Rogol Dorn and the rest of the Imperial fists with him had engaged the traitors in brutal close combat, clashing with them in a small bombed out settlement. Dorn bashed his helmet into the unprotected face of a traitor, drawing a massive gash across his forehead before finishing him off with slash across his chest. Sparks and blood spewed of the traitors gut as his sword sliced through the corrupted, chaos polluted power armor as his sword passed through it like a knife through hot butter. He proceeded to draw his bolter and discharge his entire magazine in a mass of blood crazed world eaters who had been driven completly bat-shit due to the constant humming of their nural implant in their dome. It was only 4 hours into the siege and already he and his men had killed scores of traitors, but not without sacrifice. With a quick glance over his shoulder a saw Sigismund kick a World Eater on to the ground and impale him with a chain sword, tearing away at the armor and flesh till he reached the tainted gene seed. After the traitor had finished screaming and flailing on the ground, Sigismund whipped out his pistol and popped three traitor imperial soldiers in the head, splattering their brains all over the grey rockcrete ruins. They may Space Marines, but there were only a scant few with him at the moment and the traitors were gaining ground, slowly but steadily. Four tactical squads sprinted up to cover, bolter rifles and pistols at the ready, already firing as they ran at the World Eaters, screams of hate and vengeance yelled at the traitors as they charged them. They were being led by Sgt. Kaskiivor who had been serving since Hours's treachery had been revealed. He had been in every major fight between traitors, always in the thick and never shrinking away from a fight. In fact, they might say that he hated the traitors more then anyone else. He was eight years old when they purged his world, his entire family killed before his eyes on sacrificial alters. It was Rogol who had saved him, and the way Kaskiivor saw it, he had a blood oath for his Primarch and the Emperor.
"Kill them and show no mercy! By the Emperor let none of these blind eyed traitors live! FOR TERRA AND THE EMPEROR"! Kaskiivor screamed as he fired his bolter into the mass of traitors, his voice sounding like a mechanical beast with his helmet on. His bolter was rather basic, much like the rest of the men he rallied together with only one difference, a power bayonet which was fixed to it and radiated with a pure white holy fire that melted through even the strongest armor chaos could posses. His armor was draped with scrolls and prayers from head to toe. His left shoulder guard had a prayer book chained to it with the other one brandishing the black clenched fist the Imperial fists used for a logo. His helmet was the standard Aquila IV, nothing special. He had a leather tabard with small steel studs lined up in perfect order top to bottom with a long, tattered robe over it, long enough in fact that it dragged the ground. It was a plain cloth robe which had only one outstanding feature, a perfectly dyed fist clenching the spines of several traitor legions in its closed palm, heads still attached. Sons of Hours, Thousand Suns, and Death Guard. Underneath it read in bold, blood read Gothic "My Brothers No More." Dorn thought that it was, at least in his opinion, a truly powerful and motivating symbol, and would make sure that if he could have it inducted as a chapter relic, for the mans loyalty to the chapter was matched only by Sigismund. His bolter magazine ran dry but hardly even fazed him, he after all had a bayonet, and it was to late to reload. As a traitor charged him with a hideously malformed face that not even a mother could love. He had a massive, tainted demon maul that reeked and stank of leaned underneath the blow and buried his bayonet in the traitors gut, blood draining out of his body like a broken faucet as the blade was plunged deeper and deeper into his gut, shredding the intestines into goblets and strings of tainted flesh and corrupted tissue. His gene seed fell onto the ground as the bayonet was painfully dragged out of the wound, making the most vital organ look like a purple lump of mangled and shredded flesh. He then ended the pathetic whelps life by a blot pistol to the mouth, sending a thick warm mist of red flesh painting the rockcrete red. He and the men were locked in bitter combat for what seemed like an eternity. Stabbing and cutting and slashing and blasting each other to pieces. One of the loyalists was felled by four raptors who hacked him away till he was little more then a lumpy pile of shredded flesh, blood splatters, and chunks of torn up metal with most of the paint chipped away. A young battle brother, having just earned his power armor four days ago withdrew his serrated combat knife, flipped it up by the very tip, and whipped it at a traitor raptor, putting every single augmented muscle in his free arm to use. It hit his jump-pack with such force that it erupted in a massive ball of greasy promethium and flames, the metal screeching like a banshee as it clawed its way across the battle field.
One of the world eaters bore down on a Imperial fist with a chain sword, cutting into his armor with horrendous ease. Just as he had killed the fist, two other loyalists turned their bolters on him and filled him with countless rounds, each detonating moments later, pocketing his body full of holes. Out of his line of sight, Kaskiivor caught view of three death guard sprinting at him, chain axes roaring like mythological beasts of Ancient Terra and bolt pistols barking like rabid blood hounds as they rushed the Imperial Fists. With one quick motion, Kaskiivor spun around with two others and riddled them with bolt shells. Before their death tough, one squeezed off a round and popped a battle brother in the head, a fresh one at that, it was his first battle. It only maddened the Sgt. more, seeing such a brave, faithful servant to the emperor go out in such a way. They would pay for this fowl treachery, even if it was the last thing he did.
"Get down" screamed a fist as he knocked his sergeant on the cold hard rockcrete roads, saving his life by a hair as several thunder hawks streaked over head on a bombing run.
"Much appreciated brother, I won't forget this" he thanked the marine who had saved his life.
"Burn you pathetic loyalist whelps" said an Emperor's Child from behind the marine who saved Kaskiivor's life, and with one fluid motion he killed him, his tainted blade punt the war plate of the Imperial Fist, lunging him forward, blood slowly seeping out of his helmet.
"No!" the Sargent screamed with hate as he lifted up from where he lay and slammed a krak grenade down his throat and kicked him into a horde of traitors, mutants and other foul spawn of chaos that attempted to clamber over the shelled out stone and derbies of the town they fought in. Kaskiivor turned away from the pink armored warrior just in time to dodge to implosion that sent a massive score of traitors strait to the warp.