Darkness...

When did the dark veil descend upon our future?

Is misery and suffering all we can expect in our lives?

All we can expect in the after-life?

Puppets to the whims of gods, we struggle in vain to comprehend?

How long will it last?

War...

How long have we been fighting?

How many give their lives away everyday?

Against enemies that cannot be measured... seen... felt... fought... defeated?

Is peace a relic of a distant past?

Or simply an illusion to begin with?

Death...

How much have I seen during my life?

Difficult to tell, but certainly more than most. More than I should have ever seen.

That I know.

So many questions fill my mind, and the answers I try to seek inevitably end up adding to that number. Will it ever stop? Will I discover the answers? Will someone else ever find them?

Even know as the galaxy burns, as the Imperium tries to survive the never-ending onslaught, as millions of every race and creed die in hopes their sacrifice will bring forth the future that those they serve desire, it's simple questions like these that occupy my mind. As the light of the Emperor slowly fades away, as mankind faces its darkest hour, I merely try to find answers. Is it even worth it to have them? Should I have them? Will I change anything if I have them?

It doesn't matter, time conspires against me.

You are reading this. I already told everything I knew and gave everything I had left. You have the privilege to know the part you'll play: A puppet able to see its strings. I trust that you will play it, in spite of your attempts to stray from the path.

Regardless of my fate this day, the events that will soon unfold will dictate the fates of incalculable souls journeying the ever-flowing river of the Warp and shape the Galaxy itself. You and I will play my part on those events.

That I also know.

The XXXIV

Final excerpt from the manuscript retrieved from the ruins of the Fort Epsilon-004 and delivered to Lord Inquisitor Dante Lazerian of the Ordo Xenos.

Attributed to rebel commander and arch-heretic "The Saint", as he is known by his followers.

"My Lord, our Emperor, blessed thou on the throne,"

"Grant us mercy, for our souls will soon clash in battle,"

"For we are the instruments of your holy fury,"

"Guide our blades as we strike, our aim as we deliver your might,"

"Grant us the will to defeat your enemies,"

"Hmmh, excuse me…"

"To the heretic we will grant our flame,"

"To the xeno we will grant our hate,"

"To the daemon we will grant our zeal,"

"Sir?"

"For you are the light that guides mankind in the darkness,"

"Excuse me, Sir?"

"For you are the bane of its enemies, our hope and their despair,"

"Sir, can you hear me?"

"For you are our Emperor, our savior, our strength and their END."

"SIR!"

Imperial Mining World Cellas Prime
Segmentum Pacificus

840.M41

The shout broke through the self-induced trance as he opened his eyes and slowly gazed his surroundings.

Nothing. Nothing but the endless grey wastes filled with craters.

He finally felt the pressure from someone's hand on his shoulder. Turning his head around, he noticed the young corporal who had been trying to get his attention, a look of concern in her face gradually giving away to one of fear as she promptly removed her hand.

"So... so sorry to disturb your prayers" she apologized in a meek tone "but I don't... I don't think it's very safe for you to..."

Whatever her concern was he clearly didn't care. He returned to the same position as before: sitting down, head slightly leaned forward, gun in his lap, both hands grasping each end. Not one word came out of him. Giving up, the corporal walked away, moving towards her two fellow guardsmen a couple dozen meters away, who've been witnessing everything.

"Told ya he wouldn't listen." one of them said.

"Shut up Logan. I'm not in the mood right now."

"Come on Kai! I know you're into the dark, mysterious, brooding kind, but that guy is a bit too much for you to handle." he teased.

"I said shut the fuck up, Logan!" she quickly snapped back at her comrade.

"Oh my, getting violent are we?" the other guardsmen mused "She had that exact same expression on her face when she had the hots for the sarge, remember?" as he suggestively poked Logan with his elbow.

"You too Samuel, fuck off!" she rebuked with increasing anger.

Logan and Samuel merely break out laughing at Corporal Kai's rising fury.

"Don't try to deny it! You were totally eyeballing that masked weirdo." Logan shouted back, still mocking her.

"I wasn't 'eyeballing' him, I was just worried. Ok?!" she answered back, trying to calm herself down, hiding her red face lest they make the wrong impression of it. "He's just a soldier like any of us."

"'Like any of us' my ass. You saw them already. Those fucking Kriegers aren't soldiers. They're nothing but creepy little dolls that won't even breathe unless Command tells them to. Those freaks are nothing like you, me or Logan."

"Considering how fucked up this whole campaign was before they arrived, I say that's a good thing. Guys like him saved our asses several times over." she pointed out "And here I was thinking you were mature enough not to throw jealousy tantrums."

"Oh, so now we are just jealous? Is that it?"

"That or I'm not the one harboring secret feelings I don't tell others." she added.

"Something you're hiding from us Sam?" Logan asked, barely containing himself from laughing loudly. "I honestly never thought you're into that sort of thing."

"Damn it man!? I thought you were on my side."

He could hear the commotion between the soldiers despite their efforts to keep it to themselves. He didn't care. He was trained to filter any unnecessary noise on the battlefield and the ramblings of three guardsmen were easy enough to put behind. He was staring at the horizon, barely discernible due to the grey color of the clouds and soil, occasionally lit up by the flash of explosions.

The final assault was underway.

But he was here, sitting in a rock lying next to a crater and a burnt husk of a tree. Praying, like a good guardsman should do in the eve of battle. Like he always did. Facing the battlefields he had fought on.

The corporal's concerns were unfounded. The position was sufficiently behind their lines to be safe from enemy fire, save for artillery which he doubted a besieged enemy would waste on a single target right before battle. He closed his eyes again, ready to start praying again. The close roar of Basilisks and Medusas and the wisp of falling shells denied him of that satisfaction.

Preparatory bombardment.

Swiftly getting up, he made his way to the trenches as did the three guardsmen, interrupting their pointless discussion upon hearing the salvo. A peculiar sight caught his attention has he made his way to the front: several vehicles in the distance moving into position, bearing the unmistakable 'I' of the Inquisition.

Why are they doing here?

Whatever the answer was it was not for him to know.

Down in the trenches, the men were busy preparing themselves for the pending assault: double-checking all their equipment, getting into position and giving last minute prayers to the Emperor for safeguard. Through this agitation, he made his way to his men, no doubt already prepared unlike the others, when he was approached by a rather large built man.

"You're kind is not one to be late for an attack."

He didn't respond. The man was Captain Uriah Solomon, Cellian 4th Regiment, 3rd Company, his de facto commander at the present moment. Brave, zealous (at least when compared with a regular guardsman) and generally competent, albeit showing signs of hesitancy at inopportune times.

"Sorry, I keep forgetting you're not one for jokes." Solomon forced a laugh trying to defuse the situation. An awkward silence briefly settled in "Anyway, are you're men ready?"

"Yes." the Krieger responded "When?"

"Soon. I take it another five to ten minutes before the artillery stops."

"The enemy?"

"Cowering in their holes. Saving their fire for us no doubt." Solomon paused "I assume you still remember the details of our strategy."

Of course I remember.

For the past year and a half, Cellas Prime had been the site of a widespread rebellion against the Imperium. What started as a group of disgruntled miners rioting over food shortages quickly escalated out of hand into a full blown revolt across the planet, and the rebels were now supported by full regiments of renegade guardsmen. The local regiments and PDF were unable to dislodge the renegades due in no small part to the impressive fortifications and trench works erected around their territory. The war quickly turned into a slow battle of attrition for each inch of soil. A battle the Cellians were losing.

Ultimately, it was these conditions that lead to the deployment of the 77th Krieg Siege Regiment in Cellas Prime, six months ago, alongside the 32nd Infantry and 7th Armored Regiments, supplemented by several independent artillery batteries.

Their arrival, at behest of Segmentum Command, managed to invert the situation on the ground. Their expertise in siege warfare greatly aided the Cellians, who finally managed to take the initiative and retake lost ground. Although that isn't to say it was a simple task. The Kriegers themselves had to admit the nature of the fortifications they faced was fairly impressive: forts erected on difficult to access geographical strongpoints, trench works and strategically placed minefields designed to create killzones were artillery and heavy weaponry could concentrate fire, underground tunnels and bunkers capable of sustaining long bombardments, among many others.

In the Krieger's eyes this is what strikes him as eerily odd. Their mining background aside, the Cellians were clearly not familiarized with this kind of warfare nor were they capable of projecting such an intricate and vast web of defenses. So where in the Emperor's name did the renegade guardsmen, who can apparently construct fortifications seemingly Krieg in nature, came from?

The presence of the Inquisition shattered any possible sense of normality in this situation.

Despite the bad feeling, the mission ahead was more important. The bulk of the Krieger forces, supported by several Cellian regiments, were tasked with taking the main enemy bulwark and where Command believed the leadership of the rebellion was located. This was not his assignment however, much to his frustration. He and his Grenadiers were to assist the 4th Cellian in taking Fort Epsilon-004, a relatively minor emplacement, made of an spider web shaped line of trenches surrounding a large command bunker, situated in the outer perimeter of the main enemy HQ. Command believed these kinds of forts were connected to the main HQ via subterranean tunnels and that the enemy leadership might slip through one of them once the main assault was ongoing.

The plan Captain Solomon was referring was simple enough. General Sigorn of the 1st Cellian Armored Regiment would attack the fort from the eastern approach, drawing the enemy to that side, while the 4th would advance from the west taking advantage of the, hopefully, undermanned lines. 3rd Company and the Krieg Grenadiers had the honor of taking on the most heavily defended section of the line, which lead directly into the central bunker's entrance.

Before Solomon could inquire the silent Krieger further, General Sigorn voxed in.

"Beginning advance towards the fort." his voice has muffled by the sound of several engines in the background. "As soon as the artillery stops, comence your attack. Over."

"Understood. Over." Solomon responded "Everybody into position, now! Emperor willing, this ends today!" the Captain shouted, turning to his men, who responded with an assertive shout.

While the guardsmen assumed positions, the Captain turned around to face the Krieger again.

"See you on the breach, my friend. Emperor protects!"

"Emperor protects."

As expected, his own men were already prepared, waiting for him to return. He didn't need to address them. They knew what lied ahead; they knew their duty in the following moments. Asking Kriegers if they were ready was nothing short of an insult to them.

The bombardment was about to end and, like so many times before, they began their battle rites. Their las rifles held against the trench wall; their helmets against the barrels; eyes closed; reciting their traditional prayer.

"Emperor, our lord and savior, our light and hope," he started.

"Hear us now as we enter the fray," the others chanted in harmony.

"Fix bayonets!" a Cellian officer shouted from afar.

"Those who stand against you,"

"Shall met your holy wrath,"

The heart raced.

"We are your mighty hammer,"

"And we will crush them under our feet,"

The grip on the weapons tighten.

"Look after us as we stride through the battlefield,"

"And receive those of us who fall upon it,"

The mind emptied of superfluous thoughts.

"Grant us victory on this day,"

"So your enemies know defeat,"

Mortar fire whistled above their heads, deploying covering smoke.

"And if that is not your will,"

"Forgive us for the sins that taint us,"

The artillery fell silent.

"And let our sacrifice atone our souls." all chanted in unison.

Fort Epsilon-004

Somewhere in the main command building

He ran as fast as legs allowed him. Through the barely lit hallways, dashing to avoid the fallen debris, the wounded moaning in pain and the dead that littered the floor. The ferocious battle outside could still be clearly heard, even this deep inside the structure: the ever present crackle of las and heavy bolter fire, the roar of mighty engines, the symphony of the artillery batteries. But he ignored those sounds, his assignment was more important than whatever has happening outside. He continued making his way to the inner sanctum of the complex, to deliver his message.

"My Lord!" he spoke arriving at his destination struggling to catch his breath "The Imp…. the Imper…"

"Calm yourself, guardsmen." the imposing dark figure that stood before him proclaimed in a low, deep, grave pitch and condescending tone that echoed through the entire chamber.

"Please forgive me, my Liege. The Imperials are beginning their attack. Approaching from the East. Supported by armor. Artillery covering their advance." the renegade guardsmen reported.

"Anything else?" the figure inquired in the same tone.

"Yes. There are also Inquisition forces outside, preparing for something." the guardsmen continued.

"Thank you. You may return to your post." he said dismissing the guardsmen.

"As you will." the soldier turned around and went the way he came.

"So, they have at last come, just like you said they would. Then everything is falling into place I assume?" the voice of the also dark but slender and feminine figure, next to the first one, spoke.

"Yes, everything is proceeding as I knew. The attack from the West should come soon as well. He will come." the first figure spoke again. "Nevertheless, it weighs me that so many will have to give away their lives."

"The men were well aware that this was a death sentence since the beginning. And yet they still trusted you to lead them, to carry the plan to the end. You are their Saint are you not?"

The Saint let go a short laugh.

"I never understood why they bestowed that title unto me. Do they expect salvation from serving me?"

"You saved their lives once before. When despair took a hold in their minds and death was all they could hope for, you appeared before them. You stood tall and guide them to victory when defeat was a certainty. Men of lesser minds see miracles when great men guide them through the impossible. And…"

"And for that they were willing to turn their backs on the Imperium, be branded rebels and heretics, living on spare time. Time that I bought them. Is that your answer? And you, why do you walk along this treacherous path with me?"

"You know this already. My people still live in these unforgivable times, in no small part due to your actions. My loyalty, my faith and my life in your service is but a small token of the immeasurable debt we owe you." she retorted.

"I never requested any sort payment for my actions."

"Loyalty to one is earned by his actions, not asked for."

"Hah, perhaps… But, we shouldn't entangle ourselves in this kind of discussions. Not now. Our guests will soon arrive. Everything must be in place."

"Indeed. It will be quite a bang, won't it?"

"And quite a ride."

Fort Epsilon-004

Western Approach

"MOVE, MOVE, MOVE" the officers' shouts engulfed the entire area as the men stormed out of the trench, screaming as they marched onwards. Some cowered behind, but the commissars were swift in delivering punishment, discouraging any others from doing the same.

150 meters.

Smoke and dust quickly engulf them as they made their way through no-man's land. Visibility was poor; breathing was difficult; the terrain, uphill and filled with craters, was hard to transverse. The terrain inclination and the sound of several yelling men was the only thing that managed to guide them straight to the enemy.

100 meters.

Mortal shells started falling around them. Imprecise; thrown wildly; managed to hit some unlucky souls; their dying screams contrasting with those of the others still running.

50 meters.

Visibility improved and so did the enemy's accuracy and frequency of fire. The sprint uphill started to take its toll on the guardsmen's stamina, who nevertheless still continued on, through a rain of death and dirt.

30 meters.

Buzzing streaks of light and slugs cut down several dozen men as they frantically tried to dodge them. Many exploded in a shower of gore, soaking those next to them; others fell to the ground covered with burning holes, crying in agony. Moving from crater to crater, hoping to avoid the incoming fire, their advance slowed down making them easy pickings for the artillery.

15 meters.

He could now clearly see the rebels' trenches and the pillboxes from where the heavy bolter, autocannon and multi-laser fire originated. Small arms las fire now joined the cacophony. Men died in droves; many hesitated, stuck between the renegade's fire and their commissar's in the back. Some fired wildly in the general direction of the enemy hoping to hit something, rarely succeeding.

He stopped in a moderately covered crater, getting on one knee and signaling to whomever, if anyone, was behind him to do the same.

Heavy weapon emplacement. Disperse and move from cover to cover.

With his left hand, he signaled the instructions, almost instinctively, as they took shape in his head. He took a deep breath and raised his hand, waiting for an opportune moment. The finals meters would be the hardest, to say nothing of the fighting still ahead. Another deep breath. He gave signal.

Go!

Fort Epsilon-004

Eastern Approach

General Sigorn could be described as a rash man. The men of the 1st Cellian Armored Regiment, however, unanimously considered that designation to be a very gross understatement of their General's personality. Not only had he single-handedly raised the world's very first armored regiment, shortly after the revolt broke out, he acquired (or as the tech-priest overseers put it: stole) most of its vehicles by repurposing several mining equipment, adding as much weapons and armor plates as humanly possible.

At the moment, such nature was being demonstrated as he led the assault on the fort in one of the regiment's few Leman Russ battle tanks. Or to put it more accurately, he was standing atop the turret of said tank, which he personally modified by adding a mining drill to its front and several sentences of profanity painted all over. It remained a mystery how had he managed to stay alive after pulling the same stunt every time he conducted an assault, but the Emperor seemed kind enough to allow such spectacle to carry on, as such recklessness seemed to inspire his men to follow him with greater vigor than any other officer could muster.

"Come on you dogs! Up the hill! Up the hill!" brandishing his power sword, he pushed his men on. He nearly lost his equilibrium when his tank fired a round against an enemy nest. Unfazed, his barking continued "They burnt our cities! They killed our comrades! They spit in the Emperor's name! Today these motherfuckin heretic son-of-a-bitches DIE!"

He let out a primal scream which was responded in kind by his men.

Tank shells smashed against the dirt, shrapnel eviscerated bodies; hellhounds (or rather mining trucks using blowtorches with promethium tanks attached to them) scorched the trenches to ash; mounted turrets cut down fleeing infantry; bayonets plunged into whoever was stupid enough to survive any of those. Sigorn and the 1st Armored made good progress towards the center of fort, the rebel's defenses quickly being decimated under the vigorous assault.

The enemy retaliated to best of its ability, several of the makeshift vehicles becoming burning husks as they were hit by krak rockets and autocannon fire and dozens of guardsmen dropping dead on the slope. But momentum of the attack could not be stopped and it wasn't before long that the rebel's found themselves defending the entrance to the main bunker.

Seeing themselves as sitting ducks out in open with all that armor coming down on them, they hastily moved inside hoping that the tight hallways within would slow down the incoming imperials. That hope quickly died down as even without their vehicles the men of the 1st Armored Regiment didn't lose any of the impetus displayed before. Sigorn, as always, lead them from the front after jumping down from the turret he was standing in, cleaving some poor bastard in two in the process, while the rest of the tanks pumped the entryway with HE rounds and burning promethium.

"Those vermin filled rats think their little pisshole can save them, bwahahaha! Smoke them out! No heretic leaves this place alive!" Sigorn rallied his regiment has they stormed the entrance.

Fort Epsilon-004

Western Approach

Disregarding the buzzing streaks of light and slugs passing dangerously close, the Krieger rushed out of cover to sprint the final meters, gracefully evading the hissing bolter rounds that slammed into the ground around him. As the heavy weapon emplacements targeted him, the rest of the men were able to follow suit and advanced towards the enemy's positions, while he lay down on the ground waiting for the enemy to shift their focus onto them before getting up and continuing on. Little by little, the guardsmen managed to get closer and closer to the trenches, frantically zigzagging to avoid the las fire bearing down on them.

He was the first to reach the trench, sliding into it simultaneously kicking one the renegades in the face, stabbing him in the chest with his bayonet before he could do anything else. The renegade's companions on both sides promptly turned their weapons to the Krieger while he tried to pull out the bayonet from his chest. Impulsively, he threw the wounded renegade, into the one on the left, by leveraging him with the rifle and then kicking him, causing the other renegade to fall under the weight of the body, and then quickly ducked, barely avoiding a las shot, before turning right and shooting the other one, still surprised that he missed him. Holding his rifle vertically, he turned around, using the circular motion to deflect a thrusting blow against him, and uppercutted the attacking rebel with the butt of the weapon and then hitting him again in the temple.

With the dazed renegade quickly put down like the vermin he was, the Krieger scanned his surroundings, noticing he was near one the pillboxes firing upon the rest of the men. But before he could plan how to take it out, he noticed two renegades exiting it and, rather than making for cover, he rushed towards them hoping to catch them by surprise. As they turned one the trenches' corner, he rammed the traitor taking point against the wall, bayoneting him at the same time, subsequently smacking the, now lunging, second one in the head with his trench shovel. Before he could recover, the Krieger plunged the shovel into the renegade's neck, severing it, blood splattering his gas mask and greatcoat while the rebel's body, leaned against the wall, twitched.

He took a deep breath and once again took notice of his surroundings and situation: he hadn't seen any of his men nor the Cellians so far and the heavy weapons teams still had to be taken down. Once again, his thoughts were cut short when the sound of heavy breathing coming from behind him spurn him into action as he prepared his shovel (presently the only weapon in hand) to attack the new foe.

"Wait! Wait! Wait! I'm on side! I'm on your side!" the Krieger stopped short of decapitating the man screaming in panic. Said man was a Cellian guardsman with an utter expression of terror in his face, bleeding profusely from his right arm and leg, his green khaki uniform and light grey flak armor stained red in those areas, occasionally groaning in agony while clutching his wounds with his left hand.

"Pppp… pp… private Balian! 3rd Company!" the man, still in panic, gave his name, rank and unit trying to further convince the masked man that we was his ally.

"Your squad?" the Krieger inquired as he retrieved his rifle from the dead renegade he stabbed moments ago.

"Either dead or pinned down by enemy fire a dozen meters down the hill. Decon and Rodriguez also tried to move forward but they were cut down halfway to the trench. I was lucky, they only got my arm and leg, heh." he groaned again due to his injuries.

"What are we supposed to do now? They can't advance with all those heavy weapons firing at them." he asked the masked guardsman who was observing the same pillbox as before, after he took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself.

"Can you throw?" the Krieger questioned.

"Throw?" Balian was somewhat surprised by the manner he questioned him "Hmmm, if you mean if I can use my left arm, then yes I can. The right leg isn't half as bad as the arm so I can accompany you as well."

"Move." the Krieger didn't shout, but the authority that radiated from his voice could make the guardsman follow him even if the enemy had torn off both his legs.

Fort Epsilon-004

Inside the Command Bunker

The noises of battle filled the multiple claustrophobic corners and corridors, as Sigorn and his men made their way deeper inside the complex, systematically butchering any opposition encountered in vicious close-quarter firefights. Then, suddenly, all went quiet. All the resistance had, apparently, died down much to the surprise and anxiety of the general, who knew too well that the ominous silence around him meant something wasn't right.

"Eyes wide open lads. The rats can be hiding anywhere." To the general this situation had 'Trap' written all over it. Caution, for once, was necessary. And so, despite the feeling of unease, they made their way deeper within the complex looking to find more enemies or, better yet, their comrades in the 4th.

"How big is this damn place?" one of the men grumbled, irritated. They were walking for several minutes now and hadn't even reached the center of the complex, nor find any signs of the enemy. Contrary to what it looked outside, the structure was much bigger on the inside, stretching several hundred meters underground, it's hallways built like an intricate maze forcing the men to spilt up to cover all possible ground. The disquiet grew as the feeling of loneliness crept in and the lights went increasingly dim and the only sound they could hear at this point was their own breath and footsteps, which made them snap at the slightest sound.

Eventually, Sigorn and his entourage emerged within one enormous, poorly lit and threateningly quiet hall, immediately starting to scan the area with the flashlights hardwired to their helmets, searching every nook and cranny for something. Judging by the number of spotlights, traveling along the lustrous adamantium walls, Sigorn estimated he had at least two dozen men with him. The hall itself was dominated by large cylinder-shaped pylon, several meters high, built right in the center of the dome shape area, surrounded by suspended platforms and several generators linked by power cables to the top of the column. More disturbing however was the seemingly alien look of the structure, in addition to the several faint glowing purplish lines that formed intricate patterns and symbols all along it, which further preoccupied the already distraught Sigorn.

What in the Emperor's holy name is that? whatever worrying thoughts he had were cut short when one the men suddenly shouted.

"Movement! Right top platform!" the squad immediately turned their heads around, focusing their flashlights on the platform. Nothing.

"Footsteps! On the left!" another one cried out, briefly catching something in his ear, causing the same reaction from the squad, and the same result.

"By the Emperor, will someone give me an accurate locat…" a frustrated Sigorn interrupted himself after he noticed the distinctive sight of nearly thirty gun barrels pointing directly at them from the balcony directly in front.

Only now did Sigorn understand the extremely precarious situation he led himself into: there was absolutely no cover close by and the enemy had a clear shot at them. There was no escape.

"Hah…" Sigorn laughed ironically at his impending doom "Nicely done, you fucking rats."

Fort Epsilon-004

Western Approach

The intermittent sound of las and bolter fire could be heard coming from inside, as both he and Balian hugged the next to the entrance of the pillbox. To the private's surprise, the Krieger holstered his rifle on his back after handing him one of his stick grenades.

"Pull, three count, throw. Understand?" Balian could only nod in agreement while the masked guardsman took out an oddly shaped short blade from his belt, in addition to the trench shovel already in hand.

"Emperor, let none escape your wrath." he silently prayed just as the private pulled the pin and started counting to three. With his good arm, Balian hurled the grenade inside as far as he could, quickly stepping back from the entry afterwards, noticing the alarmed yells when the rebels within heard the distinct sound of a grenade landing near them, and then detonating. The smoke from the blast hadn't even cleared the entrance when the Krieger rushed inside, strange blade and shovel in both hands, and vanished into the badly-lit structure. In the few seconds that followed the only thing Balian heard was the sound of struggle, of metal meeting flesh and, ultimately, the renegades' agonizing screams, as the masked man slaughtered whoever survived the explosion.

"Cleared. Move." the rigid tone of the Krieger voice echoed from the now empty pillbox and the private hastily obeyed his orders. Pausing briefly inside of it, he gazed upon the carnage: arms, legs and torsos scattered around the floor (some scorched black), blood dripping from the ceiling and, worst of all, the shear look of terror and pain stamped on the corpses shredded faces. He continued shortly thereafter, in part because he didn't want to stare at that horror show for any longer, but mostly because he didn't want to make the man responsible for all of that wait.

He marched through the passage leading to the next bunker, passing several dead rebels along the way, where the Krieger, even more stained in blood than before, waited for him near the entryway.

Pull, count, throw.

"Emperor, let none escape your wrath." another emplacement was silenced.

Like a machine, he repeated the same steps.

"Emperor, let none escape your wrath." another emplacement was silenced.

No hesitation, no mercy, just righteous bloodshed.

"Emperor, let none escape your wrath." another emplacement was silenced.

All struggle was in vain, for he was an instrument of his will.

"Emperor, let none escape your wrath." another emplacement was silenced.

His enemies died. All was well.

They only stopped when several other Krieger grenadiers and Cellian guardsman emerged from the next emplacement they were moving to, having cleared it themselves. Balian had lost count of how many emplacements they took out and, looking behind him, he saw the fruits of their labor. No longer held back by heavy weapon fire, the entirety of 3rd Company surged forward and overwhelmed the remaining defenders, silencing the mortar fire and quickly capturing the paths leading to the main stronghold, where the surviving renegades converged. The guardsman sat down, exhausted and in pain now that the adrenaline running through his veins rapidly dissipated, whereas the Krieger gathered his grenadiers to prepare for the final push, not even resting one second.

"You're a hard man to catch up with." Captain Solomon approached the Grenadier, power sword in one hand and las pistol in the other, panting heavily after chasing him through the trenches, having personally witnessed his handy work.

"The trenches here are already cleared and the rest of the regiment should join us momentarily. All that's left is the main bunker. Care to take point?" he cordially invited the Kriegsmen to take the lead as they stormed the last remaining strongpoint.

Fort Epsilon-004

Inside the Command Bunker

Despite the renegades best efforts, the gate soon fell to combined might of his Krieg Grenadiers and the men of the 4th Cellian Regiment who had relatively little problem in brushing aside the hurriedly prepared defense and pouring into the complex, cutting down any fleeing rebel. According to Solomon, General Sigorn's last transmission indicated that he and his men were also in the interior of the bunker, looking for the enemy or to link up with them. However that message was sent several minutes ago, and the quietude coming from the other end of the vox channel didn't bode well for the Captain or himself, and, just like it happened to the General, enemy resistance seemingly vanished entirely after a few skirmishes in the hallways.

Undeterred, the Grenadiers, accompanied by Solomon and a dozen or so guardsmen, made their way to the underground levels, through the same type of maze like corridors Sigorn had to transverse earlier, constantly making sure there was cover nearby, double-checking every spot, on the lookout for an ambush. After wandering the labyrinth of corridors for more than 10 minutes they reached the central part of the bunker were they were immediately greeted by the presence of the ominous glowing pillar in the center.

"What is that thing?" for the first time, both his and Solomon's thoughts were in synch.

The Krieger signaled his men to take cover behind the several stacks of crates spread all around them and to start sweeping the area with flashlights, to get a better view of the surroundings. The other guardsmen followed their lead and did the same.

"Any idea to what we are dealing with here?" Solomon asked, looking for the more experienced soldier opinion.

Warp related? Definitely. he had felt the same sensations currently crawling through his (and everybody else's, for that matter) skin years ago. Purpose? Unknown. but it certainly wasn't anything good.

"I don't know." he replied, "We should proceed with extreme caution."

"Right. These kinds of things are for the Inquisition to deal with anyway. We must focus on finding Sigorn and his men."

"I'm afraid the General won't make it." a deep voice reverberated throughout the hall.

Automatically, every guardsman pointed their weapons at to the source of the sound, a tall dark figure looming straight ahead. Illuminating the figure with flashlights, they saw it was a tall grey-haired man, his back facing them, completely covered in a black cape, adorned with a strange symbol stamped on the back. Solomon gradually approached the caped man, las pistol pointed at his head all the time, flanked by the Krieger who also aimed his rifle at the man.

"Identify yourself." Solomon demanded.

"I'm your objective." the figure responded with an unnerving tranquility.

"You're the rebel leader?"

"Yes." the rebel responded to a dumbfounded Solomon's question.

Solomon forcefully pulled down the barrel of the Krieger's gun, who, upon hearing this, was preparing to shot the heretic straight away.

"Wait, not now. He still has much to answer yet." Solomon tried to assert his command over the grenadier.

"If he's the arch-heretic, then the only thing he should give us is the satisfaction of his death." the Krieger raised his voice to protest against such a foolish decision.

"Soon enough, but for now I still have questions. So stand down guardsman! That's an order!"

He could only grunt at the captain's stubbornness to not just execute that man immediately, but he had to begrudgingly obey since his rank made him his superior.

"If you're really their leader, then where are the other rebels? And what in Emperor's name is that thing supposed to be?" Solomon turned his attention once again to the man in front of him, pointing at the gleaming column at the same time.

"My associates are here, somewhere. As for the device, well, you might have a chance of seeing it work very shortly." the man replied, still unusually calm given the situation.

"Cut the crap heretic and answer me! Where are your men!? What does that pillar do!? And what happen to Sigorn!?" Solomon snapped at him, losing his temper.

Shoot him, you fool! He's clearly buying time for something. the Krieger gritted his teeth at the demonstration of incompetence his associate was displaying.

"The General's enthusiasm for killing my men was fairly entertaining, but alas it had to come to an end." he informed.

"Son of a bitch." the captain gasped, processing Sigorn's death.

"Now, now Captain Solomon. You know quite well that, with the stunts the man was so fond of pulling off, he was bound to run out of luck eventually." the heretic retorted.

"How in the holy golden throne do you know who I am!?" the shock was visible on the Captain's face. "Did you tap our communications?"

"It would be unnecessary. This whole scenario, the sights, the sounds, the smells, the taste, the touch… the rush of battle… all of it. I have already experience it. I still remember." he replied in a prophetic manner.

"I don't care about any misguided visions you had, heretic. What's your goal? What do you expect to accomplish? Answer me!" Solomon snapped once more, recovering from the shock.

"Whatever answer I might give, it will soon be irrelevant. You are here. Right now, that's of more importance." he assured him.

"How so?"

"Every preparation, every movement, every battle, all of it was made so you could stand here. This whole life just for this moment."

"As hard as that may be for delusional scum like you, speak some damn sense already!" the man merely chuckled at Solomon's frustration before continuing.

"I designed this entire scenario. For you see, I could have easily conquered this planet had I chosen to; the men you fought to reach me, after all these months, are merely a fraction of those who swore loyalty to me. The rest are out there, waiting for my orders."

"If it wasn't to conquer Cellas, then what was the purpose of this rebellion?" the Captain's curiosity was rising after hearing the man's words.

"By keeping the rebellion at a level where the local forces could contain it but not defeat it, additional troops from other systems would have been necessary in tipping the scale to your favor. Being sufficiently insignificant, your planet wouldn't warrant the deployment of a sizeable force to retake it, so Segmentum Command had to choose a small number of nearby units that could assist the planet's own regiments. The fortifications you had to transverse, and that I personally oversaw the creation of, made that choice simple enough. This is why they were the ones to come to your aid. This is why the man standing next to you is with us in this instant, just as planned."

"Everything? You turn our home into a warzone; burn our cities to the ground; corrupt the faithful with your foul heresy; kill Emperor knows how many good men and women; and all of it, ALL OF IT just so you can settle a score with the fucking Kriegers!?"

"You misunderstand me, Captain. I have no ill will against the Korps, or against any other servant of the Emperor for that matter. I just needed your friend to be here. You and the others are irrelevant in this scenario." he reassured him.

He needs me, for what purpose? No, focus! He's just distracting Solomon by casting doubts in his mind, exploring his hesitancy. His words have no more meaning than the ramblings of a madman.

"I'm sure he's flattered." Solomon sarcastically remarked "But this is over!"

"Are you going to shoot me?" he inquired.

"You 'still remember' what's happening here." the Captain smirked "Why don't you tell me?"

"Indeed." the heretic laughed again, as if reminding himself of something amusing "All of us will lay dead. All, but two. I am one of them."

"Wrong!" the guardsman screamed "You won't leave this place alive."

"I will." he guaranteed.

Just then, several armed figures emerged the suspended walkway above, all aiming their weapons at the men behind Solomon and the Krieger, the former of whom recognized the mistake he had just made, cursing himself for his stupidity. His conversation with the rebel leader only served as a distraction until his men moved into position. Despite being behind solid cover, the Cellians and the Grenadiers were still in a clear disadvantage, considering the enemy outnumber them and had the higher ground.

"I'm afraid this is the end, Captain."

"Maybe, but you and I will face the Emperor's justice together." Solomon defiantly told him.

Taking the statement as his cue, the Krieger squeezed the trigger to blow the heretic's head off, when he was abruptly hurled across the room, hitting the wall and crashing down on some crates, diverting Solomon's attention from the arch-heretic in front of him.

"You shouldn't avert your eyes when the enemy is standing right next to you." these were the last words the Captain heard, just as the enemy leader pressed his pistol to the left side of his forehead and pulled the trigger.

With a vicious gun battle between both sides now drowning the area with sound, the masked guardsman, still lying down, shook his head and, brushing off the sharp pain in his lower back, again took aim at the heretic, who had just executed Solomon, only for his rifle to be taken off his hand by the same force that hurled him just moments ago. That force, he could now see (albeit barely), was coming from a humanoid female xeno, shrouded in a sickly bluish violet light. She extended her left arm and raised him off the ground by his throat with her powers, chocking him at the same time. Struggling to free himself, as the witch grasped his neck tightly, his vision grew dim as the heretic, who emanated an equally unnatural red glow from his face, approached him:

"Like I told the Captain; two will survive. Do not resist."

"I'll stop when you die." the Krieger groaned, desperate for air.

"Hah, such bravado. Yes, I also remember that."

The pillar suddenly grew brighter, illuminating the dark hall, with purple arcs of lightning beginning to form all around it as the foundation of the complex itself began to shake violently.

"And so it begins. Our time is over." the heretic turned around and began to walk away towards the pillar "But, know this, son of Krieg: To protect the flock…" the grip on the neck strengthen, his consciousness slipping away "…the shepherd will need his hounds."

Darkness.