Why was this happening? Corrin stood alone on the desolate street, his eyes shot with blood, his legs weak from running. He took a small step forward and collapsed. His head swiveled about in a daze. The city was ruined. Ghosts of the dead wandered aimlessly through the empty relics that were buildings, emitting screeches that tore into his soul.

"St-stay back…" He groaned as they took up poses of sorrow, arms outstretched. The Merican Flag lay, tattered before him. His eyes shot up, spotting the great steeple of the capital building. Glory. He had failed. The city was sacked.

There was a crack. "Show yourself!" He yelled, gasping for air.

"You see us, Corrin, we are everywhere." that horrible voice called to him in response. It was Riktus. "You have failed, fool." Hundreds of Astartes giants emerged from the black, brushing away the assailing spirits of the dead.

"I…no…no…" Corrin groaned. The dark psyker made his way through the ever increasing ranks of Imperial Soldiers. Great banners of the Lightning unraveled and replaced the dilapidated flags of Merican control. On the evil man's back, a great cross was held, signifying the end of religion. On it, President O'Connor sat, dead, blood staining his arms.

Great Thunderbirds soared across the smoke-masked sky, spilling red smog from their engines, dragging emblems of the Emperor behind them. Imperial Warriors, flanked by Astartes, psykers, and…he gasped. Treacherous Souls, hundreds of them. All he knew. His mother, his father, his wife, Jonathan, Grange, Grange, citizens of Mercador, they were everywhere.

"I see it your eyes, Corrin. You know your defeat. Surrender yourself to the Emperor that you might fight alongside His great armies." Riktus laughed. Corrin, with his final strength, stood and spat at the ever closing Riktus' feet. Riktus' smile faded. "Every time we meet, you dishonor me. Every time, you escape my wrath out of pity. No more."

With that, he came. The figure Corrin had been thinking about. Johnson made his way through the crowd to Riktus' side. "Johno, see sense!" Corrin called. A fire burned in Johnson's eyes, one that Corrin had never seen nor imagined. "What…what has happened to you?"

"It is too late, Grant, you can't save him now. He has seen the light of the Emperor and he follows, unlike the fool." Riktus said scornfully.

"Call me a fool…again." Corrin growled.

"Fool." Riktus said smugly. Corrin made for him immediately. "Kill him." Corrin made a slight movement, to Johnson. His eyes filled with horror at the las-pistol before him.

"Joh…" A blast, he fell flat.

"Corrin, wake up!" Corrin's head jarred. He almost screamed as he looked into the face of Grange. "We're going through A-A fire. We need everyone on alert." He nodded shakily. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah…yeah I'm fine. Just a nightmare." Corrin replied. Had it been? What had he seen? Whatever it was, it had brought him terror beyond belief. The ship rocked slightly.

This is the pilot. We're taking more. Everyone get ready.++

Grange turned to him. "Damned Imperials have every route to Glory blocked out by A-A and defensive positions. They don't want anything getting in, or out!" Corrin still felt no need to speak, and simply acknowledged he had heard with a quick nod.

More blasts shook the ship. Corrin groaned. Every time he got in a ship, it seemed to go down.

No worries, boys! I'll outmaneuver this round and a landing area is close!"++

More blasts ensued. Someone screamed. "Damn, they have us tagged!" The flak guns mounted aboard the A-16 fired away, moaning as they lost ammunition. Corrin could not think of the situation. To many questions ran through his mind. He examined his hand, veins plastered against the skin unnaturally. He was a monster, albeit one fighting for a purpose, but still a monster. What did this gift mean?

Riktus was powerless to use his multitude of super-viruses on him. His strength was obviously elevated, along with senses, and a loss of will…He was brought from his thoughts by another great explosion.

He could no longer take it. With the final blast, he made his way to the pilots chamber. Pushing the door aside, he stormed in. The pilot looked taken aback. "Mister Grant?"

"This is an A-16?" Corrin asked the rhetorical question.

"Yes sir…"

"Chutes?"

"Yes sir…"

"We'll make a jump."

"That's impossible, you'll all be killed!"

"Then I'll make the jump." The pilot stared at him, dumbstruck. Corrin moved to the vox and pressed the record button. "This is Corrin Grant. You have a choice. Stay in the targeted ship, or make a jump with the A-16 parachutes. Make the decision now. You have two minutes."

The pilot stammered something. "I…sir…I…"

"At ease pilot, I'll see you in Hell." He said as he exited the room. The main hull area was alive with activity as people argued amongst themselves and said their final goodbyes. "Time is up!" He bellowed through the commotion as he grabbed a chute. "Take them, and line up. We all know the drill."

Closing his eyes, he latched himself to the roof. He thought of Capar, the first drop, and Johnson. He thought of revenge. Grange made for him. "You're crazy."

"I know." Corrin smiled. "I'll see you around?"

"No." Grange grinned, "you'll see me on the ground." The adept grabbed a chute. Corrin laughed. He was glad his friend would be coming.

"Everyone set?" A resounding yes. "Go…" He whispered to himself. He heard the numbers, counting down. Finally, "One, check!" He screamed over the roar of the wind. With a click, he unlatched and made the jump. He relished in the return to the sky, the place he had always coveted, drop combat, true fighting, not the Imperial way. He pulled the cord, letting the fabric rip away. He attained that feeling of weightlessness, and made his way to the ground. To the Imperials.