And there is chapter 2. Take shorter than I expected. Enjoy :)

...there is no more stirring sight in war than the charge of massed cavalry...

-Dravin Gratz, 14th Tharinga-

The explosion nearly threw Glen off his feet. If it hadn't been for his horse, he would have been on the ground. Another explosion sent the guardsmen protecting the convoy into panic.

Oh God-Emperor no ! We are under attack. Glen thought as he scrambled for cover. But they were in the middle of the road, with the only covers being the burning trucks and damaged Chimeras APC. He turned around, made himself as plain as possible, and tried to escape from the mess. If he was fast, he might get out of here in one piece...

"Get back here you coward ! Where do you think you are going ?". Glen's Ridemaster was before him, an angry look on his face "Lucky for you that I ain't no commissar, or else you would be shot. Now go with me, we have a heretic horde to kill !"

Glen's blood froze "Kill ? We are outnumbered. Is it better to just retreat ?". Although he said that, he knew that the true reason was different. He had never killed anyone before. Some veterans back in Vierin had told Glen about their stories, about the feeling when you killed someone. They kept staring at you, you could see their despair, fear, anger...within those lifeless eyes, then you realized what you had done, what you had just taken away...that's simply unbearable.

The Ridemaster angrily shouted at his face, his fury could put even World Eater marines to shame:" Retreat ? RETREAT ? We are the Storm Riders, the Emperor's messenger, and you tell me to retreat ? NO ! NOT IN A MILLION YEARS ! Now go and fight! Don't let me hear you say that word again, or I will kill you before those traitors do !".

Glen then did what he had been told:to go. He ran toward a Chimera, where a squad of Guardsmen had been taking cover. With a simple gesture, the horse kneeled behind the APC. He was mostly obscured, therefore enjoyed (relative) safety at the back of the tank. Now came the hard part: to fight. Glen got the full view of the battle for the first time. Cultists and mutants ran down the hill, toward the convoy, guns blazing. He had heard about the cruelty of heretics and cultists, but he still could not killed them. Glen then chose the simplest solution: firing on their feet. Incapacitating was enough. He scored several hit, but soon realized that was ineffective: the wounded continued to crawl forward, firing their autoguns until they exhausted their ammunition. Fortunately they only attacked one flank of the convoy, so the defenders could still formed a firing line to drive the cultists away...

"Incoming !"

A krak missile blew the Chimera's turret up. All the guardsmen, including Glen, looked in horror as they realized that the missile came from their direction...

And soon the cultists would be all over them. They must do something, fast; Ridemaster Azariel thought. The first truck was destroyed by a lightning bolt. A psyker was leading them. Kill him, and the rest would automatically disintegrate. He collected his riders, prepared for a final charged. Death or Glory.

Glen's heart nearly jumped out of his chest when a hand set on his shoulder. He turned back and saw Ridemaster Azariel and the rest of his comrades, their faces were as hard as stone. He suddenly understood; they only looked like that when they were preparing a charge. The Ridemaster then shot him a glance that could both melt ice and freeze oxygen at the same time. The message was pretty clear: Join me, or die.

Glen tried not to scream. He didn't want to die. Despite the desperation he felt, his survival instinct still prevented him from being killed. He turned left and right, dodging rocks on the ground and bullets in the air, and on occasions even knocking cultists out of the way. His comrades were blasting the enemies with their hell carbines; the unarmoured cultists didn't stand a chance. Those foes managed to survive the rider's wrath were too few to cause any threat, as long as he kept moving. But his little hope of making out alive was shaken furiously when a massive boulder flew toward him at terrifying speed. Glen was able to stop his steed right before the rock hit the ground. He turned his head, and saw a massive Hellspawn rushing at him, swinging its pickaxe-like weapon, cutting him off from his fellow riders. He switched direction, tried to return to the convoy, but the spawn was fast despite its size, and he would probably not make it to allies's line. There was no way to escape.

The distance between him and the beast was reduced considerably. Glen made a quick decision. He gradually slowed down, allowed the spawn to keep up. It was a risky tactic, but it was also the only way to kill the beast. The scales on its back and arm were too thick, the only vulnerable part was it stomach, but the spawn covered it with one of its arm. He must force it to expose its abdomen. Although he was afraid, he knew that if he didn't do anything, the creature would rip him apart in seconds. By now it had closed the distance, and prepared to deliver the strike. Glen suddenly pulled the bridle, the horse leaped to the air, barely able to dodge the spawn's weapon, and landed behind it. The beast turned back, prepared to attack again, and received a smashed at the side of its head from Glen's hunting lance. The foul creature was surprised and fell backward, its arms outstretched, trying to keep balance. That moment of neglect was all he needed. He poured as much shot as he could from his hell carbine to the spawn's belly. The monster went down, its abdomen erupted in a spray of blood and viscera.

The thing moved no more.

He let out a sigh of relief. That was close. Then he realized that he was in the middle of the enemy. The surviving cultists, recovered from the shock effect of the cavalry charge, now were rushing toward him. He was trapped.

And the closest cultist was ripped apart.

Glen looked at where the shot came from. Group of soldiers, dressed in elegant curved armors and wore strange helmets, were advancing forward in ranks, their discipline fire cut down untold number of cultists, yet no shot hit, or even scratched him. Glen then realized who they were. He had seen them in a book depicting alien races in the galaxy.

They were the Eldar.

Warlock Illiara was finally caught up with the Chaos psyker. She had assured herself of victory, no human could match the Eldar in psychic power, but now she was not certain. The psyker was able to decimate entire Imperial rider squadron in just one shot of lightning bolt from his hand. She activated her shroud, drew her Witchblade, and closed the distance between them. Better let the sword take care of him.

These Eldar were pretty friendly for their race. Most of the documents Glen had read always depicted the Eldar as treacherous, back-stabbing xenos, yet those before him didn't show any sign of hostile. But something from afar was attracting their attention. He looked at the direction. A female Eldar was clashing with a human psyker, and at the psyker feet...were the corpses of his comrades.

Glen flew into a rage. The bastard...he had killed them. While he had only joined the 8th for a short time, he had developed a friendship with the were so kind...Glen drew his lance, ready to charge. The killer must pay !

The psyker was a formidable opponent, both in psychic and sword dueling. Her psychic shroud was neutralized the moment she came near him,and even her Executioner was defeated. The psyker were dancing around, striking and taunting her:

"What's wrong with you Warlock ? Is my strength too much for you to bear ?". Illiara didn't answer. She was too tired, her hands were already numb after exchanging numerous slashes, parry and block with the psyker. with the psyker.

"Well, I still want to play with you, but I'm running out of time". After finishing the sentence, Kaeron charged at the Warlock, raised his chainsword with both hand, prepared to deliver the killing blow. But he had underestimated her. Even in her current state, she was still capable of dodging the slash. She came in low, lunged forward as she thrushed her sword at the psyker's stomach. Kaeron smiled. With a wave of his hand, two corpses suddenly sprang up, ramming at Illiara and threw her of her feet. He drew his laspistol and pointed at the Warlock's head, a satisfying smile on his face.

But satisfied soon turn into surprised.

A Mon'keigh rider, with a fearful face, stabbed his hunting lance at the eight pointed star on the psyker chest. The lance exploded, releasing violet lightning bolts everywhere. And slowly, a warp rift was formed where the star had been moments before. The psyker was the first to be suck into it. And the Imperial rider - her saviour, he too was dragged screaming into the Warp. Other cultists-dead or alive, from all over the battlefield, were pulled also pulled closer to the warpgate, the blasphemous symbols on their bodier glowing. While the Eldar and Imperials were not affect, but liked the rider, Illiara was too close to the black hole. She was slowly drew to the Warp. But the rift was shrinking, she only had to try a little more...

Two vehicle husks were flying toward her. Illiara dodged one, but the other slammed at her Witchblade plunging on the ground. The sword was pulled out, and much to her horror, she was pulled into the rift. The only thing she saw was the sickening purple...