"Death is but a doorway" the metallic giant rumbled, and fired a shot from its lascannon, punching through a chimera and turning it into a fireball as it exploded, frying both its inhabitants and those around it. To the dreadnought's right, a marine sunk to the ground, its head nothing but gory fragments splattered across the pavement underneath it. The dreadnought turned to face this new threat, and saw that it was a lone member of the XVIII Legion, it's green armor charred and muddied.

"Firedrakes do not know pain," the monstrous form said, and fired off another shot, leaving a smoking wreckage where the Salamander once stood. The dreadnought clenched and unclenched its fist before lumbering forwards, seeking out more loyalist targets. Several other Death Guards rallied behind the dreadnought, and the group wordlessly pushed forwards.

"Bevartis," one of the soldiers called to the dreadnought, "Sergeant Eklion requires our aid. The Salamanders are pushing forwards." Even as the Death Guard spoke, Bevartis saw the information relay into his own systems, and he adjusted his course to meet the new threat.

++Moving to engage++ The giant rumbled into his vox, and put action to his words. It didn't take long for Bevartis to find the Salamander spearhead. Led by a Centurion and supported by two predator tanks, the Salamanders were holding their own against the constant fire the Death Guard threw at them. The dreadnought fired one blast from his lascannon into a predator's tank tread, cutting off the marine's primary escape route. His second shot cut off a chunk of the tank's armor, and threatened to end the heavy vehicle's career entirely. The Salamanders were not ones to sit idly by when attacked, however, and the metallic giant heard the wooshing noise of a melta, and saw a ball of fire roar past him, barely missing him and scorching his armor as it sailed in the air. The marine would only get that one shot, as the Death Guard focused their fire into him, and scythed him down in one gory volley.

Bevartis, knowing that the loyalists would crumble without their command, launched himself forward, crushing anything in his path as he rumbled towards the centurion. The Salamander, seeing Bevartis charging, gave a war cry and rushed forwards to meet him.

The centurion swung his thunder hammer at Bevartis, leaving a dent in the giant's chassis. Bevartis retaliated with a swipe from his power fist, but the Salamander narrowly dodged it. The dreadnought used his superior size to push the Salamander back, but the centurion would not give ground easily. He swung again, aiming directly for his previous mark, and Bevartis was forced to raise his lascannon to block the blow. With a hideous grinding noise, the weapon gave way, and was all but destroyed.

"Sacrifice is needed for any victory." Bevartis rumbled, and with speed seemingly impossible for a giant of his size, reached out and grabbed the Salamander by his helmet, catching the centurion off guard as he sought to free his hammer from the wreckage of the lascannon. With a sickening crunch, the marine's head gave way, and the headless corpse sunk to its knees.

The dreadnought turned his attention to the remaining loyalists, but his own Legion was making short work of them. No Salamander fled from the Death Guard, but none were still standing within the next few minutes. ++The loyalists are reinforcing and making a final stand at the heart of this city.++ The voice was of Typhus himself, and every Death Guard heard it through their vox.

"Bevartis!" One marine called to the dreadnought, "Your chassis is damaged. You should fall back and recieve repairs. Let others finish off these loyalists. Typhus himself will lead the charge."

Bevartis was silent for a moment, and only the sounds of distant gunfire and his servos whining as he moved were heard. "Are we not Death Guard? I have an eternity to rest, but not when there is a war to win. My internment has not made me weak. I am still a child of Barbarus under this armor. Now, let us march, and teach the followers of the False Emperor fear." Even as he spoke, his set off, his only intent was to send every last loyalist to their grave.

"And not one step back." Bevartis growled.

Septis felt his armour plating screech up against the ferrosteel bulwark. He cared not. His Astartes plate had already suffered far worse in the battle thus far. It had been a long day, and night was coming. Absentmindedly, his eidetic memory raced through all the notable damage against his armour.

Bolter round, left vambrace, advancing Tenth Legion Breacher. His shield did not save him from Septis' krak missile. The Iron Hand's titualar appendage now clattered against Septis' thigh.

Volkite serpenta scorching, chestpiece, 19th Legion Moritat. The Raven Guard had dodged his unit's missiles, but could not evade a well placed bolt round to the head. Should've worn a helmet. A steel raven skull, prised from the Moritat's twitching corpse, now hung lifelessly from Septis' shoulder pad.

Flamer damage, front of armour. Salamander armoured units had resisted the XIV Legion's advance, clustered around a Deimos Predator. It had underestimated Septis, who wrenched open the command hatch, and fired a frag missile into the vehicle's interior. The Predator's command hatch now hung from Septis' back.

Heavy bolter rounds, left leg and vambrace. Pulping damage and breakage to leg. A Raven Guard Storm Eagle trying to evacuate it's doomed passengers. Septis had took a finger from each of the passenger's corpses from the burning wreckage.

The grisly trophies of this battle would add to his collection - these would be some of the first Astartes trophies he would claim. Something inside of him knew it wouldn't be the last. The men around him hunkered down, watching the battle around them die down. The loyalists were fleeing - fleeing or destroyed. But some still lingered. Septis was more than happy to let the more savage members of his taskforce mop them up. He would not move unless he had to. His unit was the anchor of the Death Guard battleline - unmoving, unflinching, unfazed. His squad had taken huge casualties, true, but the squad was always at full strength by the end of the battle - fleeing Death Guard troops would always be "persuaded" to rejoin the fight in Septis' squad. A trial by fire in missile launcher etiquette taught the new blood far better than any training simulation. If they fell, Septis would find another "recruit".

Great lumbering footsteps shook clouds of grit and rubble onto Septis, plinking off his scored pauldrons. A Knight, limping and wounded, loped away from the battle through the disorganised Death Guard lines. It's guns were dead, focusing all energy on fleeing the massacre. The braziers on it's back and the flaming sigil on it's tabard marked it as a Knight of the Legio Atarus, the Firebrands. The tattered heraldry marked it as "Red Flame". Septis grinned, and hefted up his missile launcher. There was always room for more trophies.

"Aim for the legs, boys! Let's douse this flame with red."
The contrails of ten missiles streaked towards the doomed Knight. Septis' scarred plate was lit up by the vivid explosions in the dying light.

"This kill is yours - take what you have earned! Let the galaxy know your deeds!"