Drystann stood at the head of the Brotherhood. He turned to look at the men to his left and right. Primus and Septimus stood, looking into the distance at the foe they knew very well. Each member of the Blade was named numerically in order of their induction, leaving eight Primi in total, one in each Blade; but each only responded to their Master's call. They would receive names after they had become full Astartes, and until then the Masters alone would remain named.
The Enemy came screeching over the hills. The first several rows were made up of humans who had sold themselves to the Pantheon. There were maybe a hundred of them, whose reward for their betrayal was to be branded and sent to be slaughtered like cattle. The Purifying Flames drew their swords. All of the warriors held their weapons in a position at their side, ready to swing them up and bury them in the flesh of their foes.
The Purifying Flames held their position as several of the Blades cast bolts of lightning and balls of flame into the oncoming enemy. Ordan and his Shield Blade were weaving protective wards around the Brotherhood and their 'guests' even as the spells and bolts mowed down the humans. If any had made it through, they would have met the sharp end of one of the Purifying Flames' swords; but they did not. Bodies were immolated, electrocuted or torn to pieces. A normal foe would have turned back, knowing that to continue the charge was to continue into certain death. But this was no normal foe and they were more afraid of the monstrosities behind them than the death in front of them. And so they all came and all died to a man, no more to it. The real enemy would come next.
The humans had merely been a test of strength, as both sides knew. What came over the hill would be shocking the Thousand Sons which had just joined them, but was strangely normal for the members of the Brotherhood and the solitary Eldar. Horned daemons with red, scaly skin, armed with blades which glowed with a hellish inner light as if they had just left the forge fires, ran at the warriors with wild abandon alongside giggling, lithe purple daemons with deceptively voluptuous forms and exposed breasts that sat in extreme juxtaposition to the hideous chitinous growths many sported.
Drystann could feel each Purifying Flame reach out and connect with his own soul. He would act at their conduit for their own master spell. More bolts and spells flew, but this enemy was much more resilient, and although many died, many more escaped unscathed or at least still able to fight. The Purifying Flames kept their swords in the same position they had for the last few minutes until the enemy were only twenty paces from them. "Nam symbolum!" came the war cry from Drystann's lips, to meet the woops and howls of the oncoming Enemy. The Purifying Flames advanced as one straight line, their swords still in the ready position. The enemy charged with wild glee to meet them, thinking that these rash twenty which had separated from the group would be easy to destroy.
As the head of the horde and the thin line of one Astarte and twenty humans met, the Purifying Flames swung their swords up as one and instantly scythed down twenty-one foes with precise blows. But that was not the worst damage that the strike wreaked on the wave of daemons. As the swords swung, the psychic energy of twenty of the purest souls in existence poured their energy into the one pure Astarte that led them. This purifying energy was then amplified and poured back into those it came from before being channelled out of them. So, as the swords of the Purifying Flames cut down twenty-one daemons and sent them back to the nightmare realm where they had come from, a roaring wave of pure azure flame rode onwards, engulfing the Enemy. The purifying flame burnt the very perverted essence of the foul spawn of chaos. It overwhelmed their corrupted physical form, and left nothing by still burning ecto-plasma as they were cast back into the warp. Over a hundred daemons perished and the charge faltered, struck by a grievous blow from what should have been an easy kill.
Then the rest of the Brotherhood moved.
The Purifying Flames slowed their pace by a half-step to let the others catch up, but the pressed into their foe. The bloodletters and daemonettes which remained were still a substantial number. As the rest of the Brotherhood formed up, the assault began in earnest. Drystann swung his sword in a wide arc and split two bloodletters at the waist before a daemonette lashed out at him with its chitinous claw. The flat of Drystann's blade blocked the blow before the daemonette, disoriented by the purity the beings around it, was speared through the face by the point of Primus' sword. No words of thanks passed between the two. It was not that the Master needed his first's protection, but that Primus had no other opponent for a split second and so had freed his Master.
Over the cacophony of the battle which they were embroiled in, Drystann could hear the blaring of war horns and knew what they meant before he heard the heavy tread of cavalry. The snorting of the brass juggernauts could be heard even through the din of battle, and their spiked heads impaled several of their cohorts who could not move out of the way fast enough. "Septimus! Primus! On me!" Drystann shouted as the daemonic horde separated, preferring to let the three bloodcrushers charge the Purifying Flames instead of trampling them. Drystann and his two Swords stood still with their swords raised as their foe rushed towards them. It seemed that they were content to be impaled on the horns of the juggernauts. Then, at the last moment, all three too a side step, slicing the legs out from under the beasts and sending them crashing into the dirt.
Two of the riders flew off their mounts onto waiting halberds belonging to the Long Swords. Drystann, Primus and Septimus turned their attention back to the foe which was pressing into the gap left by the Bloodcrushers.
The final rider had held fast and ridden his mount into the ground. Instead of being deterred by his dismounting, the daemon only seemed to reach a greater level of rage and blood lust. The long chains of skulls hung from his belt chattered together, and his elaborate brass armour glinted in the faux-light emanating from the Great Eye which hung in the sky - a sign that the Gods were watching. A warrior approached, clad in primitive armour, and levelled his two weapons at the herald of Khorne. A roar echoed from the daemon's throat as it jumped at the human with its Hellblade, almost as long as the man was high, raised above his head.
The downward blow was blocked by the human warrior crossing its swords over his head, although it strained his muscles. The Herald snarled, leapt back and swung at the side of the warrior. The human moved with the speed of an Astarte initiate, his biology enhanced by the biomancers of the Healer Blade, and stepped inside the blow of the Herald, blocking the blow with a downward strike of his own falchion. The human's elbow lashed out and the spiked elbow guard punched into the mouth of the Khornate daemon. It snarled, insulted that it had allowed itself to be made bleed by a mere human. The next flurries of blows from the enraged Herald were scarcely blocked by the human, and each blow blocked threatened to tear his muscles, dislocate a joint or break a bone, an unaffordable injury. Again and again the daemon struck, each time forcing the human on the defensive. "I will claim your skull for Khorne, petty human," the daemon snarled as he felt assured at his victory.
The next faint was blocked by the human, but before he could react, the daemon had used the impact of the blow to break away and slice through the out-stretched arm of the human. The daemon grinned as the human recoiled in pain. Contemptuously slowly, the Herald raised his weapon to decapitate his defeated foe. Quintus of the Long Sword Blade stared fearlessly into his executioner's burning yellow eyes even as the Hellblade sliced through his neck and sent his head rolling onto the dirt.
"Kar'xin'tila'xaz" came the shout which stunned the Herald for a moment. The calling of his true name staggered him as another human appeared to challenge him. This one was not like the last. This one knew his name and wielded power over him. The Herald tried to raise his weapon in defence, but his arms became like lead and so the block was weak. "Kar'xin'tila'xaz," the Tertius of the Banishers spoke calmly, as he continued to attack the daemon who could feel his link to material world become undone by the speaking of his true name, "I banish thee in the name of the Brotherhood and by the Creed for a hundred and one years. I send thee back to the Warp; and let it be known that Kar'xin'tila'xaz was bested by a human." The words of power the Banisher spoke sealed the fate of the daemon. The Herald's connection to the material realm was being severed and his blows became sluggish and pathetic. He could not be bested by a mere human! In a final act of desperation, the Herald lashed clumsily out at the Banisher. The blow was easily deflected, even by one not yet Astartes, and Tertius drove his sword blade through the neck of the Herald of Khorne. A thick gargling sound could be heard as the physical form of the weakened daemon collapsed and the daemon was banished into the Warp, just as had been spoken. Even as the Third Sword of the Banisher Blade sought a fresh quarry and pulled its name from the Immaterium, the battle raged on.