Live for the Dead', 'Kill for the Living'

by PaPaFranklin

Set in a pre-heresy world, Daxial Zadis is thrust into command of the remains of Attikar squad when the majority of his squad is killed during the intial stages of their deployment against Eldar forces. A loyal Death Guard legionnaire, Daxial seeks to continue the mission his squad was tasked with. However, there is more to this enemy than at first meets the eye...

Morgan Dudley

Warhammer 40k Fan Fiction: "Live for the dead!" "Kill for the Living!"

Twenty balls of incandescent light seared their way through the black abyss of space. Propelled to a velocity impossible to achieve within the bounds of any atmosphere, the dropships speared toward the cluster of sleek Eldar ships that had materialised from the warp just moments before. Inside the dropship, line officer Daxial Zadis is jerked out of his pre-battle reveries as his vox crackles in his ear. The gravelly tone of captain Zaherial crunches across the channel, "T-minus 20 seconds till impact". The tightly packed rows of his fellow Death Guard Astartes, bathed in a blanket of red from the emergency light ports, sit in the eerie silence of deep space shuttle travel; The stark absence of noise at odds with their careening travel through the void of space. "T-minus 10", Zaherial stoically prompts over squad Attikar's vox channel. "T minus fi….", A blinding flash of light streams into Daxial's helmet visor as his limbs are whipped around in a flurry of violent clashes, the momentum of his bulky ceramite power armour straining to break free from the tenuous link of his seats failing harness. Daxial looks out upon a confusing whirl of white streaks upon a pitch-black backdrop. As his Astartes enhanced biology works to pump adrenaline into his system, his battle training kicks in allowing him to make sense of the whirling motion of light before him. Staring out into the streaking vortices he realises the far side of the dropship, along with Captain Zaherial and half of Attikar squad, has been sheared away by the advanced munitions of the Eldar ships' defence batteries. Still traveling with the extreme momentum of its launch, Attikar's dropship spins in dizzying circles away from its plotted trajectory. A second later the sleek black armour of the Eldar ship marauds into Daxial's sight and with a colossal impact of grinding metals his consciousness is smashed from his grasp.

The sound of sparking circuits and the bleating emergency alarms sound out through the ruined husk of what remains of the dropship. The red emergency lights, which had previously lulled him into a meditative state, imbue the scene in front of Daxial with a sense of horrific fantasy. Through the web work of cracks laced across his visor, he sees the gathering pools of his brothers' blood dripping across the canted angle of the drop pods floor. The pools and spatter patterns taking on a pitch-black colour in the low light blinking of the emergency lighting. Clicking the release on his harness, he drops to the sloping floor of the drop pod, taking stock of the status of the rest of the squad. Only half of the remaining seats are occupied, most of them with limp corpses; limbs twisted at impossible angles. As Daxial cycles through the communicae channels of the fleet, all he receives is the resounding sound of vox static; Realising his vox unit had been damaged in the crash, he releases the catch on his helmet and pulls it off, listening to the hiss of his suits' internal atmospheric system as it is released. Free from the cracked visor that had been impairing his view, he recognizes the form of his bond-brother Rictus starting to stir in his seat on the far side of the drop ship. As Daxial widens his gaze he notices several other members of Attikar shaking off the groggy after effect of concussions. The clang of bolter shots and the grinding whine of chain swords echoes through the dark confines of the eldar ship; sounds carried along by a steady wind that seemed to flow in a complex pattern from the range of passageways leading away from the crash site. The other drop pods carrying elements of both the 1st and 7th Legions of Death Guard had evidently landed and had engaged the Eldar forces.

The Eldar flotilla had emerged from deep warp some few light clicks beyond where the Death Guard spaceships were anchored in high orbit around the remaining hostile planets of the Iktsall system. The legion had been waging the final stages of their campaign against the dissident Xenos species that refused to yield to the imperial truth. Daxial's squad, which had been preparing to drop in support of the few Astarte's elements still engaged on the planet, were hurriedly debriefed as the higher echelons of command had rapidly forged a plan to tear out the throat of these new eldar arrivals. Daxial's drop ship squad, previously designated for a planetfall landing had been repurposed into an inter-craft assault unit targeting the flagship of the incoming Eldar flotilla.

As the Bolters continued to bark in the distant confines of the ship he called out 'form up and sound off Attikar; we have a job to do"; With Captain Zahariel dead, command of the squad fell to Daxial. As the remaining elements of Attikar gathered in the ship and sounded off, Daxial peered through the rent side of the drop ship into the series of dark passageways. They extended away from the crash site, seeming to wind in and around themselves in a confusing catacomb like fashion; the wind rushing through them creating a howling moan that set his battle focus on edge. As Daxial peered into the depths of one of the passageways he felt an overwhelming sense of discomfort. Everything about the ship from the howling moan of the wind, down to the Eldar hieroglyphs carved precisely into the walls, emanated a sense of malevolence and archaic permanence. As his six remaining brothers formed up around him, each scanning various passageways approaching the ship with their bolters, Daxiel shook off his feeling of unease and focussed on the task at hand.

Their rapidly formed battle plan had involved twenty of the Death Guard's drop ships penetrating the blast doors of a hangar on the upper deck that was adjacent to what the adeptus mechanicus had deduced must be the bridge. In true Astartes fashion they had sought to effectively destroy the xenos echelons of command in one swift strike. Whilst their part in that battle plan had gone awry, Daxial knew that a force of seven astartes of the finest legion of the Emperor's crusade could wreak havoc if let loose behind enemy lines. Judging from the pre-deployment briefing and initial scans discussed as they had hurriedly prepared for launch, Daxial assumed that they must have entered on the lower decks towards the aft of the Xenos spaceship.

Turning away from the twisting maze of Eldar passageways Daxial addressed his squad, "Attikar, form up in standard scout formation Zethrom and Arkus on point up front, Rictus as rear guard". Rictus scoffed, "want all the glory for yourself huh Dax?". Staring into the gloomy tunnels ahead Daxial smirked, "pretty much, plus if we are being chased I don't have to outrun the enemy… I Just have to outrun you…". Daxial knew that this seemingly petty banter between himself and his bond-brother was cover for the immense loss they had all just experienced. In the wreckage behind them lay the ruined corpses of brothers they had fought beside for decades in the emperor's great crusade; Some had been by his side since the conception of the crusade itself; venerable warriors in every sense of the term. Daxial thought about the brothers who had been cast from the ship during its flight and were even now starting to asphyxiate as their suits' oxygen reservoirs ran lower and lower. Their advanced Astartes biology that would serve them so well in battle would keep them alive for hours longer than any mortal out in deep space; Their breathing labouring in the oxygen sparse atmosphere of their power armour; Their limbs slowly freezing over in the cold vacuum of space. Pushing aside such morbid thoughts of his squads' death he channelled the anger he felt into the task at hand. "Our target is the plasma core that is located down here in the lower decks. We previously identified that it was too heavily fortified and embedded within the ship to launch a valid dropship attack on. However, with the strike force at the bridge drawing their attention, their forces are likely diverted. If the spear tip fails to reach the bridge we can overcharge the plasma core and render the Xenos flagship immobile. Understood?". Daxial, looking around at the survivors of Attikar squad, saw the expressions of resolve on his brothers faces; Their oaths of moment fluttering gently, ink not yet dry despite the constant wind scraping through the cavern like passageways. Attikar 'live for the dead!'", in unison the squad responded, "kill for the living!". "Move out", Daxial lead the way into the dark passageways, the drop ships bleating emergency alarms fading away to be replaced by the dull howl of stale wind rushing through the Eldar tunnels and the heavy, implacable tramp of Astartes in Power Armour.

The remains of Attikar squad moved with a stealth and grace the belied the incredibly bulky appearance of Atartes in full power armour. They had struck out from the crash site seemingly an hour ago, and yet, his chronometer read that only 10 minutes had passed; The uniform black surface of the passageways and strange Eldar carvings upon them, having an unsettling disorienting effect. Eyes straining to make out the shape of friend or foe in the darkness ahead, Daxial peered down the hallway. The walls, dimly lit by the combat lights mounted on their helmets, stretched away into the endless dark expanse before them; the powerful beams of light seemingly leaching away into the dark abyss, illuminating nothing. Breaking the eerie monotony of the moaning wind Daxial spoke, "Any change in Vox stability?". Moments after setting out he had realised that it was not just his vox unit that had been damaged. The entire squad's channels were being jammed and their attempts to raise the other squads deployed in the assault, or the lead death guard ship, the 'Endurance', had been fruitless. After a moment's hesitation and the audible crackle of a jammed Vox signal emanating from Zethrom's Vox unit, he received a terse "negative…". Even Zethrom's substantial orbital comms device, strapped to his back had failed to establish a connection. They continued on through the maze of passageways, Daxial following the energy readouts emanating from the plasma core deeper in the ship; the readouts, displayed through his sub dermal ocular implants, appearing at the corners of his vision in tight red scrawls of his legion's battle script. The readings were steadily gaining in strength.

Continuing on the dark confines of the passageway abruptly fell away. At a sign from Daxial, Attikar halted with silent precision; weapons on swivel, the squad vigilantly scanned the darkness stretching away on all sides. Despite a lack of any visible confirmation in the darkness, the squad could feel the immensity of the chamber they had entered stretching away from them; the wind here, whilst still emitting the constant low moan that their battle senses had struggled to tune out, had ceased to so insistently ruffle the oaths of moment that now hung limply from the squads shoulder pads. "Can you hear that?" Rictus whispered to the squad. Straining to hear over the now somewhat restrained howl of the wind, Daxial could perceive the subtle click of some form of movement in the darkness. "Lights off" he whispered as he used his optical implants to switch to night-vision. In absolute horror Daxial peered around at the silhouetted forms of Eldar that had silently formed up to wait in ambush on the path ahead. "OPEN FIRE" Daxial screamed as the Eldar started to advance realising the Astartes had paused. The sharp bark of automatic bolter fire cracked out in the hollow cavern as the blade wielding Eldar launched forwards toward the thin battle line formed by the Astartes. As the Eldar attempted to close to melee range Daxial watched as their front line was torn apart into a bloody mist; Their slender torso's and sleek helmets ripped into bloody fragments by the concussive impact of bolter rounds shredding into organic matter at such close range. Feeling the choler of battle rising, Daxial wrenched his chainblade from its sheath, thumbing the activation node and feeling it jerk into motion. It's familiar growl seemingly echoing his own thirst for the black blood of these degenerate xenos. Glancing across, he watches as Rictus reels from a fusillade of metal spikes launched from some hidden weapon mounting on an approaching Eldar helm. Seeing Rictus recover, the spikes barely penetrating the solid surface of his suits ceramite, Daxial sneers at the pathetic weaponry of their enemy. As Daxial turns to regard the fast approaching Eldar forces, readying his chain blade and letting off a last refrain of slugs fly from his bolter, his vision is lit up by a blinding flash of searing light. His optical implants struggle to regulate the incoming flux of light as they focus upon the lightning covered form of Rictus, convulsing uncontrollably on the floor. The spikes embedded in his plate acting as conductors for the electricity frying his friends flesh inside the suit, his screams abruptly faltering as an Eldar blade slices its way through his neck. As his vision recovers, he barely parries the first strikes of his own Eldar opponent. Catching one of the blades upon his chainsword, he whips up his bolter to deflect the other blade of the dark dual wielding silhouette in front of him. The flashing sparks from the grinding teeth of his chainsword against the strange steel of the Eldar blade reflecting off the dull gun metal sheen of his bolter as it is knocked from his grasp into the darkness beyond. Shoving the Eldar backwards, Daxial takes advantage of the brief respite to adopt a proper battle stance and take his chainsword in a double handed grip. The sparks of others' chainswords and the bright concussive bang of bolters intermittently illuminating the chaotic battlefield surrounding him in a strobe like fashion. As his opponent drives forward in a lunging attack Daxial unexpectedly steps forward, twisting around the whistling Eldar blades and drives his bulky shoulder plate into the Xenos' chest; hearing a distinct crack as the inner workings of his opponent's organs are ground to a bloody pulp; its' limp form flopping to the ground. Dispatching his enemy for certain, Daxial stomps on the prone figures' faceplate, spraying black spatter patterns across the dull marble colouring of his greaves. Turning to engage the remaining Eldar forces, he revs his chainsword to a screaming pitch as he thrusts his blade through the slender neck of an Eldar warrior that had been about to batter aside the defences of his brother. Stepping back in search of the remaining Eldar forces, he experiences what feels like bee stings smack across his chest plate. Looking up from the metal shards embedded in the ceramite of his chestplate, he sees the face of the Eldar xenos who had launched them explode as a bolter round from one of his brothers crushes the Eldar's head like some strange overripe xenos fruit.

The Eldar squad finally dispatched, Daxial glances over at Rictus' smoking power armour. The smell of cooking meat mixing with the overwhelming aroma of spent shells and Xenos viscera that scatters the impromptu battlefield. Three of his squad members remain, Arkus Zethrom, and Demotas, each already checking ammo levels and establishing covering angles ranging away from the bloody diorama. Pushing down his despair felt at the sight of Rictus' smouldering corpse, Daxial gazes out into the dark abyss surrounding them. His advanced optics adjusting to the darkness as the strobing flashes of light from bolter fire fades from his retinas. He notices a dim luminescence stretching out from a central point in the chamber. Consciously straining his retinal implants, he can make out a spherical object resting on a dias in the centre of the cavern. A barely perceptible energy field of some kind, emitting a light glow as it swirls in complex motions; distorting the air around it and evidently forming some kind of chamber containing the object. "To keep someone out? Or keep something in?", Daxial mutters as he motions to his squad to form up and advance with caution.

The energy readings they had been following, which his optics reported were now red lining, were evidently not emanating from any ship's plasma core but instead this alien device. The strange energy field around it continued to swirl in dizzying contortions as the remainder of the squad drew closer. Intermittently, the power field would fiercely spit and crackle with barely contained power, and at the same time Daxial's energy readings would break through the boundaries of his scanner's range of measurement. As he closed with the device he felt his skin begin to warm up, even through the incredible density and resilience of his power armours' heat resistant ceramite layers. The energy field emitted a sharp crackle and a strand of lightning arced across to dance across Daxial's cuirass. Initially jerking away sharply from the contact, Daxial realised that the lightning playing across his chest was not causing any immediate harm and he lowered his bolter fractionally. As he did so, he felt the ground drop away from beneath him as he was immersed in chaotic assault of his senses. Colours, beyond what his Astartes mind could conceive of, seared in through his eyes. Sounds that transcended any human notion of soundwaves and frequencies struck their way through his mind; screams sounded out forever, twisting themselves into sounds created by beings beyond that of man, beast or xenos. At once, he had both no perception of his physical embodiment, whilst at the same time, his limbs were twisted back on themselves and warped through the dimensions of this reality. His eyes popped and burst, his face wrapping itself into a tight knot of flesh no larger than his fist. In a blink he was suspended naked in an endless abyss of nothing, with nothing, not even the familiar pull of gravity to ground his senses. Out of the darkness a cackling howl erupted and as Daxial looked down at his hands he watched them bubble and blister; a time-lapse of decay as his flesh sloughed away from the structure of bones beneath, the ligaments snapping under an invisible tension and the bones cracking away into dust on the wind.

The next he realised he was face down on the horribly familiar, dark sleek surface of the Xenos ship. His squad had dragged his limp, temporarily soulless, corpse away from the effect of the strange sphere. Lying on the floor, breath heaving through his body, Daxial tried to wrest back the control of his faculties that the experience had scattered. The shape of Zethrom knelt above him, words streaming from his suit's comms system in an unintelligible stream of syllables. Forcing his brain back into a semblance of order, Daxial pieced back together his understanding of Terran English. "Dax!? What hap…" Daxial held up a hand to stop Zethrom's insistent questioning. Getting to feet Daxial snaps out orders to his squad "Demotas, on point. Arkus, set up the breaching charges we brought for the bridge blast doors at the base of the dais. Zethrom check comms status." As he glances up at Zethroms face to ensure he had understood, he watches his squad member's face melt away, dripping globs of corrupted pus and ichor on the floor. Shaking his head Daxial wrests free of the after effect of his experience and his eyes rest on Zethrom's intact visage, eyes staring back worriedly at Daxial. "Check those comms marine!" Daxial wearily insists, mind still reeling.

Moments later, the marines of Attikar form up and sound off, the reassuring beep of primed charges cutting through the disturbed thoughts churning through Daxial's head. With a tone of steady precision, drilled into him during his command training, Daxial addresses the remaining astartes of his unit, "With vox communication still down, we have no option but to attempt to regroup with elements of the 1st and 7th that are assaulting the bridge and secure evac from there. Once we ensure no astartes elements are left aboard this ship we're blowing up whatever the fuck that thing is… Zethrom and I, on point… Execute!". Advancing out from the eerie grandeur of the archaic cavern, they follow the dull concussions of bolter fire and muffled screams that echo from the confines of a passageway pronounced by a cruel looking spiked archway. As the arms of the archway seemingly close in around them they are embraced again by the continuous sucking chortle of the stale wind and oppressive darkness.

The darkness took on a new-found level of malevolence and ubiety for Daxial after his experience with the sphere. It seemed to hang cloyingly in the air, imparting a taste of decay that permeated even the air that passed through the advanced atmospheric filtration system of his power armour. As they pressed on, farther and farther from the central cavern, the sounds of their brethren engaged in combat started to echo through the corridors that branched away from the highway-like passageway they were on. The sounds being twisted and bent back upon each other through the dark warren of the archaic ship. Bolter fire sounded as if directly behind them, whilst shrill screams echoed from above and below. The sharp march of troop movements along the passageways bounced back and forth around them; seemingly coming from the very walls themselves. Attikar had closed into a tight formation, their backs' together, staring out through the cloying darkness that obfuscated their sight. With sudden horror Daxial realised that the sound of marching troops had not been a figment of his now unhinged imagination. With a dull crack, a round from a xenos rifle whips past Demotas' figure, lodging itself in the wall of the tunnel beyond. Looking closer, Daxial realises that bolt had been right on target. The round had torn through Demotas' gorget, taking his trachea with it. As a sheet of red blood spills from the open cavity of his throat, Daxiel watches as his friend's expression changes from a look of profound confusion to the dull stare of the lifeless. "Fall back!" Daxial screams as he drives the two remaining members of his squad into the cover of an adjacent passageway. Pounding their way along its length Daxial sprays bolter rounds back the way they came, forcing their Eldar pursuers to momentarily seek cover. Seeing a vague glow of light down a passageway ahead, Daxiel careens down it, emerging onto a straight passage way lit by starlight streaming in through intermittently spaced porthole windows along the outer wall. Signalling to Zethrom and Arkus, he orders them to take what sparse cover is available. Hunkering down they listen in dread anticipation to the sound of their pursuers echoing along the corridor they had just fled from. As Daxiel glances across at his brothers checking their dwindling ammo reserves in preparation for the last stand to come, he experiences a moment of resignation and steely determination as he realises what must be done. Daxiel stares as the starlight streams in through the portholes, pearlescent beams of light framing his brothers in perfect balance. He sees them as they truly are; Weapons of the Emperor; Soldiers of the Death Guard; Astartes willing to give their last. Taking the last blast charge from Arkus' munitions belt, Daxial thinks back to the helmet he had discarded on the crashed dropship and lets out a humourless laugh at the irony of his situation. Daxial hurls the charge towards the Eldar emerging from the tunnel. The charge detonates in their midst, shredding their slender forms, and tearing a gaping hole in the side of the ship. The ever-present moaning of the wind through the tunnels, turns to an ear-splitting shriek as the air whips its' way towards the gaping maw. The Eldar, along with Attikar squad, are flung into the dark abyss. Without his helmet, the difference of pressure between his body and the atmosphere of space, forces the soft inner workings within his skull to bulge outward through his eyes; His lungs collapse and shrivel in on themselves as the absence of space yanks the air from his lungs. Immobile, trying to scream, Daxial spends the last moments of his life in sheer agony, thoughts of a noble death in service of the emperor far from his tortured mind.

Nothing…

Nothing stretches away forever…

Nothing fills his senses, coating his tongue, scraping its' way through his lungs.

Nothing suspends him in its' cloying embrace, both cold and warm at once.

Nothing matters… for his brother captain Daxial's body floats nearby amidst drifting globules of his blood and viscera. Zethrom stares out through his helmets visor at his friends' corpse, clad in a cape of glinting stars that stretch out behind his dark silhouette. Nothing is heard as Zethrom whispers "Live for the dead and kill for the living", and presses the detonator linked to the charges still lodged in the heart of the Eldar ship.

The viewing port of the space marine flagship was lit with a coruscating flood of white light as the Eldar ship was torn apart from the inside by swirling vortices of energy. The absence of sound in the vacuum of space at odds with the display or raw power unfolding before the imperial fleet. The centre of the Eldar flotilla was scoured from existence as the waves of energy ripped outwards, the energy torrents seemingly guided with dark intent as they unerringly whipped towards the Eldar ships on the fringe that had escaped the primary detonation. Cutting through the still silence of inaction that blanketed the bridge, screams ripped through the air echoing from the bowels of the ship. The blind Astropaths that guide the fleet through the unimaginable terrain of the warp, stumble from their sanctum in the bowls of the ship. Bleeding from their sightless eyes and screaming guttural refrains in strange languages long forgotten. The ones that remain in their Astropathic sanctum lay dead, their minds and bodies broken by the flood of unleashed power that had scorched the planes of the immaterium that only they could see.

The servitor flying the stellar shuttle homed in on the blinking broadcast emitted from the inter-planetary vox unit strapped to the back of an Astartes' that floated limply in the silent ocean of space. A robed figure stood in the cockpit of the ship, one hand gripping tightly onto an iron shod staff topped with a small burning brazier. His indominatable will probing outward into the darkness in search of his quarry. The ships' crew pull aboard an unconscious from of an oxygen starved Astartes soldier, barely kept alive by his power armour; Whilst the figure could later tell them more of what had happened on the ship, his retrieval was of secondary importance. The robed figure stares through the shuttle's forward viewing port at objects occupying a realm beyond human comprehension. Latching onto the faint trace imprint that his quarry has left on the waves of the immaterium, he barks a terse command to the servitor, altering the ships course.

As consciousness trickles slowly back into his grasp, Zethrom becomes aware of the steady beeping that echoes through his senses. As he blinks away the gummy med-gel that covers his eyes, the vague impression of a hospital suite and a blurry figure standing over his bed floats through his dazed mind. Struggling to organise his faculties Zethrom mumbles, "Daxial, where's Daxial?". A deep and steady voice filled with sorrow flows from the figure at the end of his bed, "I'm sorry my son, Daxial is no more. We were unable to recover his remains". Zethrom's memory came crushing down on him in a wave, surprised he could so quickly forget the image of his brothers face rupturing as blood snaked its way from his eyes ears and mouth. With cold clarity he felt the memory sear its way into his brain, realising he would never again be able to forget the expression of agony on his brothers face as he died. Wrenching his focus back to the present, he examines the aged and discerning visage of the cloaked figure in front of him. Glancing to the brazier seated atop the stranger's staff, Zethrom recognises the staff for what it is. The burning fire topped staff was the Regent of Terra's holy staff of office. The man standing before him was Malcador the Sigiliite, right hand of the Emperor, and a psyker whose mental fortitude and power was reputedly second only to the emperor himself. Reflexively moving to make the sign of the Aquilla in deference to the Sigillite, Zethrom's body was wracked by spasms of pain as his muscles atrophied.

"Steady my son, you were trapped in your suit for hours with your suit's oxygen supply at critical levels. Your advanced Astartes physique focused what little oxygen was left on the preservation of your brain. The muscles in your extremities were without oxygen for over four hours and in that time, they began a process of cellular decay. You will make a full recovery, but it will take time."

Lying prostrate on the hospital bed, Zethrom felt an unnerving sense of vulnerability as the Sigillite's gaze bored into him. He felt the vast intellect behind the Regent's eyes brush over his mind and he realised he was being examined on a level transcending that of sight alone. "What I need from you battle-brother Zethrom, is a full account of your mission that resulted in the destruction of the Eldar's warp drive".

"That was no simple warp drive lord Regent", Zethrom spoke the words before he could stop them. Zethrom had no idea what they had encountered in the dark confines of the Eldar ship, but to voice any concerns regarding other worldly presences would go counter to all the secular values upon which the imperium was built. Struggling to put words to the dark intellect he had experienced emanating from the Eldar object, Zethrom halting spoke, "I don't know what we experienced on that ship Lord Regent, but the object we encountered was unlike anything I have seen before. It had an effect on acting-captain Daxial that changed him. After his apoplexy I saw in his eyes an emotion I never thought could exist in an Astartes... Madness".

After a barely perceptible hesitation, the Sigillite spoke, "I am sorry that you had to witness your brothers last moments of agony, but whatever you saw in his eyes was a result of the terrible stress of being thrust into command and witnessing his sworn brothers perish whilst under his orders. Although it is encouraged for the people of the imperium to believe otherwise, the Astartes are as capable of fear and madness as any mortal. What is different about them is that they are trained to rise above and function despite it, as Daxial so valiantly did so. Your battle-brother died heroically in service of the Emperor and in doing so, destroyed an entire fleet of Xenos craft. His exploits and those of Attikar squad will be remembered in the Annals of the Death Guard for an eternity to come."

As the regent spoke, the dams he had built to stopper the overwhelming emotions he held inside, began to crack. In a flood of grief Zethrum mourned for the agonizing death of his brother Daxial but at the same time, remembered the look of satisfied resignation that he had seen on his brother's face as he had thrown the blast charge that he knew would seal his fate. Struggling to compose himself, Zethrum whispers "Thank you my Lord Regent". As he departs the Sigillite issues a last command, not expecting an answer, "I trust that what transpired on the Eldar ship will remain in the strictest confidence, marine. Ensure it is so". Zethrom watched as the Regent left through the door opposite. Staring after him Zethrom sees a squad of medicae servitors follow the Regent, the servitors escorting a cylindrical emergency med capsule fogged with the perspiration of some poor soul's laboured last breaths. The only things visible through the foggy surface of the container is the dark marble colouring of a Death Guard's shoulder plate adorned with the symbol of the aquilla that had been carved into it. In a moment of stark clarity, it feels as though Zethrum has been run through with a lance of deathly cold ice. He put those markings on Daxial's shoulder pad after the campaign on Ullanor…