The 6, hulking Astartes raced down the ridge, armor clanking and servos whirring as the superhuman men of the Angellis Mentors blurred past trees and mounds of rich, brown dirt. It was but a few seconds before the marines stopped in their tracks yet again. The men stood there, as silent as hunting beasts as the sudden cold sense of being watched flooded their minds.
"Do. Not. Fire." Sirus ordered barely above a whisper over the men's vox. "I have seen these Abominations before, the Crimson Razors briefed me on their existence. So-called 'Commando Droids.' They are weak, but fast. Do not fire unless you are sure of your aim completely."
Above, perched on the topmost branches of a tree, Sirus spotted the disguised form of a sleek, black, and grey mechanical being, its faceplate painted red to resemble the tattoos of its apparent owner. Almost as soon as the Astartes spotted the being, it disappeared behind the swaying branches and red leaves. Sirus slowly drew his bolt pistol, prepared to do what he had done before and draw first blood.
The droids above noticed this, and like several bolts of evil, dark lightning they dropped from the trees and rushed the Astartes. There were so many of them, at least 20, likely more. All were armed with their signature particle-based weapons in one hand, and vibrating cortosis-weave swords in the other. They were vastly outnumbered, but the Astartes were well and truly used to that fact already. They had faced down the Tyranid menace, Chaotic cults whose numbers would make even a Commissar blush, and the unnumbered tide of Greenskins. To them, these numbers were child's play.
Opening up with volleys of mass-reactive, explosive micro-missiles, the Astartes began to blow the mechanical abominations to flying pieces of metal and circuits. However, the Marines realized they were killing far too few of them, especially given their volume of fire. They noticed it then. These thinking machines were dodging their shots just before they made them, bobbing and weaving to cover just before the pull of a trigger. They were analyzing their lines of fire, predicting the path of their bolts, and moving accordingly, all in milliseconds.
Sirus was less surprised than his men in this regard, he knew what these constructs could do. He instead laid into the threat with a far less predictable line of attack. Swiping 3 machines away like a cluster of flies with the working edge of his sparking power sword, the Captain watched as the heretical constructs were all in one swoop bisected. The marine then looked down at the still-moving droids, their forms still crawling toward his squad. The man realized what they were doing in that instant, and it brought a cold, malicious smile to his face.
The rest of the Commando Droids were on the 5 man squad in an instant. This is when the rest of the squad realized it as well. Bobbing and weaving past bolters and drawn combat knives, the constructs b-lined straight towards one lone marine, the one marine moving, shooting, and fighting slower than the rest. Ogma.
Like a tidal wave of Tabana gas and vibrating exotic metal, the droids literally ripped into Ogma, firing masses of controlled blaster bolts, staggering the Astarte's already weakened body before cutting into it. The men around Ogma continued to fire at the droids, taking many down in the process, but they soon realized there were far too many on top of their brother, and too little time to make much of a difference. The droids fought like vultures, targeting the injured among them above all else.
The vibrating steel blades literally pulped his flesh and bone as they sliced and chopped at the marine. To Ogma's credit, the man fought hard, taking down at least 5 of the droids with his adamantium combat knife, the man continued to fight for his life as his left arm was severed at the shoulder, and then finally, a blade chopped into his helmeted skull from above. The Ceramite and sensors of his helm shredded into a fine powder as his brain was turned into slush.
Before the now blooded droids could disengage, however, Ogma's remaining brothers were atop the Commandos, only 10 of the droids remaining after Ogma's final struggle and his brothers' combined fire. The droids were promptly annihilated, their vast numerical advantage disappearing as 4 gene-enhanced warriors returned the favor. Ceramite boots stomped metallic, artificial heads as combat blades sliced through metal and sensor alike. Soon, the droids were all dead or dying on the ground below, but so was one of the Astartes' own.
The remaining men of the Sternguard squad rushed over to the dead Ogma, the men stopping in their tracks as they saw the state the cowardly Abominable Intelligences had left him in. His body was left in ruins. Most of the wounds, for a Space Marine at least, were superficial. Deep, wide blade wounds scattered his body, the Marine's immune system still clotting the blood as it spilled onto the soil below. The arm was what initially was of most concern to the Marines, but it was nothing a Bionic couldn't fix. But then they saw his head, and they knew just how bad things were.
A thick, pulpy fluid of pink and red and grey flowed from the long, wide, slit-like wound on top of Ogma's still head. It flowed like a disgusting, deathly ration paste from his skull. He was dead. The marines remained silent before one of their number, Castor, picked up the man's discarded bolter and slung it over his shoulder. As he did so, the marine turned back around to face his Captain, face red with rage underneath his helm.
Unlike his squad, who were solely focused on their task at hand, Castor with one proverbial eye focused on the battle and the other focused on his Captain watched as Sirus did nothing but watch the carnage that took place. He was furious. With one hand, Castor grabbed the top of his helm and twisted the heavily armored thing off, throwing it to the ground as he marched toward his commander.
His black, slicked-back hair gleamed in the night's light, his face almost redder than the leaves of the trees that surrounded them. Almost redder than the blood of Ogma's fallen form. Gripping his bolter in one hand, Castor pointed towards Sirus with the other, almost screaming as he began to speak.
"You, fucking bastard! Explain yourself!" Castor raged at his superior. Sirus, still smiling underneath his helmet, feigned ignorance in response.
"Brother Castor, please calm down, what is it you need explained?"
"You know! Stop playing dumb! You got Ogma killed! You stood here, gawking at these constructs you killed, all the while we were struggling to deal with the rest." Castor looked like he was about to pop, his complexion and demeanor evocative of a rapidly filling water balloon.
"Brother Castor… I was here dealing with my share. You know now how hard these particular constructs are to pin down, especially in an open space such as this." Sirus lied plainly, his voice alone being enough to convince the other marines left alive. All except Castor, and the bewildered form of Izar.
"You're lying. I know you are, right brothers?" Castor looked back towards his fellow squad mates, all looking directly at the marine in the middle of his outburst. A cold, dead silence overtook the forest. What felt like hours passed before the form of Aiolos stepped forward.
"Castor. Stop this, now." His sergeant ordered. "He had to have been fighting those Abominations. Sirus would never leave us for dead like that. You know that."
"No, you're wrong, I saw it with my own eyes." Castor replied almost frantically.
"Well maybe if you were focused on the fight instead of Sirus, Ogma would be alive right now." Brother Tabit spat back, venom coursing through his every word. With that single word, Castor was off again, this time b-lining directly towards Tabit, the marine scowling deeply underneath his helmet. He was about to reach the man before the form of Izar stopped him, his mark-6 plate allowing him to reach his brother swiftly and silently before he could make this situation any worse.
"Stop it." Izar said, slightly above a whisper. Castor continued to try to push on, Izar like a roadblock pushing harder against his brother-marine. "Stop. It." Izar said again, this time louder and more forcefully. Castor finally stopped dead in his tracks.
All Castor could do is scowl at his brother, before walking away to retrieve his discarded helm. Izar felt conflicted, more so than he had any other moment in his life. He knew Castor had a good heart, he knew Castor saw injustice where others didn't, but he also knew no one else saw what he was describing, not even him. He didn't know who to trust. All he could do is prevent further escalations. He sighed deeply under his helm, before making his way back towards his squad.
Aiolos shook his head softly as he walked over to his captain, the two obviously talking about what should be done. The night sky seemed to dim slightly at this, an umbral darkness encroaching on them all.