A/N: I'm frankly astonished that it's taken this long for the accusations of heresy to start appearing, considering the subject matter. There'd probably be a lot more if I advertised this as a Romance fic, but thankfully that is not what this is. Anyway, enjoy.


Come morning, I found some relatively clean clothes in the garrison and stumbled out into the yard, covered from head to toe in shallow cuts and bite marks. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I groaned and squinted up at the orange sky, never having felt so tired in my life. After our exchange on the wall, Rosie had seen to it that I received no sleep that night, taking me on a wonderful and terrifying journey of sensations I had never dreamed could be felt. It was actually closer to midday, judging by the dull orange colour of the sky, and I wondered with apprehension if every night from now on would be like this. If that was the case, I estimated I'd last maybe a week before my body gave out altogether.

My speculations regarding this dark and heretical future might have gone on longer if I hadn't seen Thurion standing alone on the wall, his black livery freshly polished and seemingly immune to the dust in the wind. Normally I would have kept my distance, but on that particular morning I got the strange urge to join him there. Hesitating only for a moment, I lifted my chin and headed up the stairs.

When he wasn't sneering or snarling, Thurion was possessed of a noble, commanding visage – square-jawed and amber-eyed. That face now looked out over the wasteland, to a cluster of distant rocky hills, from which a column of smoke was now rising into the sky. I squinted, trying to perceive its source.

"A Thunderhawk."

Hearing his voice without the usual vitriol was startling. I looked up at him in confusion. "A Thunderhawk?"

"An Astartes gunship. It crash-landed out by those hills not a minute ago."

My brows rose, and I looked back at the smoke. That was… significant. Incredibly significant. If the Adeptus Astartes were here, that meant that reinforcements had finally come for the Guardsmen of Armatura – far too late, but they had come. Thurion must've seen the hope on my face, because he was quick to dash it. "Don't get excited, human. Even from here, I could see the mark of Slaanesh on the vessel's side. Anything there is likely to be hostile."

I frowned. "But, Rosie-"

"Rosie is an aberration," Thurion said sharply, and what stung most was that it was true. She had essentially told me so herself. "Do not let its honeyed words cloud your judgement." It was only then that he looked down at me and noticed the myriad of scratches covering my body, and smirked. "Perhaps I spoke too soon. It seems it is less of an aberration than I thought." With that quip, he turned and made for the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"To investigate, human," he called, without turning back or shortening his stride. I blinked, and hurried to grab my gear before following him out of the gate. Now he did turn to look at me, his disdain unconcealed. "You're coming?"

"Sure I am. Have to make sure you're not deserting us." I patted the bolt pistol at my hip, which made his eyes narrow in mild amusement.

"If we were to be concerned about anyone deserting, it would be you."

"Me?" I was taken aback by that. Out of all of us, I'd never imagined myself to be the one evoking suspicion, but when I thought about it, it did make sense. I was, after all, an Imperial allegiant among heretics and traitors.

"Oh, yes. I saw the spark in your eyes when you heard an Astartes vessel had landed on this world. Consciously or not, you long to return to the people you belong with: Imperial scum." I bridled at his insulting terminology, but opted to say nothing, trotting along beside him in silence. He continued, indifferent to or unaware of my umbrage.

"You have been with us for the least amount of time, and your allegiance lies the furthest from any of ours. We are disparate in our philosophies, yes, but ultimately we all serve the same master: Chaos, in all its infinity. Whether eagerly, like Marrlë, or reluctantly, like Damantin, we exist to oppose the rotting carcass of an empire you serve."

I could hear the resentment in his voice as he spoke of the Imperium, and found that it resonated with a part of me deep within. Though I was and always would be loyal to the cause of humanity, I knew the imperfections of the Imperium were deep and manifold. I wondered then what would become of the others – of us – once we escaped Armatura, and asked Thurion as much.

He laughed bitterly. "Has it not passed through your tiny mind yet, human? Nothing ever goes right in this wastebin of a galaxy – for anyone. If – and that is a sizeable if – we do somehow find a means to leave Armatura before the orks kill us, then we will part ways. Marrlë will go charging off to die in some glorious war, Damantin will be dragged away by Tzeentch on some intricate plot, the Daemonette will grow stronger until it can no longer maintain its form in Realspace, and I will continue my search for a warband worthy of my allegiance. And of course, if you are intact after all of this, you will toddle back to your Imperium, lasgun held high, and be tortured to death by an Inquisitor."

I cringed at the thought, made all the worse by how likely it actually seemed. Beyond that, though, I wondered if I finally had an inkling of his motivations. I grew a bit more intrigued. "And the reason you're here with us is…?"

"As a means to an end," he scoffed. "Though Marrlë is competent for a human, Damantin is the only one among you who I would consider worthy. As for you, I am frankly astonished that you have managed to survive and stay sane this long."

I chose to take that as a compliment.

"Tell me, human – have you heard of the Black Legion?"

"Yes," I answered immediately. "Everyone has. You mean the lot who launched twelve failed crusades against the Imperium, right?"

"Thirteen," Thurion growled, and the clawed fingers of his gauntlets clenched. "Now, let us see if you know your history. Does the Imperium still speak of the Luna Wolves?"

"Um…" As far as I knew, they did not. I wracked my brain, scouring my memories for some mention of that name. When I came up blank, I shrugged helplessly, which caused the Space Marine's ever-present scowl to deepen.

"I see," he said quietly. "It does not surprise me; that is a name from long ago. Before the Black Legion set forth under the command of Ezekyle Abaddon, they knew another master, and wore different colours. Then, we were the Sons of Horus. And before that, we were the Luna Wolves."

"The Sons of… oh. Oh." I goggled at Thurion, realizing with a shock just who I was walking alongside. He belonged to the Legion that had served under Horus, the arch-traitor who had struck down the Emperor and torn the great Imperium of old asunder. Horror and revulsion welled up inside me.

"You're with the Black Legion," I croaked. He regarded me quietly for a moment, his features twisting in something other than anger or disdain.

"I was," he muttered. "But no longer."

Before I could press the matter, we had crested the closest of the hills and were now looking down into a basin of cracked earth where the crashed Thunderhawk rested. The first thing I noticed was the ship's nose, brutally crumpled into the earth with sheets of metal and loose wires splayed out in all direction. One wing had fallen off from the impact, and flames burned on the far side of the craft. I sucked in air through my teeth as I grimly assessed the damage; this would not be the ship we escaped Armatura on. Where were the tech-priests when you needed them?

The second thing I noticed was the two Space Marines that had emerged from the wreckage, surrounded by orks. Their livery was a shade of pink that oddly made me think of Rosie, appearing burnished even in the dull, dust-choked light of Armatura. A sickeningly sweet scent filled the air, nearly making me stumble back as it assailed my senses. As soon as I reacted, the marines looked up at me, and what I saw chilled my blood.

One bore a row of spikes along his hairless head that trailed down his neck into the back of his pink armour. One of his hands had become a chitinous claw – not unlike Rosie's, and the other carried a broadsword that seemed to whip this way and that, like a huge, obscene tongue. The second marine's eyes had been replaced by fanged mouths, with barbed tongues lolling out of each of them – again, reminding me uncomfortably of Rosie's own tongue. His real mouth curved upwards in a thoroughly unsettling grin.

"Possessed," Thurion declared, igniting the energy field around his sword. I swallowed and looked from the marines to him, my hands creeping towards the plasma pistol in my jacket; I knew that my lasrifle would be even less effective against Space Marines than it had been against orks.

"Can't you reason with them?"

"Perhaps I could – if I were alone. They will spare you no quarter, though. They sense your allegiance to the Corpse Emperor, and they will stop at nothing to snuff it out."

With shrill cries of bloodthirsty glee, the possessed marines began to race up the side of the basin towards us – no, towards me. My teeth clenched, I drew my plasma pistol and tried to take aim, but the cloying smell hit me again, making my head spin. As they neared, I was filled with despair. I didn't stand a chance against two Space Marines, and I knew Thurion wouldn't save me.

So when the black-clad warrior's gauntleted fist connected with the mouth-eyed marine's jaw and knocked it flat with a brutal crack, I had no idea what to think anymore.

Hissing in pain and surprise, the floored marine made to scramble to its feet, but had its head blown clean off by a shot from Thurion's bolt pistol. His face set in a grim mask, the Black Legionnaire swung around and slammed his blade into the claw of the spiky-headed one, whose initial shock was quickly replaced by an uncomfortably hungry leer.

"What have we here?" The monster shrilled, driving Thurion back under a flurry of blows too fast for my eyes to follow. "A warrior of the Black Legion, gone soft and crawled back to the Corpse Emperor? I could cry for how pathetic it is."

"I am no ally of the Imperium," Thurion growled before regaining his footing and retaliating with an equally dizzying array of strikes. The Possessed retreated for a moment, seemingly not having expected such bladesmanship; the black-clad warrior's power sword was flickering through the air so swiftly that I could only perceive it as a blur of colour. Quick shots from his bolt pistol forced his opponent further down into the basin, and he came on again twice as viciously.

I stood there shaking, plasma pistol clenched uncertainly in two hands. I couldn't fire into that melee – the way the two fighters moved back and forth, footwork perfectly timed in a deadly dance, I was liable to hit Thurion instead of my actual target. I could only watch helplessly as the hulking super soldiers duelled, and my anger at my ineffectiveness was surpassed only by my awe at the battle before me.

To match his opponent's claw and Warp weapon, Thurion had at some point sheathed his bolt pistol and drawn his combat knife. The blade's cruel, jagged edge flashed as it drove against the daemonic marine's unnatural weaponry, seeking an opening in its defenses. Parrying blow after blow and retaliating with lightning speed, the possessed warrior disengaged, leaping back and giggling.

"Presumptuous fool! You think to lock blades with a swordmaster of the Emperor's Children, and yet-" It stopped mid-taunt, looking down in disbelief at the combat knife protruding from its boot. Thrown so quickly and subtly I hadn't even seen it fly from Thurion's hand, the weapon was now buried hilt-deep in the swordmaster's foot, pinning him in place.

The Possessed didn't have time to scream as Thurion swept forward, cleaving through its power armour and disembowelling it, following up with a low slash that severed its tendons and brought it to its knees. Forced to kneel, the panting Emperor's Child twisted its head to glare at its vanquisher. "Why?" it screeched, struggling in vain to rise. "Why have you allied with the Imperium?! You-"

Again, it was cut off, this time for good. The mutant's head flew through the air, severed by a single quick stroke of Thurion's sword. Grimacing in distaste at the blood spurting from the beheaded stump, he strode forward, fluidly pulling his combat knife out of the dead monster's foot and letting the corpse slump to the ground. "I have not allied with the Imperium," he restated flatly, his voice frighteningly calm as he walked back up the side of the basin towards me. Not knowing what to expect, my relief when he passed me and started down the hillside was tremendous.

"But a feeble warrior I would be if I failed to protect my comrades."

My eyes widened as I stared at the Space Marine's back. I stood frozen on the hilltop for a moment before realizing that he wasn't going to wait for me, and hastened down the incline to fall into step with him. I trotted along in silence beside him, seeking some way to fill the heavy silence and coming up blank. Eventually, he turned his gaze on me, and the ferocity in those eyes made me wonder if he wasn't going to strike me down then as well.

"I am many things, Fenwick, and a good man is not one of them. But let it never be said that Heritus Thurion of the Luna Wolves is anything less than a master of his craft."

Choosing not to mention that he had called me by my name instead of 'human' or 'Guardsman', I laughed and nodded vigorously. "Rest assured, I'd be the first to shout down such an accusation."

"Good." His inhuman orange eyes glinted with satisfaction, and we walked around the hillside in a comfortable silence, until we were in view of the base. At which point my eyebrows all but flew off my face.

"What in the Emperor's name is that?" I exclaimed, pointing at the massive construct chugging slowly towards our walls. The momentary silence that followed my question only seemed to give the inevitable bad news more weight.

"That, human," Thurion snarled, "is a Gargant."