Sword combat was something I had taken time to get used to. The Order of the Bloody Rose, my eventual surrogate home, had some of the best practitioners of the art of the blade in all the Imperium, focusing on aggression and overwhelming force above all else. I had learned the ways of the blade from these women, but I was no master duelist. By the time I had been persecuted for my shame in battle, there was little opportunity for me to practice. In the moments following my defiant charge towards Minsk, I would regret this decision.

Cries of war were met with steel clashing with steel, a riposte so swift that it ruined my momentum and took the breath from my lungs. I stuck to what I knew with my first assault, swinging strike into strike through a downwards motion, but Minsk, a skilled duelist in his own right, was there to meet me each time.

We clashed blades, our weapons scraping against one another in vibrant red and blue sparks. Our swords were both relics from aeons past, possibly from opposite ends of the galaxy, but their creation were similar, you see. Quite, energy fields produced from the blades caused them to rip through dense materials with ease, but when forced upon one another, they cancelled out the other. After a moment of meeting eye to eye, we pushed each other back, causing another eruption of colour to explode between us.

Minsk stood between me and Yva's downed form. I peered through my helmet's visor to inspect her briefly, but she was still as a stone.

'Emperor carry her to your light.'

"After today, your Order is finished." Minsk proclaimed. "The Cardinal-Principal has many friends in high places. He will brand your kind as heretics, and we shall be the ones to slay you to the last. Then there will be order, one more heretic wiped from history."

"If I am a heretic, then I shall speak more heresy to you!" I spat back.

Normally I wouldn't waste my words on one such as him, but my rage took me when I meant to control it. Combining it with years spent among pompous nobles, looking back, perhaps I lashed out purely out of spite.

"Your kind is old, decrepit, a husk of what it means to be a follower of the God-Emperor. You do not use your powers to bring benevolence, but instead to maintain ignorance. I despise you - you and your Cardinal - I denounce you, and I shall be the one to kill you."

I twirled my sword in my hands. Raising it above my head, I aimed the tip forwards at Minsk, and then extended my freehand outwards, so that both were parallel. I changed my stance, opting for a more defensive form of combat. I would never best him with aggression. No, instead he would come to me.

"If the God-Emperor deems me a heretic," I said, pointing at him, "Then come kill me."

He accepted the challenge, and though I couldn't see his face through his three-horned helmet, I knew he was smiling.

Thus, he attacked, and we danced anew. He slashed down and I slashed upwards, craning my raised hand like windmill upon his approach. Enhanced steel met steel, and colour danced from our blades as we exchanged strikes. Still he was fast, matching every opportunity I had to counter with ferociousness of his own.

We held back once again. Minsk took this moment of brevity to switch his stance, choosing a one-handed technique. I held my ground, but had no time to think about switching anything, for he was upon me once more.

As the sparks flew between our strikes, I noticed his attacks were far less aggressive. I'd swing, and instead of him being there to meet me, my blade would go wide, cutting air instead of the Crusader. He'd then follow through with a piercing strike at an awkward angle that left me exposed. The first few times, I was able to catch his counters, but the fourth time he tried this - through a series of striking combos - he caught my side, where the armour was weakest.

I didn't have an Iron Halo to protect me, only the sturdiness of my power armour, but even that wasn't enough. Minsk's blade seared through my right side just above my hip. I felt a cold sting that immediately turned into a burning agony, the molecular bond of the blade melting through my armour and eventually making contact with skin. This only lasted for an instant as I swung my sword wildly on a retreat.

Minsk didn't follow through with the advantage as I gripped my side. I pulled my hand away to see my blood, and soon my armour worked itself to mend the wound as best as it could.

He was smiling, Minsk. He held his sword in such a braggart way that even though he remained silent, he was incessant. I could not stand him, but I had to respect his skill.

I found my resolve once more, whispering a prayer to ward off the pain that would linger for however long I lasted. I pulled my helmet's faceplate up and wiped my forehead of sweat and messy bangs. I wanted to see him, properly, with my own eyes.

This time I was the attacker. I leapt into a two-handed downwards strike, meeting his blade with mine, but with enough force to stagger him backwards. I followed through with more and more - striking down, left, right, riposting upwards into a spin - and for a time I held him. Then it was his turn, through my last strike that he'd sidestepped, into a torrent of his own.

His attacks were fast, so fast, and his enhanced agility from his own power armour made them practically blinding with speed. I kept up, defending, defusing strikes, delaying an inevitability that he would soon meet his mark on me once again.

He surged his blade forwards and I managed to swing it away with a downwards slash, a blow that would've otherwise impaled me, like he had Yva. It was an opening for me to retaliate with techniques of my own, but I was getting tired. I couldn't keep this up forever, and he would have me burn myself out.

But….but that was just it, wasn't it?

Our blades locked when I had an epiphany, and my face was so close to his that I think he saw the surprise on my face when the thought crossed my mind. He shoved me away and followed through with his offensive, which gave me an opportunity to see if my thesis had any merit.

I let him go through his combos, his lighting strikes, and when he went for a killing blow - this time from above - I met it with my own blade.

And there I saw it. As he cut downwards, I raised my blade upwards to meet it, but this time only with one hand holding the hilt. His attacks weren't as strong as my own; he was using my own weight against me so that I would overcompensate with gripping the weapon too hard. I was making myself slower, and he exploited it.

I pushed him away to create momentary distance. I was wrong before. I could beat him with aggression. I could defeat him with ferocity. Reaching behind me I found a scabbard on the small of my back, my backup knife, not nearly as long as the longsword I held, but something in case my primary had failed. I gripped the secondary blade in my right hand - sharpened edge reversed - and my longsword in my left.

I could kill him, I thought to myself, Emperor lend me strength to try.

Minsk began his next attack, but this time I was faster. With renewed resolve, I went low as he went high, swinging with my longsword first to get him parrying, and then following up with a precise jab of my knife.

And with this strike, I made contact, streaking my blade across his chestplate, but not breaching it. Still it was contact nonetheless. He paused, running his freehand along the dent in his armour, as if he was surprised. I'll admit, I was too.

He threw himself back, and once again, I was ready. For every swing he gave, my second strike was faster, and for every rebuttal I responded with forced him to work harder and harder to avoid being grazed. That's what they were now. Not parries or strikes going wide, but grazes and near misses. He tired, but so did I, but my ferociousness was beyond anything he gave back.

The pivotal moment came soon after. My shorter blade caught his, and I used my longsword to send it surging to his head. He ducked out of the way, but in doing so, I found opportunity. I angled the blade such that I made contact with the iron halo atop the power pack of his armour, where the shield device met the backpack. Through cracks and fizzles it exploded, causing Minsk to fall forward and stumble towards me, but not completely causing him to tumble. He was fortunate to wear a helmet, otherwise the explosion would've taken most of his head with it.

He tossed aside his helmet and cursed under his breath as he maintained his balance with his sword.

"Master of Mankind give me strength." He huffed. "Master of Mankind give me strength…."

He came at me again, but this time his technique was messy. Through a parry I successfully cut through his armour with my longsword's molecular bond, burning through the armour like a shear through a wheat field.

Soon there was blood, and I forced the attack, striking more and more, cutting his armour to pieces as he feebly tried to defend himself. I swung high and cut at his face, and my blade made contact with his left side, scoring off a large gash and melting flesh.

But that hadn't deterred him, and he still stood through the torrent of pain I had inflicted. Quite, his faith in the Emperor was strong, so strong that he followed through with attacks of his own. For a moment he had a burst of energy I hadn't anticipated, and he found his footing, regained the composure of his technique, and overpowered my defence long enough for him to return the pain in kind. He swung horizontally, parallel to the open faceplate of my helmet and cut through my right eye down across my mouth.

Suddenly everything was red. My face was on fire and I felt blood on my lips. I couldn't see. I couldn't see! I panicked for a moment, letting out a cry of agony, but forced open my one good eye all the same. Minsk was still standing there, trying to collect himself, his own face still split open.

Emperor lend me the strength to try….

I cried out in anger and leapt towards him, both blades swinging down. He raised his to block, and the blade made contact, but it was weak and short-lived. I smashed the blade away and swung upwards to sever his hand from his arm.

With that, he fell to the ground.

I held my readied stance, both blades angled at him as he crawled backwards. He didn't say a word, no boasting or pleading, no final words of mercy under the God-Emperor's light. He simply stared with what remained of his face with an ill-contempt stare, a hatred that wasn't all alien to me.

I wanted to end it, was about to end it all there, when I heard a whimper from behind me. Coughs and sputters, gasps for air. I turned my head to see Yva, churning slowly on the floor. She was still alive.

I sheathed my blades and ran to her, kneeling beside her downed form to prop her up.

"Leave me, Palatine….." She wheezed. "I've failed you…."

"No you have not." I insisted. "The God-Emperor knows it."

There were footsteps coming from behind us. Stomping that was closing in fast. It soon manifested into more Crusaders, charging down the hallway, crying litanies and brandishing their swords, coming to save their leader. I lifted Yva up to her feet and we backtracked several feet, but the Crusaders were nearly upon us. I saw another switch on the wall, and just like before, flipping the switches caused the blast doors to fall down before us, cutting off the Crusaders' advance.

Then, silence, if only for a moment. I'd beaten Minsk, but at a cost.

"Lethirio, are you there?"

My vox comm came alive. It was Ibrahim's voice, through yelling and gunfire.

"I'm here." I said exhaustedly. "Minsk is in retreat. He's wounded but still alive, we must-"

"It's too late for that." He dismissed. "The Crusaders haven't broken, and are intensifying their attacks."

I looked down at Yva, her crumpling form still slouched over my shoulder. I heard the banging on the door, the Crusaders on the other side trying to get through to us.

"We're cut off from you." I said. "They're closing in on us, and Yva is critically injured. I…..I think the ship is lost….."

I heard the pause in the Inquisitor's voice as he considered his next few words carefully.

"We'll hold out for as long as he can." He said. "My retinue is still combat capable, as are my stormtroopers. We have another wave of Crusaders incoming. If we survive that, we'll rendezvous with you."

The blast door came alive and shot up, but only half a foot off the ground.

"I understand." I told him. "God-Emperor be with you."

"God-Emperor be with you."

The line cut, and the door creeped up further.

"I can stand, Palatine." Yva grunted. "I can-"

She fell to the ground. Her face was pale, now. Blood creeped from her nose, and she coughed up more of it onto her chin. I saw my bolt pistol nearby on the floor, and walked over to reclaim it. I handed it to Yva, who now sat as best she could.

"We die here, for the Emperor." I told her, feeling the pain settling in from my broken eye. "And we take as many as them with us."

The door reached a quarter of the way up, and we could see their ankles.

"It was a pleasure, Lethirio." Yva told me.

"It was. It is." I replied.

The door slid up to the top of the hallway and into the ceiling. Five Crusaders stood before us, all five ran at us. I drew both my blades to meet them, and with a howl, I ran back at them.

I fought them all, practically all at once. I killed one with my longsword, cutting his head from his shoulders, and mortally wounded another by stabbing my knife through the spaces of his armour, finding an artery. But the others were fast and I was lacking an eye to meet them. They made contact with my power armour many times, cutting me with their blades, bruising me with their fists. Yva shot a third Crusader with the remaining ammo of the bolt pistol, but she too was silenced when she passed out from blood loss. I saw behind them, more Crusaders running down the hall. I didn't know how many, and I didn't care to count.

One Crusader made contact with my gloved hand with his own blade, and in my clumsiness I dropped my longsword. I staggered backwards, my whole body bloodied and broken. I only had my knife now, and like a cornered animal, the predators that were the Crusaders waited for me to tire myself out. They had confidence - faith - that their allies would be here in seconds behind them. I was no longer a danger to them.

"COME ON THEN." I shouted. "TRY AND KILL ME, HERETICS."

One charged forwards and swung at me, and I ducked under his blade and caught his throat with my knife. He went down gurgling on his own blood. More Crusaders were meters away now, I could see them closing in. The one remainder of his squad stood at a distance to wait, but still I goaded.

"HERETICS." I cursed. "YOU KNOW NOTHING OF FAITH. I CURSE YOU, I DAMN YOU TO THE FIRES OF HEL, YOU, CAIUS, DRACONIS, EVERYONE. DAMN YOU ALL!"

They regrouped, and all at once, they charged me yet again.

This is where I would die…..

Or….so I thought…..

Divine intervention. It was an outdated term by a few millennia, but I'd heard it on and off during my studies of various planetary cultures. It implies that a higher power other than the God-Emperor watches over us, and it is this power that dictates or lives. It was borderline heresy in itself, to suggest that anyone other than the God-Emperor could provide such gifts, and so I had dismissed it as superstition like all the other cultures I'd learned about.

Here, here and now, as I was about to die, I thought on that idea once again. I reconsidered that, maybe the God-Emperor himself had that kind of power. I bring this up because this very concept would be brought to fruition right now, as I was about to die.

The ceiling caved in. Rather, it was less caved in and more like disappeared. Evaporated. Melted from existence. It followed by a large impact so violent that it shook all of us off our feet. Smoke and fire came next, as well as a series of explosions. I heard gunshots, the sounds of bolters firing, and feared that it may be more Crusaders appearing.

The smoke began to clear, and through my one good eye, as I recovered myself to my feet, I heard the stomping of feet in power armour, but much heavier for some reason. A Crusader coming for me. I couldn't find my knife, it was gone somewhere, and so I leapt to my feet and hurled a fist at the enemy.

Or so I thought I was. I was halted halfway, slamming into a wall of steel that knocked the wind out of my lungs and sent me back down to the floor. Other footsteps around me were running at whatever I'd hit. The sounds of Crusaders - this I knew for sure - swinging their weapons and then being dropped in an instant.

"Secure the drop zone and advance to the target." A deep voice commanded. "Two minutes and counting - move out!"

It hurt to blink, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to exist. I could barely make out my surroundings with my good eye - the smoke causing it to sting and tear up. The hulk of steel stepped once towards me, and two red eyes were staring down.

"Sister Lethirio, are you injured?" It voiced boomed at me, asking so casually it was almost insulting.

The smoke cleared enough for me to see what it was.

"G-God-Emperor be praised…"

He was eight feet tall at least, clad in black armour so thick that it would make a Leman Russ tank look like a tractor in comparison. One of his arms was silver, with the shoulderpad denoting the 'I' of the Inquisition. His other bore the blue and gold colours of Ultramar. He held a sword nearly the same size as me in its entirety, and a bolter of equal magnitude. Four more of his kind stood behind him, similarly armoured.

The Angels of Death were here.

His Angels.

His Adeptus Astartes.

His Space Marines.