Ruler of Cinders

The days following the fall of Angel Forge were not filled with cheers of victory. Most men just wanted to rest. Anywhere they could rest their heads, Guardsmen spread out and slept. After a horrendous struggle, Angel Forge was once again in Imperial hands, but the work was not yet finished. Daemonic war engines stalked the depths, having fled in the wake of the traitor Magos's death. Without the Forgefather's unconscious guidance, their controlled purpose devolved into bestial rage. For those 'fortunate' enough to avoid the worst of the fighting at the Forge, the task fell to them to hunt the war machines down.

Sleep evaded Merrick. His back pressed against the wall of a bombed out worker's hab, he thumbed his dog tags, thinking. 226 Commando had dissolved back into their respective squads. Major Lester had personally commended them for their operation, even if the official records would say it was accomplished by the Tempestus Scions. The glory hounds would take all the credit, but among the 85th, the belief held that Kippler's shot landed first, adding another notch to his collection of high profile kills.

But that wasn't what was on Merrick's mind. He kept going back to the sanctum. Kex breaking down in front of the Magos. Remer offering to do the mercy kill. The silence afterward, surrounded by corpses of those that didn't fight back. Each and every one of those techpriests deserved death for their complicity, there was no doubt about that. But the whole thing felt sour for Merrick. He was pleased to see Dolthem go down without any grandstanding, but Bernard's death had left everyone feeling hollow.

A column of tech-priests, accompanied by the hulking Myrmidon auxilia, marched past, descending into the tunnels of the dead forge. Their heads were bowed in penance. It was uncertain whether Angel Forge would ever return to working order. The damage was so extensive, even the priesthood themselves expressed doubt. Small, manually operated lines could probably be brought back online, but little else. The great production centers were gone.

It was in, in every sense, a disaster for the subsector. The Imperium had won, and held their ground, but the cost was beyond measure.

Next to Merrick, Remer snored loudly. Whatever Merrick felt about him taking the shot, Remer seemed to be take it in stride. Or in snore, as it were.

He heard the crunch of boots on gravel and looked up to see Captain Lars Uther walking towards him.

"Captain," he said, making no move to stand up.

"Sergeant Major," The captain was caked in blood and dust.

"New souvenir, sir?" Merrick ran his hand across his face.

"Gift from an airburst," Uther said humourlessly, "The Officio Medicae can vat grow limbs, but I don't think I'm covered for heads."

Merrick chuckled, "How are the men?"

"4th company took a few hits, but we're fine. We'll be better with the Daredevils back with us, though."

"Glad to hear it. I'd like to get back to some regular soldiering."

"What about your lot?" Uther said, glancing at the other troopers.

Merrick scooped up his helmet and got to his feet. "Give them a few days of sleep, a hot meal and shower, and they'll be as good as an astartes, sir."

"They've got twenty minutes, Merrick," Uther said. He handed a piece of script to Merrick, "New orders, we're moving back to Capital Spire to await further orders. Since you're up now, you might as well collect the rest of the company. I want my sergeant major back, understood?"

Merrick nodded, "Perfectly sir."

"Good. Now, I'm off to HQ," Uther shook Merrick's hand, "It's good to have you back, Merrick."

The field hospitals were a nightmare for Vornas. For the past several days, he had been strapped to an operating table while a chirugeon sliced into his skin, ostensibly to save his life. Numb to the pain by copious amounts of painkillers and limb freezers, Vornas remained awake through the entire process, unable to move. He vividly recalled the stark operating lights, multiple surgeons, and lots of blood. Each time he closed his eyes, the images of his operation came back to haunt him.

The morning after his surgery, he felt the pain, an immense, burning sensation in his chest. The medics told him he had taken a las bolt beneath the armpit. The shot had missed his heart by several inches, but the residual burning was severe, damaging the tissue regardless. He was extremely lucky to be alive.

He didn't feel lucky.

As the flow of wounded poured in, Vornas was first moved to a quiet ward, before being transferred to a Vendoland medivac point. They were airlifting the injured back to Capital Spire, but until that happened, he was stuck on a gurney.

Nobody paid much attention to him. His record, his crime, would never go away. He had been with the RIP detachment, he was supposed to be punished. If death did not find him, isolation would.

The tent flaps rustled from the backwash of the next Valkyrie takeoff. A few moments later, the flaps parted, and in walked a senior officer. *The* senior officer. Colonel Ertrand Crassus looked around the tent, followed by his adjutant and a handful of captains. Including Captain Uther.

One by one, the retinue went to each injured guardsman, offering consolations. It was a symbolic gesture, but one that was appreciated by the men. A CO that cared for his troopers was a rarity in the Guard. Crassus was that exception. It was hard to think, if things had played out differently, the 85th Vendoland might still have been under the command of an arrogant blowhard like Banastre.

They stopped at the foot of Vornas's stretcher. Rather than looks of sympathy, the retinue stayed back as Crassus and Uther came up to Vornas's side. "It seems I have something else for you, soldier," said the colonel.

Vornas said nothing.

"Redemption is reserved for those men who have paid for their transgressions in blood," Crassus continued, "You not only undertook the forlorn hope, but you survived where others did not. Commissar Ornoff and his company will be remembered for their sacrifice. As the sole survivor of the action, you are hereby absolved of your crimes against the regiment and will be returned to your company upon your recovery. Your life is still the Emperor's to spend, but may you find comfort in my forgiveness."

Without another word, Crassus moved onto the next trooper. Uther stayed back for a moment. "Vornas," he said under his breath, "You may have the colonel's blessing, but not mine. What you did, I cannot forgive. You are under my command again, and I will never take my eye off you. Mess up again, and I will kill you myself. No RIP, just your life. Is that clear?"

Vornas gathered the strength to speak. His chest protested in agony, but he managed to force the words out, "Clear... captain."

In the weeks and months following the end of the Mechanicum rebellion, the Imperial Guard forces across Meridian would face further hardships. Xenos still plagued the great hive spires, and heretic uprisings would only grow in number.

And the Third Aurelian Crusade would only grow larger. Soon, it would engulf the entire Subsector.

The Early Crusades of M42 (Inquisitor M. Adrastia)

Author's note: And with that, Daredevils: Meridian comes to an end. It has been many years, but I finally feel that it is time to put this story to rest. This is not the end of the Daredevils, however. Ten years of war is a long time, and the time of retribution is still many years away. Stay tuned for Daredevils: Calderis, and Daredevils: Typhon.