Castor walked slowly through the now, seemingly alive, forest. It seemed like whatever foul energies that the possessed tree had been radiating had, for all intents and purposes, driven off most of the life here in this slowly illuminating forest. The lone marine looked towards the sky as he noticed this, the planet's sun slowly rising as birds chirped and mammals scurried. He took it all in, letting the yellow sun soak his burnt features.

He felt like the darkness that had consumed him, that had been consuming him and his fellow fallen Astartes let go of its grip, retracting like a foul tentacled beast as it was met by the light of the righteous and the good. Although this fight wasn't over, although his duty was not done, he knew and understood that he was closer than he had ever been before, he knew he had a chance and that was all there needed to be. Castor felt something he hadn't felt in a long, long time. He felt hope.

It was then he heard it, he heard him. He knew exactly who it was, what it was. The life around him silenced itself as he drew closer, power-armored feet clanking as he drew close. Castor turned around to face him just as he came into view. Sirus. The traitor, the damned, the murderer.

"Well, isn't that cute." Sirus said, his voice thick with venomous contempt. "I honestly thought all of you would die against those Men of Iron. Maul obviously didn't spare any expense in getting well, anything capable of killing marines here. Honestly, I'm lucky I got out of the way before they got me too."

Castor sneered at his former Captain, as he did he noticed the burnt dints and scraps in his armor. Those machines fired on him too, he obviously wasn't working with Maul, but he obviously wanted Castor and his men dead too, something he already partially succeeded at. Soon, a brisk wind picked up as they stood staring each other down, the draft peeled flakes of burnt Ceramite off of the traitor's armor, revealing bare, bone-white armor underneath.

Castor had no words to say to this man, this monster. He would let the Emperor do the talking for him. In less time than it took to blink, Castor raised his confiscated bolter and pulled the trigger. But, instead of the expected flurry of mass-reactive shells, instead of the traitor kneeling over after being shot apart, nothing happened. The weapon clicked again and again and again, every last shell was gone, every bolt was shot, and the weapon Castor held onto was now nothing but dead weight.

Sirus started cackling as he saw this. A horrific, jackal-like laugh echoed throughout the forest like the joyed screams of a hungry malicious predator. "I would have thought you knew that thing was empty! The wondrous Sternguard Veteran, unable to count how many bolts are left in his disgraced magazine. Tell me, were you always that stupid or did the stress of this all make you as dumb as a beast."

Castor didn't respond. At least not verbally. Instead, he threw the empty weapon to his side, the weapon hitting the ground with a thud. As it fell, Castor drew his long, serrated Adamantium Combat Knife from the sheath at his hip. Castor held the knife in his still armored right hand, the blade in a front-facing grip, ready to duel the fallen angel of death who stood mere feet from him.

Sirus didn't laugh at this sight, to him, it was too sad to be funny, too weak and useless. The traitorous marine instead gripped his power sword "Thorn Breaker" tighter, before slowly placing his other hand onto its grip. Sirus glared at his former brother behind his helmet, scarlet eyes of malice exceeding the red lenses of his Mark-4 plate in their bloodthirsty hue.

"You don't want to do this, Castor. Give up now, and I will let you in on my plans, I will show you true power and strength." Sirus said, an intoxicating venom seeping from his every word.

"No. No! Your actions, your heinous acts killed everyone except for me. I am all that remains, and I will be the one to bring you to heel. You have been corrupted, and you will pay for your crimes against the Emperor!" Castor screamed in response.

Sirus slowly shook his head, before thumbing the activation rune of his ancient, baroque weapon. "Then you will die slowly, and your blood will stain my blade." Sirus took his weapon into a defensive stance, ready for the full hearty warrior to charge, the Captain's helmet crest flowing in the breeze.

Castor did as Sirus knew he would, feet stomping as Castor ran yet again, this time towards the danger. The danger he would kill himself. The two men made contact then and there, the briefest sounds of bare metal against flowing red energies filling the air, before the inevitable struck.

Castor felt the blade fall into his chest, blood spurting and boiling on red hot energized metal. He tried to lift his knife-bearing arm, but nothing happened, he tried to lift his bare left arm, but nothing happened. His eyes, barely focusing enough to even look directly at anything managed to get a glimpse at what happened. His arms, they were gone. Sliced clean off at the shoulder, laying on the ground right below him, his legs shook at the sight.

Sirus jammed the sword further into his former brother's chest, more and more hot boiling blood pouring out of the wound as the air filled with the putrid smell of ozone and flesh. Castor couldn't move, he could barely breathe, he felt both of his hearts strain against the blade, both were cut and burning themselves against the sparking weapon. He was dead already, the minute that blade exited his body, he knew everything would go dark.

Drawing all the breath he could into his 3 lungs, Castor tried to speak. Nothing came out besides a pained gurgle as the blood entered his pierced windpipe and traveled into his lungs. Sirus met this pained attempt with a reply.

"Shhh… It's over. No more pain, no more suffering. Just let it happen."

Castor had the urge to scream, to defiantly fight against the encroaching dark in his vision. He made a promise, and he failed, he failed everyone. The only thing he could do now is spit in the face of that darkness before it took him. He choked out a reply to Sirus. A simple question.

"Why..? Why have you done this, all of this?" Castor asked plainly, blood spitting out of his mouth as he did so. Sirus looked him in his dying, dull eyes. What he saw there surprised him. There was no longer the fire of hatred and rage, that fire was gone. Instead, there was a cold, calm defiance, a light in the dark that's image would burn forevermore. A light that he hated.

"I did it to feel alive. I want to feel alive, I want this war, because I want to feel alive." Sirus said, a tinge of darkening anger in his voice.

Castor simply let out a pained, bloody chuckle as he heard this. "Then you were… You were never worthy of the title… of Astarte." The pained voice replied, not to mock his killer, but instead to show him the truth.

Sirus's rage flared up as he heard this, burning hot like a sun as he withdrew his sword and decapitated the dying man in front of him. As his body fell to the floor, Sirus felt nothing but disgust. No satisfaction, no righteous vigor of the kill, nothing, all that was left was a cold, frigid disgust. He stood there and looked at the fallen man for all but a few seconds, before he turned and walked away.

What felt like hours passed as the sunlight continued to shine down upon the fallen space marine, the dead hero of myth, blue and orange armor shining with a purity and finality worthy to all but a few of their kind. As if to take him to his final resting place, the planet itself seemed to hold his fallen form in its embrace, long vines of green and red wrapping themselves around his fallen form and flowers of magenta and blue blooming over his battle-worn plate.

A single flower sprouted over his broken chest, an orange, poppy-like plant. The thing shined like his light, his broken heart of justice and brotherhood. It screamed to the world as he did, and it told them that even though he was gone…

That his righteousness would live forever more.