Few things in the Universe still moved sergeant Mikalos after two decades of service on the permanently dark side of the planet Paros, with its sullen towns that seemed to breed more dissent and psychiatric patients than useful industry. Grim determination, not zeal, was the way.
Yet Mikalos had never fought next to Space Marines before. Less than half a squad of them, they still commanded awe in their grey-silver ceramite armour, with their superhuman size, their power swords of unusual make, and with the unnerving force of their attention, whenever their gaze fell on a mortal man.
Tolenvar, clearly the Space Marine squad's sergeant - though his men called him "Justicar" - commandeered the company in which Mikalos served. The rest of the regiment was busy fighting dissenters in the vicinity of the capital, but theirs would be the fight that mattered, said the Space Marine. The Enemy had taken root in the, reputedly cursed, Vrykola Mountains. Men who consorted with Ruinous Powers, and who just received an off-planet envoy with true skill in such foul practices. They now urgently needed to be destroyed before they dragged the whole planet into damnation.
"Courage", Tolenvar had said simply at the briefing, his voice resonant and strong. "They have a real sorcerer with them, and I expect you will see things that sometimes unman even the most experienced of men. Prepare your souls. The Emperor protects."
Mikalos nodded, feeling unaccustomed fervor in his cynical soul. He had never seen someone like Justicar Tolenvar, and he didn't think he ever would again. He would speak with his squad. They would not embarrass the regiment in front of Space Marines.
Two thousand cultists, poorly trained and with more zeal then discipline. One company of Imperial Guard, outnumbered four to one, but skilled, well equipped, and led by competent sergeants. For most of the fight up the mountain it seemed like the four Grey Knights leading the attack were overkill. So far Mikalos found courage easy today, easier than during the cleaning of the genestealer cult offshoot fifteen years earlier.
The badly maintained front gate of the abandoned, massive fortress collapsed quickly. The doomed cultists, barely a few score of them left, were now gathered for their last stand, finding what cover they could in the back of the vast main courtyard. The outpost was ripe for retaking from the heretics.
As the Imperials moved in through the gate, heavy lasfire lit up the night once again, reaping a deadly harvest. But the veil between reality and the Warp was thin in these mountains, and it didn't take much slaughter to breach it, not when the enemy still had a sorcerer alive.
A cloud of Chaos miasma suddenly swallowed the rest of the decimated Chaos worshippers and the entire far side of the courtyard, filling it with hideous shapes, lights, and a cacophony of deafening noises. Just looking at it induced nausea and vertigo in the Guardsmen. One moment Mikalos was in a familiar, clean scene of military action, with its blood and cries of pain and cauterised lasfire wounds. The next moment, it was as if a facade had been torn from hell itself.
That was when the four Space Marines knew they were suddenly the only ones who counted.
Each of the cultists existed only for a moment longer, as a skinned parody of a human being, dripping blood and pieces of flesh. Then they burst apart, revealing sixty or so demons.
"With me, Brothers!" shouted Justicar Tolenvar, even his mighty voice barely understandable in the constaint wailing. He and his three squadmates marched forward briskly, Nemesis swords held ready while they fired psybolts from wrist-mounted storm bolters into the mass of demonic flesh.
The monsters, all teeth and gangly limbs and purple demonic fires, charged forward.
As the Grey Knights moved to meet the enemy charge, most of the Imperial Guardsmen were left behind, rooted to the spot in fear. Some ran back out of the fortress, their minds lost. Most still had the discipline to at least fire off more lasgun shots. The las beams seemed to get sucked into the vapors of Chaos, with no apparent effect.
Mikalos, hearing the Justicar's cry, bared his teeth in a desperate grimace, straightened his back. "Come on, lads!" he shouted, barely hearing his own voice, and pointed forward. He took a step, then another one, fighting against every nerve in his body telling him to flee, against the very impact of his feet on the ground feeling wrong. He shouldered his lasgun with shaky hands, drew his sword.
His squad knew him, trusted him. A few men joined him. They ran forward, putting weight behind their bayonets, moving around and between the four giant marching figures in power armour.
The charging Imperials overtook the Grey Knights just as they crossed the boundary of the cloud of Chaos energies. For the briefest moment, Mikalos felt relief - somehow it was much less noisy inside.
Then the Guardsmen screamed, faltered. Their bodies sprouted new limbs, tearing through their uniforms. They clawed at themselves, as their skin changed color and covered with blisters and pustules.
The Justicar's cry hadn't been meant for them.
Without breaking strike, Tolenvar aimed down and sideways at what had just been Sergeant Mikalos, and blew off the abomination's head with a single bolt.