Sgt Granger's squad had cleared the upper floor without further casualties, having taken on a number of humans armed in a haphazard fashion.
No further Space Marines yet.
Though Granger wasn't fooled. If he was the Space Marine commander, he would spread his forces throughout the keep, knowing each man would be as a bastion to mere human invaders, concentrating a number at the main entrance where the brunt of the attack would be borne.
He had no doubt that there was a Battle Brother up there somewhere.
That's what he would do.
There was a clincher though, Granger thought as his men stood over the bodies of serfs, firing individual shots into skulls to ensure they stay down. The one thing the Space Marines hadn't counted on was the presence of Hellguns. The ability to penetrate Power armour with comparative ease would prove to be the Bellator's downfall, he was sure.
Granger shouldered his weapon once more as he entered the last room, passing through an ornate doorway, the dark wood frame and open doors engraved with detailed carvings of battles past won.
Here, a Battle-Brother wearing a cloak stands atop a dead Tyranid creature, bare headed, roaring at the sky.
There, a dreadnought lifts an immense greenskin into the air, crushing it between the talons of a formidable power claw.
The room beyond was a cold open space of bare stone, the smooth worn floor leading to an impressive Dais, cut in the shape of a grand Aquila carved from granite.
Banners hung high from the walls every 5 metres, Granger risked a glance and caught depictions of local PDF fighting alongside colossal Astartes, one for every time the Bellators Crimson had assisted the people of Horstland no doubt.
There were candles evenly spaced throughout the chamber, though they had been recently snuffed, plunging the place into darkness. The Storm Trooper's targeting monocles automatically adjusted, casting a hazy green hue over their left eyes.
Sgt Granger spread his men out, advancing in an extended line to dominate the space as he thought to himself
This place is a chapel. It is wrong to fight here.
A whine of servos to the front brought the Storm Trooper's carbines up as one, tracking the sound.
The sound ended in a thump, the crunching step of something heavy changing position accompanied by the whir-clack of an ammo hopper chambering rounds.
Everybody froze, observing their arcs.
Granger saw it first, the glow of eye pieces. Unnaturally bright through night vision, burning like the soul fires of an angry daemon, the glowing eyes seemed to stare straight at him.
Granger's finger squeezed the trigger.
'Contact!' the word was never heard.
Muzzle flash lit up the scene in a strobe of flashing colour. The roar of the heavy bolter in a confined space sounded like the God-Emperor himself was trying to tear through the veil of reality, the fire rate so fast it seemed like a single drawn out blare of noise.
The flickering light accompanied a stream of accurate tracer as it panned from right to left, framing the deaths of Storm Troopers as though viewed through a faulty Pict-screen.
One man separated at the waist and flipped, his head smashing into his own legs as the mashed remains crumpled to the ground.
The next Afriel fired off a single shot before he simply ceased to exist from the chest up, mass reactive rounds destroying armour, flesh and bone in a display of pure overkill.
Granger screamed through the din, his anger unheard as his automatic fire flared back at the giant, then Trooper "Mack" Macharius to his left detonated, his torso turning to mince in an instant.
A piece of the dead man's skull smacked Granger in the face, knocking him to the floor with a wet slap as tracer fire cut the air where he stood just moments before.
The Sergeant blacked out for a microsecond, coming round staring at the ceiling, feeling confused.
Sounds of gunfire and shouted orders clattered around him, multiple overlapping snaps of Hellgun fire being answered by the bassy report of the heavy weapon.
Men were dying.
The clarity struck him like a fist to the gut. He had to do something or all his men were dead.
Looking around hurriedly, Granger spied the demolition charge still attached to the remains of Trooper Mack's webbing.
Granger crawled over to the carcass and struggled with the clasp, eventually just ripping the bulky ordnance away as he primed the proximity fuse.
Scrambling to his feet, Granger shouted 'HEY' at the top of his lungs as he swung the weapon with all his might.
The heavy weapon Marine's head snapped round like a turret, glowing eyes boring into him, filled with righteous hate.
His weapon followed a split second later, swinging around with inhuman efficiency, the muzzle glowing red hot.
Granger let go of the Demo charge as the Bellators Crimson Battle-Brother triggered his weapon, the controlled burst ripping the man apart like so much tissue under acid rain.
He never saw the Demolition charge clang against the Warrior's head, magnetic clamps engaging momentarily before it functioned.
The resulting explosion obliterated the Space Marine, the Dais and a large portion of the floor in a huge ball of flame, flattening the surviving Storm Troopers and flash burning all exposed skin of their bodies.
They picked themselves up, unsure of what happened.
Corporal Alvar looked around, momentarily deaf. He felt the warm trickle of blood running from his ears as he took in the situation.
Alvar gestured to his men to take stock of the dead and give him an ammo state, as sent a radio check over the squad vox.
Nothing.
Gathering his remaining men together, Alvar mournfully took command and gave the order to move out.
The explosion rocked Alexiel to his core, bringing chunks of rockrete and stone crashing down among the training cages, crushing one entirely, destroying the servitors within.
The ambush point was compromised, from the result of that explosion Alexiel could only assume that he and Fleynt were the only ones left.
Anger flowed through him, the arrogance of these treacherous humans was astounding. The barricade on the ground floor had been assaulted by plasma and melta weapons, the 4 brothers down there fighting a bitter defence. The upper floors had been cleared alarmingly quickly, Alexiel receiving reports of pale skinned humans, utterly fearless and unusually well-armed, selling their lives without thought of their own safety.
The plan had been to hold at the training cages, incorporating the keep's armoury, it was the most heavily fortified chamber in the building with only one entrance.
The ceiling caving in had put paid to that idea.
Alexiel looked at Fleynt and nodded his head.
'Advance. Kill them all.'
He commanded with a growl.
Brothers Alexiel and Fleynt strode through the doorway into the corridor.
3 of the pale humans were mere metres from them organised in a loose formation, a look of brief alarm on their faces cut off as they adjusted the aim of their short las-weapons.
Alexiel snapped off a shot with his bolt pistol, blasting a man off his feet in a burst of blood as Fleynt triggered his flamer, casting a sweeping arc of burning promethium, engulfing the other 2 men who crumpled to the ground without a sound.
They didn't scream.
In his hundred years of service, Brother-Sergeant Alexiel had never witnessed a human burn to death without screaming.
The pair of Warriors walked down the corridor, weathering a hail of violet las-fire. A beam stabbed painfully through Alexiel's leg, another punched through the muscle on his shoulder, causing him to flinch and fire his pistol at nothing in a blaze of bolts.
Surprised at the ease in which the human's weapons punctured his blessed war-plate, this served only to fuel Alexiel' anger as he fired another more accurate round, taking out a man kneeling against the wall in front of the prone form of Brother Luciel, the bolt hitting him low in the gut and penetrating his armour, blowing his intestines and thighs out all over the floor.
Switching aim to his next target even as a Las-shot punched through his helmet, leaving a cauterised graze on his temple, Alexiel locked eyes with his victim momentarily.
This one didn't wear a helmet, his unnatural pallor visible for all to see.
Though he lacked any colour at all to his eyes, Alexiel felt the mutant-thing returning his stare.
The abhuman was totally lacking in fear. His frail existence was likely to be ended at any moment but there he stood, calmly firing his carbine weapon at the Emperor's chosen Angels.
This was not the fanatical insanity of a brainwashed cultist, nor the steeled core of the zealot, as he had seen numerous times among the sisters of the Ecclesiarchy.
This was simply a lack of fear.
Disturbingly, it reminded Alexiel of himself.
He shook the thought off as soon as it formed and pulled the trigger.
Hawkins felt as though a stampeding Grox had butted him in the chest.
The bolt exploded against his carapace, catapulting him backwards with force, the Storm Trooper commander falling over the corpse of the recently deceased Marine and smacking his head on the hard stone painfully.
Stars filled his eyes and bells rung in his ears for the second time in recent memory as he blinked, looking back at the smattering of corpses left in the Storm Trooper's wake.
He faintly felt a stinging sensation in the entire right side of his face, a result of fragmentation thrown up by the bolt blast, but adrenalin kept the pain at bay for now.
He rolled to his feet, taking in the scene as his weapon rose into the shoulder.
Trooper Cadan's body knelt to his left, the man left in the position he died in, staring at his own guts with a bemused look on his face.
Corporal Gideon and the remainder of his brick were dead, burnt or shot up in almost casual fashion when the Space Marines first appeared.
In his periphery, He saw a gout of flame engulf Krabb and Seth. Krabb advanced, still firing, a walking funeral pyre. He managed 3 steps before collapsing to his death.
Seth hit the deck immediately and rolled, seeking to smother the flames.
Initiative was lost.
Hawkins had the Marine with Flamer in his sights.
Crack
Perfect headshot, the Marine dropped mid step like a marionette with its strings cut.
Switching targets to the Marine that shot him, the obvious leader from the looks of him, Hawkins lined up a second headshot and squeezed the trigger.
The whine of an empty power cell sounded like a death knell to Hawkins.
Time to adapt, take the fight to the enemy.
Do exactly what they don't expect.
He slung his weapon to the side and drew his bolt pistol, firing the first shot from the hip as it cleared its holster as he simultaneously drew his machete left-handed, thumbing the activation rune.
The Space Marine calmly slid a fresh magazine home as the bolt missed his head by inches and raised the weapon to fire.
Hawkins continued to fire on automatic as he broke into a run, aiming for the head, explosive rounds crashing around the huge warrior.
One hit him directly in the face, whipping his head back for a second, causing Hawkin's heart to leap in his chest.
But the Marine's armour held firm, and he made to fire again as a round hit his pistol, causing the small bolter to explode, taking his hand and most of a forearm with it in a flash of muscle and ceramite as his entire magazine cooked off at once.
The Battle-Brother didn't even flinch, merely switching stance to favour his Chainsword as Hawkins closed the final few metres.
Throwing the Bolt pistol as it clicked empty, Hawkins dropped mid-sprint as the Marine swung, sword edge screaming, an efficient horizontal chop with designs on Hawkins' head, but he wasn't there.
Skidding on his knee, Hawkins took a 2 handed grip and swung the crackling blade with all his might, rewarded with a satisfying thunk as it struck the knee joint of the Astartes power armour.
Lacking the strength to sever the warrior's leg completely, Hawkins strained and ripped the blade back out, causing the Brother-Sergeant to sink heavily to one knee as tendons and ligaments no longer present failed to hold him upright.
At the same time Hawkins rose to his feet, reversing the grip on his weapon and bracing the pommel with his support hand against his chest, aiming the tip for the Space Marine's throat.
Disbelief.
Alexiel could not believe what was happening. Forced to kneel, he stared now, eye to eye with the Abhuman. He wore a grotesque visage, the entire right side of his face torn open by shrapnel, white skin contrasting sharply within a mask of blood.
Alexiel stared at him through his visor, millimetres away, his mind filled with nothing but hate for a second that felt like an eternity.
With the enemy far too close for a Chainsword strike, Brother-Sergeant Alexiel did the first thing that entered his mind.
Hawkins braced to shove the machete in but needn't have bothered.
The big Space Marine's arms enveloped him in a bear hug, seeking to crush the life out him with fearsome augmented strength.
For a nano-second, Hawkins felt almost unimaginable pain. Ceramite creaked, bones cracked and Hawkins' vision dimmed as immense pressure was placed around his torso.
Then, as fast as it started, it ceased.
The Marine's arms dropped away and Hawkins stumbled back, catching his breath in ragged gasps.
He looked at the machete handle sticking from the Astartes warrior's throat and saw what had happened.
The giant had killed himself.
Whether by accident or design, his crushing grip had driven the powered blade through his neck, where the tip now rested against the rear of his gorget.
Hawkins spat a gobbet of bloody phlegm onto the floor and retrieved his blade, ripping it out sideways, causing the head to topple, dragging the rest of the body with it.
Hawkins looked at the Bellators Crimson Brother, seeing one close up for the first time.
The armour was ancient, the deep red plate's texture bumpy and rough, as though it had suffered numerous damages and had been lovingly repaired over thousands of years.
A small gold plate was attached to the chest plate, just below the neck, where blood now poured.
It said "Alexiel" in exquisitely carved gothic text, followed by the names of planets and battles that Hawkins had never heard of. Hawkins couldn't get a thought out of his head
This man has seen worlds die in service. Now I have ended him
Suddenly aware of a noise to his rear, Hawkins looked up to see the remnants of 2nd platoon and his own men jogging towards him, each man looking like they had lived through hell, with scarred armour and bleeding wounds.
Trooper Seth began to stir, the stalwart commando sitting up, his right shoulder and face a mess of burnt tissue.
Along with The Captain himself, Seth was the only survivor from squad 1.
'Couldn't reach you on vox, Hawkins.' Tuomas shouted down the corridor at him. The lieutenant had a blood soaked bandage hastily tied around one side of his head, his helmet shoved back on top over that.
'Ground floor clear, 4 dead Marines and a bunch of servants accounted for. 11 friendly dead.'
Hawkins nodded at the Afriel officer and turned to look at Alexiel one last time before taking command of the mission.
'Apologies, hero of the Imperium.' He said to the corpse.
'None of us deserved this.'
Seth Laughed, it was an ugly sound, the sound of someone with internal burns. He pointed to the dead Marines as another Albino soldier tended to his wounds.
'What are we doing this for again, boss?'
Hawkins wanted to say 'For the Emperor.' But for some reason it felt inappropriate.
Inquisitor Fellon cut the vox link and leaned back in the command throne aboard an unnamed troop ship, hanging in low orbit around Horstland.
Hawkins' report had been favourable.
27 dead Afriel Strain for 10 Space Marines and a cluster of human warriors. Given the Astartes well-deserved reputation, those numbers were well within projected mission tolerances.
With Colonel-Commissar Armitage en-route to the staging area with the rest of the regiment, phase 2 could go ahead post haste.
Within the year, Fellon estimated that he would have sufficient evidence to present to the council.
His master would be pleased, and his status would be elevated. It was as simple as that.
Fellon allowed himself a smile as he took a sip of Amasec.
Now
Brother-Captain Solant recalled Alexiel's helm recording with a grimace. It would seem that the Pale skinned Soldiers that murdered his men were part of a bigger scheme. One would incur the wrath of the entire Bellators Crimson chapter if need be.
These things could not be allowed to exist.
'Brother-Captain Solant.' Codicier Eber said as he entered the burnt out office chamber.
'What are your findings, brother?' Solant asked, eager to learn if his Warp blessed brother had made any more sense of the situation.
'The bodies back there are not the Inquisitor's men.'
Captain Solant shot him an aggravated look.
'Explain.'
'I've read their surface memories. They were locals, hired in the last 24 hours, to guard that.' He pointed to the burnt remains of the Inquisitor, a look of disgust on his face.
'That is not Inquisitor Fellon.'
'Impossible.' Apothecary Luxus stated, certainty in his voice. 'The genetic match is irrefutable.'
'You are wrong, brother.' Eber countered politely. 'The surface thoughts of this thing contain no words, only emotions. It felt nothing but terror before it died, pure fear, unsullied by conscious thought. It's as though we killed a new-born.'
Solant's expression darkened.
'A clone?' Brother Sergeant Cadellon asked his master.
'It would seem so, brother. The servants of the cog are characteristically guarded when it comes to the use of their sacred technology.' He prodded the burnt corpse with an armoured boot. 'Creating servitors is one thing, but a fully grown copy of an existing Imperial agent? What kind of man has access to such facilities?'
Before anyone could answer, Cadellon spoke.
His voice had an edge of urgency, his tone clipped.
'My lord, the command Land Raider is picking up multiple contacts on long range Auspex. Fliers, dozens of them approaching on an attack vector.'
Captain Solant shoved his helmet over his head, his voice coming out as a distorted growl as the seals locked around his throat.
'Designation?'
'Imperial, sir. Vultures and Valkyries.'
This was it. The Inquisitor had laid a trap for his men, drawing the company onto a world's surface to do battle.
Even now, hordes of the Albino mutants were hurtling towards them in Flimsy airframes, intent on shedding blood.
Captai Solant opened the company vox channel to address his men.
'Brothers, an enemy has reared it's head. It approaches now, as I speak.
Look up to the sky my Brothers, and prepare for war!'