uther just signaled on the squad to squad. Says the Astartes have dropped and will be ready to advance in minutes. We're to prepare for immediate departure."

"Got it." Said Merrick before he raised his voice for the squad. "Alright boys, get your asses in gear, it's time for a bug hunt."

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During the whole drop, Ocella Lyon had his hands in the sign of the Aquila. Normally his prayers ended when he left the chapel, but this was different. This battle could decide the fate of the subsector, the whole sector even! He would have to pray for every marine in the strike force, as well as the marines that were still on the Armageddon.

"Prepare your souls for the fight Brothers. The Emperor demands a heart of steel." Intoned Chaplain Automemos. Along with Tarkus' squad, Aramus, Harkon and the Chaplain were seated in this drop pod, bringing the number of marines to eight. Tarkus' squad felt the loss of Eplis greatly, and it seemed like only yesterday that the squad was at its original strength of seven. Arza's death had also been sobering, as it was the first death of a brother Lyon had witnessed with his own eyes.

"Prepare your minds. They must be sharp." Continued Automemos.

"Thirty seconds." Interjected Aramus quietly. The Commander had both Remembrance and his power sword ready along with his trusty but seldom used bolt pistol. He was ready for any type of combat situation.

"Now brothers," Said Automemos as the imminent impact klaxon went off, "take up arms, and strike down your foes! For the Great Father and the Emperor!"

The marines answered the cry but were drowned out by the sound of the burning retros and the impact. The doors dropped and the marines exited, with Aramus taking the lead. The marines stepped out onto a barren wasteland, a far cry from the Typhon that they knew. Lyon's helmet systems were struggling to eliminate the spores that he breathed and he wondered how Aramus, who never wore a helmet, was faring.

Lyon looked around. The drop pods had landed over an area of around fifty square yards, directly in front of one of the Imperial Guard landing zones. To his left, Lyon could clearly see a large formation of capillary towers and hives. A nod from Harkon confirmed that this was their objective. Even with the spores in the air, he could clearly see the large amounts of tyranids in the area. They should be no problem for Astartes, but it made him wonder how large the counter attack would be.

As the Space Marines gathered together, the large mass of guardsmen stood and advanced towards the capillary towers in a slow jog. Soon the Blood Ravens joined them, their long strides allowing them to take the lead.

"Brother Lyon." Said Nikephoros over the man to man vox. "Why do you think the resistance is so light?"

"Perhaps they are distracted?" Lyon replied.

"Or it could be a trap." Said Nikephoros.

"Unlikely." Tarkus cut in. "Orbital scans show that the majority of the tyranids are hundreds of miles away, tracing a large heat signature."

"Then what are we going to face?" asked Nikephoros.

"Less than ten percent of the Hive Fleets force, though we will still be outnumbered hundreds to one."

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Inside the Fallen Craftworld, the Eldar lay in wait. There were only two ways into the Craftworld, a cavern fifty yards wide that slowly sloped downward, or a thin entrance at the other end. In the end, the Eldar had decided to defend from these locations rather than from outside, where the Avatar of Khaine would fight. Drochasal Draoi had left the defense of the thin corridor to Cculan's Dire Avengers and Arcadia, while the rest of the Eldar would defend the cavern. They did not expect to face many tyranids however. They had a god on their side, and its wrath set the very world on fire.

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Above ground, miles away from the Craftworld, the Avatar of Khaine towered over the rocky landscape. In its left hand, it held the Wailing Doom, in this instance a long black lance wreathed in fire and its right dripped with thick blood. Forty feet tall, it stood under blackening skies, thick with gargoyles. In all directions, millions of gaunts approached it, drawn by the psychic power caused by the Avatar's summoning. They scuttled across the ground like a chitinous ocean of bladed limbs and teeth.

As they came within a hundred yards of the Avatar, it stood upright and raised its arms to the skies. With a crackling noise, it ignited and the already suffocating heat around it rose to impossible levels. Thousands of gaunts were immediately incinerated, simply turning to dust. They still came on, committing suicide at the orders of the Hive Mind. A few warriors managed to pierce the intense heat, but were casually dispatched with a few thrusts of the Wailing Doom.

"YOUR ASHES SHALL LITTER THE BATTLEFIELD! THEY WILL BE THE ONLY MONUMENT TO YOUR FIERY DEATHS!" rumbled the Avatar. In the distance, it could see the hulking forms over carnifexes and other larger things, vast lumbering shapes in the artificial darkness. The Avatar shifted the spear in its hands, ready to advance. All the while, hundreds of gaunts were incinerated every second. More sacrifices had come, more bodies to burn for the Bloody Handed God.

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Thaddeus' squad landed at the base of one of the capillary towers, crushing half a dozen gaunts under foot. Seconds after he landed, Nathaniel Augustine lashed out with Thanatos, killing another group of termagaunts. The charging Astartes and guardsmen tore into the hundred or so tyranid defenders, killing them in a few minutes of brutal fighting. In the middle of the capillary formation was a large pulsating vein that snaked above and below ground, leading towards the distant Hive Ship. The marines gathered around it, and prepared to defend the location as Harkon prepared the bio toxin. All around, the guardsmen quickly set up firing lanes and heavy weapons.

Harkon opened his narthecium and placed the first vial of the bio-toxin in the syringe. He quickly locked the casing and moved up to the vein, searching for a suitable location to inject. He ran his gauntlets over the smooth surface of the vein, feeling the wood like material carefully. Eventually he settled on a pulsing bulge of a softer material, almost gel like. He extended the syringe and in one fluid motion jabbed it into the vein before injecting the entire vial's contents.

Aramus was observing the surrounding area when his vox beeped.

The voice, almost unintelligible said, "Commander, this is Martellus from Thunderhawk II. Sensors indicate a large tyranid force is approaching your position from the northeast. I estimate more than a thousand gaunts and a large amount of warriors."

"Thank you Techmarine." Said Aramus as he moved to the line. "Sergeant Avitus, cover the northeast section with the Guard heavy weapons squads. We need to wait for Apothecary Harkon's confirmation before we can leave."

Avitus groaned and said, "Fight with guardsmen? They will simply cower and hide while real warriors do the killing." Though he complained, Avitus still directed his squad into cover behind a ruined hive. He rested his heavy bolter on the pulpy violet structure, aiming towards the ridges that blocked the view of the northeast horizon. On both sides, Guard heavy weapons teams pointed stubbers and heavy bolters in the same direction.

Suddenly Linus fired a missile. The shot arced out and exploded on the side of the ridge, tearing a group of crawling genestealers to shreds. They had hidden themselves well and had nearly reached the firing line. Then the ridge was alive with activity. Hundreds of hormagaunts and termagaunts poured down the side as Avitus and the guardsmen poured fire onto them. Avitus' heavy bolter cut down dozens and turned the small creatures into piles of unrecognizable gore. He was joined by Tarkus' squad and masses of guard lasfire. The orange beams illuminated the field of battle better than the brightest glowlamp. Las shots glanced off carapace and melted flesh when they struck, each round cauterizing the wound it left.

Merrick fired his hellgun on full auto. The heavier rounds guaranteed a kill if it so much as glanced a termagaunt. The grenadiers in the squad, Remer and Vornas, arced grenade after grenade into the charging tyranids and the rest of the men in the squad fired calmly. They were no threat like this. Suddenly the line burst into activity less than twenty yards to the right of Merrick. He turned to see a lictor, nearly invisible in its camouflage, tear through at least two dozen guardsmen with its sharp scythes and claws. It made for the space marines before being perforated by hundreds of las rounds. Its smoking corpse dropped to the rocky ground with a soft noise, covered by the constant sounds of fighting.

Merrick returned to shooting the horde, and was satisfied to see that their numbers were only decreasing. A man near him fell, shot in the neck by a fleshborer. The shot came from above. Merrick raised his weapon as he looked up and his heart raced. The gargoyles were back, hundreds flying down to fire their symbiote weapons at the tightly packed guardsmen and space marines. The Astartes and grenadiers were well protected in their heavier armor, but the flak armored guardsmen of the general infantry were decimated by the heavy fire. Around a hundred died in the surprise attack and dozens more fell as the guardsmen mustered a hasty return fire. The orange beams pierced the clouds and began to take their toll. Soon there were as many falling gargoyles as there were flying.

The ground shook as Thunderhawk II passed over, unloading a payload of incendiary bombs on the ridge. It flew off to the north, pursued by flights of gargoyles. Avitus laughed menacingly as he gunned down the remaining tyranids. The firelight reflected ominously off his armor and he looked like the personification of destruction and painful death. Merrick was glad that the Blood Ravens were on their side. He would hate to have to ever fight one.

"Casualties?" asked Aramus.

"None of ours." Replied Harkon. The Apothecary finished loading the second vial into his narthecium.

"How long until we can move Brother Apothecary?"

"Momentarily." He replied. "That attack we just faced may very well be the evidencethat shows the poison will work, or is already working."

"Very good." Said Aramus as a muscular guardsman in carapace armor walked up to them and saluted. Aramus recognized the lapel pins of a Captain.

"Captain Uther, at your service my lord."

"Speak." Aramus replied, crossing his arms.

"Planet-wide vox reports that our left flank has just come under heavy attack. They've spread out to cover us, but there's no telling how long they'll hold."

"Seems the Hive Fleet has caught on." Said Harkon.

"Indeed." Aramus replied. "Captain. Prepare your men. We need to move, now."

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"Torpedo spread ineffective Apothecary!" shouted the arms master. Gordian cursed and slammed his fist against the command lectern. He had expected a difficult fight, but not like this. The Hive Ship had countered everything the Armageddon had thrown at it, and the subsector fleet had already pulled out. Now the Armageddon and her escorts were surrounded on three sides. They couldn't retreat, not while Brothers were on Typhon.

"Understood. Prime forward weapon batteries and the bombardment cannon. See if we cannot take out one of their cruisers."

"Weapon battery C is awaiting orders. Designating firing pattern now." Said the arms master. He typed a few keys on his cogitator, delivering orders to the gun decks. "Bombardment cannon will be loaded with melta canisters in thirty minutes."

"Understood. Comm officer, are there reports from our escorts?"

"Yes Apothecary!" said the man in front of the vox station. "The Allegiance reports heavy damage to their engines. They also report that tyranid Kraken class ships are encircling them. How do we respond?"

"Order them to unload all ordinance. Send the tyranids to hell." Gordian sat back in his seat. The Allegiance was the second escort lost today. This is a suicide mission after all, he realized. The Hive Fleet closed around them, their ships numbering in the thousands, while the Armageddon's flotilla only contained four remaining ships.

"Apothecary!" said the Comm officer again. Gordian was already dreading his words. "The Hand of Vidya is undergoing plasma reactor overload."

"Understood, fire the starboard engines to get us out of the blast zone!"

The ship lurched and swayed to the left. Minutes later, Gordian saw a flash out in the black of space. It would be a while before they were hit by the shockwave, but he was sure that hundreds of tyranid ships had been destroyed by the massive burst of energy. Ahead he could see the Hive Ship. Its elongated form was unmoving, and it was relying on the hundreds of cruisers and escort bio ships to protect it. Even though it was such a large target, any missile or shell fired at it was simply intercepted by a smaller vessel, ending its own life at the orders of the callous Hive Mind.

"Emperor damn them. We cannot close." Said Gordian through gritted teeth.

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This situation was almost humorous. Cculan felt like laughing, as improper as it would be. Laughter in combat is a thing for orks and the servants of the Great Enemy. A Dire Avenger, especially an exarch was to be the epitome of calm in the hurricane that was combat. Still, he could not be happier. In the tight confines of the corridor his squad was assigned to defend, the tyranids had no choice but to throw themselves into his guns. The shuriken catapults were devastating, as even a miss would ricochet off the walls and hit a mark amongst the tyranids, and the corridor was too small for anything bigger than a tyranid warrior. Not only that, the spirit of the Avatar had riled his Avengers up. They were at their peak, and the tyranids were feeling it.

The floor of the corridor was slick with alien ichor up to a point fifteen yards away from the Dire Avengers. No tyranid had passed this point, and though he felt a bit sorry that Arcadia wasn't being allowed to wet her blade, Cculan was sure she didn't mind.

"Come now my kin." He said smoothly. "Let us form a wall of bodies that even these mindless things will tremble to behold. He pointed his catapult down the hallway as a new surge of gaunts poured towards the Eldar. Then he pulled the trigger, sending a burst of mono molecular shuriken tearing through the foe. At this range, armor was nearly useless against the shot, and it was this type of combat that the Eldar Dire Avengers were feared for. Against an enemy that did not know fear however, the Eldar simply had to kill them. But that was alright, thought Cculan. He would oblige them.

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On the other side of the Fallen Craftworld, Drochasal Draoi led the rest of the Eldar in the defense of the wider entrance. Gaunts, warriors and even a few carnifexes came in waves through the large cavern entrances, but were pushed back again and again with disciplined shuriken and laser fire. Draoi fought next to Tyrea, the Banshee exarch, leading from the front. His witchblade had now been dipped in the blood of every species the Eldar fought against in this forsaken area of space. He moved impossibly fast, cutting down tyranids before they had even registered his presence. Uiremon held back, standing firm with his line of wraithguard. These were the last of the wraith constructs that had been brought from Ulthwé, and though Aerelth had been recovered from his broken body on Meridian, he needed rest and would not fight again for many years.

Draoi ducked a slash from a warriors scythe as if it was moving in slow motion. He spun and stabbed up through the alien's neck and pulled his blade out as the psychic energy flowing through it did its work. He heard a roar, and jumped back towards the defenses for safety. As he reached the line of guardians and heavy weapon platforms, Tyrea landed next to him, her executioner blade bloody. She had just leapt off the back of a carnifex after impaling its head with the halberd like weapon in her hands.

"As expected from a Banshee exarch." Said Draoi during a pause in the combat.

"You are holding up well yourself, Warlock." Tyrea replied. "Perhaps you can rival even me when it comes to kills up close."

"I doubt that." Said Draoi. The two charged forward again into a new wave of tyranids, killing dozens more every minute. This was nothing to them. They had fought thousands of battles and hundreds of foes. With their god incarnate leading them above, they could not lose.

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The Avatar of Khaine thrust forward with its lance, impaling the head of the first carnifex to reach it. Without removing the weapon, it kicked up, hitting the carnifex on the chin. The impact pushed its head up, splitting it entirely in a spray of gore. The mighty beast fell forward, its remains already burning to ash in the heat of the Avatar's existence. Four more carnifexes moved towards the Avatar of Khaine, but they meant nothing. It laughed deeply, a sound like burning wood, and threw the lance like a javelin. Before it had even struck home, the Avatar was moving, running full speed towards the four monstrous creatures. All while he ran, gaunts popped like firecrackers in the inferno that he created. He reached the first carnifex and grabbed his lance's haft from where it was embedded in the chest of the beast. He pushed forward, dodging the creature's claws and jumped over it, grabbing his lance again on the other side before pulling it out of the carnifex completely.

He parried a scything talon with the spear, and drove it into the head of the second carnifex as another talon from the third jabbed into the Avatar's leg. It pulled the spear out, spun it and jammed the opposite end into the eye of the carnifex that had yet to engage the Avatar before punching the one that had stabbed it. The heat around its hand intensified as he pushed into the last living carnifex. In seconds, it was immolated from within. Already, the Avatar's wound in its leg was no longer bleeding. These kills were easy. The thoughtless things were doomed from the second they touched it. There was nothing the tyranids could create that could withstand the heat of the Avatar of Khaine. These carnifexes could survive longer than most, but if left alone, even they would burn to death eventually. Not that the Avatar would let that happen. These things were much more dangerous than the pests that turned to ash at its feet every second. The Avatar would grace the carnifexes and other greater beasts with a death in combat. More were coming now, dozens of carnifexes, a few Hive Tyrants, and some else, still so far off that even the Avatar with its god-like senses could not discern. It could tell that this tyranid was big though, bigger than any that had ever set foot on this planet. It would burn just the same.

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The Imperial advance to the second objective was far different from their taking of the first. Where they had taken the first with little resistance, the Astartes and guardsmen were hounded the whole way by hundreds of tyranids. Even with the Blood Ravens taking the lead, the advance took nearly an hour. The second vein was located at the edge of a deep chasm. It had been unnaturally torn by the Hive ship as it reached into the crust of Typhon to procure nutrients from more than just the surface.

"Charge!" shouted Aramus, "This is the final step Brothers!" He ran ahead of the strike force as he usually did and barreled into the swarm of spinegaunts defending the hives near the objective. Remembrance knocked half a dozen aside at a time and any that he missed with the great thunder hammer were swiftly stomped on or kicked out of the way. There were many and Aramus was hit many times in the lightning fast fight, but not a single claw pierced his armor. Behind the Commander, Thaddeus' squad pushed through the dozens of gaunts. Thaddeus himself fought with a spare chainsword that he had procured. He had not yet found a suitable replacement for the power sword he lost fighting the Warboss on Calderis. Even with an inferior weapon, his skill alone allowed him to nearly match Aramus' kills.

Nathaniel Augustine fought with every weapon at his disposal. There was no need to hold back. He fired his pistol, set tyranids alight with his ethereal flame and bit into them with Thanatos. Tarkus' squad advanced, sparing no fury while Avitus and Cyrus gave support from the flanks. They fought as a single entity, and not a single marine died as they blazed a trail of glory to the capillary towers that surrounded the vein.

"Digestion pool." Indicated Tarkus as they approached. "Set it ablaze Brother Nikephoros." Seconds later, the small green pond of microorganisms lit up like a tank of promethium touched by a match. Immediately after burning the digestion pool, Nikephoros turned his flamer on the nearby capillary towers. The fang like structures writhed under the hose of flaming promethium; only making the pale faced marine hold the flamer on them longer. At his side, Ocella Lyon gunned down the spineguard gaunts with arguably impossible shots. He fully trusted his bolter to make the shots for him, and could almost swear that the machine spirit aimed the weapon itself.

Lyon flipped his weapon to burst as a group of warriors charged the Astartes' flank. He brought down one with a well aimed burst to the head before Avitus' heavy bolters brought down the rest. He tapped Nikephoros, who was burning another group of capillary towers, and motioned towards the squad. They were already moving on and were about to leave the two behind. Nikephoros nodded, and the two ran side by side to regroup with their squads.

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Unlike the glorious charge of the Astartes, the guard suffered hundreds of casualties. Where fleshborers were useless against power armor, it easily pierced the flak armor that most guardsmen wore, and the rocky plain leading up to the chasm was covered in hollowed out bodies.

Merrick's squad was located on the right flank of the formation. This was a dangerous position, as the left flank was blocked by the rent in the earth, and the front was protected by the Astartes. On the right however, the fighting was left solely to the grenadiers of the 4th company. The terrain to the right of the guard advance was hilly, with multiple ravines which flowed with gaunts. Merrick could also see a few buildings, but with so much tyranid vegetation, he couldn't tell if they were the ancient ruins that were commonplace on Typhon, or other, newer buildings. Regardless of their origin, they were crawling with termagaunts and Merrick, knowing that tyranids could not be suppressed, fired slowly and accurately at the hunched things.

"Remer, Vornas!" he shouted, "Get some frags out in those ruins. We can't have the bugs flanking us!"

"Got it boss!" yelled Remer. He aimed the grenade launcher and fired a trio of rounds into the scattered buildings. Seconds later, the loud cracks sounded, and some of the termagaunt weapons fell silent. Vornas chose his shots more carefully, sending shots over walls and through half crumbled windows.

"Nice shots lads. Keep it up!" Merrick shouted. "Kippler, take out anything that has a bad angle on us."

"Already on it." Kippler said softly. His long las was loaded with regular power packs, not the standard hot shot packs. Therefore, to attain the one shot kill that he strived for, Kippler had to be very accurate. He took his shots carefully, hitting the targets that the rest of the squad would have trouble with. He knocked termagaunts off roofs, killed those in cover, and shot the ones that had gone to ground in bushes, nearly hidden from view.

Alek ran next to Hurst. The two of them were under heavy fire, and they were incredibly lucky that a shot hadn't crippled them yet. Fleshborer rounds bounced off their heavy carapace armor repeatedly. Alek quickly aimed his hellgun at a group of hormagaunts leaping towards the line, holding down the trigger. He brought down eight, before his weapon overheated. He cursed and tried to make sure the coolant tube was properly installed, all while watching the charging tyranids. Four more were brought down by Hurst, leaving six more. Merrick shot four before his line of sight was obscured by Vornas. Commissar Connor brought down another two, and with pin point bolt shots, Captain Uther killed the final pair. Alek sighed in relief. It was just his luck for his weapon to break. The coolant tube hadn't been installed by the techpriest correctly. If they got out of this, he was going to kick the cogboy's ass.

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Aramus brought his thunder hammer down on the head of a dying warrior, crushing it utterly. He drew his bolt pistol from where it was holstered at his waist and fired it at the gaunts that were still trying to throw themselves into the battle. He was standing right next to the vein, and the area was almost completely secured. The space marines and guardsmen were still taking fire from the distance, but the vein had been surrounded. To the west, across the chasm, Aramus could see the Hive Ship moving further out of the atmosphere. At the same time, it was launching thousands of mysetic spores to the ground. The other Imperial Guard forces may be overrun if they did not find a defensible position fast. To the north and east of the vein, Aramus could see massive capillary towers. At their bases were probably dozens of hives, each capable of spawning a nearly unending tide of tyranids. They needed to poison the vein quickly.

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"Closer?" shouted the navigation officer. Disbelief was written on every inch of his sweating face.

"Yes! I said closer!" shouted Gordian. "Engage that Hive Ship at point blank range!"

"At that range we won't last long Apothecary." The officer responded.

"We have no damn choice." Gordian snarled. He quickly grabbed the ship vox. "All Blood Ravens prepare for emergency drop. The Armageddon is lost. I repeat, all Astartes to the drop pods."

He nodded to himself as the affirmatives came through. In ten minutes, Mercutio confirmed that all squads were ready for drop. Before Gordian gave the order, another voice came over the ship vox.

"GORDIAN. YOUR SACRIFICE. . . WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN."

"Thank you Captain Thule. Protect the Commander." Seconds later, four drop pods took the last space marines down to Typhon.

"What about us?" said one of the Chapter serfs on the bridge.

"What do you think?" asked Gordian, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. "We kill every last one of them."

The Chapter serf swallowed heavily before going about his duties. Gordian looked out the viewport. His precious ship was not going to last more than fifteen minutes out here. The tyranids had surrounded his ship like a brown cloak and were closing in. If he had not called the drop then, the marines would have been trapped on the Armageddon.

"Officers." He said to the bridge. "Seal and eject the gene-seed storage chamber. It is nearly unbreakable and will survive for years in deep space. Even the tyranids should not be able to break its shell and it will emit a signal to the rest of our chapter for recovery."

"Understood." Said one of the officers. A moment later, he said "Done. The chamber was ejected off to our rear. It should have been too fast for the tyranids to stop."

"Good, good. Status of the enemy fleet?"

"Yes." Said a different officer. "We have multiple tyranid cruisers approaching from the starboard and bow, and it seems the Hive Fleet has designated escort craft to flank around our port side and below us."

"Alright." Said Gordian. "Set the point defenses on the escorts. Keep them off our backs as we press forward. Designate the bombardment cannon to continue attempting to hit the Hive Ship. All weapon batteries on the prow should be focused on the cruisers however. They may fire at will."

"Orders transmitted Apothecary."

Gordian sat down behind the command lectern and donned his helmet. He looked out of the bridge viewport with a small smile on his face. They were almost certainly going to die here, but this was a death worthy of a space marine. In their final moments, they would hurt the Hive Fleet. It would not forget the Armageddon.

He watched as a volley from a weapon battery took a tyranid cruiser in the middle section. It writhed silently as it died, and around it flew dozens of kraken strike craft, mindlessly moving to avenge the loss. Dozens were torn apart by the Armageddon's close range defenses, but a few sped closer, moving within ten thousand miles of the Strike Cruiser.

"Damn them!" shouted Gordian. "Close range torpedo spread!"

The torpedoes shot out, and minutes later Gordian breathed a sigh of relief as the kraken ships were melted by the powerful plasma charges.

"Bio plasma incoming Apothecary!" shouted the bridge officer.

"Immediate evasive maneuvers!" yelled Gordian, but the ship was already in motion. It lurched to the left and upwards, trying to avoid the path of the stream of tyranid produced plasma aimed at them. Five minutes passed before the results presented themselves. The Armageddon managed to avoid the majority of the plasma, but their starboard-stern was hit with a glancing blow, rocking the ship.

"Damage report!" said Gordian.

"Starboard engine destroyed. Eight hundred dead approximately. We are listing Apothecary. Further movement will be nearly impossible."

"Xenos scum caught us off guard." Sighed Gordian. This was the end of the line. They had to fight and kill now. Any hope they had of fighting the Hive Ship was now gone. "Officer, activate the self destruct system. We shall die in a blaze of glory."

"Y-yes sir." Said the Bridge officer." He quietly moved to a small console on the side of the bridge. The rest of the crew watched him silently as he shakily pressed the keys. He turned around walked back across the bridge without saying a word. As he took a seat, he said in the quietest voice imaginable. "It is done, Apothecary."

"Good." Said Gordian. If anything, he sounded upbeat.

"Apothecary. We have kraken approaching, and a cruiser is closing in on our left flank. We won't be able to stop them with the point defenses and our torpedoes are not yet loaded."

Gordian walked to his lectern and opened a footlocker next to it. From it he withdrew a power axe and bolter. He loaded a magazine into the weapon and racked the slide before turning back to the crew.

"Men." He said, "It was a great many years that I served with you. I regret absolutely nothing, and would rather die in no other place than by your side." The men seemed to rise a bit in spirits, calming down in the face of certain death. Then Gordian raised his voice to a warrior's shout. "Now in the Emperor's name! Prepare for boarders!"

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The drop pods landed a hundred yards from the second vein, an accurate drop for such a short targeting time. The reinforcements, consisting of Mercutio, Borian, and Magnus' squads, along with Captain Thule were met by Thaddeus' squad.

"Captain Thule. . ." said Thaddeus quietly. "What of the Armageddon?"

"IT IS. . . LOST TO US. . . GORDIAN GAVE HIS LIFE FOR OUR CAUSE."

"Yes." Said Mercutio, hefting his plasma gun. "But we must mourn him later. Direct us to where we are needed most Sergeant."

The three squads joined up with the others, and patched up the shaky defense line around the new vein, where Harkon was finishing up the application of the poison. As he extracted his syringe from the vein, Aramus spoke to him.

"How long until we see the effects Apothecary? It seems it was too late for the Armageddon."

"Around ten minutes should be enough." Said Harkon. His voice was pained, but with the helmet he wore, Aramus could not see his expression.

"Understood." Said Aramus as he walked away. "Sergeant Avitus, set up your heavy bolters where you feel is best. Captain Thule, I would appreciate it if you could defend the northern approach with Sergeant Cyrus."

"UNDERSTOOD." Said the dreadnought. It lumbered north, to a spot between the chasm and a ridge. This newly created chokepoint would allow Thule and Cyrus to hold out for quite some time. Avitus and Mercutio set up their squads facing the east, where the majority of the closer hives were located. The guardsmen, only numbering around five hundred, set up their heavy weapons and took cover around the marines. If this was anything like the first vein, the attack would begin soon.

Every marines' vox began beeping, and before they answered a voice cut in, plagued with static. "Thi. . . Martellus Commander! Ca. . . provide ass. . . I repeat. . . cannot provi. . . all over us. . . Lo. . . engine an. . . going down. . . possibly aro. . . equator. May the Em. . . be with you."

"Martellus, come in. Come in!" said Tarkus, but there was no response in the vox.

"Stand fast, brothers." Ordered Aramus. "There will be an attack any minute now. I am sure of it."

A few minutes passed before movement was spotted to the east. Then the second attack began, with thousands of gaunts scuttling towards the reinforced Imperial line.

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The Avatar of Khaine recoiled as the bone sword stabbed into it, spewing molten blood across the Hive Tyrant in front of it. In response, it reached out and tore the head of the synapse beast before pulling the sword out of its chest. The death of the Tyrant did nothing to slow the horde, and now the Avatar could see why.

A Dominatrix had come. A giant to even the Avatar, the hulking thing stood two hundred feet tall, and was nearly five hundred feet long from head to tail. Its head protruded forward on a thin neck, and its back and shoulders bristled with bio symbiote weaponry. This was the most powerful synapse beast deployed for planetary invasion. The only thing higher on the ladder was the norn queen itself. This was the Avatar's goal. No matter the cost, the Dominatrix needed to die here.

The Avatar sprinted forward, dodging venom cannon shots and charging carnifexes. It leapt over a Hive Tyrant, killing it with a thrust of its spear as it passed, before continuing to run towards the massive tyranid in the distance. The Avatar ran, allowing its own body heat to clear most of the way. Where a million gaunts would stop even an entire Space Marine Chapter, they simply turned to ash it moved. A carnifex rammed the Avatar's side and it tumbled to the ground before being piled upon by the others around it. The carnifexes clawed at the burning thing beneath them for a few seconds, before the Avatar burst out of the pile, dripping its glowing blood from hundreds of wounds.

It dodged two more carnifexes, killing one, before the Dominatrix began firing at its burning form with its many weapons. Vast balls of acid rocketed down towards the Avatar, but it was moving like lightning and was completely untouchable. For such a large form, the Avatar was swift, and could nearly move as fast as an Eldar. As it reached a hundred yards from the Dominatrix, it threw the Wailing Doom at it. The spear soared over the battlefield, jamming itself under one of the Dominatrix's weapons on its left shoulder.

Free of weapons, the Avatar pumped its arms, charging across the final stretch to the synapse beast. A carnifex in its way was thrown aside like a ragdoll. As it closed, another carnifex stood in the Avatar's path. Instead of dodging or killing it, the Avatar leapt up, stepping on the creatures head. It kicked off, and in the middle of its leap grabbed the Wailing Doom that was still stuck in the Dominatrix. The Avatar pulled itself up and tore off one of the Dominatrix's weapons before running up its back. As it ran, it stabbed the spear repeatedly into the synapse beast, which shook wildly, unable to cast off the Avatar of Khaine.

The Avatar of the Bloody Handed God ran down the creature's slender neck and grabbed one of the horns that framed its hideous face. It raised the Wailing Doom to put out its eye but before it could, the Dominatrix slammed its head into the ground. The Avatar was shaken, but it refused to let go. It switched its grip on the spear to underhand and cast the Wailing Doom into the eye of the giant tyranid, driving it the whole way in. The Dominatrix shuddered and fired one of its bio weapons directly into the Avatar. The acid splashed all over the flaming figure, but also coated the head of its owner, melting the chitin and burning the flesh beneath. Even the Dominatrix was not immune to her own acids; only her special toxin glands could withstand the effects. The Avatar's own body heat protected it from the worst of the shot's effects, but much of its steel skin was stripped away. It leaned forward, grabbing the Dominatrix' head before plunging a flaming hand into its eye socket. It put every ounce of its strength into the flame gathering in the hand, and soon the head of the Dominatrix began to smoke. Then fire poured out of its other eye and mouth, and the beast entered its death throes.

The Avatar leapt off as the beast fell, creating a huge crater in the earth. It clawed the earth and writhed, cracking rocks and killing dozens of the other tyranids around it. The Avatar turned to look at the tyranids in the distance. Dozens of carnifexes, millions of gaunts. The Avatar raised its Wailing Doom, prepared to charge into the midst of them. With the Dominatrix gone, the rest would b-

Even gods could be surprised at times, and at this current moment, the thoughts running through the Avatar's alien head were along the lines of "why am I flying?" It soared through the air, spinning head over heels. Then it bounced twice, gouging the earth and killing hundreds of gaunts before slamming into a small hill. The burning figure pulled itself out of the ground, exiting the crater it had formed when it hit the hill. It was injured, molten blood dripping from multiple locations, and its runic armor and headdress were cracked and battered. The Avatar looked ahead at its attacker. The Dominatrix was not near as dead as the Avatar had thought. Its injuries and even the complete immolation of its brain had not stopped its amazing regenerative powers. It roared and rose to its full height, prepared to charge.

The Avatar laughed and raised the Wailing Doom. This foe would actually be interesting. Perhaps the full power of Khaine needed to be unleashed here. Yes, yes that would do. This battle had been elevated from a simple battle between great warriors, to a battle between gods. White heat covered the Wailing Doom, expanding and changing form as the earth shook. No longer was the Wailing Doom a black lance, now it took the form of whatever the Avatar envisioned. With a great cry, the Avatar charged, the force of its rush throwing the earth away in all directions. Eight carnifexes obstructed its path, but were thrown away and sliced to chitinous shreds by the ever changing Wailing Doom. They were troublesome before, but with the full might of Kaela Mensha Khaine, creatures of flesh and blood were worthless.

The Dominatrix braced itself and fired its powerful bioweapons at the Avatar, but only succeeded in increasing the damage to the already battered landscape. The Avatar, now a white hot incarnation of war itself, had simply stepped through the torrent of acid untouched. From every crack in its steel skin poured white light, and more and more it started to lose its corporeal form. It changed with each step it took into something far greater, a true warp entity, a daemon. The ground retreated from its step, and trees miles away burned in the intense firestorm that surrounded the Avatar of Khaine.

In response, the Dominatrix bounded forwards, tearing the earth apart with its mighty hooves and claws. In the center of the valley, the two gods clashed. The Wailing Doom tore great wounds in the Dominatrix, which were quickly filled by its great regenerative capabilities. The Dominatrix struck back with claw, tooth and acid strike, but each time the Avatar withstood the blows, whether through its nearly incorporeal form or with the white flamed mass that was the Wailing Doom. Neither side stepped back, and the clashes produced such great pressure that the mountains that framed their battle were shaken. With each blow, the two combatants obliterated miles of terrain. Once, the Avatar was thrown as it had been before, and in response unleashed a torrent of liquid flame so great that the ensuing explosion could be seen from orbit.

The Dominatrix reacted with everything at its disposal. No other tyranid could come within a mile of the Avatar, so its greatest asset was gone. Its bioweapons pumped thousands of gallons of acid and toxins at the Avatar, melting through stone, sand, and clay. The heat was too much however, and not a drop touched the Dominatrix's white hot foe. The two gods charged each other again. They struck in the center of the valley, which was rapidly becoming a vision of hell itself. Each stepped back from the impact. Similtaneously, the Avatar swung the Wailing Doom, in the form of a great axe, and the Dominatrix slashed horizontally with one of its front claws. The two weapons clashed, and the pressure of their impact sent a shockwave soaring out with the force of a hundred typhoons.

They continued to fight. Lava and molten metal dripped from the stones miles away, and the skies were black with clouds of smog. The Dominatrix attacked slower and slower every minute, covered in minor wounds. It no longer had the strength to continually regenerate the massive blows the Avatar dealt to it. In contrast, the Avatar of Khaine had only intensified its assault. Through the white inferno that surrounded it, only its head was visible. It was as if the metal body that encased it had simply acted as a limiter for the incarnation of a god.

The Avatar slashed horizontally, driving the Dominatrix back. Then, faster than light itself, the Avatar formed the Wailing Doom into its original form, the black lance, and stabbed forwards into the mouth of the Dominatrix. It concentrated force in the point, and from the tip of the spear, fired a beam of pure energy. The beam tore through the Dominatrix and paved the mountain behind it flat. The earth groaned. Typhon itself was protesting the crimes done to its surface. Stone pieces miles long were thrown into space and rivers of lava flowed away from what was once an impressive geographic feature on Typhon.

The Dominatrix flopped pathetically on the ground. It didn't have the strength to recover from a wound of this magnitude. With a sad gurgling noise and a few more spasms, the most powerful tyranid on Typhon died. Within a hundred mile radius, every gaunt simply fell over dead, and even some greater beasts simply slumped to the ground after being severed from the Hive Mind.

The Avatar stood. The inferno diminished and soon its metal body became visible again. It was confined once more, but how much longer would it last? The psychic force that powered it for so long had begun to leave, and it would become brittle and weak soon. Its armor was cracked and broken, and the headdress that it had once worn was gone now, crumbled into dust. Not only that, the raging fire that had filled it had been reduced to mere embers. The effort that the Avatar had expended to destroy the Dominatrix had required all of its energy. It looked around the burning plain at nearly a hundred carnifexes and Hive Tyrants pouring in from every direction, all that was left in the wake of the Dominatrix's death. They came, whether through simple instinct or to avenge the death of their link to the Hive Mind. The Avatar raised the Wailing Doom, it too now confined to the form it was created in. These insignificant things, they would die here.

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Nathaniel Augustine cut down another hormagaunt. He had killed so many today that Thanatos was clogged with gore and chitin. He revved it to clear the blade, but the mechanism would still need some work. His bolt pistol magazine had long since run empty, and even if he had time to reload, there were no spare magazines in the assault squad. Avitus' heavy bolter still fired, as did Tarkus' squad's weapons, but one by one, the marine guns were falling silent. There seemed to be no end to the tyranids. Augustine lashed out with his right hand, burning a hormagaunt to death. The assault was mainly composed of gaunts, made to waste the ammo of the defenders. Before long, they would be out completely. Behind him, Thaddeus nursed an acid burn to his cheek and neck. It was a deathspitter shot that had pierced straight through his helmet. Augustine had no doubt that it would scar. They were being worn down.

Lyon and Nikephoros stood side by side in cover, using their bolters to gun down what they could. They gaunts were getting very close as the shots had to be taken carefully, and at times the tactical marines found themselves using the butts of their bolters to deal killing blows. A warrior advanced, leaping through a tide of gaunts that acted as its shield. Nikephoros calmly aimed his bolter and pulled the trigger only to receive a click in response. Out of ammo, he quickly reached for a second magazine, but too late. A claw tore towards him and he raised the bolter to stop it. The weapon was sliced neatly in half and the two pieces flew out of his hands. They fell on the ground and quickly melted into nothing. Not a single drop of molten metal or acid remained. The claw continued downward and Nikephoros barely jumped out of the way. The beast pursued Nikephoros, who drew his combat knife. He lashed out with it but was thrown from his feet. Lyon was distracted dealing with the gaunts. The warrior stabbed down with a claw, and NIkephoros desperately blocked with the back of his left hand. The claw tore through the gauntlet and hand, stopping only an inch from his face. Suddenly the warrior fell backwards, a chainsword digging into its neck and Nikephoros felt someone picking him up.

"I cannot have you dying before our rematch." Said Nathaniel Augustine, shoving a bolter from a fallen marine in his hands.

"Thank you." Replied Nikephoros. He showed Augustine his left hand and said, "It seems I have a scar to match now."

Augustine laughed and threw himself back into the fray. The skies were dark, and if the poison was working, it needed to work fast. They would not hold for much longer. Even with the full force of the, admittedly under strength, 4th Company and Davian Thule, the tyranids were gaining ground.

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"I'm out Sarge!" shouted Remer. The Daredevil drew his las pistol and began hastily. The Guard here were down to less than three hundred men. Uther had heard over the vox that the rest of the regiment had holed up somewhere and were doing alright.

"That's Sergeant Major to you!" shouted Merrick as he fired.

"Frak you! We're gonna die!" Remer replied.

Vornas stepped up to his side, also using a las pistol and said, "Nope, and I'll tell you why. Alek takes all the damage, but comes out alive. He steals our bad luck. We'll make it out fine."

Before he had finished speaking a hormagaunt leapt over the rocks they were using as cover and stabbed its scything talon in Alek's stomach. The boy spasmed before jamming his hellgun into the gaunt's face and pulling the trigger.

"Frak! Medic!" he screamed. The wound was bleeding heavily but the majority of the force had been stopped by the heavy carapace armor. Commissar Connor stood over his prone form next to Hurst as a medic came to treat his wounds. The female Commissar twisted gracefully, dodging anything that went for her before cutting them down with her saber.

"Where'd you learn those moves Commissar?" asked Hurst. A gaunt leapt at him and he nonchalantly shot it dead.

"At the schola. We had a great teacher, a real hero of the Imperium. Of course this was on the other side of the galaxy."

"I'm envious." Said Hurst. He swung his hellgun, knocking down a gaunt before stomping its head in.

"See here! See?" said Vornas. He pointed down at the wounded Alek and said "This'll get us another ten years. No, maybe eleven if we're lucky."

"Shut up and shoot lads." Said Merrick. He pulled a grenade from his belt and threw it.

"Its fine Sergeant Major." Said Commissar Connor. "Let them have their fun. It lasts as long as they do."

"Emperor's gak! Look at that!" exclaimed Kippler, uncharacteristically loud. He pointed at one of the capillary towers. The guardsmen were so busy fighting that they failed to notice it turn black. Before their eyes, it crumpled and fell to the ground. All around, tyranid plant life was dying. In the sky, the Hive ship was listing.

"Yes! Die you bastards!" shouted Merrick.

"We have done it!" Shouted a bald headed Astartes. "The poison is working!"

The gaunts went feral immediately and stopped attacking. The guardsmen and space marine quickly shot them down and were surprised to see that none pursued.

"Is it over?" wondered Merrick as the gunfire died down.

"The war?" said the bald marine. Merrick recognized him as one of the ones that had saved him weeks before. "No. It is not, but our parts in it are over."

"Yes." Said a smaller, brown haired marine in carapace armor. "The hives on the ground will soon produce synapse beasts to take command."

"Then we are doomed, and there is nowhere to retreat to." Said an assault marine with a bleeding neck.

"Come Thaddeus. Did you really think we would return from this? I had planned to die from the start." The words of doom came from the terrifying marine with the heavy bolter.

"No. I suppose not." Said Thaddeus. "But I would like to continue serving for as long as possible."

"Well then my lord." Said Merrick, feeling bolder than usual. "We'll just have to kill as many of the damn bugs as we can."

The devastator laughed. "Well said guardsmen. I underestimated your mettle."

Merrick's spirit soared after being praised. He bowed quietly and returned his eyes to the front, looking east. The tyranids would come again soon, and Merrick would die fighting side by side with the Blood Ravens.

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The Armageddon shook in the clutched of the tyranid ships. Standing over his command lectern, Gordian could see that his precious ship had only minutes of life left. They had flown into the heart of the fleet and were now immobilized. The lighting was a dim red and all that could be heard was warning klaxons and desperate gunfire. The gun decks and engineering had been overrun and the servitors guarding the bridge had just been destroyed.

"What is the timer on the self destruct?"

"Two minutes sir!" shouted the last surviving crew member. He was standing next to the tactical map close to the front of the bridge, which was littered with corpses and wreckage. Gordian stepped into the center of the bridge as the doors began to bang, impacts ringing out on the other side.

"Sir!" shouted the crew member. "Final scans show the poison is working! We've done it sir!" Tears streamed down his face as he repeated "We've won."

Gordian smiled under his helmet as the bridge doors burst. Dozens of gaunts poured through, followed by a mass of warriors. The last crew member died with a bright smile on his face, firing a shotgun at the invaders. Gordian's bolter barked as he killed the gaunts and once out of ammo he discarded it, drawing his power axe. He killed everything that came near. He was fighting a pair of warriors when he lost his arm at the shoulder. He had killed one when the other one lashed out with a bone sword. He quickly pulled his combat knife out and stabbed the warrior in the eye, finishing it.

The bridge was silent, and Gordian stumbled towards the tactical map. Forty seconds remained on the timer. The ship shook and Gordian thought he could hear a crack in the superstructure. He heard shuffling behind him. They were probably close he thought. Something on the tactical map caught his eye. He looked closer and saw that dozens of warp holes were opening near Typhon. FOF identifiers read them as Imperial, with the Litany of Fury leading them. Reinforcements were here.

Stabbing pain drew him from his elations and he twisted his body to stab the warrior that had just impaled him. He removed the talon from his chest and examined the sucking wound, dripping blood that even his system could not slow. He was dying, he realized. But he never planned to live anyway. Not since he had last spoken with Harkon. He stumbled back to the bridge doors, killing another few gaunts with fatigued attacks. A group of warriors sped forward and Gordian promised himself he would kill one before dying. He dodged the first talon and jammed his knife into a neck. Two more talons pierced him and Gordian fell backwards. The creature he had stabbed was dead, and as he fell he broke another's neck with a kick. Then the tyranids leapt at him, laying into him with their bladed limbs. His last sight was the timer reading 0:00. Then Apothecary Gordian's life ended with a flash of light.

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Nikephoros sat next to Tarkus, quietly waiting for the tyranids to return. Nothing had come in thirty minutes and it could only be a matter of time.

"Sergeant." Said Nikephoros softly. "You said I would feel a sort of completeness at the time of my death. I do not. I simply feel hate for the foe, and a regret that I could not fight for longer."

"I thought you might say something like this." Said Tarkus. "Perhaps you were not a marine for long enough. I suspect that you would have made a fine sergeant."

"Here they come!" shouted Thaddeus. There was movement, and the marines could see the hulking forms of carnifexes as well as the numerous gaunts.

"Very well. Let them die on our blades!" shouted Aramus. "They will remember MY name!"

"And let us meet again at the side of the Emperor." Said Cyrus.

The soldiers of the Imperium prepared themselves as the tyranids charged, but never got a chance to fight. The masses of chitinous beasts were obliterated by aerial strikes to massive the earth itself shook. The Astartes and guardsmen looked to the skies as one, expecting Martellus in the thunderhawk. Then a vox signal came through, so powerful it could be heard clearly through all of the spores. To a man, the Blood Ravens began laughing. The sound chilled the bones of the guardsmen around them. But they did not know why. They did not hear the voice, or know why it was so important to the Blood Ravens. They did not know their savior from the heavens had come.

"This is Gabriel Angelos to Strike Team Armageddon. Stand fast! You shall not fall this day!"

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"We have a lock on your position brothers!" said Captain Angelos over the vox. "Drop pods away!"

Aramus lowered his hand from his ear, gripping the haft of Remembrance. A dark smile split his face as he stared at the tryanids. They were reeling from the sudden orbital bombardment. The fleet above must have moved quickly, tearing a hole in the tyranid fleet defenses so the Litany of Fury could close to bombardment range. He raised his head to the sky. Through the smoke and spores that clogged the heavens, he could detect bright flashes of light. The Hive Ship ponderously climbed higher into the atmosphere, tearing its tendrils from the ground. No doubt it was rising to attack the newly arrived reinforcements.

"Brothers!" shouted Aramus, "Rejoice, for we have already won! Now, stand fast and await reinforcement!"

In response, another cheer went up and down the line, shared by both the marines of the Adeptus Astartes and the guardsmen around them. Despite their exultations, the situation was grim. Tyranids poured over their defenses, and much of the fighting took place at point blank range. Nikephoros, out of ammo even with his replacement bolter, had taken to bashing away gaunts. He did not even have the time to draw his combat knife. The fighting nearby was chaotic and fierce. The Hive Mind had realized the threat that two groups of Astartes presented. It would not allow the forces to link up.

Nathaniel Augustine desperately cut down everything within reach. It was hard to tell friend from foe in this hurricane of combat, and he once nearly beheaded Alaris, thinking he was some warrior leaping to attack him. The fire was constant on his right arm, and for every broken and slashed tyranid, at least one was charred beyond recognition. He swung Thanatos like a madman, screaming incoherently at the multitudes around him. Suddenly, the chainsword refused to run, its feed was clogged. The flame intensified on his right hand, burning more tyranids away. Augustine cleared some breathing room and sheathed Thanatos, immediately drawing his combat knife. His, or rather Nikephoros', blade chopped heavily through the tyranids. It was not near as good as a chainsword, but it would have to do for now. He looked at his right hand. The red paint had burnt off, leaving a gauntlet of grey ceramite. He continuously glanced at the sky as he fought. It would not be much longer.

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"Not good! Not good!" screamed Remer. He fired his las pistol frantically at the dozens of gaunts leaping over the cover around them every second. The weapon's power was weak, leaving it unable to reliably kill the tyranids with a single shot. Thankfully, the amount of guardsmen in the area saved his life. Despite their massive numbers, there were dozens of targets for the gaunts to pick from. Remer ducked as a group of three leapt at him, and only barely dodged their claws. A lucky shot from his las pistol caught one in the eye, killing it instantly. He rolled, escaping the claws of the other two, and despaired as he saw another join the hunt. He raised his las pistol to fire again and squeezed the trigger, only to hear a fizzle in response. The weapon was out of power. Remer closed his eyes as they leapt at him, and twitched as flashes of light pierced through his shut eyelids. He opened his eyes, blinking the dots in his vision away, and looked up to see Sergeant Merrick standing over him, with Captain Uther at his side.

"Get off your ass Remer!" shouted Merrick. "You aren't being paid to sit down!" The Sergeant smashed gaunts away with the butt of his hellgun, spending an equal amount of time shooting and swinging. Next to him, Uther cut down gaunt after gaunt with his chainsword, his bolt pistol had long since run out of ammo.

"You got it boss," said Remer as he climbed to his feet. Merrick didn't even have time to berate him. He grabbed the private and dragged him over to Alek's prone form and tossed him back to the ground, where he nearly knocked over a kneeling Commissar Connor.

"Apply pressure to that damn wound," Merrick said, "You're worthless in a fight with that little peashooter and the Commissar shouldn't be patching up wounds."

Remer nodded, and placed his hands over the puncture wound in Alek's stomach. The boy groaned in pain, and Remer's hands quickly became slick with blood. He looked around and saw the body of a medic. Ducking under Merrick, he grabbed the fallen medic's pack and rummaged through it, pulling out a clump of bandages before hastily applying them to Alek's midsection. After confirming that they would slow the bleeding, he grabbed Alek's hellgun and began firing. Above him, Connor and Merrick fought wonderfully. They were in perfect contrast to each other. Whereas Connor fought with a grace that came with years of martial training, Merrick fought with brutality, a sign of decades of experience in street fights and bar brawls. After all, the techniques used to kill a human were not a far cry from what could be used to kill a tyranid, it simply required greater speed. A gaunt jumped at his face, and he counted with a swing of his hellgun. It knocked the beast to the rocky ground where it was quickly stomped to death. He raised his gun again, before unloading a flurry of automatic fire into the horde.

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Aramus threw whole groups of hormagaunts into the air with each swing of Remembrance. He wished he could advance, but the numbers were too heavy. They were difficult for him even with his mighty weaponry and iron halo. A claw cut his cheek, dribbling blood down his face before it quickly hardened. He killed the hormagaunt and looked up; red streaks were coming down from the sky. Aramus began to swing Remembrance more fervently. He wanted a bit more glory before the 3rd Company made planetfall. In the twenty seconds before the drop pods landed, Aramus counted forty seven of his own kills, impressive if he did say so himself. After crushing a warrior's head with Remembrance, the Blood Ravens 3rd Company finally entered the fray.

Before the dust had even fallen from the impacts of their drop pods, the Astartes of the 3rd Company fanned out to cover their beleaguered brothers. The seventy additional marines were a great relief to the 4th Company, as were their ammunition reserves. Two dreadnoughts took pressure off of Avitus' squad as they killed tyranids with powerful blows from their close combat weapons. Nathaniel Augustine spun as he cut down a pair of termagaunts, looking at one of the drop pods. From it stepped an average sized, but incredibly regal marine. His head was bare to the elements, and even over the large distance, Augustine could see the man's face clearly. It had a fatherly quality about it, and reminded Augustine of Captain Thule. On his wrinkled brow were three silver service studs, and his head was crowned with close cropped grey hair. Gabriel Angelos, Captain of the 3rd Company, silently stepped out of the drop pod, his cape swirling behind him as he calmly walked towards Commander Aramus. Augustine looked appreciatively at his weapon, a master crafted thunder hammer, or so he thought. As the Captain moved closer, Augustine saw the sigil of the Inquisition on its side. That spawned an immediate suspicion that the weapon was a daemon hammer and not, in fact, a thunder hammer. How though, wondered Augustine, would a Blood Raven acquire a daemon hammer from the Ordo Malleus? This Captain must have done great deeds in the past.

Aramus turned as Captain Angelos approached and quickly extended his right hand, which was then embraced by Angelos' own.

"Though I am loath to admit it," said Aramus, "Yours was a well timed arrival. We poisoned the Norn Queen, but we would have been overrun here had you not come."

Angelos smiled humbly. "It is good that we came in time. The sector fleet will handle the Hive Ship, but what is the situation on the ground?"

"They were reeling at first," said Aramus, "But they have been gaining in strength. I believe the ground based hives have spawned another Hive Tyrant." He gestured to the north and east. "It seems the hives are concentrated in that direction. We could not advance with the paltry numbers we had before, but with your reinforcements, I believe we can take the high ground now."

"Very good," said Angelos, looking at the hills surrounding the Astartes defensive line. "With those hills under our control, we will have free reign to attack those hives directly."

"My marines require time to refit and reload." Said Aramus.

"We will lead the charge then." Replied Angelos. He climbed atop a boulder, brandishing his hammer. Then he shouted out to the surrounding marines, "Blood Ravens of the 4th Company! You have done your chapter honor! Marines of the 3rd, we have rested for far too long!" He jumped off the boulder and began charging up the hill. "Annihilate them!"

With a blood curdling yell, the marines of 3rd Company surged forward, following their Captain. Halfway up the hill, the line of Astartes was buffeted by a fierce gust of wind, followed by a crack like thunder. Seconds later, the crack of storm bolters alerted them to the arrival of their new arrivals. Sergeant Tanthius and his four terminators mowed down tyranids by the hundred, having teleported into their midst. They advanced up the hill with the rest of the Astartes, their tactical dreadnought armor allowing to shrug off nearly everything aimed at them. Angelos led them the whole way, tossing gaunts and warriors into the air with great swings of his hammer, and shouting hate at the aliens. As he crested the hill, a carnifex bore down on him, swinging two pairs of scything talons. Angelos dodged two, and spun under the carnifex's body as he blocked a third talon with a swing of God-Splitter, breaking it in a shower of chitin. The carnifex roared in pain, lashing out in all directions. Angelos rolled, coming to his feet behind the massive creature as it tore one of his marines in two.

Angelos swung God-Splitter low, smashing into one of the carnifex's knees. It fell forward, stabbing its remaining talons to remain standing. Then God-Splitter struck the other leg, bringing the carnifex to the ground. Angelos leapt onto its back, running across its body before jumping off near its head. He swung his hammer in an upward arc, tearing the beast's jaw from its head, and knocking it backward. It rolled down the opposite side of the hill, crushing many gaunts and warriors before toppling a capillary tower.

"Sergeant Tanthius," said Angelos as he overlooked the opposite side, "secure this ridge, and prepare to move forward."

"Roger, Captain" said Tanthius. The Veteran Sergeant had led his four squadmates up the hill alongside Angelos. They were implacable in their terminator armor, even shrugging of hits from greater creatures such as carnifexes as well as venom cannon shots. Anything in reach was crushed by their power fists, and their fire arms killed an equal number at range. One of the terminators topped the hill and fired his assault cannon down the other side. The heavy rounds gouged the earth, pulping tyranids and tearing across a capillary tower. The already dying structure cracked, splitting down the middle before collapsing on itself.

The terminators were widely spread, and the marines of the 3rd Company used them as mobile strongpoints. They covered Devestator marines as they set up their missile launchers and heavy bolters, and assault marines massed around them, killing any gaunts and warriors that the hulking veterans ignored.

"Sergeant Corallis," Angelos said, "ensure that our brothers have good lines of fire on the ridge, and are prepared to cover for the advance of our 4th Company."

"Understood my lord." Said the tactical sergeant. As much as he wished he had his land speeder here, Corallis knew he would have to make do on foot. He and his squad moved up and down the ridgeline, directing devastator squads and tactical squads into superior positions. He looked down at the 4th Company marines, waiting down below. Even with the scant rest they were given, they were already prepared to move.

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Nikephoros slotted a fresh magazine into his new bolter, thankful for the additional ammo that the 3rd Company had provided. His flamer was also fresh, and he had a few additional canisters prepared. He could not wait until they crossed over to the hives. They would be a pleasure to burn. Despite the anticipation, he was also a bit disappointed at the loss of his bolter. Torn from his grip and shorn it two by a scything talon, it had melted in front of him. Damn those tyranids and their vile acids. As the thought crossed his mind, he glanced at his left hand. The same tyranid had punctured his palm, leaving a wound reminicient of the one he had dealt to Nathaniel Augustine so many years before. It did not burn, and had nearly healed already. How strange, as the wound that had been dealt to him had been from the same claw that had destroyed his bolter.

A felt a tap on his pauldron and turned to stare into the eyepieces of Sergeant Tarkus. Quickly, Nikephoros locked the magazine into his bolter and released the bolt. He nodded silently at his sergeant and followed him to wear Aramus was rallying the rest of the Company. He thought he locked eyes with Augustine; the smaller marine had nodded in his direction. He smiled under his helmet. They were saved after all. Perhaps he would feel the peacefulness of death another day, he thought as they marched up the hill. Perhaps he would have time to mature into a true Space Marine.

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The Avatar of Khaine stumbled over the body of yet another fallen carnifex. If it could, the Avatar would mourn its current situation. Its right leg dragged behind, broken and slashed to shreds. Its body was brittle and grey, with little light visible through the cracks in its skin. The Wailing Doom was no longer a flaming spear that spelled murder and death for anything in reach. Now it was simply an ordinary lance. It did not even have the strength to burn the bodies of the carnifexes it slew, though gaunts still died in the hundreds. The Avatar was dying, and it would not be in this world for much longer, especially with the foes left to fight.

But the Avatar would not mourn. No. Why would it mourn when there were still foes of flesh and blood? When there are still sentient races to subjugate? Despair to cause? Murder to commit, things to burn? Why would it mourn when it had performed admirably today? It killed millions of gaunts, and hundreds of carnifexes. It was even the death of a dominatrix, and in the infinite knowledge of the Avatar of Khaine, it knew that it had broken the back of the Hive Mind.

"STEEL IS MY BODY AND FIRE IS MY BLOOD. THE REST OF YOU WILL DIE BEFORE THIS BODY COOLS." The Avatar howled. Despite its loud voice, it had little strength left to make good on its promise.

It stepped over the fallen carnifex and tiredly stabbed the Wailing Doom into the skull of another. It fell, like all the others before it, and the Avatar moved on, observing the hellscape that it had left when it killed the Dominatrix. The land around had been stripped of vegetation, and the earth had been torn to pieces by their fierce combat. An entire mountain to the north had been leveled by the blow that had killed the Dominatrix, and the rubble caused by the violent redesign of the terrain had been thrown far into space. The tyranids had mostly dispersed due to the death of their leader, and now the few enemies that remained were those that needed no link to the Hive Mind.

Twelve carnifexes. They were fresh, they were unharmed, and they had the greater numbers. The Avatar laughed to itself, they did not stand a chance. It leapt forward, thrusting downward with the Wailing Doom. As it did so, the Avatar of Khaine noted the slowness of its movements. The carnifex fell easy enough, but the others were beginning to encircle the Avatar. The Avatar stabbed backwards with the Wailing Doom's counterweight, and then forward again as quickly as it could. The Wailing Doom pressed into the carnifex in front of the Avatar, and it gripped the spear with both hands, pouring all of its strength into the blow. The beast in front of it fell backwards, and as it did so, another carnifex locked its jaws around the Avatar's right arm. It jerked its neck, ripping it off at the shoulder.

The Avatar stumbled, swinging the Wailing Doom wildly. A talon pierced its left leg, and another went through the Avatar's chest. The Avatar killed another carnifex as a crushing claw gripped it around the torso. It felt itself being pulled up and then thrown, landing heavily on its back. As it tried to stand, another claw clamped down on its right leg and tore it off in a spray of cooling blood. The Avatar fell back, desperately fighting back now. It stabbed up with the Wailing Doom, killing the Carnifex that had removed its leg. Then it paused. It was over now. The carnifexes were bearing down on it now, and no amount of struggling would kill another carnifex. Fighting was useless now, and it was time to calmly wait for death.

Never. Never would the Avatar succumb to thoughts like those. It thrust up once more with the Wailing Doom, even as the claws and talons rose and fell. Even when the Avatar's last arm was removed from its body, it did not stop struggling. It screamed as it died, and its howl of defiance could be heard for miles. Then, limbless and brutalized, but victorious, the Avatar of Khaine turned black and crumbled to dust.

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Ocella Lyon dropped into cover between Brother Brochus and a marine of the 3rd Company that he did not know. He looked over the landscape spread out beyond the hill. There were hundreds of gaunts milling about in cover down below. The large capillary towers that had once fed the Hive Ship were now brown and decaying, both from the poison that Apothecary Harkon had delivered and from the trauma at being torn from the Hive Ship. The ground based hives in the distance however were still alive and well. There was no shortage of greater tyranids either. Lyon watched as Captain Angelos sent yet another carnifex tumbling back down the hillside, where it crushed an ancient structure with its corpse.

Lyon opened fire on the tyranids below. The firepower of more than a hundred space marines was focused on the tyranids below now, and none were spared. Davian Thule stood over them, shots harmlessly ricocheting of his armored sarcophagus.

"VICTORY IS OURS, ALIEN SCUM. LAY DOWN AND DIE."

Further down the line, Commander Aramus and Captain Angelos stood side by side. As brilliant a fighter as Aramus was, Lyon could see that Captain Angelos was clearly superior. Angelos had a kind of calmness even Aramus could not mimic. He dodged deadly blows as if he was stepping out of the rain. Even when a carnifex bore down on him, he simply dodged and countered.

Aramus smashed down another warrior before turning to Captain Angelos. "Now that we have taken this position, our devastator marines can fire on the hives directly."

"It would be better to advance Commander. Space Marines are not a static force, and we would be more effective against those hives at close range."

"So . . . we charge?" said Aramus. An excited smile was beginning for form on his face.

Angelos nodded, "Yes, and we crush anything in our path."

He stepped forward, bringing God-Splitter in front of him. At his sides, the marines of the 4th and 3rd Companies had already begun to rise. Chainswords revved up, and marines locked fresh magazines into position. The guardsmen were with them as well, inspired by the living legends that fought around them. They felt invincible, and would follow the Astartes, gods in flesh to mere mortals, to the depths of the Warp and back. With shouts of hate, litanies of death, and praise for the Emperor, the Astartes and guardsmen surged down the hill, and wherever they walked, only death followed. No tyranid escaped their wrath.

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In the dark tunnels leading to the fallen Craftworld, silence had fallen. Cculan lowered his shuriken catapult and lowly lowered himself to the stony floor. He unhooked a flask of water from his belt and drank heartily. The cool water felt amazing on his dry tongue. He quickly removed his helmet and splashed the remaining contents of the flask on his head, before sighing quietly and leaning back. His long hair was distinctly colored; it grew at the bases as brown, and as it grew longer, became a deep red. The tips of his long strands were a golden hue, braided and allowed to flow from under his helmet. This form of hair dyeing was a secret to his family; the false-family of Eldar known as Cculan, who had shared the title of Dire Avenger Exarch for more than ten thousand years.

While normally he would never be caught expressing such laxity, now it was allowed. The battle had been won, and none of his Avengers had been killed. The tyranids had foolishly thrown themselves into the Avengers' shuriken catapults for hours, and though they came close to running out of ammo, victory had been theirs at no cost. Even Arcadia had managed a few kills. Cculan smiled. He did not care that the stench in the tight tunnel was overpowering, or that tyranid blood dripped from nearly every surface imaginable. The Craftworld, and by extention the Tears of Isha, was safe.

"Exarch," said one of his Avengers "the Warlock calls for us."

"Then let us go." Replied Cculan. He stood, and placed his helmet in the crook of his arm. The Eldar walked deeper into the tunnel, moving through the heart of the fallen Craftworld to meet up with Drochasal Draoi at the other entrance.

When they arrived, they could see that Draoi's force had not fared near as well as theirs. The cavern in which the battle had been fought was scattered with fallen tyranids and Eldar. The great structures of the cave were shattered and lay strewn about the area and the entrance was partially caved in. In the rear, the wounded were being treated, guardians and aspect warriors milling about, bound with bandages and dripping with blood. Cculan found the Warlock atop the body of a fallen tyrant guard. Draoi overlooked the cavern from his perch helmetless, breathing the smoky air in and out silently.

"We have prevailed I take it?" asked Cculan. Draoi's eyes moved, his head still.

"Yes. Just as she said we could." He sighed. Draoi stood up and stretched before stepping off the body of the tyrant guard. He walked towards the cave entrance. The sun was beginning to peek through the clouds of spores that clogged the atmosphere, and no longer did any mysetic spores fall.

Cculan and Arcadia followed him, exiting the cave and stepping out onto the craggy landscape. Cculan heard the pattering of falling stones, and looked up, expecting an ambush. He calmed, seeing the pathfinder Ronahn landing before them. The ranger was in horrible dress. His camoleoline cloak was dripping with blood, and his armor was torn in multiple places. He pulled back his hood and shook out his long white hair, before bowing respectfully to Draoi.

"I did as you asked, and observed the myriad battlefields from atop the mountain."

"And?" asked Draoi calmly.

"The Avatar was a great thing to behold. It was the first of its kind I have seen, and I do not find myself wishing to look upon another. The violence it manifested. These injuries here, they were caused by attempts to avoid death at the hands of the Avatar's collateral damage. It destroyed entire mountains. I found myself to not simply be crushed under the debris."

"What of the mon-keigh?"

"It seemed that their gambit worked." The ranger replied, using one arm to sling his long rifle over his shoulder. "The Hive Mind was poisoned, and the Hive Ship is about to be destroyed by the mon-keigh reinforcements."

"This is perfect for us then," said Arcadia. "We can recover the soulstones now, and then pull back to Ulthwé."

Ronahn looked uneasy, glancing at both Draoi and Cculan before turning his back on them silently.

"We have no time." Said Draoi sadly. Arcadia looked at him, a mixture of puzzlement and the acceptance of the inevitable on her face. He continued, "The mon-keigh ships will surely notice the residual heat of the Avatar. If we are here when they come investigating. . ." He paused, leaving the implication hanging in the air. If they did not leave now, no one would return to Ulthwé alive.

"And so, what did we come all this way for?" asked Arcadia, "Have we lost then?"

"No." replied Cculan firmly. "We did not lose. But we did not win either. We could only keep them from winning."

"Such is the fate of the Eldar." Arcadia finished. This was a philosophy easily understood by all Craftworlds. Rarely did the Eldar win pitched battles. They accomplished their objectives, but the costs involved could never be recovered.

"Now we must return to Ulthwé after covering our tracks here." Said Draoi. "We must go and refit, prepare for wars to come."

Arcadia nodded, hearing the unspoken declaration as though Draoi had projected it into her mind. I must lay Lantillifeith to rest.

"And you, Banshee of Biel-Tan, our Swordwind," he continued, "I would like to personally extend an invitation to you. Come with us to Uthwé before returning to your own Craftworld. Rest for a time."

Arcadia squirmed inside. It was not that she disliked Draoi, it was simply that Ulthwé had a reputation for the unsavory. Ulthwé is called the Damned for a reason, and Arcadia personally believed that even an Eldar cannot withstand the energies of the Eye of Terror for so long unscathed. But in this case, what position was she in to refuse? It would be an affront, and they had sacrificed much on this world to save the souls of Eldar that meant little to them. She could show the Ulthwé a bit of respect.

"I would be happy to join you." Said Arcadia. Draoi smiled and nodded, before turning his back on her and returning to the cavern to oversee the cave ins and illusionary work that needed to be done. Arcadia looked at Ronahn. The Alaitoc was smiling, as if he knew something she did not. Perhaps his keen eyes had read her expression. She gently smiled back, and he shrank away from her. Ronahn was smart enough to fear the smile of a Biel-Tan. Only war brought enjoyment to them.

Before long, Arcadia was alone, standing quietly in the burnt landscape, a bone figure in a sea of grey and black. The dry wind tossed her blond hair and she looked up into the light pouring from the heavens. What was this sight, this destroyed landscape? Nostalgic, she thought at first. But that was wrong. She had never seen its like before. Arcadia had beheld many ruined worlds, but each was different. Yet, she felt as though she had seen this place before, a vision of hell. The feeling passed, and she looked back up into the sky. The mon-keigh had saved the Eldar, this she was sure of. She wondered if that one had lived or died. Yes, Nathaniel Augustine, that was his name. She smiled a bit as she looked into the sun, emerging from the clearing clouds. Perhaps somewhere up there, her mon-keigh was waiting for her. They would meet again, she was sure. It was fated.

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"Stop squirming," ordered Apothecary Harkon. He quickly dabbed at Thaddeus' face with an antiseptic pad for the third time today. The Apothecarium of this new Strike Cruiser was large, if a bit understocked, and Harkon had many patients to deal with as the new Apothecary of the 4th Company. Thaddeus was one of the more difficult cases to treat.

In the two days since the final battle on Typhon, Thaddeus had been in the Apothecarium receiving treatment for the acid burn he sustained during the conflict. It had been a long haul. The burn had dug deep into the skin of his right cheek and neck, and Harkon was forced to remove quite a bit of flesh to keep the acid from damaging the jawbone and ligaments. So far, he had been successful, and Thaddeus would only need a few more treatments. Even his enhanced biology could not handle a direct shot to the face. Harkon thought he was lucky to be alive.

"All done," said the Apothecary, stepping back. He walked across the Apothecarium to a sink and quietly washed his hands. The room was filled with wounded, mainly marines of the 4th Company, but some from the 3rd. Thankfully, he was in no rush to get them combat ready. The war was over, the tyranids gone. The Segmentum Fleet had destroyed the Hive Ship mere hours after exiting the Warp. The Blood Ravens had time to rest. More importantly, they had time to recruit. The Blood Trials were set for a date in the coming year, and it would be Harkon's job to make them into Space Marines.

He turned back to Thaddeus, who stood, slowly working his jaw. The scarring was hideous, and it forced the right side of his face into an involuntary scowl. Now, one would always think he was angry, at least until looking into his eyes.

"Is this scarring permanent?" he asked, a bit disappointed. He gently touched his face, recoiling as he felt the unfamiliar texture.

"Barring extensive surgery, yes." Harkon replied. He felt sorry for Thaddeus, but all marines develop large amounts of scarring eventually. He himself had a nasty network of scar tissue on his lower back from a bolt round taken as a scout. He had barely survived, and only then because the shot exploded before it had pierced his skin.

"No matter." Said Thaddeus, with a tone of acceptance. "It was bound to happen. Thank you for the treatment."

He walked out, and Harkon hoped that he would not have to see him in there again.

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245.999.M41

Knives clashed in the practice cages aboard the Strike Cruiser Retribution. Two Astartes fought, dressed in loose vests of rough hide and practices leggings. These two marines fought with honor on the line, recreating a fight from almost half a decade before. Nathaniel Augustine calmly viewed his foe as he skulked warily around the edges of the practice cage. His opponent, the pale monster known as Nikephoros, snarled, standing in the center of the cage.

Suddenly, Augustine sped forward in a flash, stabbing out at Nikephoros' chest with a large combat knife. The larger marine easily parried it with his own, taken from Augustine at the site of their original battle. While the obvious blow was deflected, suddenly Nikephoros was thrown from his feet, falling backwards. He had missed Augustine's foot slipping past his guard while he focused on the knife. He slammed onto his back, and his knife slid away. Reacting quickly, he rolled to escape Augustine's attack that would take advantage of his weakness. He grabbed his knife as he stood, but his opponent had not moved.

Augustine had not taken advantage of the opening. 'For what reason?' wondered Nikephoros. Augustine was a crafty one, and a psyker at that, but there was an unspoken rule that they would not use anything that they would not have had at their original fight. Naturally this did not include their Astartes physiques. This was the biggest difference between Nikephoros and Nathaniel Augustine. Nikephoros was taller than the average Astartes, almost eight feet in height and able to throw punches that would dent tanks. In contrast, Nathaniel Augustine was one of the smallest marines in the Company, and though he was still exceptionally strong, he relied on his speed and intelligence to defeat stronger foes.

He had certainly learned from Cyrus, though Nikephoros did not fault Augustine for that. After all, he had been in the same squad with him, and though he did not need the methods himself, he understood that some did. Augustine was not an opponent that Nikephoros could simply charge in and wrestle into submission. He was smarter than that. Nikephoros knew he needed a plan. After all, he was not a dumb killing machine. He was an exceptionally intelligent killing machine.

He would fake an attack, stepping into Augustine's range and present a perfect defense, or so it would seem. Augustine would respond, he knew, by attacking with the knife and sweeping his leg. He knew this because he would present a front of inadaptability. He would feign weakness, opening himself for that attack again. When he fell, he would not roll for his knife, but wrap his legs around the smaller marine. This would throw him off balance, and possibly open him up for a disarming. If Augustine lost his weapon, he would never withstand a close up slugging match with Nikephoros. He would fall to the ground with Nikephoros' legs wrapped around his torso, but would easily worm his way out of the grapple. Nikephoros needed to get to his feet first and throw a haymaker into his face. That would throw him off balance enough to open him up for successive attacks.

Nikephoros slowly stepped forward, adopting the same stance as before. Augustine watched him with thin eyes, his knife dancing in front of him, never staying in the same spot for more than a second. Then he launched forward, as before. Good, thought Nikephoros, as the knife glanced off his own, and he felt Augustine's leg wrap around his. Nikephoros fell, letting go of his knife, and as soon as he hit the ground, extended his own legs out. They wrapped around Augustine's waist, and pulled him to the ground heavily. Nikephoros felt sharp pain in his leg and slammed his opponent into the ground repeatedly. Then he heard the sound of the knife sliding away. The bastard must have slashed him before losing his grip of the weapon.

Nikephoros spun to his feet, releasing Augustine, who was no doubt rising as well. He turned and brought his fist around, ready to smash in Augustine's face. It passed through empty air, and his face contorted in confusion as he looked down. Augustine was crouched, his fist already moving up in a powerful uppercut, the entire force of his body behind it. As the punch connected with Nikephoros' chin, he swore that Augustine was smiling, as if saying "Do you think I am stupid?" Nikephoros stumbled back, spitting blood from a cut lip. Before he could recover, two fists impacted his unprotected chest, making him cough painfully. He brought up an arm to protect his chest, and was unprepared for the kick that took him in the right cheek. For a second, Nikephoros was actually airborne. He slammed into the bars of the practice cage, and got to his feet as quickly as he could. An arm wrapped around his neck and he found himself in the air again, heading the opposite direction from Augustine's throw.

He lay on the ground, dazed. Augustine never pressed his attack while Nikephoros was prone. He must have known that NIkephoros was an exceptional ground fighter, and did not want to risk getting caught in a hold. So Nikephoros regained his wits on the ground, and slowly stood, facing Augustine. His face was bruising, and his chest hurt from the pinpoint strikes. Augustine had hit him perfectly, opting for quality of hits, rather than quantity.

Nikephoros smiled brightly, for two reasons. First, because he wanted to belittle his enemy. And second, because he knew something Augustine did not. He had landed right next to his knife, and the thin weapon was now sheathed behind his back. Now he was ready. He would attack, and wait for Augustine's counter-attack. Then he would lock Augustine's arm and hit him, hard. The knife would do the rest of the work after that.

Nikephoros threw a wild punch at Augustine's head, roaring as he did so. The smaller marine swayed to the side at responded in kind, aiming his strike for Nikephoros' right side. Before the hit landed, Nikephoros stepped forward, and clamped his right arm over Augustine's punch. Augustine twisted and punched with his opposite arm, but he could not free himself. Nikephoros' fist struck him directly in the nose, sending him stumbling backwards in a spray of blood. Nikephoros capitalized on the situation, punching Augustine in the gut with his right arm as he reached behind him. Augustine reeled from the punch, falling onto his back against the bars of the practice cage. Nikephoros snarled as he drew the knife and leapt forward, intent on making the other marine yield.

He grabbed Augustine's blond hair, pulling his head up as he placed the thin knife against his throat.

"Yield" said Nikephoros. He grinned for a moment, savoring his victory. Then he felt the cold touch of steel against his own neck.

"You yield." Laughed Augustine. He held his knife against Nikephoros' throat, just as the pale marine did to him. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Nikephoros stood, sheathing his blade.

"A draw then? We wait for years, and it's a draw?" He was incredulous.

"I would have won, had you not picked up that knife. I did not plan for that." Augustine said as he wiped the blood from his face.

"Plan? Wait." Said Nikephoros quickly. "How much of that did you plan?"

"How much indeed. . ." said Augustine wistfully.

Nikephoros knew though. Augustine was not omniscient; it was true that he did not know about Nikephoros' knife. But he planned everything else; he planned to lose his own weapon. He planned to be driven back. He may have even planned to get punched in the face. Had that little fluke not happened, Augustine would have won the match before it had even started.

Nikephoros sighed, looking up at Augustine. His nose was broken and it must have been causing considerable pain. As for himself, he had multiple bruises, as well as a shallow slash on his leg.

"Come, let us go to the Apothecarium." He said. Augustine nodded, and the pair walked out. Leaving the cleaning to the Chapter serfs, they exited the practice areas. Perhaps another day they would fight again, but for now they had a newfound respect for each other. Their quarrel was over.

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270.999.M41

Sergeant Tarkus sat at a desk on the Strike Cruiser Retribution, going over system reports. He sifted through the files, searching for any evidence of additional tyranids in the system. Aside from isolated reports on Meridian, there were none to be found. He paused, looking around the large archive room he was in. After using it as a loaner vessel for more than a month, it was clear that this ship was to be the new flagship of the 4th Company. Aramus had happily taken over as Commander, but even he wished Martellus was there. Tarkus sighed, thinking back. Martellus' body was never found, nor was the thunderhawk that he had been piloted. It was thought to be somewhere near the equator, but there had been no sign of it from the orbital scans.

The battle over Typhon had cost the Blood Ravens greatly. Only recently had the gene seed from the lost Armageddon been recovered, and many of the relics kept aboard had been scattered throughout the Typhon system. Those that were kept in reinforced containers were slowly being recovered, and the Retribution had returned many of the most famous relics thought lost. Those included the suit of terminator armor found in Vandis' cache on Meridian, as well as Davian Thule's power sword, the Alexian Blade.

He looked up as a helmeted marine walked up to him. Naturally it was Mercutio, the only marine that would wear his helmet outside of a combat situation; besides a Techmarine of course. Tarkus made the sign of the Aquila as the Sergeant approached, and he responded in kind.

"What brings you here Brother?" Tarkus asked, "Were you not on a patrol near Calderis?"

"I was, but it was cut short. Our navigator detected a presence exiting the warp in deep space near the Calderis system. It was a single massive vessel."

"This sector is known to have occasional Space Hulk activity," said Tarkus. "But I do not know the specifics. It would be best to consult an expert."

The two Sergeants found Codicier Jonah Orion deep in the Retribution's archives, working quietly under a single lamp. The desk he sat before was covered in dusty tomes and scrolls, and dozens more were stacked around it. The dark skinned marine worked quietly, and was completely at peace. Ever since his ordeal aboard the Litany of Fury, he had confined himself to quiet study to recuperate. Of all the astropaths, librarians and navigators aboard the Litany of Fury, he was the only one to survive the voyage to Typhon, and only barely.

They walked up behind the hunched librarian. Slowly, he turned, and added to the wrinkles on his dark face as he smiled.

"Sergeant Tarkus, Sergeant Mercutio." He said. "What can I help you with?" His deep voice had a certain friendliness to it. It was not like the fatherly tone that Captain Angelos has, but more like that of a teacher or grandfather.

"What records do you have of space hulk appearances in this subsector?" asked Mercutio.

"The only space hulk that commonly visits this sector is the Judgment of Carrion, which appears roughly every five hundred years. However, it has not appeared in some time, and Chapter Master Kyras has said more than once that it may have broken free of the warp currents that held it." Like all Blood Ravens, Jonah Orion's perfect recall allowed him to bring out pieces of information he may have even learned in passing.

"Could we have the records of this hulk?" asked Tarkus. Orion nodded, and flicked his wrist. A book dug itself out of the pile, suspended in the air by the power of the librarian's mind. It moved slowly towards the two sergeants and Mercutio gently took it, picking it out of the air with the tips of his fingers.

"That book contains the record of every appearance of the Judgment of Carrion in this sub-sector" said Orion. "It is incomplete in some cases, but it should give you an idea of what you may be dealing with."

"What we may be dealing with?" asked Tarkus.

"You did come to me because a space hulk has entered the sub-sector, did you not? There would be no other reason to ask. Chapter Master Kyras will not be happy to learn that he was wrong."

"That is true." Said Mercutio, looking at Tarkus.

"Knowledge is power Brothers," said Orion, "Hide it well."

The two Sergeants made the sign of the Aquila and left, hoping to find an isolated table where they could examine the records they acquired. They moved through the archives, dodging servitors and edging around Chapter serfs until they came across a free table.

"Here," said Tarkus, placing the book down and flipping through it. He began reading quietly. "First recorded sighting in M37, the Judgment of Carrion is a vessel nearly two hundred miles in length. It last appeared in 002.M41, the year Aurelia was swallowed by the Warp."

"You do not think that its arrival could mean Aurelia's return?" said Mercutio in a hushed voice, despite the efforts of his vox grille.

"We are Blood Ravens." Said Tarkus, "Though I am no warp dabbler, we cannot rule out the possibility."

"In any case, Sergeant Tarkus, it would be wise to determine the capabilities of the Judgment of Carrion itself."

"Indeed. Aurelia's return is a slim chance, but a Space Hulk is a very real threat." He read on, dragging his finger across the handwritten lines. "It has been known to contain orks, tyranids, and various Chaos Space Marine warbands throughout its long history."

"Chaos marines." Hissed Mercutio. He looked up at Tarkus, who wore a grim expression. "No matter what this hulk carries, if we are to combat the threat, we will need more than two under strength Battle Companies."

"Many of the scouts are being rapidly inducted as Space Marines," said Tarkus. "We may have the strength to face it."

"Despite that," replied Mercutio, "I believe it wise to inform Chapter Command."

Tarkus thought for a moment. Informing Chapter Command would at least get the 4thand 3rdCompanies some desperately needed recognition. Perhaps a reserve Company would be deployed to reinforce the recruiting worlds.

"I concur, Sergeant Mercutio. I will oversee the messages."

"Very good, Sergeant Tarkus. I will leave it in your care then." Mercutio turned and walked into the darkness, his large frame disappearing long before the sounds of his armor. Tarkus turned back to the book, lighting up another candle. Knowledge was power after all. He intended to learn every single thing about this Judgment of Carrion.

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347.999.M41

In the depths of the Monument of Sin, Eliphas the Inheritor took his council. Three marines stood in the open storeroom, talking calmly about the eventual overthrow of the ship's lord and master. Eliphas the Inheritor stood proudly, feet spread shoulder width and his head held high. In his right hand hung his accursed crozius, and his dark red armor was highly polished. To his right stood Amphion, accomplished sorcerer of the Word Bearers, and Eliphas' personal aide. Across from Amphion was the final Word Bearer in Eliphas' inner circle. Zephus-Hassan stood bareheaded; his bald head clear of any sign of injury, a rarity among Long War veterans. Though he was a Word Bearer, he still wore the colors of the Black Legion.

"The time has nearly come my brothers. I have heard rumors from Bercastle that we will exit Warp soon. Then we will unleash hell on the Blood Ravens. They will pay, but I must be the one to do it."

"I would not trust the word of Bercastle my lord." Said Amphion gruffly. "He is truly Tzeenchian, and is a masterful liar. It may be another year before we exit the warp."

"Another year?" said Eliphas, displeasure evident in his voice. "While adequate preparation is necessary, that seems overly long."

"Not to contradict you, Lord Eliphas," said Amphion, "But the Imperials take almost six years for the journey we are making. The Eye of Terror is a long road from the Eastern Fringe after all. We are blessed with superior warp currents."

Eliphas' brow rose as if he were cocking an eyebrow, though none remained on his burnt face. He wondered if Amphion actually thought he would berate him for providing correct information. Eliphas was a Word Bearer, and that meant truth. While his sermons sometimes required stretching the facts, he would rarely outright lie. What had become of the Word Bearers? Had their values devolved to the point where they had become egomaniacal villains, bent of enforcing their order despite knowledge of the facts? Eliphas would have none of it. The Word Bearers were certainly ruthless and always cruel, but they were not stupid. Not while he was in charge at least.

"Zephus-Hassan," said Eliphas, changing the subject abruptly, "I assume you have the tools of your trade, if you will, hidden somewhere aboard this vessel?"

Zephus-Hassan nodded slowly. "I do. I was wondering when you would order me to recover them, Inheritor."

"Go now, and report back with haste."

Zephus-Hassan inclined his head as he exited the room quietly, ensuring no one was watching before shutting the door behind him.

"I was waiting for that." Said Amphion. The sorcerer had removed his helmet and was smiling brightly, as if he was a child with a new toy.

"What?" asked Eliphas, though he thought he knew the answer already.

"Zephus-Hassan recovering his wargear. I have yet to see his kind in action. He will do nicely."

"And what of your task? Are the plants in position?"

"They are My Lord. I have left it to them now. The . . . disturbances will begin shortly." Amphion smiled, anticipating the warfare to come.

"Very good Amphion. You have served me well. Continue to do so, and you shall be rewarded."

"Of course, My Lord." He said solemnly.

Zephus-Hassan quietly moved through the dark lower corridors of the Monument of Sin. He continuously glanced behind him, checking for pursuers. He had been sighted multiple times with Eliphas in the past, and was now wary of potential reprisal for Araghast's followers. Soon, he made his way to a dank room filled with pipes and pressure valves. He carefully stepped over the winding machinery and walked to the back of the room. There, from beneath a massive pipe, he dragged out the box that contained his gear. He opened the metal container and removed its contents slowly. His armor, though in the colors of the Black Legion, was his own save for the left gauntlet. He tore it off and cast it away, replacing it with a sleek silver one. The underside was covered in circuitry that ran across the fingers.

Next he removed a small extendable blade, which was affixed to the top of his right gauntlet. With a flick of the wrist, he would have a foot of steel to counter at close range. He pulled out a series of knives, twelve in total. Each had a different purpose. Eight were throwing knives, with the other four being a stiletto, two combat knives of the same length, and a larger power blade as long as his forearm. A long shimmering cloak came out of the box next. It was an adamantine mantle, stolen from the body of a loyalist Captain. Then he removed a length of spiked chain, which he coiled and attached to his belt. Each item he removed was held and examined like a trusted friend. Zephus-Hassan had wielded these weapons for hundreds of battles and killed thousands of foes.

The last two items in the box were unique to his associates. Only a few remained amongst the Word Bearers. They were the protectors of the truth, killers that could appear anywhere and silence any malcontent. They were each veterans of the Long War, and were killers without mercy or equal.

Zephus-Hassan attached a pouch to his belt. It contained hundreds of needles, each almost a foot long. Finally, he removed a silver mask from the box, the last item. It was the top half of a face, with slits for eyes and a straight nose. The forehead was half covered by well combed hair, but below the nose, what would be the mouth was covered by a horizontal hand.

Zephus-Hassan looked down at the mask, a sense of nostalgia filling him. He had not worn it in quite some time. Then he heard movement behind him, almost hidden by the hissing of the pipes. He turned to see four Black Legionnaires enter, wielding an assortment of weapons. Their leader carried a chainaxe, and Zephus-Hassan could see a plasma gun carried by the marine next to him. They seemed out for blood and Zephus-Hassan was cornered.

"What do you think you're doing, Word Bearer scum? We know your lot has been skulking around down here." spat the leader.

Zephus-Hassan shrugged inwardly, and put on the mask. Practice makes perfect.

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363.999.M41

Cyrus and Ariston sat alone in the mess hall of the Retribution. Before them was a pair of data slates, containing the rosters of their current squads. The 4th Company was dreadfully under strength, and the two scout sergeants were already examining their charges, determining which squads they would be best in. As for replacements, Captain Angelos' force had brought many scouts with them, enough to bring both Ariston and Cyrus' squads to five marines. This was common procedure in the 10th Company. As scouts were promoted, replacements were drawn from other squads that had seen less combat. Angelos' scouts had seen little of the fighting in the Targa system, and were not deployed to Typhon during the final battle with the Hive Fleet.

"Perhaps we could send Saul to Thaddeus?" said Ariston, in between bites from a sandwich.

"That is acceptable. I think it is no argument that Argippa should go to Avitus. His eye for ranged combat is exemplary."

"And Avitus needs more Astartes as it is." Agreed Ariston. The two continued delegating their scouts to new squads. Of almost twenty scouts, around half went to the squads of Borian and Mercutio, who had lost the most marines. The rest were divided amongst Thaddeus, Tarkus, and Magnus' squad. Avitus, being a devastator, did not need the numbers that other squads did. Five marines would suffice. This would provide a much needed buffer for the squads of the 4th Company. Even with a Blood Trial set to take place soon, they needed to focus on replenishing their numbers as soon as possible. After all, they were Space Marines. They could face battle at any time.

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001.000.M42

New Emperor's Day, and the dawn of the forty second millennium. With the tolling of the great bells, the beginning of the New Year was announced to every man, woman and child in the Capital Spire. Hundreds of people poured out of the wide gates of the St. Babas cathedral on the second level. With their service over, they would return to their homes to celebrate. Tonight, Meridian would not sleep.

Amongst the crowds of people were three in particular. They walked down the wide thoroughfare leading away from the Cathedral, closed to motor traffic for the holiday. Sergeant Merrick walked side by side with Commissar Elle Connor and Guardsman Alek. The two men wore olive drab pants and dark jackets over their short sleeved military issue shirts. They did little to keep away the cold, but in Merrick's opinion, it was better than nothing. In contrast, Commissar Connor wore her full uniform, and the civilians gave her a wider berth than the two guardsmen, who could be mistaken as middle class civilians. The streets were crowded, and they took incredibly small steps, occasionally bumping shoulders with the bustling crowd.

"Wasn't it a good service Sergeant Major?" asked Alek. The boy flexed his right hand, hoping to keep his augmetic fingers from jamming. No matter the time of the year, it was cold on Meridian, though some places were worse than others. It was warmer here than the Angel Forge area. The Capital Spire was actually heated.

"I guess," said Merrick, "Never was one for the whole fire and brimstone sermons. We see enough gak as it is. We don't need the Ecclesiarchy to tell us how bad everyone else is."

"For once I agree with you," said Connor, leading them down a side street. "Perhaps we could have found a service better suited for the guardsmen."

"Yeah," said Merrick, "But it was this or the service at the Forge. I take heat over cold any day."

They walked for half an hour, moving through the bustling commercial district of the Capital Spire. None of them could have expected how crowded it would be once the midnight services were over, and now the three of them were worried they would have to walk back to their postings at Angel Forge.

The streets were loud. Drunken revelers moved from shop to shop, intent on enjoying themselves to the fullest before they returned to work the next day. Merrick cursed his lot in life, jealously watching the civilians. He would be on duty in less than six hours. He couldn't even have a glass of amasec to drink. What pissed him off more was that Command was probably enjoying a nice party right about now.

"Commissar, isn't there a party in Command tonight?" he asked. He wanted to hear Command's condemnation from her mouth.

"There was," she replied, "Captain Uther invited me, saying 'it is only right that the Company Commissar joins him'. I told him I'd rather be with the men."

Merrick was surprised. He always thought commissars wanted to be unattached to the people they oversaw. That way it was easier to shoot them. Perhaps Connor was one of those so called "good" commissars.

"That's awfully nice of y-" started Alek. Before he could finish, a shop to the left exploded in a hurricane of fire and shrapnel, throwing the three from their feet.

Merrick woke. He could barely hear, and the world spun around him. He felt himself being dragged by his collar, and looked up. Alek and Connor were pulling him into cover behind a wrecked motor car. Merrick shook as the street was rocked with another explosion. He could feel the concussive force in his chest, like heavy drums.

"What the frak is going on?" he said. His voice was barely audible to himself, but he didn't want to alert any possible hostiles.

"Improvised explosive." Said Alek. The boy was carefully looking over the car. "Looked like a nail bomb to me."

"Hostiles?" asked Merrick. Alek was scraped up, but it was nothing too bad. Commissar Connor had lost her cap somewhere, and her coat was torn to pieces. Thankfully she was wearing body armor under it, as Merrick could see shrapnel tears in her clothes.

"I hear two autoguns." Said Connor. She pulled out a compact las pistol from her vest and looked disappointingly at it. "Only one charge pack."

Merrick's hearing began to return and he heard the autoguns Connor was talking about. Whoever was shooting must have been gunning down civilians. "We have to kill those bastards. We're guardsmen right? Alek, you have a weapon lad?"

"No sir. I don't have a las pistol anyway."

Merrick cursed to himself. He hadn't brought one either. How was he supposed to know a damned attack would happen? He reached over and grabbed a jagged piece of glass. It would have to do for now.

"Alright then. Commissar, cover us."

Connor nodded and the two advanced. They quickly moved up to the door of the destroyed shop, looking down the smoky street. They could see a group of muzzle flashes around twenty feet from their position. Hiding in cover, they waited until they were sure the guns were firing in the opposite direction. They ran forward at full speed. Merrick saw two men in military-like clothing, gunning down civilians left and right. With a simple hand motion, Merrick directed Alek at the one on the right, as he charged towards the other. Behind him, he heard another autogun open up, followed by the crack of Connor's las pistol. Hopefully the Commissar would be alright.

Merrick dropped his shoulder as he closed, and rammed into his man. He slammed his opponent into a concrete divider as hard as he could. The man struggled; trying to bring his gun to bear, but Merrick jammed the broken piece of glass into his throat. The man jerked as the improvised knife tore his jugular and trachea, and slumped to the ground after a few violent seconds. Merrick reached down and picked up the man's autogun, cursing as he realized that the glass had also badly cut his hand.

He looked up to see Alek standing above the body of the other man, autogun in hand. Even if he was the worst guardsman on the planet, it didn't mean that he was worthless. The pair quickly ran back to where they had left Connor. She was leaning against the car where they had left her. Twenty feet away was another armed man, shot through the chest by a las pistol multiple times. After a cursory glance at him, the pair moved to Connor. Her face was pale and lined with pain. She clutched at her chest, where a wide stain of red was spreading.

"gak, medic!" Alek shouted, but there was no one to hear. The street was quieter now, the gunfire was gone and only the groans of the wounded and screams for help could now be heard. Merrick quickly knelt down and checked Connor's wound. It had struck her in the lower left part of her chest. Feeling for an exit wound, he found none, and was suddenly afraid the bullet had lodged in her lung.

"It hit a rib." Connor said in between hurried breaths. "Bastard got the drop on me."

"If it's in the rib, it still might have punctured the lung. We've got to get you out of here." She nodded and tried to stand, but winced in pain and fell back to the ground.

"You aren't going anywhere until we do some basic triage." Said Alek. He removed her coat and tore in apart. Then he wrapped the pieces around her chest before tying it behind her back. She stood with the help of Merrick and Alek, and they made their way through the debris strewn streets. Soon they found a group of PDF, and were taken to a nearby military hospital. This was the first of many attacks that would take place on Meridian, claiming hundreds of lives.

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023.000.M42

It was early morning in the governor's palace on Meridian, and the new Governor Elena Derosa was already awake and hard at work. She had once thought that being a governor of an entire world would mean having hundreds of subordinates catering to her every whim, and she was right. Unfortunately, she did not account for the fact that the majority of these subordinates were wholly incompetent. Thankfully, Adept Karl had stayed by her side through every test.

She tore through the stacks of paper on the desk of dark wood in front of her. The reports had been coming since New Emperor's day that a violent militia was attacking civilians indiscriminately. Many of the incidents had left few witnesses. However, an attack on New Emperor's Day itself had been thwarted by a group of off-duty guardsmen. After a short investigation by the Adeptus Arbites, led by Arbite Captain Welsh, it was determined that these gunmen were former House Vandis personnel. Derosa hadn't been exactly surprised, and ended up ordering a thorough crackdown. The Arbites had uncovered two cells the day before, and even captured a few. However, this led them to believe there was a large resistance movement in operation, just beginning to come out of the underground.

She leaned back in her chair and picked up a data slate. Flipping through it, she came to her itinerary. She wondered how it could be so full as she opened up a block of time around noon. The head of House Tigris would have to find someone else to eat lunch with. She made plans to visit one of the nearby Arbites precinct houses. She had prisoners to examine.

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126.000.M42

The fire warrior fell backwards, head crushed by a knee to the helmet. Above his broken corpse stood a valiant Blood Raven. His armor was trimmed with gold and his white helmet was crested with red laurels. He wielded a power axe and lightning claw, and a bolt pistol was holstered at his waist. Past him moved the greatest warriors the Chapter had to offer. He was the paragon of the Chapter, the greatest fighter of all the Blood Ravens. He was Apollo Diomedes, Captain of the Honor Guard, and Champion of his Chapter Master Azariah Kyras.

The tau on this nameless world had been routed, and it was under Diomedes' supervision that this was done. Unlike some Chapters, who sought to completely annihilate the foe, Diomedes knew that several precise strikes to command elements would cripple combat readiness. And so, the major resistance on this world ceased with the death of the Ethereal. Thousands more tau remained, but the Blood Ravens would soon leave this planet. The Imperial Guard would be left to mop up, as was their duty.

Still, there was gunfire close by, and brothers may still be in need. After a short hand motion, the Honor Guard rallied around him, and they pressed forward into the burning city. After taking it from the planetary defense forces, the tau had heavily fortified this Imperial City. The large buildings and factory complexes had been turned into bunkers and command centers, fully prepared to hold off the Imperial Guard indefinitely. Even these powerful defenses could not stop the rapid strikes from the Blood Raven Honor Guard and 1st Company. Once they had breached the outer defenses, the Blood Ravens had destroyed the generators that powered the city's defensive shields and killed the tau ethereal. Then death rained down from orbit, softening the tau up for the Imperial Guard assault.

Diomedes led the way through the alleys. With ten members of the Honor Guard with him, there was little that could stand in his way. He sheathed his power axe and drew his bolt pistol with his right hand. He could hear intense bolter fire ahead. As they moved around a tall office building, they startled a pair of fire warriors that were laying down suppressive fire to an unseen target. Diomedes fell upon them. His bolt pistol destroyed one's head in an explosion of purple blood and the other was sheared into multiple pieces by the lightning claw on his left hand. The steaming blue chunks of meat fell to the ground, staining the red dirt with pooling blood.

Diomedes burst around the corner, and was greeted with a somewhat expected sight. There, in the square before him, Captain Gaius and ten members of his 1st Company fought a large force of kroot. The aliens refused to retreat, even in the face of the Imperial attack. Futile, thought Diomedes. The alien scum would not even scratch the Astartes here.

Gaius tore through the kroot, swinging both his power fist and his storm shield simultaneously. Either weapon caused crippling blows with every hit. Behind him, the lumbering terminators cast the aliens aside with their own power fists. Despite their efforts, the avian-like aliens could not even pierce Gaius' armor with their combat blades, much less his terminator armored brothers. The 1st Captain knocked the kroot aside, heading towards a particular one in the back. Its quills were covered in exotic beads and its grey body was lined with war paint. It directed the others with short chirps in their bizarre tongue.

Diomedes and his marines entered the fray, firing their weapons into the melee. Diomedes dodged the fierce slashes of a kroot combat blade, before stabbing upward into the creature's chest with his lightning claw. He cast it away and swung horizontally, killing three more. The Honor Guard attack caught the kroot force off balance, sending them reeling. Ahead of Diomedes, Gaius shoulder charged through the mob, grabbing the kroot leader, a shaper, by the chest with his power fist. Not satisfied with simply crushing its ribs, Captain Gaius slammed it into the nearest wall, before dragging his massive gauntlet back and forth, wearing the kroot's body down as one would a pencil. Seeing the horrific fate of their leader, the meager remnant fled deeper into the city.

Gaius dropped the bloody chunk in his hand, all that remained of the shaper, and turned to Diomedes.

"I could have handled it, Apollo." He said. His voice was matter of fact and jaded, but it contained a vicious tone that was not a product of the maximus pattern helmet he wore.

"I was never one to leave a brother without aid, no matter what his situation. This was no duel of honor Gaius."

"I suppose not." The 1st Captain replied. Pulse fire came down at them from a building in the distance, and the terminators opened fire. One with an assault cannon stepped forward and hosed the building with the weapon's heavy rounds, tearing through the rockcrete walls with ease. The pulse fire ceased soon after.

Diomedes looked at the destruction approvingly before turning to greet a white armored marine that ran up from behind.

"Galan?" he said, a bit surprised. "Were you not to remain aboard the Scientia Est Potencia?"

"I was Captain," answered the incredibly polite Apothecary. "However, we received an urgent astropathic message and you were not answering your vox. I had no choice but to come planetside."

"I assume you have read the message? Speak then."

"It was sent by Sergeant Tarkus, of the 4th Company. It seems that much has happened in the Aurelian sub-sector, and none of it good."

"We have had no reports," said Diomedes, "surely they would have requested aid were there danger."

"A tyranid hive fleet attacked the sub-sector, but was repelled by the combined forces of the 3rd and 4th Companies. I would assume that the reason we did not receive distress signals is due to a phenomenon known as the Shadow of the Warp. Despite the fact that we received no word, it seems that the Companies emerged without crippling casualties. Unfortunately however, Captain Thule was gravely wounded in the campaign, and is now confined to a dreadnought."

Diomedes' face fell, though his expression was invisible under his helmet. Thule had been a stalwart companion, and though Diomedes had few friends, Thule was certainly a comrade in arms. Despite this however, Diomedes believed he could never forgive the dishonor that Thule brought on the Chapter. Not only did he fire on fellow Imperials, he destroyed priceless relics to the Chapter. It was for that reason that he was sent to safeguard Aurelia in the first place.

"That is not all, Captain" continued Galan. "Sergeant Tarkus believes that the space hulk Judgment of Carrion has exited the warp inside the subsector. I know this hulk well from my research. If it truly has appeared, the forces in Aurelia, under strength as they are, will have no way to explore or destroy it."

"First the Thirteenth Black Crusade, and now an attack on our Chapter directly. This is a tumultuous year for the Imperium of Man. Was this a request for aid, Apothecary?"

"It was not stated, but I believe that was the intent, Captain Diomedes."

Diomedes nodded, "I am not one to leave my Brothers without aid. Return to the Scientia Est Potencia. We will depart as soon as we can."

"Of course Captain. From what I have heard, the warp currents around Aurelia have been turbulent of late. It may delay us for quite some time."

"If the warp seeks to impede us, we will simply break right through."

Galan left, and Diomedes turned to Captain Gaius, who was shaking the gore off his power fist, revealing its intricate workings and craftsmanship. The Fist of the Father, as it is known, was an ancient relic of the Blood Ravens Chapter from the time of the Great Father Azariah Vidya. Its bronze and red form is reinforced with multiple psychic amplifiers, which significantly increase the psychic potential of the wearer. Unfortunately for Gaius, he has no psychic potential whatsoever, making his ownership of a weapon a point of debate amongst the Chapter's librarians.

"Gaius, could you spare me a squad of your terminators?" While it was phrased as a question, it was not a request.

"I see no reason not to. With this world gone, I plan to take the Observer to regroup with the Omnis Arcanum. There is no need to travel in force."

He turned to the terminator squad behind him. "Sergeant Akileus, you will take your squad to Aurelia with Captain Diomedes."

The terminator armed with the assault cannon stepped forward, quickly lowering himself to a knee before standing again. "As ordered Captain Gaius. What are your orders, Captain Diomedes?"

"Return to rally point Arion, and prepare to depart. I will join you shortly."

"As ordered." Sergeant Akileus repeated. The squad moved out in the direction Diomedes had come from. Diomedes gave a short jerk of the head, and his Honor Guard retinue followed the 1st Company veterans, leaving him and Gaius alone.

"What will you do now Gaius? Return to the Observer?"

Gaius shrugged and turned away, facing the center of the city. "I still hear gunfire. There must be more xenos to kill."

He broke into a run and moments later vanished behind another building. Diomedes slowly turned around and walked the way he had come. Above him, lightning fighters streaked across the sky, their missiles leaving white lines hanging above Diomedes. The sun was going to set soon, and behind him the sky was turning a brilliant orange. Deep shadows were cast in front of him, forming ominous shapes in the gloom. He raised a hand to his ear and opened his vox.

"Diomedes to Gelden, respond." He said curtly.

"Captain Gelden here." Replied the voice on the other end, "What do you require Captain Diomedes?"

"Prepare your men. We are leaving."

"Understood. To where? If I may ask." Replied Gelden. His 5th Company was heavily under strength after the Kaurava conflict, leaving them barely enough to field half a Battle Company. He himself only made it out alive by the skin of his teeth. Now he followed Diomedes, acting in a support role.

Apollo Diomedes paused for a moment before speaking again. "Home."

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157.000.M42

Thaddeus sat in his quarters, quietly reading a data slate brought to him at his own request. The lights of the room were dimmed, and the humble chamber was silent. He reclined on his cot, and though he had a chair and desk, he was never fond of it. The only other thing his room contained was a wardrobe of bone colored robes. All of his personal effects had been lost when the Armageddon was destroyed, leaving the room bare and devoid of personality. Unlike many of the 4th Company's marines, he was saddened by the loss of his personal possessions. He had not been a marine for longer than a century, and was still prone to taking small trinkets from the battlefield. It felt like he had lost part of himself. However, this was nothing compared to the feelings rushing through him now.

In his hand was the report that gave the predicted casualties resulting from what was now being called the Aurelian Crusade. The numbers continued to roll in from the lower levels on Meridian, and a footnote on the slate said that an estimated fifty thousand should be added to the list every day to account for those that are as of yet undiscovered. As of now, over a billion people had died, with millions more dying of their injuries every week.

He had also requested a report of Imperial Guard and PDF activities during the tyranid invasion. The results had bothered him greatly. During the invasion, the PDF and Guard had deployed to defend three things, the Capital Spire, Angel Forge, and Noble Houses. The lower and middle class civilians had been all but ignored, and naturally died in droves. Much of the lower levels are believed to be still swarming with tyranids, but even Thaddeus had heard rumors that even Governor Derosa is reluctant to send the meager Guard forces to patrol them.

This was exactly what Thaddeus had despised about the previous Governor and all the ones before him as well. The Nobles rarely paid heed to the average person, and would continue to live in luxury even while the cities burned around them. He understood that Derosa had extremely limited forces, but that did not excuse the complete indifference that the lower class was being shown. If these rumors true, Thaddeus would be wrong about Derosa. He thought she would be a good Governor, and he prayed that his trust had not been misplaced.

Thaddeus sat up straight as the wall mounted vox in his room buzzed. He stood up and stepped over to it, depressing one of the buttons on the small panel.

"This is Thaddeus." He answered.

"Sergeant," replied the vox. Thaddeus recognized the voice to be Commander Aramus. "If you would come down to the armory, I have something I am sure you would like to see."

Thaddeus considered politely refusing. He was in no mood to entertain the Commander, who most likely had nothing of import to tell him. Maybe it would get his mind off the data slate lying on his cot though. Deciding to go, he quickly agreed and turned off the vox. He cast one last look at the data slate before he exited, letting the metal door shut behind him.

Minutes later in the armory, Thaddeus looked down at the box at his feet. It was long, fairly thin, and seemed to be made of a heavy metal. The black casing bas dented and scratched, and looked like it had survived hell.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It was recovered today, from the depths of the dead Hive Ship." Aramus smiled proudly, and from the grime on his armor, Thaddeus had a feeling that Aramus had recovered this box himself. "It was part of the Armageddon's armory. It is yours now."

Aramus handed Thaddeus a small key. The assault sergeant looked at it for a moment before crouching down next to the container. He placed the key in a small hole on one edge, and turned it. The box clicked multiple times as dozens of blast locks retracted. This was only natural, as these containers held the most valued Chapter relics. As the last lock disengaged, the box's lid popped open slightly. Thaddeus pushed open the box and pulled out the weapon from within.

It was a sword, beautifully crafted in every way. Its sheath was red steel, with gilded carvings on both sides. From tip to guard, it depicted famous battles of the Blood Raven Chapter. From the shape of the hilt, Thaddeus could tell that the blade was straight and single edged, almost falchion-like in its structure. It was a perfect dueling weapon. Its cross guard stretched out in four directions, provided protection to the hand from any angle, without obstructing the grip. The hilt was a hand and a half length, allowing for easy wielding with one hand, and the ability to strike crushing blows with both. Thaddeus preferred such a hilt for its adaptability. It was easier to wield when compared to a long sword or a single handed blade, and styles could be changed on the cuff to combat different opponents.

"This weapon," breathed Thaddeus, 'It is beautiful."

"It is yours." Said Aramus. "Captain Thule wielded this blade on Kronus. It is the sword of Alexian the Hero."

"Yes. I know of him, yet I had never laid eyes on his blade." Alexian had been the Champion of Chapter Master Vidya, much like Diomedes was now for Kyras. With a blade he forged himself; he fought for the Blood Ravens chapter for more than a thousand years. His kills included great Chaos champions as well as alien warlords. Since his death, his blade has been passed down from Company to Company. When an owner dies or relinquishes the blade, it is stored for a while before it is given to a worthy wielder.

"Wield it well Thaddeus. Captain Thule always speaks highly of you. It is a shame he cannot be here to see you receive this honor."

"I will not fail him." Said Thaddeus. With this blade, he can fight all the harder. Perhaps he could finally save everyone.

184.000.M42

As usual, the temperature on Calderis was sweltering. But, unlike that day so many years ago, this Blood Trial was much different for Ocella Lyon. He atop a dune of sand, the blazing sun at his back. Arrayed to his left and right were various members of the 4th Company. Sergeant Ariston was there, unflinchingly standing in the heat. Beads of sweat dripped down his black skin, but he did not show any signs of discomfort. Even without the cooling effects of power armor, he would never complain. On Lyon's other side stood the venerable chaplain Automemos and 4th Company apothecary Harkon. The chaplain seemed to be enjoying himself, intently watching the slaughter below them.

It was rare to hold Blood Trials so soon after the previous one, but in this case it was absolutely necessary. The Blood Ravens were heavily under strength and every recruit mattered. Once again, they had gathered over two thousand initiates. Now, less than a fourth of that number remained. Lyon watched with a sour expression. He had been interested to see what the trials looked like from the outside, but had already had his fill after the first thirty minutes. They were children, forced to kill each other in incredibly brutal ways. He had thought before that he would be immune to the emotions he was now feeling. He had thought that he would be desensitized to the violence, having taken part in it. Of course, he had fought and killed far worse things, but this was different. These boys were not only killing each other, they were killing their own innocence. No survivor would ever be the same after this. They were being damned into a life of death and murder. Lyon considered this. Most Astartes in the Chapter would think that these boys were being honored, that they should want something like this. While Lyon would never trade this life away, he would not wish it on someone else. He knew now, that if he could have any wish, it would be to accept and suffer every evil in this galaxy. That was why he was a space marine after all. He fought for the people of the Imperium, and for a day where there would no longer be any need for space marines.

His eyes were drawn to a scuffle near the front of the group. He looked closer, picking out individual combatants. How nostalgic, he thought. Two boys fought back to back. One was small and blond, with dark skin that was at odds with his hair color. The other, like Lyon once, was large with a mat of black hair that hung down over his eyes. Lyon smiled a bit despite himself. The memories were hazy, but they were still there. He could still remember the impromptu alliance that he and Nathaniel Augustine had made that day.

The boys fought like savages, killing opponent after opponent. Lyon wondered how far this alliance would take them. Would they be battle-brothers, he wondered? Would they fight alongside each other in the same squad? These thoughts were torn from his head in one sickening moment however. As each cut down another foe, a wide circle opened around them. The other boys were too afraid to close, fearing death at the alliance's hands. Then with a flash everything changed. The blond boy turned, and Lyon paled as he saw the intent in his eyes. With a triumphant grin, he stabbed the black haired boy in the back. Then the others were upon them, and Lyon turned his head away.

It was to be expected, he thought. Lyon knew he could not believe that it would turn out the same way as it had for him. There were less than a hundred combatants left. Soon Automemos would call the fight. He put the two boys from his mind and straightened his back as the chaplain began to shout.

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207.000.M42

He knew they were coming. Even still, he sat quietly on the mat that covered the floor. He had not rested long enough, nor had his warriors. He did not want to go, yet at the same time he knew he had to. He had mourned for long enough, and his path was laid before him. He knew those forsaken worlds best. There would be not better person to return there. After all, his original objective was never completed. He could feel them approaching. No doubt they had learned of some new danger. The wraithbone door slid open behind him. Light poured in around two thin figures. Their backlit faces were hard and wrinkled, and had not known joy in ages.

Before they could speak, he stood and turned. "I know what you will ask." Said Dorchasal Draoi, "and I accept this task."

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222.000.M42

In deep space, a hole was torn in reality. The wound in the universe spewed swirling energy into the Materium. The warp storm raged for twelve hours, and finally ceased. In its place was a white orb, hanging where it once had been, a thousand years before. It was a barren ball of ice, without life or a heated core. Planet Aurelia, once thought lost, had finally returned.

The effects of Aurelia's return were felt all over the sub-sector. On Meridian, astropaths, navigators, sanctioned battle psykers, even regular people who had only a minor affinity for the otherworldly all clutched their skulls as if their brains were being forced out their ears. They babbled and screamed, begging onlookers to put them out of their misery. They clawed their eyes out in frenzy, and one by one died. Some were shot by fearful Imperial Guardsmen, others by Commissars. Some died of brain hemorrhaging, and others from the trauma from their own seizures. On the Retribution, Jonah Orion stumbled, clutching a bulkhead to remain standing as he gently massaged his temples. He could hear frantic screaming from the bridge. The ship's astropaths were dying. Deep in the pit of his stomach, he knew the cause. He steeled himself and ran as quickly as he could to vox Captain Angelos.

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232.000.M42

"Did you feel that Lord Eliphas?" asked Amphion. The helmetless sorcerer was smiling cheerily. If Eliphas knew anything, something unusual was happening. The two of them, along with Zephus-Hassan, had kept quiet for quite a while, remaining in Eliphas' quarters to keep from attracting attention. Kill-squads were searching the ship for revenge. Four Black Legionnaires had been killed in the lower levels, and Araghast wanted to know why. When asked, Eliphas had feigned ignorance, but later scolded Zephus-Hassan for failing to ensure that he was not followed.

"A slight discomfort." The Dark Apostle responded. "What of it?"

"We've just exited the Warp. Araghast will summon us soon."

Now it was Eliphas' turn to smile, though his was much more feral than his sorcerer's. He had waited a long time for his work to begin, and suffered innumerable hardships. Now it would all pay off. Considering what had already been accomplished, it was as if he held his objectives in the palm of his hand.

He stood, speaking to Amphion, "Come then sorcerer, we must not keep him waiting."

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240.000.M42

Aboard the Litany of Fury, two Companies worth of Sergeants and command personnel were gathered. After the emergence of Aurelia, all inquiries into the state of the Judgment of Carrion had ceased, and the entirety of the Blood Raven fleet had moved to the world that had once been the pearl of the sub-sector.

"Our world has returned to us Blood Ravens." Said Captain Angelos from his position behind the tactical map in the center of the room. As he spoke, the chatter in the room died down and attention was focused on him. Every 4th Company Sergeant was present, as well as Aramus, Automemos and Harkon. The only veteran member that was absent was Davian Thule. As a dreadnought, his fatigue kept him from attending most strategic meetings.

Angelos reached down to the map controls and imputed a few commands. Then the map projected a small area of the planet's surface. From orbit, it seemed that glaciers had overtaken many of the natural landmarks of Aurelia, and any manmade structures remaining had once been on top of mountains. Now the map showed a sprawling compound, surrounded by gorges and ice peaks. A foot note said that this facility was once a weather and research station established by the Blood Ravens.

"So are we to explore the world? Perhaps breach our old fortress-monastery to seek out ancient relics? I assume that there were no life signs detected." A hum of assent went up at the words of Sergeant Corallis.

"It should be a barren ball of ice, but we have detected numerous signs of life." Confirmed Angelos. "A distress signal is coming from its surface as well, of Blood Raven origin."

"I assume there is no message?" said Cyrus after the room quieted down. For Blood Ravens to survive on Aurelia for more than a thousand years without taint, it was unheard of in any Chapter. Cyrus doubted this however. There would be no one left alive after such a long time in the warp. Therefore, he was wary of this distress call.

"There is not. If our brothers are in need however, we must provide support."

Cyrus rolled his eye. This was blatantly obvious. "It is a trap, Captain Angelos. There is no other explanation."

"I am inclined to agree with you Cyrus," replied Angelos, "but it does not change the fact that we must investigate."

"Then to ensure the safety of our 'brothers'," said Cyrus, "I will volunteer my squad to investigate this signal."

Aramus stood suddenly, raising his voice. "I shall go as well. And I would have my strike force come with me."

"Is it wise to bring such a large force Commander?" asked Cyrus. "If this is a trap, a large force would leave us unable to respond to immediate threats."

"Perhaps you are correct." Said Aramus, raising a hand to his chin. "Tarkus and Avitus will do then. Captain Angelos, I will leave the rest to you, to do with as you wish."

"Very good Commander." Said Angelos, "I have a task that some of your men would be perfect for."

Angelos switched the map view to another location, a field of ice miles in diameter. "This area here was once our Fortress-Monastery. Now it is hidden under almost a mile of ice. However, as Sergeant Corallis has said, it is paramount that we search for lost relics of the Chapter. A pinpoint magma bomb bombardment would clear out the ice above the towers. Once that is complete, Sergeant Thaddeus, Sergeant Corallis, and Codicier Orion will enter the Fortress-Monastery and ensure that it is safe for continued exploration. All other squads shall remain aboard their respective ships unless needed."

Thaddeus raised his hand, "Would a bombardment not harm the Fortress-Monastery itself? Perhaps there is another way to break the ice."

"There is no other way, not if we want to enter within the century." Responded Angelos. "Our Fortress-Monastery was well suited to handle orbital bombardment. It will hold long enough for us to melt the ice. There is no cause for worry."

"Understood." Said Thaddeus, "I will await the drop then."

"If there are no other questions," finished Angelos, "report to the drop pod bays and prepare for immediate deployment."

"A good day for a fight, is it not, Brother Augustine?" Hypion's smile was there, perhaps because he thought there was to be actual combat. Thaddeus' assault squad stood behind their drop pod. Their Sergeant was with them, quietly listening to their conversations. He had affixed his helmet, covering the burn scar that marred his face, and stood impassively, hands on his hips. Periodically, the ship jolted, firing the magma bombs that would melt a hole to the Fortress-Monastery.

"There is no battle for us, Hypion." Interjected Mnason. "We are to recover artifacts."

"I can pray? Can I not? Perhaps the Commander will require aid."

"That is not something to wish for." Said Lloyd, one of the new members of the assault squad. His young face was unscarred, and a fringe of blond hair hung over his eyes. On his chin, the hints of a goatee were starting to form, and he walked with a smoothness that spoke of great agility. While unremarkable as a scout, he seemed to have come into his own.

Augustine let out his breath in a sharp hiss. Who was this one to speak out to his elders? No use arguing over it though. Hypion seemed chastised, and Augustine was satisfied enough with that. Fights were good, but winning without fighting was better. If it took days of bombardment, so be it. If it took a single sniper shot to the head, so be it. But here, Augustine had a feeling that it was going to be a fight.

"Enough chatter." Said Thaddeus. His voice had a more serious tone than usual, and had a hint of residual displeasure to it. Augustine could see an unfamiliar weapon hanging from his sergeant's belt, a beautiful dueling sword. When did he get that?

The assault squad climbed into the drop pod and strapped themselves in. After a few moments, Nathaniel Augustine felt the familiar sensation of the drop, a lurching in his stomach that was eased by the Lyman's ear. He was anxious. They had only had the barest briefings of Aurelia. If it were not for the fact that they were bombarding the planet to break its icy surface, Augustine would not even know the climate. Thaddeus had mentioned that it used to be the crown jewel of the Aurelian sub-sector, and that it was the home of the Blood Ravens until a terrible warp storm had swallowed it. None alive had seen it however. In any case, this was a historical day, a dawn of a new age for the Blood Ravens. Their world had returned. What did it hold for them?

Nathaniel Augustine stepped out of the drop pod, feet sinking into the snow. The glacial plane that had once covered this area had been vaporized by repeat bombardments from the Litany of Fury and her escorts. A pit a mile deep had been melted from the ice, and the deployed Blood Ravens could see the upper levels of the fortress-monastery poking through the steaming snow at their feet. Ahead was a large tower, the highest point of what was once their fortress-monastery. The marines would enter through there, conduct a cursory exploration of their old home, and return to the Litany of Fury with a few recovered relics. Once the structural integrity of the fortress-monastery was confirmed, it would be cleared of ice completely with additional bombardments. Then the full recovery could commence.

"Odd stuff." Said Alaris over the helmet vox. He reached down and picked up a handful of snow, examining it as it fell through his fingers. "There was not any of this snow on Calderis, and on Meridian it was corrupt with the filth of the Hive."

"Cut that chatter." Ordered Thaddeus. "Remember vox discipline."

He seemed angry to Augustine. In fact, Thaddeus had been angry for a few months. The squad had talked about it, and they were sure it was not his scarring. Every Space Marine received scarring as a matter of course. Alaris had guessed that it was the massive casualties on Meridian, and the rest of the squad suspected he was right.

The assault squad trudged over to the second drop pod, where Sergeant Corallis waited with Codicier Orion. Together, the Astartes moved across the still steaming snow to the dark red tower. They gathered at the foot, looking up at the entrance. It was a good twenty feet above them behind a small parapet. Under his helmet, Corallis scowled.

"Well Sergeant Thaddeus. I will leave this to you. It would be a great trouble for my marines to scale that wall, though we could do it if necessary."

"Very well, Sergeant Corallis." Thaddeus replied. He turned to Orion, "Codicier, you will require cable assistance, correct?"

Jonah smiled, vapor filling the air at every breath. "That will not be needed. My powers make such a distance trivial." His frost lined face smiled broadly at Thaddeus. "You have not spent much time around our Chapter's librarians have you, Sergeant?"

"No, I have not." Said Thaddeus. "I look forward to seeing the true extent of your powers."

"Not today, I hope." Finished Orion.

With a short burst of his jump pack, Thaddeus reached the entrance, and perched for a moment on the wall. It would be a tight fit with their jump packs. This tower must be more scenic than functional, as the door was small. He turned and waved up to the marines below before turned back to the door. Behind him, Thaddeus could hear the spurts of the jump packs and the impacts as the marines landed behind him. Then there was a flash, and the Sergeant jerked his head around in amazement. There stood Jonah Orion, standing in the middle of a circle of frost on the ground. The air around him had grown even colder, a byproduct of his powers.

"Vox check, Sergeant Thaddeus." Said Corallis. His squad below was setting up a perimeter. Nothing would get near the tower without being seen.

"Vox is on, and the signal is good." The Assault Sergeant replied. He stepped forward, and forced open the door. Then, Sergeant Thaddeus stepped inside as quietly as he could, and became the first Blood Raven to set foot in their fortress-monastery in a thousand years.

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"I told Angelos this was a trap, our drop pods have scattered and our communications jammed." He stood from his crouch and moved to Aramus' side. They had dropped together. The plan was to land on an ice field outside of the facility, but something had changed their course. Cyrus and Aramus had landed at the edge of a cliff, near an elevator shaft that would lead them down the mountain. It was only the fail-safes in the drop pod itself that prevented them from hitting the cliff side.

Aramus had his hand to his ear, and was attempting to contact the other squads, with only static as a response. Finally giving up, he turned to the scout. "I am inclined to agree with you Sergeant Cyrus."

"It would take a large relay tower to jam communications." Replied Cyrus. He quickly scanned the area, looking out into the distance as best as his enhanced senses would allow. The facility wrapped around the mountains, and had little stable ground as a result. Further to the north, the mountaintop flattened into a plateau and Cyrus could see larger buildings, the center of the weather station. He could also make out two towers. Their objective was most likely one of them. "I see it Commander. We should advance. Perhaps some of our Brothers are ahead." He did not mention that there was a chance that the other drop pods had suffered the fate that theirs had only just avoided.

"Our first task is to regroup with Sergeants Tarkus and Avitus." Said Aramus. "Then we can find these relay towers."

They stood, and Cyrus waved his squad forward. The six marines followed the metal walkways of the station, lined with pipes and barrels long since rusted and fallen out of use. Oddly, the occasional ventilation fan was still running, and Cyrus' eye could detect certain heat signatures coming from machinery. It was almost as if the station was coming back online, whereas the Litany of Fury had only detected the signal towers. The path curved to the left as they advanced, following the cliff side and leading the marines around the large glacier filled canyon below.

The group stopped as Aramus raised a hand, and Cyrus moved up to his position in a crouch. From behind an ancient heating unit, the two marines looked ahead at a crossroads. Once, there had been four diverging paths, one in each direction, but the storm had ruined all but two. The only way the marines could advance was the path directly ahead, but that was of little concern. The crossroad was square shaped, and about forty feet in diameter. It was filled with debris, but the center was clear, and a fire had been started. Around it huddled a group of men, regular humans, dressed in a variety of uniforms. They crowded the fire, trying to warm their hands. If they were guards, thought Cyrus, they were making a terrible job of it. Some wore Imperial Guard uniforms, winter issue, and all of them had lasguns.

"Orders Commander?" asked Cyrus, "We could approach them. Perhaps they will stand down."

"I remember well what you said aboard the Litany of Fury, Sergeant Cyrus. Nothing could survive a thousand years in the warp unprotected."

"These could be guardsmen, deployed without our knowledge." Cyrus said.

"No. Governor Derosa requires every last one of them on Meridian to deal with these Vandis uprisings. If it were not for Aurelia, we would be there as well." Aramus paused for a moment, before quickly saying, "Kill them."

Five bolter shots and a sniper round later, the men were dead. Aramus immediately left cover and walked up to the sprawled bodies, killed where they stood. Cyrus gave an encouraging nod to his scouts and joined him. He quickly turned over the body of the man he had sniped. If they were going to search for identifiable marks, they would need a body that was whole. The other men were a mess, destroyed from the inside by the bolt rounds. It had been a while since Cyrus had seen their effects on humans. It was Meridian last, fighting the Coalition, and . . . Kaurava before that. He shoved the thought from his mind and tore off the man's uniform top.

The man's hands were wrapped in rags. Even so, Cyrus could see the frostbite on the tips. These men had been thrown into such a situation by a heartless leader. No General of the Imperial Guard worth his title would place his men in such an environment without proper equipment unless it was absolutely necessary. As he examined the man's chest and back, his stomach lurched. Obscene symbols had been carved into his skin. The scars were old, but vivid. An eight pointed star, three polygons joining to form the shape of a fly, it was the stuff of chaos. But beneath it all, Cyrus found an old mark. It was a tattoo, one Cyrus easily recognized.

"Commander, these are Vandis' men. They must have beaten us here."

"That is not possible." Said Aramus, "We came here the moment we heard that Aurelia had returned."

"Then Vandis' men were waiting here. I would not doubt it. These scars are the markings of chaos worship. Vandis has fallen far."

Aramus drew his power sword. He had let Cyrus' marines kill the Vandis troops, but if there were more, he would need to live up to his reputation. Remembrance had been left in orbit, but it did not bother him. A thunder hammer was not needed to kill a few guardsmen.

"If there are more, we will kill them. The forces of chaos must not be allowed to live."

Cyrus nodded, and once more, they set off. The path curved to the left, once more, and soon the catwalk gave way to snow topped rock. The mountain had broken the walkway, as if it had risen in hours instead of years. The marines followed the slope upwards, and emerged onto a flat plain, overlooking the entire facility. Near the sheer edge of the plain was a red drop pod, its occupants situated around it, defending all approaches.

Sergeant Avitus had held his position from the start. With no way to contact the Commander, any movement, especially for a devastator squad, was risky. He had set up defensive firing lines, waiting for contact to be reestablished with the rest of the strike force. He nodded curtly to Cyrus as the scouts fell into cover near the drop pod, before turning to Aramus.

"As you can see Commander." He said, "We scattered all over this Emperor-forsaken mountain. Sergeant Tarkus is nowhere to be found. I fear he has landed further in."

"Did you encounter the heretics?" asked Aramus.

"Heretics? No, we have had no contact with anything. The glacier does seem to be alive however. There is movement to the northeast. Are those the heretics you are talking about?"

"Vandis forces were waiting for Aurelia's return. Cyrus and I have killed a group of them. They bear the mark of chaos."

Avitus spat, "Scum. As expected from a guardsman. I was just starting to respect them."

"Do not let your hate become complacency Avitus." Said Cyrus. "Even guardsmen have been known to fell Astartes. You should know that better than most."

Avitus' face turned red. "Damn you Cyrus." He growled. "You know better than to bring up Victory Bay in front of me. Or should we speak of Kaurava?"

It was Cyrus' turn to sour. His mouth turned into a thin line, and his remaining eye squinted at Avitus. Before he could speak however, Aramus interjected.

"Stop this foolishness. You should be ashamed of yourselves. This is a combat situation. There is no time for quarreling."

Cyrus stepped back, bringing a hand to his head. "I- I apologize, Commander, Avitus. I do not know why I spoke in such a manner. Perhaps this world's trip through the warp has lingering effects."

"Then we should bomb this place from orbit until nothing remains." Resolved Avitus. "Suffer not the taint of the warp."

The Astartes made ready to move out in the direction of the towers. As they began to leave, suddenly all communications were restored. The jamming signal had ceased and a voice was pouring through their vox links.

"-an you hear me Commander? Avitus? Does anyone copy? This is Tarkus!" Aramus could hear the crack of lasfire over the link.

"I copy Sergeant, where are you?" he said.

"The south tower in the facility." There was a pause, filled with the sound of close bolterfire. "We fell far off our original plotting. Then we started taking anti-air fire. We made it out without injury, but it was close. We are pinned down by hostile forces."

"Kill those heretics, Sergeant. They are Vandis' men. We will be with you shortly."

"Emperor be with you Commander. Knowledge is power."

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Unnaturally dark. That was the best way for Nathaniel Augustine to describe the inside of the fortress-monastery. It was pitch black, and there was no way to restart the power systems. That would be no issue for Astartes, as their auto senses would compensate for the darkness. The disturbing nature of the darkness lay here however. Their auto senses were registering distorts. Shadows ran were no light lay, and flashes appeared around corners. It was not limited to the visual either. Twice, Hypion had raised his gun to noises in the dark, only for the other marines to explain there had been nothing. Then came gunfire and shouting. Far in the distance, nearly inaudible, Augustine could hear bolterfire, and the bark of orders.

"Do you hear that?" he asked out loud. The group paused, turning to him.

"I hear nothing," said Saul, a bit quickly.

"He is not hearing things." Said Mnason. "Bolterfire, correct?"

"And shouting," replied Augustine.

"It is psychic phenomena." Concluded Orion. "A warp imprint that only psykers can hear. Tell me, Augustine is it? Do you hear the laughter?"

Augustine closed his eyes for a moment. He paled, sweat forming on his brow. He could hear it. Once isolated from the ethereal cacophony, it smothered every other sound. The sick, cheerful laughter of a diseased man, filled with wheezes and coughs. The tone was wholly evil and Augustine shut it out in an instant.

"I never want. . . I never want to hear such a thing again."

Jonah nodded. If he knew what the history of this place was, he would not share.

As they walked, Orion quietly spoke with Augustine. The librarian asked about his powers and how he practiced.

"The only way I know to practice is to burn things." Augustine said. "That is the only way I can use them."

"So you think." Said Orion, "But perhaps there are other uses for your pyromancy. When you use it, does the world seem different?"

"Not particularly. I barely feel the heat."

"Perhaps you should try this. Use your powers weakly, call the heat to you and see how the world changes. When I use the basic pyromancy skills I possess, I can see the heat of other living beings. Since I can also sense their psychic presences, this skill is unneeded. But for you, a true pyromancer, acquiring this trait will prevent you from ever being ambushed."

From then on, Augustine attempted to "see the heat" as Orion had called it. He had little success, and found it was incredibly difficult to maintain his powers at such a low intensity. With practice though, this could be fixed.

They encountered the first corpse outside of the Muster Hall. They reached a locked bulkhead, and as Thaddeus drew his power sword to cut it down, Orion stopped him.

"Let Brother Augustine do it." Said the Codicier.

"How?" Augustine asked. His powers could not destroy the bulkhead.

"That is for you to decide. A librarian must be a quick thinker, like all Astartes. He must know every application of his powers."

Augustine placed his right hand flat against the door and projected his powers out. He couldn't feel what was inside the metal door, but it didn't matter. After a few seconds the door slid open, its mechanisms burnt out.

As they emerged, they saw the fallen marine right next to them, lying against the wall. Its right hand tightly gripped a bolter, and many spent magazines lay around it. With the doors barred and no escape possible, this desperate individual had made his stand here. Augustine stepped around the marine as Hypion examined the body. As the suit was revealed to be empty, Augustine checked the door controls. They were warped and melted, but by nothing he had ever seen. Plasma weapons would completely destroy the control, yet these were still whole. It was as if the controls had been turned inside out and switched around simultaneously.

"We must move on." Said Thaddeus. "This is . . . not expected, but much of the Chapter was lost with the monastery. We can expect to find more corpses."

They moved to the doors of the Muster Hall. From there they could travel to any location in the fortress-monastery. The doors were locked, just as the one before had been. Thaddeus was in no mood to wait for Augustine and after four slashes of the Alexian Blade the Blood Ravens stepped onto the scene of a massacre. Dozens of fallen, possibly hundreds, lay strewn around the Muster Hall. They lay on tables and in the aisles between the benches. Some lay in circles, killed as they tried to protect their flanks. Some were found on the opposite side of the Hall, they had died as they futilely charged their enemy. Here and there, there were signs of short-lived last stands, and desperate retreats. Augustine had no choice any more; he could not shut out the laughter. It set the hair of his neck on edge, and swallowed all other sounds. He quickly looked at Orion. The librarian's face was tight, lined with sweat and pain.

"Are you well, Codicier?" Augustine asked.

"We must leave this place." Orion whispered. "We must complete our task and leave."

"Librarian?" asked Thaddeus after listening in for a moment.

"The fortress-monastery here is no longer our home. This place is evil. Something unwholesome took it, and I fear it still lingers."

Thaddeus put a hand on the librarian's shoulder. "Our objective is near Codicier. The structure is sound and we must simply recover a relic from the armory. Then we will extract."

"Here, Brother-Sergeant!" said Lloyd, waving from the right side of the Muster Hall. He had found the path leading to the armory, a wide corridor, leading into the depths of the Monastery. Without hesitating, Thaddeus stepped into the darkness, and the squad silently followed.

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Trapped by soldiers that should not have even been there, Tarkus used the only option available. He had opened the relay tower's maintenance hatch and tossed a primed grenade inside. The jamming signal had ceased, and Tarkus was able to vox Commander Aramus. They were still in heavy fighting though, with no way to escape. The tactical squad was boxed in behind the relay, taking cover behind inert power generators and the remains of their drop pod. In front of them, the Vandis heretics sent wave after wave of lightly armored insurgents into their guns. They had massive numbers, and it seemed that they meant to use them. Tarkus had seen these tactics before on Kronus. When the Blood Ravens had marched to the Deimos Peninsula, the heretics that had met them consisted of both Word Bearers traitor legionnaires and cultists from the population of Kronus itself. These cultists had thrown themselves to certain death. To them, killing one space marine was worth more than all of their lives. This tactic had worked well, and Tarkus remembered the deaths of many brothers clearly.

"Conserve ammo squad. They mean to engage us in close combat." He calmly sent his order over the helmet vox.

"That is folly Sergeant!" replied Argionus Cleon. "We will destroy them up close or afar."

"Remember Brother Cleon, they have numbers on their side." Said Tarkus, "Do not underestimate the power in superior numbers."

Cleon scoffed and continued to fire at the same rate. Tarkus saw him miss three easy shots. The boy had just been promoted from Cyrus' squad. Usually behavior like this was nipped at the bud, but Cyrus must have missed it. Tarkus resolved to speak with both Cyrus and Cleon separately about this behavior. If they were not killed, of course.

Ocella Lyon and Nikephoros knelt side by side. With his bolter, Lyon had already killed dozens of the attackers. On the other hand, Nikephoros was out of range with his flamer, and was taking careful shots with his bolt pistol. He was very displeased. Every time the traitors charged, they pulled back before coming into range of his flamer. The dead littered the ground, but he had yet to burn one.

"Lyon, focus fire to our right, they are trying to set up a heavy weapon," He said.

Lyon looked, and found that Nikephoros was correct. Four bolt rounds later, and not only were the men dead, but their heavy bolter was destroyed as well. He turned back to the front, where the traitors were laying down a fusillade of lasfire. Lyon was worried about the new members of the squad. The twins Timon and Phokas were doing well, heeding the orders of the more experienced marines, but Cleon was trouble. He was loud and boisterous, and although these traits were fairly common amongst the Adeptus Astartes, one generally had skills to back it up. Cleon was not a bad shot, he simply had little patience, and missed as often as he hit.

Then Nikephoros fell forward, grunting after an impact to his lower back. He rolled over, and braced his back against the cover the crouched behind, before firing his bolt pistol upwards. Lyon allowed a glance behind him, and saw a body topple over the railing above them. It hit the ground and broke in two, spreading blood across the frozen ground. The bolt round had nearly severed the body by itself, the fall did the rest.

"Sergeant!" shouted Lyon, "We are taking fire from above! They have us surrounded!"

The traitors had taken the high ground, and were pouring fire down on the marines from every direction. The marines took cover as best they could, but it was impossible to hide from everything. Nikephoros was the first, but not the last to be shot in this engagement. Brochus was shot in the eye, destroying his helmet completely and melting some of the skin on his forehead. Paulus was shot through the right arm, tearing a group of tendons and leaving it useless.

"Damn them." Said Tarkus as a las round scrapped across his temple. "Kill them all brothers! If we continue to fire at this rate, we will die before running out of ammo!"

The eight marines opened up with new intensity, pouring bolterfire at the traitors that had them surrounded. They did not need to keep up the fire for long however, as the traitors began taking fire from their flanks. Attacked from two directions, the traitors in front of Tarkus' squad retreated in blind panic, and the others pulled back to a better position.

Lyon's spirits were lifted as he saw the reinforcements approaching. Commander Aramus came down the side of the mountain to their right, leading Cyrus and Avitus' squads. They crossed the sea of corpses and met Tarkus, who left cover to greet them. Meanwhile, Lyon and the other unharmed marines treated the wounded as best they could. Harkon was still aboard the Retribution, and would not be able to drop to treat the wounded.

"What is your status Sergeant?" asked Aramus as he gripped Tarkus' arm.

"We destroyed the jamming beacon Commander," Tarkus replied, "But there is another tower to the northwest."

He turned and pointed, and Aramus could just barely see the top of a tower over the wall behind Tarkus. It was about half a mile away, but the Astartes would need to go around this wall to get at it. Looking around, Aramus could see a catwalk leading northeast into the facility. It looked to be the only way inside from their current position.

"Commander," said Cyrus. "It is vital we destroy the second relay tower. The only thing that can target a drop pod is a logic engine. That tower must be providing targeting information to the anti-air guns."

"Even if it is not," said Tarkus, "We should destroy anything that could give the enemy an advantage."

"Is your squad prepared to move?" Aramus asked.

"It will be momentarily." Said Tarkus. Behind him, the tactical marines were getting ready to move. The wounded had been treated adequately and were combat ready, though Paulus could only use one arm. They quickly salvaged what they could from the wrecked drop pod, and then joined Aramus and the others as they pressed further into the facility.

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The corridor led to a wide stairway, and after descending two levels, the group moved off into another hallway. To Augustine, it seemed that they were getting further and further away from the tower with every step. Occasionally they passed bodies, marines that made the ultimate sacrifice for the God-Emperor. Guided by Orion, they eventually reached the armory. Once entry was made, the Astartes spread out in search of a suitable relic for recovery.

"What should we look for?" asked Mnason as he lifted up a bolter and checked its action. It was in perfect condition. Orion walked among them, looking at the weapons they were picking up as though he would know the right one when he saw it. After a few rounds, he stopped next to Thaddeus. The Sergeant was looking intently at a two swords strapped together by the sheath.

They were beautiful weapons, and if Thaddeus was not wearing the Alexian Blade itself, he would have dropped his own sword to wield these. One was about a third of the size of the other, but in all other aspects they were identical. They were single edged, with a slight curve that tapered to a point. The cross guard was a gilded metal oval and the hilt a long grip ornately wrapped in a coarse but high quality material.

"What about this?" asked Thaddeus. He ran his hands over the pair of swords. These were weapons worthy of a great Captain.

"Ahh," exclaimed Orion, looking at the swords with a slight smile. "I remember these blades from the teachings. An ancient gift from the Mantis Warriors, these weapons were always issued as a pair. It is said that each warrior that used them was better than the last, and the Mantis Warriors gifted it to us in an exchange after they felt that it needed additional experience. We were to return the pair to them in a hundred years, but that deadline was missed."

"What do you mean by experience?" asked Thaddeus.

"I am not exactly sure." Replied Orion. "That is what the Mantis Warriors were recorded to have said at the exchange. Perhaps they believed the blades had mystical qualities that allowed the machine spirits to learn."

"Is this a suitable weapon to return to the surface?"

"I would not accept any other. We must take this one."

Thaddeus nodded and tied the weapons to his belt on the opposite side of the Alexian Blade. Then the marines began their slow trek upwards. Corallis was still waiting. Once they arrived they would signal for an extraction and return to the Retribution with their prize.

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Arcadia stepped out of the webway gate and was immediately hit with a wave of cold air. She quickly put her mask on to block the biting wind and looked over the area. The small group of Eldar had emerged into an icy gorge. The immediate area was wider, but it would thin into labyrinthine twists and turns soon enough. She looked at Uiremon, the leader of this expedition. He was walking ahead of the group, arms held straight in front. As he approached a wall of ice, he balled his hands into fists and pulled them close to his chest. In an instant, a sheet of ice shattered revealing a group of massive wraith constructs, frozen in place.

"Wraithguard?" Arcadia exclaimed. She walked forward, stopping next to the spiritseer as he examined the humanoid figures.

"Yes," he replied. "Did Warlock Draoi not tell you? We have come to revive the wraithguard that were lost here a thousand years ago in the battle against the Plague God's servant."

He stepped forward and placed his hand on one of the wraithguard. It immediately shattered into thousands of pieces. Uiremon reached down and picked up a red shard, larger than the rest, and handed it to Arcadia. She quietly put the soulstone in the bag on her belt.

"Unfortunately," Uiremon continued, "it seems that the integrity of the wraithbone has not been maintained in this damnable ice. Our plans are set back once again. If we cannot use the wraithguard, an easy victory is once again out of our grasp."

"What is our objective then?" asked Arcadia as Uiremon moved to the next wraithguard. It shattered like the first, and Arcadia could hear Uiremon soothing the frightened soul as he retrieved the red stone from the shards.

"Recover every soulstone here. We will lay them to rest on Ulthwé."

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As Augustine emerged from the tower door of the fortress-monastery, he was immediately assailed by the sound of powerful engines. He followed Thaddeus over the lip of the parapet and dropped twenty feet into the snow below. Just before he hit the ground, he fired a short burst from his jump pack. The exhaust melted some of the snow under him, and he spent a moment pulling his feet out of the slush that had formed. Then He looked up at the source of the noise. Sergeant Corallis' squad stood in front of an idling Thunderhawk Gunship. The ramp was down, and Augustine could see a squad already sitting inside, a Sergeant sitting near the ramp. He had a long cape and next to him was a thunder hammer.

"Sergeant Thaddeus." Said Corallis. His voice was broadcast over the helmet vox, as the engines made talking out loud nearly inaudible. "I see you finally arrived. Did you not say you were minutes away?"

"What are you talking about Corallis?" replied Thaddeus with a puzzled tone.

"You voxed me almost twenty minutes ago, saying you were ready for extraction."

"I did no such thing." Thaddeus replied, "Our squad maintained vox discipline the entire time. Perhaps you heard an echo?"

"Impossible," said Corallis, "You responded coherently to my questions. You said something about the Muster Hall, how it looked like a graveyard."

Thaddeus called over Codicier Orion, who had teleported down to the snow. "Librarian, could the residual psychic energies have some part in this?"

"It is not impossible." Orion said, "But I have never heard of such a precise incident. I plan to research the fortress-monastery further when we return. I will make odd vox signals a priority."

Thaddeus looked past Corallis at the squad in the Thunderhawk. "What is Sergeant Endymion doing here, Corallis? Was he not to remain aboard the Litany of Fury?"

"He was," replied Corallis. The Sergeant jerked his hand towards the Thunderhawk and his squad immediately boarded and took their seats. "The Litany detected odd heat readings near the north pole. Commander Aramus reported that he was in combat, and was unable to investigate. Therefore, our squads are going."

Thaddeus stepped towards the Thunderhawk before pausing. "Commander Aramus is fighting?"

"Yes. The transmission was hasty, but he reported contact with House Vandis personnel."

"Does he not require aid?"

"He said he had the situation under control."

Thaddeus walked past Corallis into the Thunderhawk. The tactical Sergeant almost thought he was sighing. Dismissing it, he joined his squad in the transport bay as the last of Thaddeus' marines were strapping themselves in. Moments later, the Thunderhawk was airborne and roaring towards its destination.

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Aramus' marines were a whirlwind tearing through the weather station. After forcing back the heretics attacking Tarkus, he drove the knife deep, killing dozens of unprepared men as they attempted to regroup. The small force of space marines were able to outflank and thoroughly take apart the more numerous foes.

Cyrus stood next to Aramus, staring at the relay tower. While still more than two hundred yards away, they had come much closer than they had been at the start. The facility was on an irregular slope, and from where they stood, the Astartes could fire on the tower directly. The area the marines held used to be a radar station, and had once monitored weather for the entire continent. Now the dishes and towers were derelict, some frozen solid and others collapsed under the constant buildup of snow and rust.

In front of them, Linus balanced on thin scaffolding. He was aiming his missile launcher at the tower, making adjustments for the shot. Rather than risk a direct attack on the tower, which was no doubt defended by a large heretic force, Aramus had opted for a long range attack. With the tower down, the marines could be extracted safely. Linus' feet were widely spread and he was trying to balance the weapon as much as he could. At the current range, he could not take advantage of any heat seeking capability his missiles possessed. The fierce wind eliminated the distant thermal signature that the tower emitted. Using his power armor's targeting systems, he locked his armor. Seconds later, the missile fired. The red streak crossed the distance in seconds and impacted the tower a third of the way up. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a crack tore its way up the side and the tower collapsed to the right, bursting into flames as it hit the ground. Two smaller buildings next to the tower were crushed by the wreckage, and fires began breaking out across the whole area.

"Not bad for a single shot." Linus said to himself. "Probably the best one I have ever done."

Cyrus had the feeling he was not boasting. Linus was an exceptional shot with that launcher, but even he rarely had to fire such a distance, or in such conditions. Avitus nodded approvingly and even Aramus looked pleased. As the Commander contacted the Retribution, Cyrus climbed onto a metal cargo container filled with rusted spare parts for the radar dishes. He pulled his sniper rifle's scope to his good eye and panned across the facility, observing enemy troop movements.

They were rallying even after the ruin of their tower. Perhaps knowing the end was near, they were moving in mass towards the radar dishes. Cyrus spotted what seemed like a leader amongst the enemy. After checking the wind with his finger, he aimed about a yard to the right of the man and fired. The round sailed the distance even faster than Linus' rocket did, curving with the wind before impacting the man between the eyes. Cyrus watched through the scope as the man's head exploded backwards, covering the heretics behind him in brain matter. This would only stall them for a second though. Without aiming, Cyrus fired another shot. It struck a man in the calf. Another heretic attempted to drag him into cover, and Cyrus shot him in the chest with an aimed shot. Now the heretics were afraid of leaving cover. A man attempted to sprint, and Cyrus shot him in the stomach, leaving him to bleed out.

"Commander," he shouted as he reloaded his sniper rifle. "I am attempting to delay them, but we need to move to higher ground!"

"Then let us go!" Aramus shouted, pointing at a landing pad at the top of the mountain to the north. Cyrus dropped off the container and joined the rest of the marines. They ran at full speed towards the extraction point, hoping to avoid the masses of heretics advancing on their position.

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Private Solomon Thome of the 3rd Vandis Guards was freezing his ass off. He was just following orders, but why were they dropped onto this damned world with little more than the clothes on their backs? Some of the others were still on Meridian, where they were fighting an insurgent war against the Imperial Oppressors. How ironic, he thought. His father had fought for the Vandis House as well, at the time they were allied with the Oppressors against the Coalition, a small time resistance group that was crushed with the help of the Adeptus Astartes.

He had been at the logic engine broadcast array, warming himself over a fire when the missile had struck. The tower collapsed not twenty feet from him, and poor Marcus was killed by a metal bar. It had flown faster than the eye could see and impaled him. His blood froze after a minute, and Solomon had to leave him.

A little later they had taken sniper fire. Colonel Mercer had been shot dead, and Solomon had led a ragtag group to the north to escape. The rest of the men milled about, unsure about what to do after the death of their leader. Colonel Serghar had been killed thirty minutes before when he attacked one of the enemy landing zones. The small group of survivors reported that the enemy was Adeptus Astartes. That was nonsense, thought Solomon. Why would the Astartes come to this world? Even he didn't know why they were here.

He shivered, and wrapped the scarf tighter around his neck. He waved the group forward. Even though there was a Sergeant with them, the men looked to him for orders. They advanced down a rockcrete road. Solomon wanted to flank the area the sniper fire came from. To their northeast was an area of high ground. If they took it they could fire down on the hostiles. The men reached an intersection. To the left, the road sloped up. Solomon waved the men that way and followed them as they rushed up the road, taking care not to slip on the ice. They rounded a bend when the new point man raised his hand. The twelve men dropped to their knees and Solomon walked forward in a crouch next to the point man.

"What is it?" he asked. Solomon looked forward. The wind had changed direction and was right in their faces. He wiped frost from his goggles and looked into the biting gusts, but even he couldn't see more than twenty feet.

"I heard something out there." Said the point man. Solomon adjusted his grip on his lasgun. He waved the squad forward, and they slowly advanced. A crack sounded in the thin air, followed by the report of an explosion. Solomon felt something warm running down the back of his neck. He wiped it with the back of his hand, and nearly vomited as he saw the bits of brain between his fingers. Then the area came to life.

The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. Rounds were hitting all around him. His point man was already dead, shot in the head with a bolt round. More of the squad was dying all around him, and Solomon brought his lasgun up to fire. Giants in red armor were charging out of the icy wind, firing heavy weapons at his squad. The sound nearly deafened him, and he struggled to get a bead on them with his weapon. He targeted the leader, a helmetless man brandishing a power sword. Solomon squeezed the trigger, and to his dismay, the man was unharmed. Flipping his weapon to full auto, he hosed him with lasfire. What wasn't blocked by the red power armor was stopped by a shimmering field around the man's head.

Solomon turned and franticly stumbled to his feet, trying to escape the giant killers. His bladder emptied as he turned. Every member of his squad was dead, ripped apart by the explosive rounds. Their blood was freezing even as it spread. He took two steps before he felt a sharp pain in his gut. Looking down, a sword was protruding from his stomach. The blade was wrenched back and Solomon fell forward. His face hit the ground hard and four teeth broke. He couldn't move. The red armored killers were already leaving, acting almost bored. The warmth was leaving Solomon, and he could feel the blood pooling around his chest. As the world faded to white, he wondered if Vandis had lied to them about the Emperor.

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Lyon fired backwards as he ran. After killing that small patrol, the heretics had caught on to their maneuver, and were pursuing in force. He fired bursts over his shoulder at the enemy, and smiled to himself as one was thrown off of his feet. Nikephoros ran ahead of him. There was no point in turning to shoot. None of his weapons had enough range be effective. At the lead, Aramus had already called in the extraction, and all the marines needed to do was reach the landing zone.

The road they were on leveled off, and opened into a large area used to deliver supplies to the station. A large pad for ornithopters and arvus lighters dominated the area. Around it was a low wall, and built into the mountainside behind it was an administrative building for checking supplies and receiving orders. Lyon vaulted over the low wall and took cover with the rest of his squad. Avitus moved further back, breaking down the door of the building and taking position on the second floor. Suddenly Nikephoros leapt out of cover. He ran to a shattered supply crate and grabbed something shiny from it. As he returned, Lyon saw that he held a Godwyn pattern bolter, standard issue for the Blood Ravens.

"Where did you find that?" asked Lyon, "How did you even see it?"

"I have no clue," Nikephoros responded gruffly, "It was just there."

He checked the action and the magazine. All was good, and he readied the weapon to fire as Aramus ordered them to hold ground. They only had to wait five minutes. Then the marines could see the first heretics coming up the road. They were as good as dead from this range.

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Arcadia paused at her work. Over the howling wind and the hum of Uiremon's powers, she could hear something. The roar of engines.

"Mon-keigh!" she shouted, drawing her power sword. Uiremon drew his singing spear, and looked up. Around him, the rest of the Eldar were unsure of what to do. As a spiritseer, his focus was on wraith constructs, and his ability to read the threads of fate secondary. He delved into the sea of threads for a moment before surfacing.

"They are too many, pull back and retreat to the webway gates."

"How did they even find us?" shrieked Arcadia. She could see a red dot approaching from the distance. It would be upon them in seconds.

"The webway gates." Said Uiremon. "They must have detected the heat from the gates. Let us go now. There is no need to linger."

As he made to leave, his head snapped up. Seven red shapes split from the dot, descending on wings of fire. They hit the ground with tremendous force, throwing up towers of snow. Then, heralded by the revving of chainswords and fierce shouts, the Blood Raven assault squad charged into combat. Arcadia watched as their leader clashed with Uiremon, before the elderly spiritseer launched the Blood Raven backwards into a wall of ice. The Sergeant cried out as he was buried, and half the squad paused to free him. The others stood still, off balance at the casual defeat of their leader. Uiremon was already gone, and only Arcadia remained. She locked eyes with one of the marines and smiled under her mask. She really hoped he was doing the same, but those hopes were quashed when he and another charged her, swinging their chainswords.

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It was her. The thirst for vengeance drove Augustine as he and Alaris charged the howling banshee. She was fast, but their jump packs allowed them to keep pace with her for the most part. Every few seconds, she would turn and launch a few half-hearted blows in their direction. Augustine knew they were half-hearted because he could see them. He liked to think he knew the banshee Arcadia well. If she wanted to kill him, she would have done so already, and while he did not think it was smart to blindly pursue her, Nathaniel Augustine was not about to be embarrassed by this alien.

They chased her into a wider part of the gorge, and Augustine was shocked when she suddenly reversed, swinging her power sword with a new ferocity. He dodged two, barely, and the third swipe slid off the edge of Thanatos. He fired his bolt pistol, but she was already behind him. He spun quickly as Alaris attacked, and Augustine smiled grimly as the banshee was forced to twist and turn to escape their simultaneous attacks. He fired twice more, and drove her closer to Alaris. He felt like shouting in praise to the Emperor as her dodges became more and more desperate. He attacked, and laughed as she was finally forced to block one of his blows. The chainsword slid harmlessly off of her power sword, but Augustine did not care. He could not beat the banshee alone, but Alaris' help would see her defeated. Alaris leapt forward, taking advantage of the lack of counterattack. He stepped between Augustine and the banshee, and suddenly was at a disadvantage. Alaris avoided two blows, but fell with a cry when her power sword cut him across the chest. He was only wounded though, and her subsequent stab to the shoulder only took him out of the fight completely. She ran off again, but Augustine could still see she was not moving at her full speed.

"Go Augustine!" Alaris shouted, "Kill the witch for me!" He dejectedly waved his hand in the direction the banshee went.

"Aye!" Augustine snarled. He fired his jump pack in pursuit. Bounding off the walls of the gorge with quick pulses of the jump pack, he slowly but surely caught up with the banshee. Then he fired his jump pack more forcefully, shooting down like a missile for the kill. She leapt into the air, throwing her power sword in a straight line. It hit Augustine right above his left shoulder, piercing the fuel tank of the jump pack. He had three seconds of realization before the remaining fuel exploded. Augustine hit the wall of the gorge hard and fell to the ground on his side.

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Arcadia smiled as her mon-keigh climbed to his feet. His chainsword was nowhere to be found, and she had already recovered her power sword. Would he try to attack her again? Probably not, but she would not let him anyway.

"Mon-keigh," she said in low gothic, "Why have you come here?"

"What do you mean witch? I should ask you the same question." Her mon-keigh was keeping his distance, and she was sure his eyes were locked on her weapon.

"We've come to recover the soulstones of the fallen here. A great evil lies in this place, and we wish to recover the Tears of Isha before it is able to consume them."

"A great evil?" he asked. Was this puzzlement in his voice, or just irritation?

"Surely your dim witted kind knows of Chaos, the Great Enemy?" Of course they did, but it was entertaining to see him riled up.

"Of course we know of the forces of Chaos. It is our greatest foe."

" My kin seek to defeat Chaos in this sector. I doubt you can convince your leaders, but we do not wish to fight you this day." As much as she enjoyed antagonizing him, this mon-keigh was much more sympathetic to the cause of the Eldar than others.

He paused for a moment. No doubt he was arguing with himself about the merits of ignoring a 'vile alien' when it was right in front of him.

"Are you saying that Chaos is in this sub-sector?"

Arcadia put her hand to her face, palm open. This mon-keigh was sharp, so he wondered how pathetic the others must be to not see the threat of Chaos when it was already upon them. Did they not detect the arrival of the Warship with their primitive watch stations? If they did not, it would not fare well for them. The Eldar would not interfere on their behalf. She calmed herself and answered.

"They are, in force."

"Why should I trust you, witch?" he asked, daring to take a step forward.

She decided to tell the truth. It would be nice if her mon-keigh actually understood. "Because we do not have the strength to defeat Chaos ourselves. Your kind are all that stands in the way of us and destruction."

"Where will the forces of Chaos attack?"

"That disgusting city world that saw the death of Farseer Idranel is their destination. It is unlikely, but they may also attack our forces."

"What will you do if they do?"

She shrugged, "We will have no choice but to summon the Avatar of Khaine and destroy them all."

His voice had a warning tone. "You understand that such an act would provoke a response from the Chapter."

"We do, and that is a risk we must take. We do not wish to fight you, but if attacked, we will be forced to defend ourselves."

He nodded slowly. "You understand what I am about to do then. It is nothing personal Eldar, but I have to try."

She smiled under her mask. "How valiant." The sarcasm was evident in her voice. "Even without a weapon you would attempt it?"

"Yes. I will beat you once." He leapt forward, heat coalescing on his right hand. He punched at her with his fire covered hand. Arcadia calmly dodged, ducking under his arm and standing up behind him. He drew his knife as he turned, gripping it underhanded to slash and stab at her lithe form.

"Something to remember me by then." She said. "For next time." Ducking another punch, she cut him across the side, leaving a deep gash. He stumbled, gripping his side. It was painful, but would heal quickly and leave a nice scar. For now though, he would be unable to fight back.

"Good bye then, human. It was nice to see you again." In a flash Arcadia was gone. She returned to the webway gates and disappeared, the last of the Eldar to leave Aurelia.

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Nathaniel Augustine slowly got to his feet. The wound, while deep, would heal easily. Nothing vital had been cut, and the larraman cells were already mending. He sheathed his knife and searched the gorge. He found Thanatos a few minutes later. It was in good shape, though a little battered from the explosion. Then he began to make his way back to the insertion point.

When he arrived, he found the marines waiting for him. Corallis and Thaddeus' squads were simply maintaining a perimeter. When he came within view, Thaddeus stood up to greet him. The Sergeant looked unhurt, as did most of the other marines. Alaris was cradling his wounded arm. His helmet was off and he was looking disappointed.

"What happened to you Brother Augustine?" asked Thaddeus. "We could not contact you over the vox, and feared you dead. Endymion is still patrolling, looking for more Eldar.

"I was wounded fighting a howling banshee, the same that injured Brother Alaris." Replied Augustine. He touched his helmet, feeling the damage inflicted to it during the explosion. Only then did he realize how close he was to actually dying back there. "There is no need for Endymion to continue searching, the xenos are gone. I saw the last of them depart myself."

"You drove them off then?"

"Yes." Said Augustine, walking past the Sergeant. "Is there any news of Commander Aramus?"

"There was." Thaddeus replied. "His force extracted without major incident. There are a few wounded, none seriously. It seems that the House Vandis personnel they fought were servants of the Dark Gods."

Chaos, thought Augustine. The banshee was correct. Perhaps she was not a liar. However, he knew he could not tell Thaddeus of his encounter with her. He did not want another Draco situation emerging, and Saul would certainly respond the same way.

"I will contact Endymion." Said Thaddeus. He put his hand on Augustine's shoulder. "Take a moment's rest Brother. You have done your duty well."

Augustine nodded and sat down next to Alaris. He quietly felt the wound at his side, running his hand along the rent in his armor. The scar tissue was fully formed, and he should be fully recovered in a few days. He removed his helmet and looked it over. The left side and back were charred black from the explosion, and the vox piece was broken. It would take quite a bit of maintenance for the helmet to be fully functional again. For now though, he only wanted to think about what the banshee had said. He leaned back, laying his head against a mound of snow, thinking about what she had told him.

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It had been six hours since the last Blood Raven returned to the Retribution, and Nikephoros had not left his room. He heard that Thaddeus' squad had encountered Eldar, and a few marines were wounded. He was too disturbed to leave however. He sat cross-legged on the floor, wearing a loose robe. On the ground before him was the bolter he had recovered on Aurelia. It had not bothered him when he first picked it up, but now he was sure of it. After disassembling it and checking each individual piece, he was sure. It was an identical copy of the weapon he had lost on Typhon a year before. No, that was not right. Apart from a strange smudge on the barrel, it was the same weapon. Every piece was identical, every bolt and pin familiar. Nikephoros sat in his room, silent save for the sound of the warp engine, and wondered how this was possible.

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"In two days time, we will make our first attack on Meridian." Somehow, Araghast's voice was even louder than the cacophony on the bridge. The terminator armored marine circled the tactical map that was projected over a round table, occasionally pointing fiercely at different points and locations.

"Two days, Lord Araghast?" said Eliphas. "We are just out of sensor range. If we attack now, we could subjugate the whole world in a matter of hours."

"The objective isn't Meridian, Inheritor!" Araghast howled. "This is only the first step to the completion of our true objective. We must wait for the Blood Ravens to return. When the Emperor's lapdogs make planetfall, we will reveal our presence to them."

"I assume you will lead this expedition?" asked Eliphas.

"No. Why would I play my hand so soon? You will lead the force. The Blood Ravens know you, and will pursue you all the more."

"Who will accompany me then?" Eliphas asked. So much for Araghast dying without support on his first engagement. He was not an idiot it seemed.

"You will have twenty marines. They are newly recruited, so do not expect much from them. You will also have a large force of Vandis' men. Sorcerer Bercastle will join you to open warp portals. Your attack on Angel Forge will weaken the veil on Meridian. Afterwards, it will be a simple matter to open portals all over Meridian."

Bercastle bowed with a hand across his chest and Eliphas shot him a glare. Sycophant, he thought. The tzeentchian was playing both sides, but not for long. Eliphas noted that he may be forced to eliminate Bercastle earlier rather than later. He would be trouble if he thinks he can fool the Inheritor. No doubt Zephus-Hassan will be pleased.

"I will take my own retinue of course." Said Eliphas. There was no way he was only going to surround himself with Araghast's dogs.

"As you wish." Araghast growled. He walked up the bridge and sat down on his brass throne. Apparently dismissed, Eliphas left the bridge. He would need to brief Amphion and Zephus-Hassan and then prepare for the battle. It had been a very long time since he had seen the Blood Ravens, and he could not wait. Killing them would be most satisfying. But not near as much as returning to Meridian. It had been a long time.