Chapter 32

The memories of my youth are mere images, falling like the shattered pane of a stained glass window. So many fragments of every shape and size, cascading like rain, glinting as they catch the light. As difficult as they are to make out, something inside me knows there was both beauty and horrors. I suppose childhood is that way for most denizens of the Imperium. A sad thought it is. It is why I must strive for change, to do better than those who came before.

My earliest, clearest recollection was scavenging in the slums of a growing Hive World by the name of Riccone. Yes, very few have heard of it. All I had was my wit, my will, and a set of brown and black prayer beads in my pocket. To say that it was peaceful would be a lie, but it did not suffer strife as many Hives do. At least, for a time. What kept the peace for many a year was the Grand Cathedral, a massive palace of worship for the God-Emperor. Why, it was the most beautiful sight I ever laid my eyes upon. It stood so high, higher than any other spire in the Hive. Its walls were plated with gold which glimmered in the daylight and glowed by the city's ambient nighttime light. Between each of the massive stained glass windows, depicting the Emperor and all his deeds were busts of the Saints. But the dome was not of gold, its make was of stained glass liked the windows. So tall and so wide, the entire bema was illuminated in the violets, greens, blues, and reds. When the Arch-Deacon preached his sermons, he was covered in this dazzling array of colors. But the ceiling above the nave too was glass; to see it bathed in sunlight or moonlight was equally beautiful. And above the hundred steps to the entrance, from the face of the cathedral protruded the God-Emperor, a glowing golden statue, sword in hand.

I was never allowed in as a child. Only those who contributed to the Tithe were allowed to enter its scared walls. Riff-raff like myself were ignored, forgotten, and abandoned, written off as lost causes who would be swallowed by the Hive's maw before doing anything of note. Many children like me roamed the streets and back alleys, picking through heaps of refuse, running from Hive gangers and keeping out of the Adeptus Arbites' eyes.

You may think such a life on the edge would have taken priority over faith. Not quite so, Silvanus. My only dream was to enter the cathedral at least once in my life, to see that light, to bring my faith to a place of worship. The shrine in my gutter was not enough. I wanted my faith to mean something.

I tried to sneak in. I thieved so as to bribe my way in. I tried going in disguise. I even tried to hire a young couple to act as my parents to take me in with them. Nothing worked. Oh, I wept each time. On the road across from the cathedral there was a wall meant to keep the unworthy out. It was more of a formality than an obstacle, I found it quite easy to climb. So, I would scurry up there and bawl into my hands. A miserable boy clad in rags, his skin tight over his bones, hoping for that once chance to not just know of his Emperor, but to feel him. I would stare for hours, planning, hoping, praying.

My prayers were answered and the Emperor sent me a young Deacon by the name of Amilios. What a gracious soul he was. While the Arch-Deacon and the other men and women of the Cult would only sustain the masses, Amilios was outside giving us any leftover food he could get his hands on. He knew if he was caught, he would be punished for lowering his holy self to the vagabond street children who buzzed around the cathedral like tiny insects. But he greeted us with smiles and laughter, his silver eyes so welcoming. Sometimes, when enough children were present and his superiors were absent, he would gather us in a secluded spot in the garden. Under a tree which grew ripe red fruit to this day I cannot name, he would speak of the Emperor's love for all His children, even those who could not pay the tithe.

Although I have spent much of my life at study, it was he who built that foundation, that curiosity, no, the thirst for knowledge. To know more of the Emperor and the Imperium, about why we fight for both Him and one another, how we might live on so many different worlds yet we are one people and must act as one people. Amilios had seen swathes of the Imperium in his youth and its stagnation, the absence of light in so many of its corners, and to see Mankind battling itself just as much as our enemies, broke his heart. After the other children left with their morsel of food and his sermon ringing in his ears, only I remained to hear these lectures. Together, under the fruit tree, in the garden's shadows, we spoke and spoke. My heart was filled with wonder.

Amilios taught me how to read and write, much like your Lieutenant Hyram is teaching you. You may struggle with it, Silvanus, but struggle you must! For those abilities are stronger than your lasgun and sharper than your bayonet. Realize what gifts Hyram is not teaching you but giving you, as I realized. But he taught me so much more than that; how to pray properly, how to speak with vigor and conviction. He taught me, a bumbling alley rat clad in rags, how to be kind to others. You, in your Cadian upbringing, were taught to shoot, march, and serve. Yours was difficult, but you had teachers, instructors, priests, and family. I had nothing for so long. When survival defines your life, Silvanus, you are nothing short of an animal. Something that squabbles and scraps over rotten food, drives threats from its territory, and dominates those who are weaker. But Amilios showed me strength of body and mind are not the only tools we have. Kindness, the power of words, acts of true selflessness, those are what make a difference in the lives of others.

I still wonder what he saw in me. I even asked him and I know not what to think of it. One day under the fruit tree, I gazed into that man's wonderful misty eyes and asked, 'Amilios, why do you sit with me longer than the other children? Why do you answer all my questions and teach me things?' All he did was laughed. He possessed one of the most charming smiles and laughter I ever encountered in another soul. When he did either or both, his entire face seemed to glow like a golden plate catching sunlight. His eyes would squeeze shut and wrinkles formed at the edges of his eyes. He showed all his teeth, but did not bare them like a hound's. And the corners of his mouth, it was so peculiar and yet utterly handsome, seemed to curl upwards. 'Oh, Barlocke,' he soothed, 'you remind me of a day I was sent to tend the flock of the Mining World Andoe. While I preached to the Adeptus Arbites, I also visited the workers.'

I found this shocking and interrupted quite rudely. 'But Amilios! They are naught but slaves or prisoners; are they not rejected from the Emperor's light?' At this, he chortled pleasantly. His laughter rippled through you and over you, like warm water. 'Have you not been paying attention, lad!?' He exclaimed kindly. 'We are Man and thus we are one. We must be. A fellow may break the laws of man but that does necessitate his breaking of the Emperor's laws. If he had not done the latter, then he is still in that light.' As sharp as I was becoming, he would always be far more sharper than I. More than I could ever hope to be.

But he leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees, the white silk of his preacher's gown flowing underneath. Oh, Silvanus, I can see it now. The quiet of the garden, its lush green pasture and voluminous rows of flowers and hedges, the gravel paths winding and twisting through the grass, the robust trees with branches laden with so much ripe fruit they began to droop. When the wind drifted through, every blade of grass, every hedge leaf, every branch, every flower swayed as one. It was like looking at a sea of green and gold, all underneath that marvelous cathedral. I think of it often and when I can, I utilize my abilities to return myself to it. Selfish it may be, but like you, I am human also and thus times arise when I must sustain my own wishes.

In that garden, he looked at me and told me this story. 'Often, the workers would be too busy with their work to sit for prayer. So I delved into those dark tunnels lit by candlelight with them. Over the rattle of power instruments and the report of falling hammers, I raised my voice as loud as I could to preach unto them the Emperor's word. Believe you me, Barlocke, to do so while wearing a rebreather is no easy feat. Hours upon hours, I journeyed through tunnels and mine shafts, singing and speaking in His name. So often I went, my voice grew hoarse, but still I preached for they deserved the opportunity to listen and learn. Despite the heat, the stench, and the overpowering dust, I relished it. Any time we are able to serve Him, we are able to serve the Imperium also, just as serving the Imperium serves Him. Service is its own reward, Barlocke, and I learned much while I was present on that world. Often, I would see them break through the bowels of the earth and discover a gem. I watched as these men and women, sinewy, slick with sweat, and black with dust, who battered and bashed their tools and pierce stone as if it was parchment, lay down their tools and extract these gems with such care. Those stones might as well have been newborn babes. It was ceremonious; many would gather around and then refine the gem with a blade, softening its rough, jagged edges until it was smooth. Then, it was polished with a cloth as white as snow; how it stayed clean I do not know. When they were done, it would glint in the candlelight.'

That was all he said. He ended our lesson and departed. I was left to scramble back over the walls before I was spotted. I know now what he meant, but it still vexes me. Something in my bones, deep in my soul, my 'heart of hearts,' as Junior Commissar Carstensen has said, tells me there is more to his words and I've yet to figure it out.

I admired him, revered him, and wanted to be by his side as often as I could. My love for him was like the love between brothers. I think he too found in me a younger brother and a steadfast companion he lacked within the cathedral's walls. One might look at a Deacon and think of the perks he possesses by his station within the Adeptus Ministorum. What comforts, what joys, what privilege; that may be, but never forget Silvanus, not all men who don the robe have gotten there by the grace of their birth. Some have sacrificed and given nearly all of themselves to attain such a rank. Amilios was one of them. You could see it when he walked, the gentle, ever-present smile, his faraway, kind eyes, his slow gait and bowed head. He had seen and done so much in his life. When you looked upon him, you knew he was different.

When I was a bit older, one day I stayed after one of his sermons. Amilios was both nervous and excited. 'Child,' he said to me, 'your wish is to see the inside of the cathedral, yes? This night we cannot host the masses for prayer for a conference being held between the highest of our ranks. It will be empty. Now, do you trust me?'

I did. It was he who taught me, he who saved me from dying on the streets, he who gave me hope for a future. 'With all, Amilios,' I told him. He grinned and nodded at me. 'Dear Barlocke, put your trust and your faith in me to protect you. I shall hide you away in this garden but you must not falter, you must not move. If you are discovered, it shall be the end for both of us.' At this, I was rather frightened. Fear does not come easily to me now nor did it in my youth. But at that moment, I was filled with dread. 'But Amilios, why risk yourself to show me the cathedral? Why risk it if we should die?' What he said I have never forgotten. 'Barlocke, dear Barlocke, in this life there are some things worthwhile of the risk.' A small piece of wisdom, one we may have heard in some way or another. Yet it was how he said it; gentle yet resolute, strength without being strong. How he filled my heart with bravery.

So he hid me away in the deepest shadow of the garden, in the undergrowth of a hedge in the rear of a dense flower garden. I stayed there for the whole day. It was hot and uncomfortable; tiny insects crawled into my clothes and across my face. My conviction to stay hidden and still was great but the urge to fend them off was strong as well. By the grace of the God-Emperor and the strength of Amilios, I was able to resist it. At times, I feel asleep. When my eyes opened, I was hardly awake. It was like laying between two worlds; sleep, a darkness ready to consume me, waking, ushering me to enter its light. Flower petals and leaves covered me like a blanket. As difficult as it was to stay there for the day, I enjoyed every second of it. That beauty, mingled with the fear and excitement of being caught, was all etched into my memory.

Then, the sun fell and it became black, like the innermost recess of a cavern. Only then did I become truly scared. Strange, seeing as how there was no one in the gardens at night and I trusted Amilios with my life. Most of all, the greatest time of discovery was during the day. I suppose it is the irrational concern that comes with youth, inexplicable fears at both the known and the unknown. But Amilios did come for me. A pair of legs illuminated by candlelight came towards me. For a moment, I thought I was done for. But the handled candle plate was set gently in the grass, then a pair of hands parted the hedge, and Amilios's face followed. He flashed me that wonderful smile of his. 'Come, come, come!' he urged.

I scrambled out. By the time I was on my feet, he was already bounding towards the cathedral. Turning around as he bounced on his feet, he waved at me. 'Hurry, Barlocke, hurry!' I never ran faster than I did that night. He took me through a concealed door and down a dark passageway. Here, we slowed some as he checked open doorways and around corners. Each time, it was clear of anyone who would condemn us, but it was terribly exciting and awfully frightening. Eventually, we came to a staircase and he stopped on the third step. I clearly remember that; he was wearing silken shoes that padded nearly silently across the polished, marble floors. When he stopped on the third step, it was so sharp and sudden a movement his shoes nearly squeaked. Turning around, he leaned down and looked at me. 'Are you ready, Barlocke?' I was and said as much. Amilios stood up, smiled, and waved his hand. 'Come with me now.'

Here, he took my hand and blew out the candle. Slowly, we walked up the steps together and then we were in the cathedral. The moment I looked up, I saw the deep, shimmering colors of the stained glass dome as the moonlight poured through. Walking through them was like passing through a heavy wood in which the sunlight streams through every notch and opening in the leafy canopy. I raised my hands and saw a thousand colors upon my palm. Turning, turning, turning, I looked at the massive, towering columns, the longer, polished, wooden pews, the marble flooring so pale it looked like a mother's milk.

I never thought I would see the cathedral. As badly as I wanted, as much hope as I owned, there was always that doubt within me that said it was not meant to be. It was doubt which accepted this life on the street, this life I detested and wanted to change. Doubt is the death of hope. Doubt is the death of love. Doubt is the death of life. Standing in the cathedral, looking up at the dome, witnessing the Emperor's light with my own eyes for the very first time, I wept. I resolved to live my life without doubt to the extent of what little strength I possess. It was the greatest moment of my life.

It was the first and only time I would ever set foot in its walls. But it inspired me to do works as the Emperor and Amilios had. When I went back out on the street, returned to the other rejected children whom I came to call allies, and decided we were to change. The scum of the Hive, the gangers, we would not stoop to their level. We would organize and bring charity as best we could to the poor of our streets. Noble indeed, although the youthful often dream of doing nobles acts, don't they?

We began stealing from the well-off gangers. Food at first, and then money, and finally, some of their more dangerous weapons. Well, we didn't know the first thing about maintaining autoguns but we figured as long as they weren't in the hands of the gangers the streets were safer. I even began to preach a little; my words were mere echoes of Amilios, but I was able to bring the Emperor's light to the destitute with greater ease than Amilios, who was often bound to the cathedral. People tried to thank us by offering what little food, money, or possessions they could but we refused. The Arbites were supposed to protect us but they were absentee clerks by our account. It was we who maintained order and provided for the poor. We even established a little clinic where I would tend to the sick and injured utilizing skills Amilios taught me.

One day when I was hardly a man-grown, I sneaked onto the cathedral grounds. There, I found Amilios, tending the garden. The man had a profound love of flowers and he preferred to provide water for them rather than the groundskeepers. He was well aware of the work we were doing on the streets. It took years but we managed to bring peace, order, and the Emperor's light to the rabble in a number of neighborhoods and across numerous alleys and streets. Yes, we were poor but were rich in our purity. Well, I suppose we broke man's laws by stealing, but is it a crime to steal from a thief? Amilios assured me the wicked, the irredeemable wicked, deserve wicked acts. That was all the justification I needed.

I was proud of my work and wanted to show Amilios firsthand. But he resisted at the beginning, worried he would be spotted and punished for leaving his duties. I pushed him, saying it would take naught but an hour. The timing was perfect; he was about to enter his hour of private study, when a Deacon was meant to read his texts and tomes in silent solitude. For that very reason I arrived at that time. Knowing it was a fairly sound strategy, he agreed. Together, we waited for the right time and then vaulted over the walls! Giving him some beggar's rags so he wouldn't stand, and he was all too enthused and amused to try them on, we hurried several streets over to my little clinic. There, we spoke to the injured for a time and he helped me tend to some fresh cases.

Just as the little tour was about to end, there was an explosion. So great in its magnitude, so furious, so powerful, the shockwave shattered windows, toppled rooftops, and sent us sprawling. When we regained our footing, we rushed out to the street and found the cathedral gone. Gone. Factorums and homes which surrounded the cathedral were gone too. All that remained was a crater big enough to to fill with a dozen fully-manned regiments. Although I never discovered precisely what happened; from what I understood there was a malfunction in one of the facotrums and the chain reaction of detonations destroyed the district.

Riccone descended into madness afterwards. People began to rise up and fight over the already limited resources. The Arbites fought valiantly but were wiped out by gangers. One gang took over the water station, another monopolized the food reserves, and the one that destroyed the Arbites locked down streets with their weapons. I was left with Amilios and our band, fending for ourselves. Although there was chaos between these gangs, they united to pay a tithe to the Imperium. All those bureaucrats wanted were their goods and they didn't care who gave it to them. No Astra Militarum relief force came to our aid. For a time, he was heartbroken and could not speak. He only came to his senses when I made him aware of our situation much later on, when what materials we had were running low. It was time to act.

Using the weapons we stole, and familiarizing ourselves as we worked, we targeted several smaller gangs, killing the defiant and absorbing the survivors. Block by block, street by street, we began to control more territory. We started gaining momentum and other small outfits began to join us. I make it sound easy but it took us years. When our numbers eventually grew to take on the larger gangs, a war erupted. Defeating them by force of arms was not our best option, so I sought to defeat them through strategy. I began to turn them against each other, implicate them in acts we committed, making them bleed each other dry of bodies and resources. Little by little, I watched them grow weaker, more pathetic. That's when Amilios and I made our move. In one sweep, we wiped out the gangers and took control.

When it was over, I found myself elevated. I was the most powerful man on Riccone, in charge of fighters, water, food, drug den, troves of treasure, and even women willing to sell their bodies. Such power could corrupt, but Amilios and I resolved to bring our world into the Imperial fold. When we paid the next tithe, we put for our case and the Holy Inquisition sent an agent to investigate. A member of the Ordo Hereticus, Romolo, who was impressed with the work Amilios and I had done. So impressed, he made us Acolytes. It was an easy choice for me, but Amilios struggled as he wished to continue on his path as a Deacon. He only came because I urged him two; even though he was a decade older than me, it felt like were young men together.

It was with Romolo we discovered our powers. Amilios and I possessed latent psyker genes. Romolo was versed in this craft as well. It was the Emperor's hand which guided us three together. Our mentor tutored us in these disciplines; mine was of the mind and mighty powerful. Amilios, a telekine, was able to move the world around him with his mind. Together, we made a formidable pair. Yet, Romolo also granted us access to his personal archives and commanded us to spend years at study. Side by side, we began to research the Imperium. You see, Silvanus, what you do not know, the Inquisition does. Can you imagine what it is like to have so much of the unknown finally made known?

I learned so much and my desire to change the Imperium was ever heightened. But Amilios changed. The more he read, the greater heresy's we challenged, ate away at his soul. He grew remorseful, reclusive, and bitter. More and more, he began to grow angrier with the Imperium's bureaucratic hypocrisy. I admit, I was upset too, but while I wanted to bring about great change, good change, he wanted to punish. Yes, there will be and must be punishment, but what he spoke of was extermination. Romolo was, and still is, an idealistic man and as I made my beliefs known, he found himself in agreement. Our bond began to alienate Amilios and those two argued brutally over how we should change the Imperium in the Emperor's name. We began to grow apart, Amilios and I, and it was a wound to my heart.

When we finally became Inquisitors and were introduced to the Inquisition's underbelly, we were finally divided. You see, there is more than your base Ordo's, Silvanus. Within are myriad organizations with their own ideals and missions; idealists like myself, Amilios, and Romolo. We found ourselves among Radicals, men and women who wished to fight our foes with less discriminate means. Among them were many sects who thought of bringing change like us, although no one could come to agreement regarding how. With Romolo, I became a Recongregator, who shared my vision for wiping out the Imperium's decay and restoring its glory. And to not only restore it, but to heighten it. But Amilios, fair Amilios, strayed from the Emperor's light. The band he joined are dangerous, Silvanus, for they wish to use the enemy's machines, tools, engines, and weapons against them. Tis a fool's folly, Silvanus! How could Amilios have been so blind as to see he would become the very thing he wished to destroy? Why, how could the man who inspired me to perform great deeds, whom I fought with, suffered with, learning with, turn against me!?

Forgive me, Silvanus. My wounded heart bleeds often.

We parted for many years. Romolo and I were often called away on different assignments or pursued missions of our own. For every heresy I investigated, I did my best to leave another Imperial planet in a better state. Regime changes, sending away corrupted regiments to distant battlefields, providing resources and funding to struggling populaces. Anything I could do to empower and enlighten the Imperium's denizens, I did.

Some years ago, the event which led me on my path to Cadia, to you Silvanus, occurred. Romolo contacted me and transmitted coordinates for a meeting. We met and he was so grave, graver than I ever saw him before. I was used to his stoic attitude and reserved tone, but he was pale and haggard. 'My friend,' he said to me, 'Amilios has betrayed us. He has fallen in with Archenemy and is rallying heretics to attack a Hive.'

Imagine it. Your whole life turned around. The only person you ever considered a brother, a blood bond forged in the fires of strife, the one who taught you all you knew and shaped how you lived as a man, and he has betrayed you. It was as if I was being informed of his death. I was mad with grief, indignant with fury, and I still didn't want to believe it. I knew it was going to be me who would have to slay him. I did not even need to delve into Romolo's mind to know that. Before he spoke, I accepted. I volunteered to slay what was once my closest companion.

The intelligence we gathered on his movements was solid work. In the time we were apart, he established a power base on the developing Hive World called Iza. While he funneled his personal assets into the Hive's growth, he clandestinely ferried his heretical followers there. This told he was waiting until his forces were great enough to unleash themselves upon the large population of the Hive, thus adding as many numbers as they could to their force. A fortress, bearing the name of Monn, was the perfecting staging ground for his attack. He was entrenched, well-supplied, and ready. A covert assassination was proposed to me by my Acolytes, but I knew it was far too risky and a failure could start rather than stay Amilios's plans. A force of arms was required.

In my travels, I had conducted operations with the specialized regiments hailing from the Death World Krieg. You know little of this world but I assure the troops who named it home were some of the best I ever fought with. Don't make a face, Silvanus, you Cadians are very fine Guardsmen but the Kriegsmen are an altogether different school of elite soldiers. While your regiments can fight under any conditions, they are bred to fight in the longest, most-drawn out siege battles you could ever imagine. No men could better oust a foe from a fortress than they.

I requisitioned the 788th Siege Regiment to attack the fortress. To see those men in their black coats, gray helms, and gas masks filled me with awe. To see them march dozens of kilometers without rest, food, or drink was a sight to behold. They are indeed men, but perhaps not men you would understand I'm afraid to say. Knowing them would require you to fight alongside them, march with them, and suffer with them. But they do not feel the wind on their skin, they do not taste the air when it is hot or cold. They march, fight, and die.

We established our lines, making ourselves a barrier between the Hive and Monn Fortress. Once we were supplied, dug in, and prepared, we launched our assault on the great fortress. It failed and many men were killed, though the Kriegsmen took many heretics with them. But like all first attacks in a siege, they are but probes. Only by the sacrifice of soldiers can you properly understand the enemy's guns. From there, I knew the siege would be protracted, so requisitioned the 391st Siege Artillery Regiment to break down its walls and the 645th Infantry Regiment for the added weight of bodies. My army number twenty-thousand men.

For months, the 391st's guns battered the massive fortress, toppling its spires and cracking its walls asunder. When the gaps formed, the Kriegsmen of the 788th and 645th Regiments flooded in. Each time we gained more ground but were forced to withdraw. We faced heretics, followers of the Plagued One, daemons, and undead. Through walls of fire, clouds of poison gas, and billowing dust, our two armies met. At times, my blade crossed with that of Amilios's. Our powers clashed. I watched him throw dozens upon dozens, entire platoons worth of Kriegsmen, from the fortress walls with his power. His hand would strike out and a wall would collapse, crushing an entire platoon. In turn, I assaulted the minds of his minions, breaking them, reducing what cognitive abilities they had left into nothing but frayed cords. Flamers spouted and engulfed heretics by the dozens, lasbolts and autogun slug tracers flew into the packs of warriors, grenades and artillery shells detonated, sending limbs, heads, and torsos through the air. Blood was everywhere. Bodies were everywhere. The walls, the rubble, everything was covered in dead men and their blood. So great was the battle, we were now long standing on the ruins of the breach but on piles of corpses from both sides. Months passed, bodies decayed; soon, were crushing the bones underneath ratty uniforms. By the battle's end, there were more bodies than walls.

So depleted we became for men I had to take the Kriegsmen of the 391st off their guns and into the battle with us. At the start I had an army. Nearly half a solar year's worth of warfare reduced us to a few battalions, then a scramble of companies, then a series of platoons, and finally, a few squads. Like us, Amilios was down to his last hands. It became a hunt in the corpse-strewn ruins of Monn Fortress.

We delved into its darkest reaches corners, searching for him and his pawns. He spread them out, fighting us individually. One by one, we were able to cut them down. One by one, my final men began to die. For every single heretic we slayed I lost a man. By the end, only I, an engineer, and two infantrymen remained. Despite the loss of their regiments, their comrades, they fought on without complaint, without faltering. To have wasted so many lives to carry out my mission broke my heart with guilt. Seeing those three remaining souls, those men of the Emperor who, despite their holy, honorable, selfless service unto Him, believed they were atoning for a sin they themselves did commit, chipped away at my soul like a chisel upon rockcrete. My admiration for them was certain but I failed them, you see, I failed them, for it was their lives I wanted to change as well, like everyone else in the Imperium. I did not want them to live a life thinking they had committed treason when they fought so well. Their sacrifice was waste, and their waste was sacrifice, and I was the perpetrator of both. In my deepest despair of that siege, it was they who reignited the fires that spurred me to make good in the Imperium.

Finally, we met Amilios and his remaining band for the final time. We ran out of ammunition and charge packs. Battling with sword, bayonet, dagger, and entrenchment tools, just we four made the assault. When we finally confronted Amilios, my engineer and one of the infantrymen were slain. Amilios's top lieutenants were killed but he alone escaped.

I was left standing on a mountain of broken stones and torn corpses, a heresy cleansed, a Hive and millions of souls defended. Beside me was one hero, a Kriegsman, the only survivor left from three regiments. But Amilios escaped and my mission remained incomplete. As I stood, I grew empty, hollow, as I did when I was but a lad pilfering through piles of refuse on Riccone's disgusting sewage-strewn streets. I resolved to atone for my failure. I promised myself and the Kriegsmen beside me I would not rest until I slayed Amilios. I asked him to come with me, to act as my Acolyte, so that we could hunt and kill this heretical traitor. But the Kriegsmen refused, for his loyalty to his comrades and his imbued guilt was so great. He said that my sin was mine alone and that I must set the course right. Only I could do that, he said. As a final gesture, he gave me his fellow infantryman's Lucius Pattern Lasgun and the engineer's Lucius Pattern Mk. 22c shotgun, so that I would be reminded of their sacrifice, my sin, and my duty to atone. I have carried these weapons ever since.

Across the channel, Amilios is waiting for us in Kasr Fortis. What machines of Chaos he plans to unleash upon us I know not. What twisted plan he has concocted to further connect himself to the Dark Gods I know not. What kind of followers he is in possession of I know not. I care not. We will cross the channel and I will stop him, or die trying. Do you hear, Silvanus? We are hailed, my friend.

It is time to go.

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