Chapter Twenty Five.

The fire roared and he fell. A mass-reactive impacted the bleached wall, tearing a chunk out of it as the floor gave in. Flames roared, spilling between the broken panes of the windows. He was tumbling, the view of the street snatched away in a moment. He saw great iron-slabbed vehicles running at the head of hunter-packs of mad-eyed men. He saw a ship, a modified Atlesian airship, its flanks burning, coming down and in the direction of the emerald forest.
A wall of rubbled rushed up to meet him, its uneven body jagged with rebar. He slammed into the rubble, feeling his back break. He gasped. He saw brown-red liquid foaming around him.
'Alivan!' He heard somebody say, they spoke his name like a swear. 'T-titania?' He questioned, a cold liquid was filling his lungs. It burned, in a way he was unfamiliar with.
'Oh, Alivan,' he heard her weap. Then, he fell deaf. He would not hear her weap when the bullet took her in the neck, when she struggled to stop the blood from bursting out and between her fingers. He would also not hear the salvation of his comrades when it came.

'Open fire!' Commanded Atrex, his orders amplified by his helms vox-systems. His six warriors moved with inhuman speed and presicine. They opened fire, halting the armoured advance with a blue-bot blob of plasma from Kassar's cannon.
Atrex took his power axe from his shoulder guard, pointing it at the smoking hole in the wall. 'Onwards,' he rasps, his throat sore with a day of constant shouting and swamps of smoke. 'Push them back! For Terra, for Remnant! For The Gorgon!'
A set of five Word Bearers emerged from the smoke, their bolters blazing a path through staggering mortal defenders. They roared a threat in their homeworld's tongue, words which had always been debased.
Atrex fired, he was joined by his brothers. They were like him. They were all old, though none of those that surrounded him now had been Stormwalkers like he or Amadeus. The echoes of old battles roared in his ears. He pushed them back, focusing on the now.
Rounds and beams smack into the Word Bearers armour. A melta beam hits one in the abdomen. It pummels his armour and boils away his flesh. He becomes still. His organs boil, turning into a sea of viscuise fluid. The fluid cooks, before the heat consumes it. It spreads through his body, killing him as ribs boil and crack. As his body cools and he falls, what little remains of his internal organs flop out. There are four now. In return, one of his brother's heads detonates, turning into a red mist. His body fell, his armour clanging.
Atrex ran at them. His boots rang as he bounded towards them. His brothers joined him, loping forwards. A bolt round took him in the shoulder, sheering away ceramite bonding-studs. The impact registered in his helm display, his shoulder integrity flashed from green to yellow. The pommel of the axe was hidden behind dark armour as his hand snapped shut. One of the Word Bearers, the sergeant most likely, came forwards, one arm bearing an energy-leaping shield.
The Word Bearer struck first, slamming his shield into Atrex. The Iron Father reeled, one foot slamming behind him and the other loose. His chainsword leaped out, tip first, hidden by a blur of blades. He knew the blade would hit, and knew that he could not block it.
The chainsword slammed into his shoulder. He felt the roaring blades choke on the ceramite, he could see the Word Bearers eyes behind his helms mono-chrome lenses. They were wide with shock, expecting to find plasteel where now there was ceramite. It was a combat modification, one most of Atrex's Clan-brothers wore as proudly as they did the Iron Hand.
Smiling behind his helmet, Atrex punched out and into the Bearer left hand, iron fingers clenched. He shattered the Bearer's helm, then unfolded his fingers, using his splayed hand to yang the Bearer closer. He was faster than Atrex, but speed was not strength.
With his spare hand, he swung the power axe into the Word Bearers soft-seal knee joint. Atrex heard the Bearer roar a cry, trying to hide the pain it felt. 'Atonement,' Atrex rasped. 'Your life for atonement!'
Shoving the Bearer away, he pulled his power axe up-high. He swung it down, swinging it into the Bearers helm and cracking the skull beneath.
'Fane, Alpheus,' he rasped, calling up two of his surviving warriors. 'Hold this position.. I will have the Atlesians relieve you as soon as possible,' he said, stomping on a second Bearers head, ending his miserable life quickly.

Hierax felt his master before he saw him. His psychic pressure was overwhelming, filling the Dark Apostles nostrils with burning sulfur. The second presence was an unknown, but no less powerful. It was a creature with feminine curves, its cream-white flesh marked by rivers of purple-black veins.
'My master,' bowed Hierax, falling to his knees, followed by his captain.
'Hierax,' Arvek said, biding his former pupil to rise. 'We are equal in rank.'
With a cruel smile, Arvek's eyes fell on Salem. 'Let us prepare ourselves, the Ascension is at hand.'

Galen, chosen lieutenant to the coil-formed Centarien, pulled himself up and over the cliff's edge. He scanned the surrounding area, noticing a lack of security. With him came nine battle-brothers, each a warrior of his Tactical Squad. They were all young, sons born long after Fulgrim's departure from Chemos.
'They leave their back exposed,' sneered Coros, drawing free a pair of combat knives from his many sheathes. 'They are blind to their own weakness.'
Galen ignored Coros, instead he helped his brothers make it over the cliff's edge. 'We must hurry, the walls have already been breached by the Word Bearers. I will not allow those iconoclasts to lay claim to our trophies.' His brothers roared their agreement, pulling free bolters and more esoteric weapons like plasma guns and flamers.
'Come brothers,' Galen shouted. 'To war, to honour. To bring sacrifice to the Prince of Pleasure!'

A roar of flames washed over Han Vitrian. He felt his body burn, he covered his face with his hands, blood weeping from them as the flames devoured his team mates. 'W-why,' he begged the purple-and-gold giant. 'We're human, j-just like you. Why? Help us, they will kill us!'
'No, they will not.' The giant said, removing his helm to reveal a beautiful face. 'But when my brothers are done with you, you will wish they had.'
With the destruction of Han Vitrian's team, the Battle of Remnant had shifted to the Battle of Beacon. With their sacrifice to the Dark Prince, the Emperor's Children had unwittingly aided the Word Bearers in their dark ritual.