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EXTRACT LOG
Author: Deathwatch Noviate Apothecary Py'ros, of the Salamanders Chapter
Circa date: 45.774.M41
++recording begins++

We had arrived on the world of Archer's Gate, in force. The Librarian himself escorted us here. Whilst he busied himself with integrating us (READ: giving us free reign) in the Allied Inperial taskforce sent to cleanse this planet of Tyranid filth, and my squad secured a perimeter around the dormant battlefield we had landed in, I busied myself with retrieving the dead Astartes' progenoid glands. I knelt by one of the fallen Space Marines, his cracked armour resplendent with the black and red heraldry of the Emperor's Seraphs Chapter. This had been their last stand, I grimly noted.

They had come so far, these Sons of Sanguinus, critically weakened by the Black Rage that had wreaked havoc through their ranks. In some cases, the Rage overcame Neophytes mere hours after the gene-seeds had been implanted in their bodies. Here, on this backwater world, the last few sane Astartes tried to help the Imperium in any way they could.
They thought that the cultist insurrection on Archer's Gate was just that: a small, easy target. How could they have been prepared for the Genestealer Cult that clawed down the first squad as they entered the silent ruins of Hive Najort? By the time their distress signal had reached the Deathwatch's auspexes and the Kill Team had made planetfall, they had all fallen.
I noticed the other Apothecary of the Kill Team, Brother Tyrael, moving with slow, reverent precision through the corpses, as if they were sleeping children. His reductor was dripping with Astartes blood, already clotting on the diamantite tip. Returning my gaze to the body at my feet, I readied the device in my ivory white hand, and plunged it into the fallen Astartes' chest. As I cut through the ceramite chestplate and hardened ribcage, I steeled myself by reminding myself of the future of this Astartes' gear.

His weapons and armour would be distributed to another newly founded Chapter, or kept for the Deathwatch if they were of sufficient quality. His corpse would be experimented on by the Magi Biologis in the Watch Fortress, in the absence of a parent chapter to grant funeral rites. The Watch was everything. His gene-seed would be kept and given as a tithe to the High Lords of Terra, to use to create a new Chapter. **click** My duty was complete. As I reached down into the bloody cavity to extract the organ, a white arm grabbed my hand.

"Apothecary Tyrael." I grunted. "Would you mind explaining why you have stopped me in my duty?" There was a pause.
"Seems unfortunate." His soft voice filtered through his vox-grille. "Unfortunate that a son should carry on his father's strife. Unfortunate that even after one extinction, yet another son would be cursed with the same fate as the father he never knew. Unfortunate that this cycle would continue, until we ran out of sons."
"Tyrael, what is this you speak of?"
"The Rage, Py'ros. This seed would be planted in yet another Chapter, and the same fate would befall them as these Seraphs did. I cannot allow that to continue. Give the progenoid to me."
I retracted my bloody hand from the defiled cadaver, and offered them to the elder Apothecary, who swiftly inserted the bloody lump of flesh into a stasis pod, like the ones hanging from his belt. "Thank you. Would you mind in assisting me in recovering the others?"
It didn't take long for me and Tyrael to get around most of the dead: there were only about three score left. When Tyrael had all of the progenoids, he turned and left me.
"What do we do about their geneseed then?" I called after my superior.
He turned back at me, his alabaster visor sprayed in claret blood all over the steel vox grille.
"This is not fit for use. I will destroy this."

I'm not sure if it was some kind of Tyranid halluciogen, or if my Catelaspean Node is malfunctioning, but I swear I saw that same batch of Emperor's Seraphs' geneseed in Tyrael's hand as he entered his personal laboratory. He shut the door straight after, I didn't get a better look.
But it was there, God-Emperor preserve me.
Note: I must visit the Chaplain and get rest. Failure in duty will not be tolerated.

++recording ends++

A nice little tidbit, very in character for the universe and has that little dark twist at the end. A good effort to be sure.

Minor clarity note:

"I noticed the other Apothecary of the Kill Team, Brother Tyrael, moving with slow, reverent precision through the corpses, as if they were sleeping children. His reductor was dripping with Astartes blood, already clotting on the diamantite tip. I readied the device in my ivory white hand, and plunged it into his chest. As I cut through the ceramite chestplate and hardened ribcage, I steeled myself by reminding myself of the future of this Astartes' gear."

In this Segment, you are speaking of Tyrael and how he looks, but the subject -verb agreements as Py'ros cuts into his next fallen battle brother refer back to Tyrael. Surely Py'ros is not trying to cut his compatriot open. A bit of filler such as "...Turning back to my current charge, I readied my own reductor in my ivory white hand and plunged it into the fallen marine's chest..."

And then everything glues together the way it should.

FM Argos

Oops, missed that bit! I can see why it could be confusing! Correcting now.