Of Chaplains Loved and Lost

by Luke Heffner

A Delire short story, no. 2: Haste and illpreperation is the mother of invention. And death.

Of Chaplains Loved and Lost

Delire frowned. He had been doing that more and more as of late, running across so many blackened and hauntingly dark colonies.

Hellius looked up to the source of Delire's attention and frowned as well.

They were both staring at a strange winking purple light, glittering from the forest of controls attached to the ceiling.

"Hellius, what is that light?" Delire folded his armored arms across his skull emblazoned marine chest plate.

Hellius, when under the normal bridge lighting, a very pale ex-hiver Marine. In any other lighting he was even whiter, his people lacking any melatonin at all.

"I…am not rightly sure. I am still trying to figure out what this whole new section of controls over there is." He stoically pointed, gesturing too the desk and empty seat just across from him. Delire shifted uncomfortably in the Captain's chair, glancing about the bridge he thought he had known so well.

But since their incident with the Child and the Chalice, his ancient ship had grown young again in a matter of days. The host of Tech Marines and the expedition from Mars that was still here from when they found the ship, were going practically out of their collective minds. Last time he had seen his Enginseer, the poor priest had been pale and shaky from lack of sleep, the vast engine room littered with papers and data crystals too many to number.

"Well it seems to be getting faster. I- hold on sir, I am getting some energy fluctuations from the polar magnetosphere. Hellius kept frowning.

They were in a guarded orbit of some unknown planet, its colonial beacon had been shattered and the few scattered villages found empty. Why anyone had even attempted to colonize the rocky ball was beyond Delire's imagination.

"Nope, its gone. Still, it looked like there was a ship out there. For just a moment…" Hellius was usually never wrong, but it was suspicious.

Delire slapped the battle stations siren, but did not open the blast doors for his flank based ordinance. "Signal the Emperor Provider and her escorts too head for the system Zenith, we will join them when we have investigated." The communication servitor, sunk spread eagle into the left hand side of the bridge, made only a few beeps in response.

The Emperor Provider was a forge ship, built for supplemental fleet maintenance. It also had become a ad hoc training ship, under the command of Brother Chaplain Ramiel. It had been found by Delire and Ramiel in the Apheleion Crusade.

As it stood, both ships had been charged with looking into the evidence of Necrons on the move past the edge of Segmentum Pacificus.

"Pilot, bring us about to 90plus degrees bow plane, and 31plus too port."

The pilot, like the rest of the servitors on the bridge, was attached to a wall. It just happened to be the ceiling, enmeshed through bundles of cables and hoses.

"Light all engines." Though the ancient ship leapt forward like a tiger, the forward portal's view shifted slowly to place the planet below the ship.

Delire reached up to one of the many internal communications switches and threw it, his eyes not leaving the odd blinking purple light. "Brothers Mathew and Felix, prepare the Titus cannons. If this is the Necrons, those will be about the only thing we have to hurt them with." There were two positive replies, clear as day. Previously since Delire had taken command of the Emperor's Shield, the speakers themselves had hardly worked. Now, you could play symphonies through them.

Which he did from time to time.

The Emperor's Shield had a host of ballistic cannons, all situated on her flanks and a few at her rear. Due to her antiquity, and change in tactics of the Imperial Navy, she was no longer useful to them. She was a line breaker, meant to charge in under the heaviest fire, and bring both of her flanks to bear on the pierced naval line. It appealed to Delire's sense of honor, so he had fought to keep the old bird.

When Hellius looked up to mention that there had been no other fluctuations, the Captain was standing on the command chair, the purple light glowing off his shoulder guards. But his head was buried in the vast amount of cables and wires.

"What is it Captain?"

"It… looks like an Auspex screen. But not like I have seen before. Its all blurry and runny, with little shapes and numbers on it."

The Navigator rustled softly, hidden in his Iron Maiden like enclosure, but did not speak.

"Do we really need all these cables here?" Exasperated, the captain stepped down to the deck, staring back up the vine like forest above him. Most of the wiring had not been original, but instead bypasses and jury rigged power feeds done by his Tech Marine.

Hellius only shrugged, watching his glowing green screens at his work station.

They had arrived just over the northern magnetic pole, and there was nothing to be found on any of his scanners. When he mentioned thus, the captain was pinning the cables back with rubber ties. The screen he had spoke of was of a descent size, and truly was strange. It looked more like an in depth sensor reading of an oil slick.

The Captain and Hellius looked at it expectantly for a few minutes, but as it's blinking started to slow, their attention was otherwise diverted.

Another ship had just entered the system. But, as it passed the small husk of a moon that orbited this ball of rock, Hellius identified it as a Rogue Trader.

"Open the communication lines." When the small but familiar click sounded, Delire spoke. "Rogue Trader, this is the Emperor's Shield of the Black Templar Adeptus Astartes. Identify yourself."

"Pilot, bring us about to a parallel bearing on the Rogue Trader. Put us right up beside her." Hellius was twisting the braid of his hair, still in traditional form of his tribal people. The Captain hated it when he did that, but it was an unconscious movement and they both knew it.

"Um, this is the Rogue Trader vessel Eminent Reward. Is there a problem sir?" The reply was that of a high pitched woman, but no holo signal.

"Cut your engines and prepare to be boarded." Was Delire's only reply, cutting the signal against frantic replies. This colony had been dead for probably a decade, there was only a few reasons that this ship was here.

Other ships always smelled strange to Delire. He and the Apothecary Gestus along with an armed squad of the now indigenous crew of the Shield were starting to get irritated at the captain of the Eminent Reward. She was a slight woman with a shaved head and vibrant costume, and as it turned out, proper license. None the less this did not stop her gushing apologies and fawning demeanor. Which was not unusual when faced with the threatening presence of a Space Marine. Fear would have been normal too, though there seemed to be precious little of that.

Delire was still suspicious. He held little love for those of the Rogue Trader demeanor, but it was barely legal. He had enough a reputation for a trouble maker as it was.

"Madam Surchild, please show us to your cargo holds." Though courteous in voice, Delire was holding his treasured gold inlaid Bolt Pistol to her shiny head. He had found it in the Captain's safe, after he had the Tech Marines replace the lock. It was quite a beauty, and terribly old. But it still spoke well of itself on the firing range.

Without hesitation, she did lead them down the murky corridors of the cramped and musty cargo vessel. Just as she made a turn around a corridor, Delire caught sight of her eyes. No fear, like before. But now very angry.

Delire exchanged glances with Gestus and Terrell, the 'leader' of the band of hard bitten men and women from the Shield. Their former home, a defunct hive and close proximity to a Xenos race that had conquered the planet and gone tribal, had bred some hard people. Both men nodded, though their weapons were already to bear.

Minutes past as she led them through the dimly lit warren, few other souls glimpsed along the way, all of which made themselves very scarce very fast. At last the troop came to two cavernous bay doors, marked with a colossal number 2. Hulking servitors waiting on Surchild's command laboriously opened the passage.

"Bay number one is filled with water, so I figured this is where you would want to go. Delire absently nodded, looking through the passage way into what seemed to be rows upon rows of Servitors. Most of them were combat equipped, but quite a few towards the back were of a more technical bent. Though dead and mind wiped, all of the prosthetics and additions were bright and new. There had to be several thousand of them. Space Marines had little use for money, but Delire knew he was looking at quite a King's fortune.

As his serfs checked through the bay, he squared off with Surchild. "Run down ship, old style, yet interesting engine signal. Fake battle damage, carefully hidden sensor packages, and now this. What is a free Trader like yourself, with this Lord's ransom," Delire gestured not only too the servitors, but the surrounding ship itself. "doing in this place, of all places. This is a dead system."

Surchild's face darkened, not saying anything for a few moments. When Delire began to raise his Bolt pistol, she held her open hands out too him.

"I have been chartered here by a certain party. I am here to just await their arrival. I do not know the name of those who will find me here, but I can only assume they are not you." She laid her hands on her slim hips, staring up at him with much more defiance than before.

Delire growled in his throat, leveling his pistol at her chest. "You will, by the Will of the Emperor, tell me who chartered you. I can not abide mysteries and cloak and dagger shit from the likes of you." The space marine Captain was like all Templars, a very upfront person. Leave the secrets to the Chaplains.

The dark haired captain almost shot Surchild when she reached into her coat, to retrieve a small disk. Engraved on it was the Ordos Xenos emblem. Inwardly, Delire sighed. Personally he had enough experience with the different Ordos, to let him know he had entered treacherous waters, head first.

Glaring her defiance the whole way, she moved both of them over too a small nook in the grimy walls. Inside partially hidden from view was a crewman, obscured in heap of dingy cables, the high powered Sniper gun trained on Delire's exposed head. But that was not why she had brought him here. In fact she had not even pointed the crewman out, who was as still as a corpse. Delire had been a ship bound marine for most of his life as a Templar, but that did not mean he was stingy where training or experience was considered.

A small display screen popped up out of a swivel out bench. Surchild inserted the micro disk, and text began to roll across the screen. Delire had never seen a level 4 item acquisition and placement order, but if there ever was to be one, this was it.

Though many Templars exemplify embarrassment and confusion with the response of anger and rage, Delire had never been one as such. He simply nodded.

"If you had given this information first hand, this whole escapade and waste of my time could have been avoided." He scolded her, much like a child, wagging a ceramite armored finger at her. That made her even more angry, the color that was already in her cheeks deepened. That was usually his way of getting even, and on any normal basis would have continued to pick at her for the remainder of time that they would have been exposed too her.

However, events did not fall that way.

The communication waves suddenly burst into several people speaking at once, one frantic, one calm, and one eerily cool.

Of what snatches Delire could immediately pull out, was his own Navigator. The withered being almost never seen was simply repeating, "The warp is growing cold…" Finally, Hellius must have shut off the communication feed too the Navigator.

Secondly, there was some unidentified male voice pleading for help, requesting urgent intervention by anybody and everybody.

Third, was the voice of Hellius, attempting to talk some sense into the man. But the unidentified voice was paying absolutely no attention to anyone.

Delire stepped back out into the cavern sized entry way, calling his serfs to him. Gestus was already on his way, rallying the men. He was proud to see not an ounce of fear in the normal crewman's eyes. These were the dedicated and battle hardened humans he had liberated from their desiccated hive and terrifying xenos predators.

Captain Surchild was likewise listening, undoubtedly her own com bead, staring off into nothing. She only absently nodded when Delire spoke of his immediate desire to return to his ship. They parted without another word. Unerringly Terrell lead them back too the launch bay in much less time than had taken them to get there. A generation aboard the Emperor's Shield had made these men more than competent. They wanted to be competent, which is more than most shipbound serfs throughout the Imperium can say.

The Thunderhawk lifted smoothly from the deck, and rushed out into the Great Dark, heading for the Shield's waiting bays.

"Brother Captain, we are receiving a message from Chaplain Ramiel, patching you through." Hellius' voice cut through the others, on a higher bandwidth.

"Brother Captain Delire, the Emperor Provider and escorts are moving too your position. We have detected two groups of inbound ships. One is definitely Imperial in origin, where as the second can not be determined at this time. Meet us at 45.97, Provider out."

Delire, leaning over the desiccated but fully functional pilot servitor, grimaced. A Three-way. As appealing it had seemed in idea, back before he had become a Templar, now tactically it was one of the worst situations possible.

The red lights surrounding the Landing bay pulsed a blue-red pattern, signaling that Hellius had already initiated battle stations. Delire made a mental note to comment on the Neophytes good service, if they lived through this.

"Be advised Eminent Reward, there are two fleets currently heading into the close proximity of our position. Suggest flee at once. Repeat, flee. We can buy you some time to drop into Warp." Delire released the target oriented comm. button, gripping onto the acceleration couch of the servitor pilot as the Thunderhawk made its landing.

By the time he got from the cockpit too the troop bay, only Gestus was waiting, the normal crew having already left the vehicle.

"The Emperor has blessed us with a mighty crew, Brother Captain." Though Delire chose to be mostly informal with titles during times of inactivity, old Gestus was almost always proper. The Apothecary looked on the Captain's forgivable laxity with the same sense that a parent looks on a child. Even they were but neigh 80 years apart in age.

"Indeed he has. Lets go make sure they do not all die today, shall we?" Gestus nodded at Delire's comment, and followed him out of the Thunderhawk as it powered down and went through post-flight checks.

The door to the bridge rolled to the side with a sibilant but smooth hiss. "What do you have for me, Neophyte Hellius?"

Hellius quickly stood from the command chair, and took his normal place at one of the two desks in front and too the side of the Captain's seat. Originally when they had found the ship, there had been no desk on the left. Neither of them rightly understood what it was for, and had not spent any time figuring out as of yet.

"Four bogeys in the Imperial group, burning hot and heavy. One of them has to be a Battleship, its spitting out too much radiation to be otherwise. The other set… well if it wasn't for that," Hellius pointed at the still un understood screen on the ceiling. "I would not have even seen them. The Provider must have some warp-strong sensors. There is little to no radiation emissions, or any other for that matter. They might as well be dead rocks, which they might be though I doubt it, but regardless they are headed here."

Delire nodded, flicking the engine room comm. switch. "Enginseer, is everything in place and ready for a fight?" The startled tech priest visibly jumped from the sudden communication, even though he should have been at battle stations.

His bionic eyes zeroed into the holo plate, and then laughed in a high pitched, almost hysterical fashion. "Their fine! Everything's fine! Ahhhh!"

Delire frowned, the weirdness of his statement twisted like a small worm in his gut. But none the less, he had to take the Enginseer's word for it. He cut the channel with little bits of himself arguing back and forth about the sanity of his poor Adeptus Mechanicus. Perhaps one of the forty or so other tech priests that were scattered across the ship would replace him for a while.

Such arguments ended when his Focus of Attention Marine shot all of the rest of the arguers into silence.

"Pilot, bring us up too coordinates 45.97. Keep all engines warm. Hellius, raise the Void Shield, and bring the reactors online just incase." Delire went through a series of button pushing, dial turning, and lever adjusting maneuvers, setting his command board just as he wanted it.

Engines spitting ions by the trillions into the night, the Shield hurtled away from the Rogue Trader ship. A few minutes later the Eminent Reward came about and up, following in the Shield's wake. Better a reluctant ally than the unknown.

Thirty minutes and a full ship's readiness sound off later, the Shield arrived at guard position too the Emperor Provider. Chaplain Ramiel greeted Delire's arrival in the formal way that they usually used on ship to ship statements.

The two Nova class frigates took up opposite positions out and 10 degrees 'down' from the Shield's bow plane. The Furious Interdictor, and the Quiet Slash were young ships, but their Marine captains were well liked by Delire and Ramiel. And they were loyal to their battle groups secret charge, the Child.

The still as of yet unidentified Imperial fleet, consisting of 8 ships, were definitely slowing. They had presented their engine columns, and were slowly killing their momentum.

However, the unknown entities had made no change too their velocity. The Imperial ships had made a warp signature upon their entrance, but data from the Provider had shown that the unknowns had simply 'appeared' at the edge of sensor range.

Minutes before the Imperial ships should have been in comm. range, a blast from them took over Delire's systems, announcing from every speaker in the ship.

"Adeptus Astartes ship, this is the Unrelenting Flame of the Deathwatch Chapter. Identify yourself or be considered hostile."

Hellius and Delire caught glances. They both smiled slightly, as the result could have been worse. He waited until the ships were within range, then flipped the com switch.

"Unrelenting Flame, this is Emperor's Shield of the Black Templars. Do you require assistance?" Delire waited patiently for the reply, but it was timely enough.

"Emperor's Shield, we have no record of a ship of this name under Black Templar ownership. Stand where you are or leave. You will be fired upon in any other decision. Do not attempt to maneuver any closer than fifty thousand K. Are we understood?" The deep growling voice that made the communications bled respect and obedience from the speakers from which it came from.

"You are understood Deathwatch. We will not hinder you in any way." Delire nodded to Hellius' silent request. Powerful scanning beams reached out through space towards the Unknown group of objects. It would be several minutes until anything would return, but it was a start.

The engines, already kept warm by their crew, were lit in an instant after the Captain deemed it necessary. The Furious Interdictor, and the Quiet Slash took up retainer positions, with the Eminent Reward trailing oddly behind.

The Unknowns, which had been definitely defined as Necron vessels, were tearing into the Deathwatch something good. Finally, Delire could take it no more, when the tide of the battle swung against his brother marines, no matter how far removed from courtesy.

"All weapons deploy, damage response crews to their posts. Marshals, make sure everyone his armed, we will most likely take on boarding parties." Delire went through a quick series of changes in his original combat layout after his announcement to the Shield's crew.

"Hellius-"

"Yes, I know, Take us into the thick of it." Hellius mocked Captain Delire's usual words in their own companionably way. It was as an old hand to them, but most Templars would be shocked by their familiarity. None the less, Hellius ordered the Pilot servitor into the thick indeed.

"Fire! Damn the warp Felix, Fire!" The Shield rocked under the glittering arcs of energy emitted from the Necron ships. Two more had gone down since the pell mell Templar charge, disregarding any and all protests. Since then, events had turned from worse to unbelievable. Delire was crouched, making sure the skull-ish head of the Necron warrior was truly removed before he stood over the smoking metallic corpses that littered Bridge Alpha.

Hellius, most of his left shoulder vaporized by enemy fire, was working his symphony of information, with one hand. Belatedly, the speakers above them attached to the captains chair crackled with a snapping hiss.

There was really no need to announce a Titus cannon, the braking thrusters on the opposite side of the ship making as much of a vibration as the sub atomic explosion that propelled the massive shell from the Shield. But none the less, Felix sounded "Shell away Brother!" once the radiation ripple from the magnetically baffled explosion cleared.

With blood shot eyes and a gaping wound that had shredded two of his main lungs, the captain stared at the phantom green holo.

The instantly fast propelled round struck the living metal center of the Scythe class Necron ship. Just as always, the blinding flash and spherical realm of destruction spread the cross like structure into many pieces, each seen groping for its partner. Eventually the tendrils would slow and die.

The starboard ballistic batteries pulverized the two Jackal type Raiders that were harrying the stricken Light of God.

Though boarding parties ranged about the Sword's interior, and the loss of the Quiet Slash, the battle was placed now back on its fulcrum.

As if on cue, the Unrelenting Flame moved through the ever scattering cloud of debris, bringing it into combat range with the black-as-night Necron ship that hosted the destruction of most of the Deathwatch fleet.

The logi-engines said it was a Cairn class ship, more than a match for a battle ship of the Flame's size. But it had been none the less, more silent than it should have been, during the battle. There were eaten holes in its hull, and pockmarked spots that indicated travel damage. This was what was throwing the Shield's logi-engines off on the identification factor. The living metal that Necron ships were made of, repaired themselves. This Tombship, had yet to show evidence of such repairs. Though its weapons were still apparently, fully functional.

"Masters at Arms, how many Titus shells remain?" Delire's throat was full of blood, but the hid it well.

"Two!" and a few seconds later from the Port battery, "Three! But I think only one will fire. We are cradleing it now."

Delire fired two pristine bolts from his anciently inherited pistol down the hallway. He had heard metallic scraping and scuffling at the end, past the blown inward door. That would have been enough in of itself, but the green splash of pseudo-plasma that burned a wave like scorch mark in the deck plating was what really prompted the holding shots.

The com lines had been for some time, clogged with shipboard reports of Necron boarding parties. The valiant men and women that had chosen, pointedly chosen, the Shield as their home; were selling every foot of the ship's corridors with their precious blood. There was naught but one Templar marine for every fifty serfs, but by the Emperor, they held. The Mars expedition was the true telling point. Their advanced combat servitors and intimate knowledge with the ship itself had proven invaluable in the last few hours. Many an invader had been scoured from the decks by plasma and melta, or ejected into space by the errant maintence tube linked to an opened exterior bulk head. The priests of the Machine God would never go easily into the dark Night, let no one say otherwise.

The Unrelenting Flame's front was of the much heralded design of a ramming prow. More than likely it had been, at one point in time, a Mars class battle cruiser. None the less, the deeply armored prow struck the Cairn Tombship at dead center, minus 18 degrees bow point.

Both ships enmeshed, explosions jettisoning crew or other types of unknown personnel into space, they ground together as two monsters in grapple.

Delire ordered the damage crews away from their stations, to assist the beleaguered boarder-repelling units. He even ordered the Masters of Arms from their posts. Hellius gripped the Plasma pistol he had acquired a few years back in his still functioning right hand, and went to do battle with those Necrons that were still in the hallway. The Captain had put them down twice already, but they repaired themselves. Occasionally.

A crimson stain followed Delire to the command chair, but he made no move to cover his air sucking wound. Hellius' Plasma pistol and tribal war cry heralded his clearing of the few Necron forces that still lurked in the hallway just beyond the ruptured bridge door.

Delire sighed, with a gurgling huff, as he swung the control arm over his waist. He had everything that was required here. The final Necron raiders had reverted into the immaterium, or where ever it was that they went.

Dim and haltingly visible cross hairs were aligned on the enmeshed two ships, centered on the most applicable energy emissions. No ships remained in working order, but the slightly damaged Eminent Reward, and the Templar strike ship Furious Interdictor.

Moments went by, consciousness snapping into points of consciousness, centered on barely glowing cross hairs.

The great enemy cruiser, with no apparent build up or reason, simply vanished. Much like its other raider escorts, but much more hesitantly. It took most of the front half of the Unrelenting Flame with it. After a time that no one would be able to define, a com message penetrated the discord of the Net.

"Enemy ship neutralized. Stand down."

With a single gurgling breath, Captain Delire elapsed into darkness.

Dreams followed, with no hint of time. He was again on Nutra, charging the line of Orks, his las rifle spitting fire. This time, things did not follow their original order.

It was but a few days before Delire was back to full capacity, it took a lot of damage to kill a Marine. Hellius, still only a Neophyte, took much longer. A new arm was acquired for him at the Captain's insistence. Captain Delire spoke too Chaplain Ramiel about Hellius and his competence. The Chaplain offered to let him stay aboard the Emperor Provider for the duration of their scavenging and repairs.

The remaining forces of the Deathwatch, with the assistance of the Provider's repair bays, were able to revive the strike cruiser Light of God. In the mean time they had been busy retrieving sensitive material from the hulks that now floated dead in space, above a dead world. Including that, there were several shuttles moving back and forth from the Eminent Reward. As soon as Delire was up and moving, he had plainly seen why. The fake cover had been removed from the cargo vessel's number 1 hold, which of course had not held water reserves. An enormous sensor package had been able to soak up every bit of data available from the battle.

So, it had been bait.

Delire wondered how Surchild felt about that, or if she had been in on it the whole time. That made him frown for the rest of the day.

"His training seems hardly necessary. It appears he already knows more than the basics, and he is able to recite the Librum Imperius back and forward. Apothecary Welton has found gestalt but growing Space Marine organs." Chaplain Ramiel pushed the white cloth hood down to his shoulders as he and the Captain watched the Child.

He was down on the training floor, synchronized movements perfectly in time with the other Neophytes. There was twenty of them, all of the native stock from Shield and Provider. Due to their unique history, their skin contained no pigmentation, causing a pearly white cast too their features and frightful pink to red eyes.

"Indeed. How should we go about this Ramiel, we can not sit on this secret for too much longer. I know some of the Deathwatch Marines have glimpsed him, and the Templar Deathwatch member is asking questions about everyone's garb." Delire eyed his old friend with a sad expression. All of the Marines aboard the Provider and some on the Shield now wore the white cowl, showing their support of the Child.

"I sent the Chalice to Chaplain Grimaldus with a message of the up most importance." Ramiel caught site of Delire's expression and smiled. "Fear not brother, we are to meet Grimaldus' and aids at the Shrineworld Kidico."

Delire thought for a moment, then shook his head. "That is years away. Its on the other side of the damn Imperium." And truly it was, deep inside the Ultima Segmentum.

"Heh, you try and get Grimaldus away from a Crusade already underway. He is instead taking a slight detour."

Delire again shook his head, but for a different reason. He wouldn't even begin to try. Though Grimaldus would probably come to them if he knew how important the subject was. However, it would do no good for everyone to suddenly be in an uproar about it, seeing as the Child was still wanted by the Ordos Hereticus.

The 'mother' of the Child left not long after she recovered, telling of a need to return to her abbey. Brave woman.

Delire continued to watch as the 'young' men trained, though they were of varying ages. The Child was all of eight now, but the seriousness in tone and demeanor was a reminder that the boy was not normal. Besides his eyes, whose pupils were shaped as an +. But when one drew up face to face to the Child, one could see that they were Templar Crosses on a field of white. Just like the design each Templar holds on his shoulder guard.

The Captain doubted he would ever truly get used to it.

But that was not the only quirk. The boy had been seen disassembling and reassembling a bolt pistol, reading from books that no one had seen previously on this ship, skipping nimbly through the lattice of adamantium support struts in the engineering room.

That was three hundred feet from the deck below.

This was no normal child. He could speak verbatim many of the ancient and great works, such as the Codex Astartes, the Librum Imperius, and a vast amount of historical combat. Despite a boy's natural curiosity, which he seemed to have very little, Delire had only seen him smile once.

But as far as anyone could tell, including the Navigators, he was not a psyker. Nor daemon, possessed, subverted, or anything else. The warp was always calm and empty about him.

"You know what is uncanny, Delire?" The Chaplain drained his cup as a pause, then looked over at the Captain. "I often find him looking out, unerringly towards Terra. I have checked on it. I find him there most of the time during my rest period."

Delire arched an eyebrow, still watching the Child go through a series of punishing exercises. "Brother, this whole thing is uncanny. If Grimaldus deems him warp touched or a psyker, we will have to kill him. And you should be at rest during your rest period. Your not as young as you used to be." This was an old joke. Truth be told since the Child's arrival, Delire had using less of the rest period than ever.

"True enough. Its hard for me to keep up with you young sprites as it is." The Chaplain's much scarred lips twisted in a smirk. He still watched Delire, as if searching him for something. "So tell me, what is going on with Surchild? She has not departed this system as of yet, though the Deathwatch took their sensor package with them. Quite an affair, that. All hush-hush, as if we were not on the same side." Both of them sighed.

"I do not fully understand Surchild's motivation. Though she apparently is a licensed Rogue Trader, she has put in for assistance at my Dock facility." Ramiel poured more of the deep amber port into the snifter, setting both the cup and the decanter on the small table of Psuedowood that was in between their viewing chairs. "Now she is trying to sell off what remains of her Servitor cargo on my poor crewmen. Easily enough said that she is not having much luck."

Delire sniffed, then took a sip from his own glass. Ramiel's varied liquors were always the best, if a bit sharp. Brewed somewhere in his personal quarters, the Chaplain called it 'restful'. But though it would take gallons to force a Space Marine into drunkenness, it had been in Ramiel's family business from where he had been recruited. To that matter, Delire was not sure exactly where that was. Some Marines lost all memory of their past, but it depended really on what age they were Chosen at. At most, to some, it was a hazy dream like apparition of the mind.

"She wishes to travel with us you old brick, though for the life of me, I can not understand why. And I should not let her, for that matter. Her Navigator is young and highly vocal. And though well kept, that ship looks ill fitting of our name." The port was as smooth as it was rich, with the aftertaste of incense and wolves-bane. His words had been mostly smoke, for Delire's mind was wrapped about the idea of keeping the Servitor's for himself. Already salvage crews, after the departure of the remaining Deathwatch ship, had acquired several Lance batteries and holds full of surplus parts. Also, several of the more impressively dead hulks should be towed to a more safe location.

"Well….." The Chaplain slowly swirled the glass now in his hand, showing amber cascades in the dim room. "The cargo vessel would not go amiss, what with all of the potential scrap we have here." He calmly drank it half empty, amused eyes taking in Delire's ever so slight twitch.

"That is true, but eventually we will need to find a proper home for our junk." Delire smiled, but then glanced sidelong at the Chaplain. He had fallen into the elder's trap, ambushed.

"Well, we will see what we can make of this 'junk', though I do not know the word." The Chaplain nodded firmly, his decision made. Where ever Delire was heading with this, the Ramiel would be found leading from the front, as always.

The Captain's eyes glittered.

"Indeed."

It was a couple of months till things we all put into place. During this time, Surchild had earned quite a bit of respect, and her crew even more. The, although competent, now native crews of the Provider and Shield had been thankful to be introduced into a sailor's life. Their home world had been quite a hostile place, and living on an Imperial ship was little different than the mostly non functioning Hive that had been their origins. None the less, the more experienced spacers of the Eminent Reward were able to teach them some tricks and give them more of a technical groundings on the 'why's', not just the 'what's'.

They were tentatively allowed to mingle in open areas, monitored by the Black Templar Neophytes. However the two crews did interact considerably on a one on one basis, as was apparent in later generations.

Delire and the now fit for duty Hellius were up too their knees in progress reports, status updates, inventory logs, and all other assorted bureaucratic day to day. The captain had designated several layers of crewmen to oversee this process, however things still traveled up stream, as much to make Delire wonder what it must look like further back down the river.

After several days of reports, he had almost shot a poor scavenger who had decided it was necessary to send progress reports every day. But they had been so intelligible that they had been passed up the chain of command till almost no one could decipher them. Finally, he had implored Ramiel to find a solution to his problem.

The Chaplain, to Delire's surprise several months later, had in fact not gone on any investigation. The answer had presented itself but scant hours earlier. The Child had presented to Ramiel a short and slightly stocky woman, of Yelegon stock, too the Chaplain as an adept at numbers.

Truly she was, to the benefit of all concerned. The woman had an instinctual connection with numbers and time. No more than a week later most of the scavenger work teams were calling her mom or mother.

The benefit was almost immediately apparent to Delire, as the ship bound work load was reduced to next too nothing.

Two month's of scavenging, blasting, prying, and setting tow lines, the Ivory Fleet was set to go underway.

Four jumps later, on the edge of the Carrabus system, things went afoul.

The Astropath aboard the Shield apparently went nuts. Not stored anywhere near the bridge, but in direct contact, the ailed soul was able to emit a single message before her mind was crushed like a bug.

Carrabus IV, under assault. All forces, attention. We have a Warp incursion. Request Aid immediately+

It was but a few moments spoken between Delire and Ramiel to determine their intentions. Truly though, they had not needed to communicate. The small fleet, hulks dropped at entry point, leapt into the solar winds of the inner system.

Ramiel laughed, a harsh and bitter sound. His face was covered with his Death-mask, the traditional skull that all chaplains wore, and further obscured by his white cowl. "These Chaos spawn are as dumb as they are ugly." The Emperor Provider was blazing away with it's recently mounted, scavenged and retro fitted, Lance batteries. It was more of a desire to get into the Mess, than any other. The corrupted luxury liner had been already shredded at its most important areas by the rabid guns of the Emperor's Shield. Delire had withheld the Titus cannons, considering it took over eight months for the Provider too assemble a new shell.

But the Provider, when its reactors were not powering any of its repair bays or the U shaped apparatus that it used for servicing larger ships, had power to spare. The Lance beams were horrendously bright as they ate into the already bubbling armor of what had once been the 'Sunflower'.

The liner had been last sighted leaving the Signum system, home to many rich hives. There were no recorded sightings since then, as Delire found out once they had pried the computer core from the twisted wreak. Its wards had failed, and the Navigator had become possessed. Things had spiraled downwards from there.

"Hellius, prep Thunderhawks two and four. Wait, four still is having some engine trouble isn't it? Delire was too busy watching the news reels from the planet below too look over, but the Neophyte quickly replied.

"Yes, it's still flagged as Dangerous Too Operate."

"Actually, prep all of the operable ones." The Captain flipped the internal com switch too the on position. "All volunteers for a little ground fighting, arm yourselves accordingly and file to the mustering bay. All Marines, report immediately."

When Delire rose from his control chair, Hellius arched an eyebrow in question. Delire laughed. "Did you not think I would go with?"

Hellius slowly shook his head. "I would not think it otherwise. But, do you mean to leave me here?" That took Delire at a step. But he turned too his Neophyte.

"I see no one else I would rather have positioning my orbital strikes. Make sure you have a good set before you fire either of the cannons." He patted the control arm, that was attached to the Captain's Chair. "And watch the starboard one, its always four degrees too topside."

This mollified Hellius somewhat, though Delire could tell by his face that he wanted to be down on the surface with him. Truly enough, there was no one else he trusted besides Ramiel, with his ship. But he could understand Hellius's desire. They all felt it. It was primal, genetic. Only discipline separated the beast from the man.

"Very well Captain, I have the bridge." Without another word Hellius began to reconfigure the control arm into his own specific needs. The Captain knew he would have hell of a time getting everything back to his own standards. But, such was the price to pay.

On the way too the mustering bay, Ramiel's voice crackled over his Suit's communication suite. "I am sending down most of my Marines, as well as the ones from the Furious Interdictor." The Chaplain hesitated for a moment. "I am also sending another contingent of crew and Servitors, at the Child's request. He says we will need more than we have." Though Delire could not see the venerable marine, he heard the mixed feelings in his voice.

"I am also gathering crew, but they were just for holding purposes. Should I wake Demetrius?" Delire opened a bulk head, then struggled through the press of volunteers, some only armed with their traditional spears and jagged knives.

"No, let him sleep a bit more. However, make sure that a drop pod is ready for him."

"I don't have drop pods on this old boat my friend. Only Thunderhawks. But I will keep one ready for him. Hellius, are you getting this?" Several spear hafts thwacked off his helmet at once due too his hurry and attempt to not injure anyone of his valued crew. It was more humorous than Delire was prepared to acknowledge at the moment.

After an abashed second, a third voice simply said 'yes'. Delire chose to trust in his Neophyte, who had become such an integral part of his crew, to understand what needed to be done. Finally though, he dialed up the volume on his Vox speakers.

"Let me pass, in the Emperor's Name!"

The way shortly became available to him. There was probably several hundred humans of Yelegon stock, and his thirty Marines all crammed into the mustering bay. This was not inclusive of the crew that still crowded and jammed the access passages too the bay itself.

Delire cast his gaze over the heads of the much shorter normal crew, and began picking out those who had either armor or actual projectile weapons. It was rare that they had both, so he chose them to be his squad leaders. Most of the crew were sparsely dressed, hailing to their post technology-tribal existence. Every one past thirteen years of age, 11 years in standard time, was tattooed and adorned with many bits of debris that they had come across or won. The most ancient of them stood at the back with dried Loxattal skin and claws as trophies. Bought with blood from their ancestral, and now very far away, enemy.

To seven of his more ranged weapon inclined Marines he gave each one hundred crewmen that were leaping at the chance, each broken up into internal command structures that those marines would dictate. The remaining he broke up into two squads, one of thirteen that would be equipped with Jet packs and all the assault weapons they could carry.

The remainder would be his own squad, a strategic and ordinance based unit. They carried as much anti vehicle and other large infantry killer equipment as they were stored.

It took under an hour for all the Marines to rope everything into place, the crew obeying without question. There was little discipline when it came to things with these men and women, but again it has been mentioned that so far, Delire had not seen anything that these humans didn't want to do.

Several squads of the crew were outfitted with the few heavy bolters, las cannons, and missile launchers that the Shield had in its stores. The Captain reflected on the fact that he should have been more prepared for this, considering the low Marine count of his fleet. Or at least he still felt like it was 'his' fleet, though in truth Ramiel out ranked him by much.

As a last note, before the loading of the Thunderhawks was complete, Delire made sure that each group of the crew had one of the elders with them, those who had originally seen action on the Yelegon Hive.

Next was nothing but rushing red hot atmosphere and sparse anti aircraft fire.

The elder tribesman in the rocking Thunderhawk that also contained Delire had begun a deep rolling chant. Though it could hardly be heard over the howl of the engines and the rustling of equipment, the troop bay was packed full of the chanting crewmen. What little free space there was taken up by the elder, who was passing out small flakes of dried moss, that were crispy and only the vaguest green.

Gestus, the Marine Apothecary for the Emperor's Shield, had said that the moss was a potent toxin, mild hallucinogen, and fairly long lasting stimulant. Delire had allowed most of the customs of the Hive Tribes to stay in place, after much examination and searching for any blasphemous taints. There were none, and the Tribesman had retained some primitive worship of the Emperor. Ramiel had no doubt brushed them up on the facts of it, though this was no Ministorium ship.

Delire unhooked himself from his landing bench, and maneuvered himself into the tight confines of the cockpit. Normally, it wouldn't be constrictive, but an advanced servitor had been hard wired into the Thunderhawk.

Over the servitor's head, Delire could see the clouds rushing by. They had pierced the upper atmosphere, and were receiving light and uncoordinated AA fire. The news programs that Delire had been watching revealed that the chaos infection had blossomed in the only star port, but there had been uprisings in several districts all across the planet. Apparently some cult had been fairly widespread, but not enough to attract the notice of any of the Ordos.

The city of Heatherfield, containing the star port, had fallen within a day. Once the corrupted Liner had started sending down its once high class shuttles, the cult in question had knocked out the city's power grid. The Arbites forces on the planet had been quickly over run, though there were a few places of resistance still being assaulted.

"Flight, come about to the heading 285." Delire released to com link as the Thunderhawk banked in what seemed to be a slow turn. The anti aircraft batteries of the star port were becoming a little more focused, so the Captain had decided to land on the other side of the city.

There was no Imperial guard stationed on this world, nor any other sort of garrison. It was a pastoral agri-world, thousands of miles of crop fields dotted sparsely with small itinerant settlements. The incredibly enormous machines that gradually harvested the vegetable matter could be seen, the dual humped silos their backs making them seem as weapon oriented. But they weren't, from anything Delire had picked up.

As they rushed over, Delire could see crowds in the streets, and fires in buildings. Though he could not recognize any specific standards, they were definitely chaos inspired. It made his teeth grind.

At the interface board, he marked off the landing site, in a large vacant lot just at the edge of the city. On three sides the lot was bordered by low buildings, two to three stories at most. These he designated for the six Thunderhawks to pulverize with heavy bolter fire.

A few moments later, the buildings were little but their steel bones and some permacrete. Within seconds of that, his gunship settled smoothly to shell covered turf. A few last minute adjustments to the cockpit interface, and Delire was back into the now empty troop bay. Down at the end of the ramp the two men needed to wield the crew borne heavy bolter, stood waiting for orders. He could see the jitters in the young warriors, and the dilated pupils.

Delire coordinated the consolidation of the landing point, setting up the heavy weapons in the shattered buildings around them to provide fire support. His ten marines were out in the streets, waiting to spot the hosts of chaos that were surely on their way.

All of the crew with projectile weapons he placed behind the burned out shells of vehicles that he had ordered dragged into a barricade formation. The rest were clustered behind them, crouched low, waiting to leap up in the case of need.

The Thunderhawks began to rise again, racing off back into space to acquire the next load of crewmen and marines. Ramiel's forces had been held in reserve, now undoubtedly waiting in cramped drop pods, at hold until Delire gave landing coordinates.

The minutes counted by, and Delire consciously checked his bolter for the fourth time. It had been some time since he had been on the ground in action, the open sky making him feel somewhat vulnerable, and surely it was no better for the crew. But it was not too long before his marines returned in haste, giving him locations and demeanor of the enemy forces approaching.

Gestus, his pearl white bolt pistol hanging loose and ready in his hand, pointed. Rising into the air above the city were tiny figures, due to distance, but very obviously winged. Delire increased the magnification of his range finder, studying the threat. Twisted and glistening in the off white sunlight, it was fairly obvious that these mutated beasts were going to make things interesting. There were nine of them, but as of yet he could not tell how large they were.

The explosive chattering of a heavy bolter brought him back to his local vicinity. He was at the direct center of the barricade, with his marines and Gestus about him. The bolter fire was coming from the elevated firing position to his left. The crewmen up there had a better vantage point, due to their proximity to the wide road.

Then, the snapping hiss of the lascannon on his right burst into existence. His scouts had said that they had seen many cultists and a few Champions here and there within the forces arrayed against them. It seemed that the city itself had revolted and turned to Chaos, though Delire silently suspected it was Tzeentch's allegiance.

Faces and bodies twisted with some despicable curse, the river of once citizens crested both ends of the street at the same time, at a dead run.

The husks of vehicles had been arrayed in a V, with the open end capping the empty lot that the Templars were using as a dust off point. Since no identifiable leaders, caches or infested areas had been able to be identified, Delire had chosen to fortify and hold this point until all of his forces and Ramiel's were deployed. Then they would range out into the city, burning it as they went.

Brilliant tracer fire from the heavy weapons scythed into the quickly advancing crowd. Limbs and blood flew into the air as countless traitors went down, their little to no armor helping them not in the least.

Adrenal chemicals pounding in his veins, the captain leapt up onto a crumpled cab, and began firing into the mess. As if at signal, the rest of the loyal forces let loose, the burning pop of the las gun over ridden by bolter fire and the belching of shotguns.

Grenades arced in the air, exploding in or over the heads of the onrushing forces, hurling razor like shrapnel into their midst. Despite the pulped and viscous mass that was now coating the legs of the enemy, the came on into fiery death.

Delire could see the symbols cut and burned into the flesh of men and women who had been once normal humans. But now they were trash, detritus in need of removal. The tide had yet to see the end, more and more coming around the blind corner, but Delire jumped back down inside the barricade. It was mere seconds before the enemy would reach it, but the captain had a surprise.

He had just radioed in coordinates when the first chaos filled citizen leapt up onto the barricades with the full intention of taking someone's life. It never got the chance, as a feather decorated spear flowered from the woman's chest. She screamed and fell back, but she was just the first of many.

In thirty seconds, the barricade was full of hand to hand engagements, struggling bodies, and the dead. The press of the crowd and their insistence on the death of the marines and company made it really hard to swing. Delire's chainsword whined as it took limbs and lives with abandon, his precious bolter empty at his feet.

A shotgun blast ricocheted off his shoulder guard, taking a screaming man in the face, dropping him before the captain had even faced him. The rag tag mob had very few weapons with which they had returned fire with during their mad charge. But now that the fighting had become much closer, more were presenting themselves. As of yet, nothing that would be a threat the Marines themselves, but his crew were just as vulnerable as the traitors.

Gestus took one of the rabid attacking children in the throat with a powered bone saw that made up one of many tools in the Narthecium on his left arm. It was primarily a tool for assisting in medical treatment, but it had a few uses in a pinch. He moved up beside Delire, covering his side.

The near, at the moment, invulnerable marines were attempting to shield the crew as best they could. The white skinned tribesmen were making themselves very effective, using spears and knives with deadly skill. The older ones had been trained in their use against their Loxattal enemies, but the newer ones had had more effective tutelage, though less experience.

Delire's vision was suddenly impaired as stomach fluids sprayed his helmet, as he bear-hugged two lunatics, crushing their spine and innards into co-mingled goo. He gripped one of the dying bodies by its now exposed hip bone, swinging it as a club in compliment to his chainsword. After a few strikes it was nothing but a dripping hip section. He laid about himself with both hands full, trying to make room in the press of bodies.

The roar of a flamer, somewhere off to his right, brought a new element to the fight. Burning chaos followers set others on fire about them, the sticky type of promethium adhering to anything it touched. The captain dropped the bloody fragment and removed his helmet. The air stank, and he immediately had to crush a skull and two wind pipes with his caked helmet, as the cultists saw an opening in his defenses. The helmet's systems, though integral, blocked out much of the normal range of vision. Sounds were also much louder, nearly painful in his high strength ears.

Corpses were stacked like corded wood around him, but for a moment there was a space without enemies. The hook on his belt for his helmet had been broken off, so he dropped it at his feet instead. He hurled a body at a group of attackers as they attempted to flank the formation of Marines and crew, bowling them over in a screaming pile.

"Ave Imperetor!" He shouted, answered by many of the Marines. With his strength and chainsword, he cut and pushed his way out of the pile of which he was the center of. The enemy advance had slowed under the withering fire and stalwart hand to hand ability of the Templars and their allies. But they were still not stopping, as they were now inside the dust-off point, past the barricades.

The dispenser clicking with each grenade he removed, Delire tossed two armed frags over the other side of the barrier, and was rewarded with a spray of blood that splashed the front of his armor.

The ground shook violently, in time with the sound waves of the drop pods as they slammed into the ground, in the very center of the crowd on either side of the Templar line. The storm bolters mounted next to the door immediately began chewing into the mob, now flattened and pressed back from the force of landing. Quite many had been crushed under the pods. The doors themselves detonated their release charge, and flew outwards, sending even more souls to the abyss.

Taking down the isolated marines at the original landing site had seemed like an achievable objective to the chaos forces. However, the arrival of Ramiel's forces including the Chaplain's own terminator squad, appeared to now turn the tide of their crazed moral. The fringe of the mass began to break up, however the inner forces still had no where to go other than forward.

Delire rallied his marines too him, and the crew positively threw themselves on the attacking fanatics. A manhole cover from the road that the barricades sat on had found its way into his hand, and was soon wet with blood as he charged his formation into the press of bodies now attempting to retreat.

Ramiel's assault marines leapt into the air out of their drop pod, their jet packs blowing a distinctive whine. Quickly, Delire ordered them to close up their end of the street, cutting off all retreat. The two other squads, on the opposite side of the street from Ramiel and the Assault marines, arranged themselves into a rough circle and proceeded to carve off large slabs of meat from the mob. Their unrelenting bolter fire mowed down the fleeing as much as the fighting. There can be no mercy for traitors.

The seven marines in charge of the Templar guard, as Ramiel had laughingly called it, had each chosen a part of the immediate outskirts to take and hold. They were charged with keeping everyone in the city who was already, and letting no one else in. Some scavenged weaponry had been found in the heaps of dead, who were currently being burned by the sacred flamer.

Delire's two squads of marines were arrayed about him now, on top of the building that had been just beyond the tip of the V shaped barricades. It had probably once been an office building, but it had been torn apart by the rampant revolt. Well, not so rampant now, thought Delire. When Gestus asked him what he was smiling at, Delire just shook his head.

Demetrius, the fighting companies' only Dreadnought, was currently hosing down the street that was full of bodies. The Dreadnought's heavy flamer was making short work of the clean up duties, and billowing black smoke rose into the sky. Delire had decided to wake the venerable Brother, who though still entombed and kept alive in the Dreadnought's body, still would relish the action.

Ramiel and Delire had conferred, coming to the agreement that this mob had just been the citizens of the city itself, not the cultists or chaos spawn that had caused the revolt. A few true cultists had lead the mob, but they were buried deep within the ever burning piles. The forces of chaos were just getting rid of their meat shield, and both Marines were curious as to why.

Although, Ramiel did have some points that the captain had not noticed. The banners and marks of the mob that had originally attacked the marine landing point, were marked with the symbols of Khorne. However, once Delire had informed and pointed out the winged monstrosities that were currently observing from afar, the Chaplain said that they were more than likely followers of Tzeentch. Both brother marines were more than slightly curious on why two forces would independently represented on one planetoid. Especially when it came to those two diametrically apposed forces and classically regarded the other as enemies.

Regardless of their meeting, Delire had most vehemently chosen to take command. The Chaplain Ramiel had, with unknown reasons, firmly planted his vote to establish Delire as the current Castellan. No Marines had disputed the switch in command, though it was not exactly normal. The crew themselves, absent from the main battle areas, still voiced their accent to the decision. There was not but a one in twenty who had a micro-bead, the small radio gear items that most ground forces used.

Delire was slightly suspicious, but he accepted the rank increase. This gave him more of a working authority over the Templar forces, though they would have most likely followed his orders because of familiarity and camaraderie alone.

Less than fifty true initiates, not including the Dreadnought, were now arrayed on the roof of the shattered office building. Plans and intelligence documents were pouring in at an alarming rate. Early in the terrestrial afternoon, core Templar guard group number 4 had found and relieved a beleaguered Arbites team, that had holed up in a warehouse. Quickly, they had incorporated the police unit into their forces, but intelligence that the new recruits had brought to the table had flushed out the total map. Delire and his forces, though centralized, had very little grip upon what awaited them in the city itself. Granted, they held the outskirts on almost all sides, the inner part of the city was still a hot-bed of activity.

"Quiet! You will enjoy this." Delire held up one of the glow-lamps, though it was not even close to dusk on this planet. The new Castellan had grown more and more irritated at the chaos observers, but had yet to venture deeper into the city.

The sky glowed, clouds ripping about into circular formation as the lance battery pierced the atmosphere. Several buildings, winged observers fleeing but not always succeeding, were reformed into bright molten slag. No one would ever know how much devastation that the first orbital strike, of many, created.

"That was quite petulant." Ramiel noted, his visor drawn against the bright heat of the bombardment from his own ship the Emperor Provider.

"Yes, it was." Delire smiled.

The heavy bolter mounted on the flatbed area of a land bound cargo carrier, spat death and hate with loud statements. Delire and four other marines were crouched down behind a pile of crumbled permacrete, rounds whizzing by. He had been scouting out the surrounding blocks, just north of the landing zone. Since they had taken control and held the dust-point, they had repelled a few tentative attacks. And with the majority of the city north and east of their position, there had been plenty of places for the enemy forces to still be in unknowable strength.

Two of his marines were singing a song, being recruited from the same planet many years ago. Aside from that, Delire did not know them personally beyond their bonds of brotherhood. Their song, would have counted as a bawdy offence, being very lewd in content. But the Castellan's own origins from a now defunct Imperial Guard legion, had endeared him to the boost of moral such songs could implement.

Occasionally he would spray a few rounds in answer, but for the most part they were firmly pinned down, though it had been Delire's own choice. He had radioed for a missile launcher to move up, and the closest one had been of the Child's personal guard.

He caught sight of their black and white figures moving inside a building about a hundred meters back behind his position, but had yet to be relieved of this minute predicament.

Delire had just re-opened the com channel to inquire as too their disposition, when the chattering of the bolter stopped. He heard the engine rev, and begin to pull away just moments before there was a crunch, and the sound returned to a coughing idle.

He quickly spot looked, his head only appearing for about a second. But after another second or two of digesting what his eyes had caught in the picture like image in his mind, he signaled his marines to stand with him. He indicated that Vanburen and Vansaulder to support them with bolter fire. Himself and the two other marines would go check out the vehicle.

It was stopped about fifty feet away from where it had been, a slumped form easily seen from the shattered cab rear window. The two cultists who had been manning the bolter had fallen off, presumably when the vehicle had set into motion. They lay twisted on the ground, their preternatural sleekness of limb and animalistic mutations spoke easily of Tzeentch.

Delire kept his bolt pistol pointed at the cab as he wrenched the door off with one easy pull. The cultists inside was dead, and like the two others, had a small round hole in it's scaled head. Salidor and Erin, the two marines behind him reported a clear shooting area, and Erin's auspex scanner reported the nearby area was clean. They had originally ambushed the cargo vehicle as it was moving by, but the heavy bolter crew had been very prepared for their initial salvo.

"Scout Squad Alpha, will you confirm three kills?" The voice that had originally answered Delire's call for assistance broke into the com link.

"Aye, I count three kills. Do you wish to further shadow us, or are you to return to base?" Delire was looking over the vehicle, searching it for signs of chaos tampering. The bolts and rivets that held the heavy bolter to the bed were still bright, and the Arbites symbols had recently been broken off. But in their haste, no chaos symbols had been applied to either machines.

"We will shadow." Came the only reply.

"Very well. Send three neophytes to retrieve this captured vehicle and salvage the heavy bolter. As for the rest, you can either keep or demo at your discretion." Delire was speaking absently while he studied the glowing area map, marking off a notation of conflict, and collecting new data from the other four scout teams that were slowly dispersing deeper into the city.

The crew forces were slowly moving to encircle the most accessible routes in or out of the city, with over half of them already in Templar hands. It had taken them several days to get this far, but resistance had been light. Unfortunately Castellan Delire had almost no transport vehicles, so they were having to make due with anything they could capture that was not tainted.

The city itself stood on a wide plain, more than twenty two thousand square miles of geographically stable flat land, home to the crops which were the fame of the planet. The nearest settlement was over the hilly region to the east, and was a site of embattled Arbites forces. Cultists had sprung up almost immediately in every city, as if at a signal.

The Castellan's scout teams had found something interesting, but mostly expected. Team Epsilon had located a battleground, that had only recently become silent. Now confirmed, the two present chaos forces were fighting each other. That explained why there had been no significant reprisal for the Templar's landing, as the two factions would probably not be able to let go of their mutual hate, and fight together to stem the tide of the Templar advance.

Three more orbital strikes were ordered, using Delire's scouting teams as spotters. Two vaporized troop movements, and the third crushed a sky scraper. It had missed its intended target, but the hundreds foot high metal building had turned into a molten hundreds foot high metal building. This tidal wave of liquid hot metal had covered the said target, a largely converted heavy Defiler, that had the squad pinned down. It was more than likely still there, inside its metal prison.

Back at base camp later on that same evening, Delire got to speak to someone unexpected.

He had been picked up by one of the roaming patrols that Delire had ordered to constantly keep the perimeter of the Landing zone clean. The Templars now firmly controlled near eighteen blocks, out of a total of seventy.

His hair was scraggly and face speaking of much punishment in his disturbed past. He wore dark black fatigues, but they seemed very frayed and well worn. The patrol had disarmed him, but he did not seem overly worried. They had taken off him two automatic stubbers, four knives of various makes, nine melta grenades, and literally a backpack full of assorted demolition devices. The faded imprint on the backpack read '5th San LeorRegulars'.

The man must have been at least sixty years of age, though the weathering of his skin did obscure this somewhat. Delire sat before him, both eating from their respective rations. The man's rations looked about as old as he was, though if they were like any of the normal issue rations of the Imperial Guard, one's grandchildren could have been sustained by them. However, this did not take into account that they always tasted like sawdust and manure, aged or not.

They silently observed each other, until Delire offered the man a glass of some of Ramiel's port. Delire always had some stashed somewhere, but this seemed to unlock some hidden door between them.

"How long have you been out here?"

The man shrugged, picking at the protein cake. "Since everyone started going all crazy. A couple others of my old unit caught up with me, but they have since been lost."

Delire nodded. "I was once a Guard man myself."

"Well don't that beat all." The man eyed him suspiciously. "What was your unit?"

"1st Hadosan Volunteers."

"Never heard of them." The old man was eyeing the other marines that were keeping a distance from the two, but certainly listening.

"You wouldn't have. They were dead long before you were born. The Grand Warlord of Vacuna and his Waaagh over ran us fairly quickly. They stormed the hives and took control. It wasn't until the Black Templars came several years later, that we had any sort of success in beating them back into the swamps." Old memories, ones that he never much paid attention to anymore, rolled through his mind. They were now like whispers, mists, insubstantial in the fear and terror that had originally made them so hard to forget.

"A small group of us had gone deep when the Orks had taken over, and we had survived by luck, and demolishing key targets. Marshal Deveron rewarded me for saving a unit of Templars, alerting them to the presence of an ambush. I was the only one of my group that made it out of that hell alive."

Silence again stretched between them, but this time it was more contemplative. Delire once again shared his flask with the old veteran.

"We didn't have the most prodigious start either. On San Leor, the women control basically everything. So once I got out into the space lanes, I was surprised how much things were different. My name is Pey-al. But after several meat grinder campaigns, there was almost nothing left of our legion. So we got seconded here, and retired. All fifty of us that were left out of three thousand. But I didn't come here to tell you my story sir."

Delire looked up, curiosity sparked by the old man's words.

The old veteran leveled his eyes to the Marine's, over his battered but port filled tin cup. "Our old captain, Jeffery, he found something on our last campaign. None of us thought it was more than a personal affection, something that most officers usually picked up over time. But I am pretty sure now, in retrospect, that it is probably why all this ruckus is here."

"Really now? Well please do share, you have me at my seat's edge." Indeed, Delire was leaning forward on the makeshift table that his marines had provided them. So far, they had not located any specific place or thing of interest that had obviously drawn these chaos forces into their current struggle.

"He never found out what it was, or where it came from. It gained him some… prestige in certain circles, but due to our very poor Guard unit, he never amounted to what he had the ambition for." Pey-al shook his head, pushing the plate of rations further from him, indicating his obvious distaste. "The only reason I bring this up, and have some form of certainty, is that it was he who lead the rebellion, at the head of a host of cultists. I think that they were trying to get off planet for some reason, but some other weird things appeared, and now have fallen into battle with them. I no longer know where he is."

It took a few moments for Delire to assemble this new information, and backtrack it into what he already knew of the conflict. If it was indeed one man that all this was about, it would definitely support the confused and indefinite intelligence reports that he currently had. It was very hard to track but one man in a war zone.

"So what is this 'personal affection', that you think has caused all this bloodshed?" Delire queried, indicating one of the near by marines to clear the plates from both of them.

"All I know is that is kinda like a rifle. It is almost as large as he is, though it seems to work just fine. It never need recharging, or that we all saw. Its probably a plasma weapon, which I wielded at one point in time." Pey-al raised his right arm and pulled the cloth down that was covering his flesh. Sure enough, there was a trademark plasma pistol burn there, permanently etched in his wrinkled skin.

"Go on.." Delire opened the com line to Ramiel, allowing their conversation to be observed by more than himself and the haunting marines that pretended at duties around them.

"It fires every time, never overheats, and as far as I saw, does no damage to the user." The semi-retired guardsman leaned forward on the table, as if to instill some secret into their conversation. "I once watched him blow a hole in a looted Leman Russ tank, the size of a man. With one blast. It is truly an enviable weapon. Though why it would attract so much attention for all this," He waved his other hand at the shattered buildings that hemmed in the landing zone. "I do not know. We thought it just to be the luck of the man. Powerful and little understood weapons are seen all around us, especially line units. As we were."

The Castellan nodded his agreement, which only his unique perspective would have provided him. "So what are you going to do now, Pey-al? You are more than welcome to stay here with us. My troops would benefit from your experience."

Pey-al swirled the dark port in his tin can for a moment, before taking a small sip, savoring the amber liquid. "I think that I am too old for this sort of thing. But I also don't think that your Templars will leave much standing once you are finished with this world. I have seen enough to support that idea."

"This is true. I do not plan to leave anything erect here, since most of the planet is currently in revolt."

"Ahhhh, I did not know the exact extent of the problem. Though I am not really surprised. Captain Jeffery was nothing but a thorough man." Pey-al began to trim his fingernails with a small knife, something that Delire's marines had not removed from him. For a moment, the spark of anger burned insides the Castellan's mind, but was removed by reason.

Delire waited a few moments, then said, "There can be a place for you. We have many young willing souls that would be greatly influenced by your experience. If you have survived this rampant destruction, I can find no better way to recruit those who would be role-models to my crew."

"Crew?

"I am the captain of the Emperor's Shield, a battleship that is in orbit. The fairly tribal people you see about our encampment are my crew, and the crew of the Emperor Provider. It is a repair and manufacturing ship that we Templars captured long ago."

"How did you come by this all, if you don't mind me asking?" The veteran seemed interested, so Delire told him the rest of the story, leading up to here.

The following morning, when the Castellan was finished with his narrative, and the guardsman nodding forward with exhaustion, he finally accented.

Pey-al would join the Emperor's Shield, as a crew trainer and specialist. It was one of the several major victories upon Carrabus IV that Delire listed in his personal logs

The rebel chaos headquarters was well defended. Upper level housed heavy bolters laced fire down upon the streets around it, keeping the now assaulting Templar forces at bay. If indeed Delire had let them, there was no doubt that the redoubt would have been taken by the zealous forces of the Emperor.

However, due to the low marine count of his Battle group, he was slightly hesitant to commit his loyal forces to a blood bath. Though his forces were only some odd fifty marines, out of the two hundred marines that had originally gone to war in the Aphelion Crusade, Delire was more willing to build up his forces. Very much so rather, than to see them whittled down in the face of some chaos fanatic's field of fire.

"Team Lambda, move up to the green colored permacrete pile." Some previous paint enthusiast had colored the side of a building. Since then, that building's exterior had been exploded outwards, creating many piles of debris. The heavy support squad made several halting advances, darting between pieces of cover before they were in the spot that had originally be designated for the Squad.

Almost immediately, the squad emplaced and fired their resident rocket launcher. The resulting explosion knocked out the banisters that was holding up one of the every sounding bolters on the rebel strong hold. At one time it had been a hotel, with great wrap around balconies for each level. Now it was but a ill armored but much armed compound.

The answering Lascannon fire vaporized two marines and the rocket launcher itself. But it opened up the needed angle.

Delire rolled twice away from his rubble strewn hiding point, and leapt up into a much defunct department store. Pushing his way though racks of clothing, he leapt into the side street that held the captured transport vehicles of the Templar guard.

He jumped up onto the first waiting promethium burning vehicles, part of the most revamped of the captured machines, and on his signal, the anti-grav lifters soared into the sky. They were stocked with the most vehement Templar assault forces, but they were but harrying forces until Delire had dealt with the emplaced fire points of the enemy stronghold. He raised his as he slipped into the firing couch that was bolted on top of the vehicle. A large anti-aircraft cannon had just been secured there that morning by his Tech marines. The three other land vehicles there had been modified by the same marines, to be used as mobile and makeshift fire bases.

He brought his arm down, and the four vehicles rumbled out into the main causeway. Immediately they came under fire. Before Delire had even drawn a bead on the hotel, a bright lance of energy from the heretic lascannon tore a hole through the truck, just missing the drive shaft.

The AA cannon cycled up and began spitting death, flak explosions tearing into the plastic and metal balconies. The multitude of shrapnel was why he had ordered this gun removed from the edge of the still chaos controlled space port. It was definitely keeping the Tzeentch heretics here ducking for cover.

The engine revved up and the truck began moving at speed, with the intent to circle the building. The three captured heavy bolters strapped to the other assorted vehicles behind him began to chew into the enemy gun emplacements.

On Delire's signal, Demetrius stepped through a wall, and out into the street in a shower of bricks. His powerful Assault cannon ripped and tore like a mad beast at the enemy. A round hit something volatile, and the whole lascannon and chaos crew went up in a thunderclap.

Bullets tore through the cab of Delire's vehicle, but the marine driving did not slow. Chunk, chunk, chunk, the flak cannon was making smears of soot and enemy on the balconies. Truck two was down, just a rolling flatbed of flames.

When enough of the enemy fire had slowed, Delire called in his next Emperor card. Fifty neophytes, the Child, and Ramiel's terminators exposed themselves and charged the building. The hurried barricade crumpled under the grenade launchers of the Child's neophytes. Technically, he shouldn't have been in charge, or even there. But Ramiel had insisted.

Four neophytes grabbed wounds and fell in the street as Delire called his truck to park, and began firing into the very entrance of the Hotel, over the heads of his forces into what was sure to be a large auditorium or entry hall.

Demetrius and an escort of thirty marines blew the cargo and loading bay doors off, located at the rear of the hotel. They were the pinning team, cutting off retreat with bolter and chainsword.

Delire pulled Vanburen from the holed cab. One of his legs was missing from the knee down, but the Castellan was pretty sure that it was still in the truck somewhere. As he lifted Vanburen to the firing couch, Gestus found them. He waved Delire on as Vanburen gripped the firing controls.

Delire nodded, thumping both marines on their helmets. He kept his precious antique bolter behind him, and ran across the fire filled street with bolt pistol and a frag grenade in hand.

The Templar forces in the lobby were doing fairly well. The Terminators had taken center point, and were boring into the cultists with vicious intent. Behind them, the concentrated fire of the Neophytes assured that this centralized engagement was to be routed soon. Already the loyal forces had pushed back the cultists to the start of the double arching stairs that lead upwards to the higher levels. Overturned tables and furniture did next to nothing to stop bolters and lasguns, but they had tried to make themselves some cover.

Delire hurled the frag grenade into the press of bodies at the top of the right hand stair, with such force that it embedded itself in one of the cultists before exploding. The 'minimalist' manufacturing of this Hotel had made all of the walkways and stairs look as if they were just hanging in the air. In truth, the ziggurat like building had a complex camouflaged high strength cable system that held everything in place. He tracked and shot the supporting bolts, located in the ceiling. The left hand stair and part of the first level balcony immediately dropped with a crash that was even louder than the conflict. The glass railing shattered on impact, adding more injury. The cultists that were on the walk way and stair at the time spilled like so much grain onto the lobby floor.

The Child, for he had still refused for anyone to name him, shifted his attention and aim on the mass of fallen traitors. With a preternatural calm, even serene expression, the grenade launcher braced on his carapace armored hip began pumping rounds in a gentle arc. Delire watched as each grenade was placed with precision, hemming in the crowd with fire and steel fragments, then targeting the center mass.

Seeing that what had once been a battle was now retiring to a slaughter, Castellan Delire moved behind a much cracked and pitted marble pillar. He brought up his maps on his visor, and switched over too the next highest frequency.

The unorthodox Brothers in Chain were leading several hundred of the crew and scavenged forces, hitting the spaceport at the same time as Delire's assault. The Khornites that had originally landed from the orbiting corrupted liner, when they could not immediately get their hands on this fabled weapon, had fortified the port itself. Though, there was not much to be said in the way of fortifications, followers of the Blood God seldom cared whose blood was spilt.

From what Delire had gathered, things initially had gone well. The human crew units, now a little more experienced with war, had breached and captured several hangers. The Brothers and their assault marines had provided much distraction, whipping the beserking followers into frenzy.

But the advance had stalled as the daemons appeared. Twenty or thirty Daemon packs of Khorne had been summoned from somewhere, and they were currently boiling out of the main hanger where the shuttle from the Sunflower had presumably landed.

The Brothers reported they were holding, and the crew was fighting well. But they would need reinforcements very soon.

A magnesium white and infinitely bright light shone from somewhere behind Delire, which jerked him out of his command protocols. The detonation that followed was immense. It tumbled the Castellan away from his pillar, forcing him to his knees. The rest of the room had not faired as well. What was left of one of Ramiel's Terminator guard was nothing more than steel and ceramite shoes. There was no evidence other than that, to hint that there had even been anyone there. The rest of the lobby was in tangles, the Neophytes running for cover, and the terminators searching for a target.

Delire spotted him just as the Chaplain did, and they both recognized that he was about to fire again. Everyone hugged some shelter, though it didn't much help. Another terminator was completely obliterated, this time the blast gouged out a hole five feet around and three feet deep from the marble slab floor.

"Now." Delire had been waiting for the errant captain to make himself known. The anti-grav lifters that were lurking near the hotel, hidden just beyond view, flew from their hiding spaces, ready to assault the very top of the hotel.

Demetrius' assault cannon made a perforated circle into the lobby, then the Dreadnought lumbered his bulk through the weakened wall.

"All is clear Castellan, this floor is hours. Why is everyone so quiet?" The Dreadnought took a few steps forward, but Delire rose and sprinted across the no mans land. The resultant blast threw him practically into Demetrius' arms. Well, arm. Considering that the other was the huge assault cannon.

"Ahh, I see. Shall I go dispose of this problem, Brother Delire?" Demetrius set the Castellan back down onto the floor, as everyone was looking to him for orders.

The Ziggurat shaped building was just the same inside as it was outside. Each level was open in the center, all the way up to the top, with a balcony connected by stairs joining each level below it. That was from where the fire was coming, one of the upper levels.

"No, I would not wish to test your metal house to that gun. As soon as our forces hit the roof, and he is no doubt distracted, we will make our way up." Delire gestured to the Child and Ramiel to join him. They worked their way around the lobby, using the overhang of the balcony just above them to guard against this mysterious weapon.

"Ramiel, when our lifters land on the roof, and distract the shooter, we will make our way up as fast as we can. We will not stop for anything." They nodded to each other, and Delire put his hand on the Child's shoulder. "You, Neophyte, have done well so far. I want you to clear the levels, room by room. Make sure no one is left alive. Anything useful and not tainted, throw out into the balcony area and we will have Ramiel take a look at it after the battle. We need everything we can get. Understood?"

The Child merely nodded, his young brow undisturbed by wrinkles, or fear. But, his strange, cross shaped pupils were bright.

"In the name of the Emperor!" Ramiel led the charge up the body covered stairs, his massive terminator armor shaking the support cables. Delire could hear weapons fire and the now trademark roar of what ever cannon the cult leader had, from above. There were a few heretics waiting for them on the second level, but they were brushed aside in the tide of marines. There were even fewer on the level above that. And there were none on levels four through eight.

Though at eight, being the highest, there were some things left to delay them. Nine of the winged blue daemons that Delire had seen from the landing zone were awaiting them. Ramiel's storm bolter roared, cutting the first one in half as it danced in agony. Delire charged the one nearest to him, but it leapt up onto the wall, then used it as a spring board, hurling its body into the charging Castellan. It bowled him over, they both being of roughly the same size. Its vile breath misted his eye guards, and its ever slowly mutating mouth snapped and worried at his helmet.

Delire thrashed underneath it, but he was no match for its strength. It would probably have been his end, were it not that the daemon's foolish move had knocked them both into the midst of the other twenty eight marines that had been behind him. Bolt pistols at blank range tore into the body of the daemon, blue viscous blood splattering Delire's scratched armor. Salidor's chainsword skipped and bucked off of the supernaturally created hide, but eventually found purpose. Delire's helmet cracked, the systems going dark, but did not break. He felt razors bite into his thigh as the creatures hind legs dug claws through his armor.

But Salidor was faster, and with its spine shorn in two, the both pushed the rag doll from Delire. He nodded his thanks to Salidor once he removed his helm, throwing it from him in distaste.

The other daemons had fallen, or were on their last wings, trying to escape the mad charge of Black Templars. Ramiel's Crozius rose and fell, hacking to pieces the vile beasts where ever he could.

Delire reached the stairwell first, that led up too the roof. He kicked the door in, which crumpled and dropped down a level, notching several stairs on its way. Stubber rounds pinged and twanged off his armor as he stepped into the stairwell itself. His bolter answered back, exploding the two cultists into a fine red mist and assorted body parts.

They apparently had been guarding the door to the roof, but that too had been almost as brutally affected by Delire's fire. The Castellan changed bolter clips, dropping the almost empty one to the permacrete. Ramiel, positively covered in blue goo, joined him there. There was hardly room, so Delire let the vastly better armored Chaplain take the lead.

The utility door turned to dust, and the world to flame.

Delire's next waking thought was simply that he was hungry. And he didn't understand why everything was so painfully bright.

A human figure stepped into view. Delire thought, damn, I must be on the floor. Cause the human looked huge. And very strange. Obvious mutations and changes had been wrought in the man, most of all his hulking size and manic five eyed face.

He was laughing, one hand on his hip, the other holding an absolutely massive cannon like gun. Delire's vision was too blurry to make much of anything else out. He seemed to be repeating over and over again something about being invicible, with a ludicrously high voice that in no way matched his physical form. Perhaps that is what made it even worse, sending chills down Delire's spine.

He felt something click within his armor, and the rush of chemicals that flowed into his veins was comforting and did much to clear his mind. His face felt as if it had been burned off, and with the barest movement he could see that his armor on the front was very melted. But it had already re-hardened, so it could have been anywhere from ten seconds to five minutes. He didn't know.

"You.. are an abomination. I will…purge….you from this…planet in the name…of the Emperor." Delire, breath burning within him, forced himself to sit up against the wall of the stair well. He had been knocked down the next platform of the half turn winder stairs, crumpled at the corner. It seemed to take an incredible amount of effort to even force himself to move. Several joints in his power armor had been fused in their positions, and he had not the strength to break the ceramite at the moment.

He felt the great weight of unnatural exhaustion sit down upon his shoulders as he cast is eyes about for any form of weapon.

"You and your pitiful Emperor. When will you ever learn?" The much changed former guard captain gloated in pleasure. Delire saw that the door by which he and Ramiel had entered the stair well shimmered with a purplish swirling haze. He could see nothing beyond it, but he could hear weapons fire and the release of ordinance.

"You.. can never win. Our faith is strong." Delire surmised that the blast from the heretics weapon had been mostly blocked by Ramiel's armored form, but he could not see the chaplain from where he lay. He doubted if there was anything left of his brother marine.

Jeffery leveled the massive weapon at Delire's form. "That can change."

Permacrete blocks and dust suddenly filled the stairwell.

Demetrius, covered in dirt and oddly enough having a woman's bright blue under garments draped accidentally over his assault cannon, tore through the wall from an adjoining hotel apartment.

Jeffery whirled at the new intrusion, and threw up a purplish force field between himself and the oncoming rounds. The dreadnought's assault cannon battered at the force field, and Delire could clearly make out the strain on the traitor imperial guard captain's multi eyed face.

But when the Child took a step out from between the massive dreadnought legs, the Castellan saw Jeffery's face go from forced concentration too a look of horror.

And about three hundred depleted uranium slugs the size of a babies' fist turned the heretic into blubbering mush.

Delire slowly looked over at Demetrius as the Child climbed the stairs up to him. "You really like doing that, don't you Brother. The wall thing." Delire weakly gestured towards the gaping hole that had once been an unbroken surface of solid permacrete.

After a few moments of inspecting it himself, the Demetrius' voice, harsh and metallic through his Vox speakers, said "Yes, I guess I do at that."

The fighting was as fierce as it was bloody. But that was the bread and butter of the followers of Khorne. Only concentrated fire and resolute command of hand to hand combat had prevailed against the daemonic packs, and at the fore front were the Brothers in Chain.

Single pin-point rounds blew brains away in a steady stream. Zelnus' dual custom pistols roared in defiance, of the onrushing tide of Khornite daemons. Their scything talons and frothing maws brought to the ground merely feet from the Templar's position. They had been pushed back to the last hanger that was still under their control. Losses had been heavy, but as was the way of things, only the best were left at this point.

Only sixty crewmen remained out of two hundred and fifty, and the Brother's assault marines had been lost to the man, overwhelmed by the horde. But they were paying for every step they took, as the bodies of the dead were being used as firing positions and barricades.

Theodor hacked and screamed, almost as much as the daemons in front of him. They reeled away from his Litany of Hate, covered their hearing organs at the Catechism of Punishment, and fell under the supercharged power of his custom chainsword.

He casually removed heads with the adamantium blade hook that extended past the head of his chainsword, and the double chains on the actual blade side slid effortlessly through the cursed flesh. Below the handle, was a very non standard power cell, giving the dual engines their power. Underneath that, was the long golden chain that was wrapped very loosely around his torso, one leg and his left arm. At the end of that, currently speared through a daemonic throat, was a long and slender vibro knife.

He flicked it back out and wrapped it about his fist. His punch broke a wolf like muzzle into pieces, the blessed chain being as much a weapon as the sword. He swung released the chain, the vibro blade leaping out to take another of the monstrosities through the eye.

Behind and to the right side, Mernas and Junda guided overlapping fields of fire. The crew-guardsmen around them had learned very quickly to follow their lead. The twins were devastatingly accurate, chewing out legs to slow advances, their bolt rounds splattering gallons upon gallons of pulped flesh to the floor. Mernas always went dry before Junda, who always stepped up to take over that angle of fire, allowing the marine to retrieve a new clip from the voluminous bag that they both wore on their hips. Then, Mernas would do the same for his brother, always keeping a steady stream of fire pouring into the enemy. Smooth, silent coordination, mimicked but never truly copied by those humans around them. The barrels of their bolters had been specially made upon the Provider, tempered from naval quality armor, able to take the most extreme heat without buckling. But they still burned red hot in the now darkening atmosphere, hazy with exploded cordite and promethium fumes.

Half a mile away, Delire was standing with his face to the wind as the convoy's heavily modified civilian vehicles sped down empty streets, racing against the clock to save their brethren.

The marines were howling with victory, flush with their successful conflict and the absolute joy of another impending battle. They hung on the sides, or rode where ever they could find a seat. Three of them rode on the hood of the promethium powered vehicle Delire was in. His suit of armor had not been repaired, there wasn't time. But Demetrius had helped him break the slagged ceramite into a more manageable state. Most of his joints were still powered, though he wouldn't be running very far any time soon. His right knee was almost completely stiff, the power too it had been irrevocably cut.

But the Emperor's gaze had been upon them, for Ramiel was still alive. His Rosarius, the symbol of his faith and chaplain office, contained a powerful energy field. That had mostly held, though it indeed had failed at the end. Only his torso and head were still recognizable, but he had lost his body all the way up too past his hips. Gestus had placed him under stasis, and the super coagulant agent in the Space Marine blood had saved his life. But it would probably be years before he would be able to move around again, a huge amount of bionics would need to be constructed. If Delire had the access to an empty Dreadnought, he would have entombed his old friend. But Demetrius was the only one they had now.

Zelnus went down in a mob of ripping and tearing daemons. Theodore was trying to hack a path through to him, but there were just too many even for the Dervish of the Templars.

But Zelnus rose again, using a frag grenade at point blank range to blow the piling daemons from him. Shrapnel embedded and tore at his armor, but for the most part, it held. The relatively unprotected daemons were not as lucky, being much more susceptible to that type of attack. His pistols screamed their violent disagreements with the very existence of these foul warp beasts. Two clips flipped up horizontal on his belt just as both chambers struck home. The expended metal housings flew from the bottom of both pistols. In one smooth, and incredibly practiced motion, Zelnus slammed the pistols against his belt. Both clips clicked into place. The special grooves made in his thigh armor, helped him wrack the actions and load the first bolt into place. Not a moment to soon, as a snarling beast leapt out of the press. It landed some yards away with a trashcan sized hole in its belly. All in all, it had taken him less than one second to reload. But that's why they called him the Dueler.

Suddenly the chaos beasts were past the infantry line. They fell upon the exhausted crew, tearing into their ranks.

"Go!" Zelnus shouted, sending a bolt round into the head of some scarecrow looking creature. Theodore nodded and initiated his jump pack. He leapt down into the midst of the overrun crew, dialing his Vox speakers to a painful level. He cursed the daemons in the Emperor's name as he killed them. Quickly, he became a rally point for the embattled humans. Though their loyalty was unquestionable, their bodies simply did not withstand as much damage as a Marines much enhanced form. They ritually exposed themselves to powerful stimulants when going to battle, but the crew had been fighting for almost six hours now. They could not go on, and many had just dropped dead on their feet.

Salvation came in the form of smoking tires and blazing weapons. Delire's truck crashed through the thin aluminum of the hanger wall, having originally been designed for simple aircraft. The others in the convoy circled about around behind the now pinned daemons. Heavy weapons, bolters and a flack cannon poured fire into the mass, as the warp spawn changed their attention to the new threats.

However, it would not be enough. The Brother's contingent rallied and charged, breaking the spine as Delire cut away the head. In minutes, the long fight was over. Gore splattered, singed, battered, and tired, still the relieved crew cheered.

Delire was not happy. Not happy at all. The hanger that was the location of the shuttle from the Sunflower, was much more reinforced and of a newer build. Made to house spacecraft, or at least surface to space vehicles, warranted the thick permacrete and steel construction.

To top it off, there was some sort of sorcery protecting it. A direct hit by one of the Provider's Lance weapons had left it smoking, but for the most part, unharmed.

They did not know what was inside, but who ever was in charge was distinctly powerful. Delire had spent the last two hours till morning speaking to Demetrius about past battles, shared and not. The venerable and ancient brother eternally kept alive to continue serving the Emperor, had only seen this sort of thing once before. But he had not been there at the resolution, so could not exactly give pointers on what would be the most likely outcome.

In the ashen gray morning Delire could see the tired but determined faces of his marines and crew alike. Most had returned to the Landing zone, and casualties had assessed. But a few had decided to stay, and had volunteered to hold the watch with the indomitable Black Templars. Fueled by their tribal herbs and tempered now through the forges of battle, they stood silent and sure of themselves in the growing light.

Delire, though very unhappy, was very proud as well. There would be a great many neophytes rising to the occasion in the near future, to perhaps quell the growing stores of geneseeds that the Provider had in its much hallowed sanctum.

Pey-al had made it out alive, just as Delire would have predicted. He was now a consultant of the Castellan, who felt the loss of Ramiel's presence keenly. He very much doubted that he should have been placed at the head of this mission, his experience with ground combat no more than the normal Initiate's own.

But he had taken the vows, and he would succeed, over every body that was needed. Even his own.

Sometime in the early morning, around the tenth hour terrestrial, the Templar forces were dedicated to scouring the space port. Seeking out and setting a flame everything that had been infected by chaos. Billows of dark smoke rode high in the sky, and noxious fumes rode low to the ground. In that fiery morning, it was not the Templars that did the opening of the Hanger doors.

From the permacrete enclosure strode a living, breathing hell. Cloven hooves struck sparks on the ground, breathing wrathful flames as it strode out of the darkness. It towered over the guarding forces, blood soaked bone wings spread the sky. It roared its rage and lust for souls past the scabbed lips of its lion-ish head.

Delire hadn't ever been face to face with a Greater Daemon before, but if there was such a being, this was it. A cackling mad demon blade wove complex patterns before it, as the daemon took in the forces arrayed against it.

But, as is their want, the Brothers in Chain were more than prepared. Twin bolter rounds bounced from the bone armor of the daemon, just as Zelnus and Theodore rushed forward, eating up the ground between them and the Daemon. Spurred on by their quick reaction and fearless hails of the Emperor's might, Delire and Demetrius strode in to do battle.

The scorpion tail of the Beast speared the ground right beside Delire as he leapt away, his chainsword gripped tight in his fist. His armor was slowing him down very much, but he was proving to be a distraction. Demetrius was trading blows with the great creature, though it was an unmatched battle. The Daemon clearly was more powerful than the venerable Dreadnought, but Demetrius was a canny old veteran.

He ripped away the daemon blade, burring it in the dirt several yards away. Returning with a blast from his flamer, the Daemon howled in pain.

But it did not slow its response. One burly arm knocked back the Dreadnought, throwing it onto its back. Definitely the worst positions for that type of walker to be in. The Brothers in Chain were drawing scores of minor wounds, but as of yet, no one had a weapon strong enough to deeply gouge the daemon.

A glancing blow threw Delire from the melee, landing him near the encircling ring of Marines that were pouring in effectual fire upon the beast. He slowly gained his feet, ribs grinding in an unnatural way. Blood was on his lips as he pushed past the line of marines, searching for his own personal doom.

He spied it, laying forgotten on the back of one of the converted lifters. His leg was now completely stiff, though whether it was due to personal injury or fault of the armor, he did not know. He hefted the ancient machine into his arms. The grip and trigger make up was surprisingly easy, as it was definitely a human creation. Though it was scaled for a much, much larger human than Delire himself. The grip itself was easily one third larger than was needed for his hand, of Marine size that it was.

The Archeotech felt nearly weightless in his hand, growing more balanced to his own needs with every halting step. The marines parted before him, surely witness to their own mixed feelings with seeing such a thing in Delire's hands. But there was no other way. That is what he told himself, over and over as he moved into the site of battle.

The daemon hurled Theodor from him, knocking down a clutch of Marines. Its nostrils bared wide and gushed fire down upon the rest of the marines beneath him. But that was only a secondary result. It's blood slicked eyes had spied Delire, the eldritch cannon perched on his hip. Everyone's attention was on the Castellan, making the choice for the lives of his brethren.

"Ave Imperator."

The first bolt of brilliance took the daemon in its abdomen, burning a visible hole in the warp creature. The second blew its head from it's shoulders. Blood showered the ground, hissing in its vehemence, vowing vengeance.

Before Delire collapsed from internal bleeding, he glimpsed the Child, standing rank in rank with his loyal marines. There was almost a hint of a smile on his youthful face. But those eyes spoke of deep mysteries, and fulfillment of something much grander than the salvation of a world.