He remembered little of the attack, only the briefest flashes of combat.
Control.
A flash following a burst of fire into the corridor, accompanied by screams.
He had woken only an hour before and still too groggy to be aware of what was going on around him. Nurentz's chirugeons had come and examined him, the three briefly asking questions as they checked strange monitors. After a few moments the three crimson clad medics huddled together and murmured to each other, interspaced by one glancing back at him, the medic's face hidden behind an elaborate mask. In his daze the mask resembled an avian's skull, terrifying and haunting.
Rage.
A scarred face sneering as it leapt at him even as three auto-rounds thudded into the cultist's chest and crimson blossoms formed in the heavy work cloth.
Pain flared in his arm, drawing a sharp hiss from his lips before the cogitator-controlled medstation pumped more painkillers into his bloodstream. Almost immediately the pain subsided.
Blood.
A cloying smell of blood and rancid meat filled the air, choking him and the others. Beyond the haze of gunfire and smoke a stuttering whirr started and stopped, started and stopped again and again until the scream of a chainblade roared into action. A hulking figure thudded into view, filling the corridor. A nightmare given form, the man was bedecked in rotten meat and meat hooks. Whatever face he had was hidden beneath a reptilian skull. In his hands, a chainaxe of immense size, the head alone three spans across. A slaughterman.
A familiar voice spoke to him through the haze. Feminine and her tone reassuring, her words were lost as another dose of meds coursed through his veins. A cool hand rested on his forehead before leaving him to his dreams.
Pain.
A shotgun round destroyed the skull, revealing a misshapen mass of flesh and teeth. "Pockets" swore and ducked as the chainaxe swung towards him. Unfortunately he wasn't quick enough and the biting teeth of the axe obliterated his ear before the axe became embedded in the wall. The thief went down screamed, clutching his ear through the dirty fabric covering his hand. The slaughterman struggled with the axe, ignoring the guardsman pulling Pockets away.
In a flash the chainaxe was wrenched free and swung around again. No time to react he raised his arm to fire…
The pain in his arm became too intense, the meds failing to dampen the agony. Sitting up, he reached over to grab the arm. And caught nothing. Looked down, he saw nothing but med-swatches and pain diffusers.
Trasken continued screaming as the chirugeons clambered into the chamber.
"From what Magos Arnsgeck told us, the chainaxe penetrated the armour plate on your arm, and…"
She doesn't need to finish the sentence. I remember it all now.
Corvanez had sat with him in the chamber, unsure of what to say. After a few minutes, the young woman made her apologies, placed her hand on his and left. "All for the Emperor."
"Ave Imperator."
Smiling sadly, Corvanez left him alone in the chamber.
As he looked down on the mechanical replacement now grafted onto his arm, Trasken sighed and whispered to himself.
"All for the Emperor."