Prologue
Planet: Arein
Day 487 of the War

Gun smoke drifted across the camp, casting hazy shadows on the various tents and prefab buildings. Distant echoes of artillery impacts reverberated through the dry earth and rustled the dead grass that dotted the plains. The sun hung low, sharing only the chill of an early winter. The Marine's boots kicked up clouds of dust as he strode towards the center of camp. What little light that made it through the smoke seemed to be absorbed by the deep black of his armor, turning him into little more than a stalking shadow.

All around him the men and women of the Guard lowered their heads and averted their gaze. Whether it was to honor the Marine or purely out of fear, every one of them scrambled out his way with mumbled words and a hasty "My lord." He acknowledged them with a curt nod and scowled beneath his helmet. He despised their timidity. He knew what rumors said of his Chapter. How they allegedly used dark magick to fade in and out of existence. How their mindless enemy feared even their name. How the Emperor had turned his gaze and his Holy Inquisition overlooked their "transgressions." These were rumors born of fear, and Sergeant Ekthalon had no forgiveness for those who let fear control them.

The Marine stood near the open door of a squat prefab structure emblazoned with the stylized "I" of the Inquisition. Before he could announce himself a smooth, cultured voice bade him enter. Removing his helmet, Ekthalon ducked and strode into the darkness. Candles flickered in the corners of the large central room, doing little to illuminate the area. Heavy garnet drapes hung across sections of the chamber, dividing it further. Incense clouded the air, nearly stifling in its intensity. A blood red carpet covered the stone floor, a single table sat in the center. The sergeant stood to attention at the threshold. His voice barely moved the heavy air.

"Sergeant Ekthalon, Archangels Third Company reporting as requested."

Silence reigned. A lithe form slunk into the room, gliding over the carpet with light steps. A woman adorned in a robe of the deepest red imaginable now stood in front of the Marine, coming only to his chest. With auburn hair turned black in the dim lighting, and pale skin that seemed to glow, the Inquisitor dragged her cold eyes over the Astartes in front of her. Her gaze pierced his and she spoke, her voice low and menacing in its authority.

"Captain Aktar speaks highly of you." Her expression hardened ever so slightly at his continued silence. "I have need of the Astartes. Your captain referred me to you. Prepare your squad. We leave the planet at dusk."

Ekthalon straightened his back. "I don't like leaving a war half finished, Inquisitor."

She smiled. "Neither do I, sergeant. This war is a distraction. I look towards the heart of the enemy, and I need you as my blade. The decision is made."

"Yes, Lady Inquisitor."

The woman sat at the low table, crossing her legs beneath it. "Tell me. What do you know of the Hunters Chapter?"

Ekthalon scowled at her. "They are Astartes, hailing from the toxic world of Praeore. They descend from the Eighteenth Legion, and as such have a predilection for flame. In the majority they are honorable."

"Interesting choice of words, sergeant. You have an honor-brother among them, no? One Sergeant Vanna, I believe."

The Marine growled. "What of it?"

"He is dead."

He paused. The flicker of something dark passed behind his eyes. "What of it?"

"Vanna was killed by one of his brothers. These cultists that we are fighting here are working under the command of a Hunters Marine, one who has turned elements of the Guard and Praeorean PDF against the Emperor's light. When we make planetfall I need you to do two things. Root out the traitor Marine and bring him before me, and end the commander of the renegade Guard."

Ekthalon's voice was heavy with concealed rage. His eyes flashed. "It will be done."