The Mortal Son Chapter 21: Act 3 - 1: Farthest Outpost, a warhammer fanfic

AN: Nice and phat chapter for you all, enjoy peepo! Took me a bit to get this together, but briefly wanna say thanks to all the plot threads and ideas from y'all. Got a few goodies to set up going forward. More Balor, we'll be halfway through the battle by next chapter, and I'll start sowing the seeds for further stuff. More at the bottom.

In a rare moment of genuine internal struggle, the Librarian of the Astral Knights found within himself a rising sense of irritation.

A strong feeling for a soul tempered as Aethod's was, but a justified force nonetheless.

The Librarian knew of how potentially dangerous Lucian was, and not just because the boy was the equivalent of a flood gate for Warp energies, but because of the attention given to the youth by a specific entity.

Aethod had overheard Vownus' little deduction of the identity of Lucian's teacher. Those specific visual clues as well as the admittance that Lucian was indeed receiving instruction from Magnus the Red would have been enough to spur Aethod into action.

He would have killed the boy for consorting with a traitor, let alone willingly accepting one as an instructor.

Three things had stayed his blade and hand however.

Firstly, the youth was seemingly unaware of who he was dealing with. Vownus was a good reader, he would have known if the boy was lying to him regarding 'Red'.

Secondly, Aethod failed to detect any signs of corruption or maleficence from the boy's aura. Lucian's soul remained pure and whole.

Thirdly, Vownus had not acted out.

Instead the man had tempered down, seemingly accepting the boy's harsh rebuttal at Kaede's lack of instruction.

Some warnings and deeper meanings were exchanged, but ultimately the existence of Lucian's Tutor was pushed aside.

Vownus obviously intended to address it at some point, but with an Ork army on Hive Primaris's doorstep, now obviously wasn't the time for an open discussion of any sorts.

This is where the irritation kicked in.

Because while Kaede didn't have an immediate solution for the boy, the choice he did make was to saddle the potentially corrupted Psyker with Aethod.

The Librarian was beyond angry with this, only the necessity of Kaede's order truly bringing him back from outright fury.

Because the truth behind the Inquisitors decree was that Vownus did indeed need someone to keep an eye on Lucian for him.

The boy had been learning under Magnus the Red seemingly without knowledge of his Teacher's true identity.

His soul needed to be watched for corruption.

Aethod had trained his Sight well, something that wouldn't allow him to see perfectly into the gigantic mass of energy that was Lucian. But the Librarian possessed a far better examining gaze than Vownus did, something the two older Psykers were both keenly aware of.

Regardless, Aethod continued his close examination of the boy's spirit.

The obvious flaws or imperfections would appear routinely, fears and worries that nagged at the boy's mind. But open lines of corruption… there were none.

Remaining vigilant, the Librarian would pounce at the first sign of a more daemonic nature. Until then, he was at ease to remain as a potential executioner.

A role he filled out of practicality and duty.

In that moment of understanding, Aethod came to realize why Vownus had chosen him to watch over the youth.

The Librarian would not hesitate to do what was absolutely necessary.

Kaede felt as if he might.

The Inquisitor was growing attached to the boy.

A dangerous possibility...

Looking amongst the Guardsmen surrounding him, Aethod wondered if any of them would assist in killing Lucian, should the boy prove to be corrupted.

From the looks of adoration or subtle awe being cast toward the young Psyker, the Librarian figured not.

Many were still taken in by the boy's actions.

From beneath his hood, Aethod's mind focused upon Agents Helix and Decelus. Both were strong proponents of the boy, each having been saved by Lucian's power before.

They would also likely stand beside the youth.

Being surrounded by potential enemies was never a comfortable feeling, but Aethod ultimately decided to accept that possibility, even as unlikely as he felt it being.

Besides, if what Vownus had told him about the Calixis Prophecy was true, Lucian was far beyond Magnus the Red's ability to corrupt.

The Librarian refocused back to the material world, his senses settling into reality comfortably.

Aethod glanced down at the youth which stood just before him.

A small part of him took solace in how irritated the boy was as well. The youth felt the need to be a part of this battle, to fight for a world he would so readily stand for.

Instead of being flung into the heart of battle, young Lucian had been relegated to the side lines.

The fact that Aethod was too watch over him irked the Librarian far more than he was willing to admit.

He should be out on the battlements, neck deep in the dead with his Brothers. Without him present, anything could happen.

Even if Vownus was far more destructive upon a battlefield, Aethod felt he should still haven't been the one to be put on 'guard duty'. Kaede was a monster in his own right, but that didn't mean Aethod wasn't. His skill wasn't something to be dismissed so simply.

Besides-

A twisting feeling caught his stomach, his hearts and mind catching up to it a moment later.

Aethod blinked, his eyes taken back to the distant western section. A large swathe of green now intermingled with the Imperial elements.

Something… something had just happened….

His vision raked the length of the outer wall, but no matter how hard he looked, his eyes could not spot the large and venerable warrior.

He could no longer see Thade…

The Chapter Master must be lost to the swarmed fighting, his figure hidden by the chaos of the battlements.

A distant war horn managed to shake Aethod from his focused search, his heartbeat a touch more erratic then it had been a moment before.

The Gargants were coming closer and closer to the wall.

"Concentrate fire!" Kjarl Grimblood roared, his Vox channel opening up as the rolling mountain of twisted steel and bloodlust advanced upon them.

The Castellan had adjusted nearly every gun battery to target the weaponised behemoth, each round of flak fire taking Astartes sized chunks from the monster's metal hide.

Even under the grueling punishment it was given, the Gargant drew closer still.

Its gun ports and weapons fired rabidly and without target, projectiles flying in every direction as it lumbered within range of the gate.

"Take it down!" Kjarl roared to any who could hear him, his eyes transfixed on the massive clawed limb of the Gargant drawing back through the air.

It was going to batter the gate open.

The orks would flood the city…

A Greenskin tried to charge him, its pistol firing blindly toward him as it screamed in its approach. The Grimblood took it apart with naught but an idle swipe of his sword, his gaze still fixed on the true threat.

"Focus on the chest! The heart! Aim for the heart!"

The cocked claw swung forward, the great machine turning with the blow to drive its strike even deeper against the gate.

A great shudder rattled through the wall as the blow struck true.

But the gate held.

Sections of the Gargant had broken off, geysers of flame erupting from small pockets all over its surface. One could say what they would about Ork designs, but the damn scrap was certainly sturdy.

However they were not invincible.

Everything ever built has a breaking point.

As the Gargant prepared for another swing at the gate, pieces of it flying from its form under all the concentrated ballistic fire, the Grimblood worried that the gate would fail before the mech did.

"Lord!"

Kjarl moved instinctively at the call, a chain axe passing through the air he had previously occupied.

Another armored Nob had come upon him, the plate wearing Ork's that had only been recently deployed by the enemy.

'Specialized units'

The Lord of the Firewolf Company had realized what these Greenskins in particular were for. They were Space Marine killers. Armored like a tank and just as strong, these decked out beasts could go toe to toe with some of Kjarl's best.

His sword cut a fine line across the Ork's unprotected neck, the head slowly sliding from its body a second after the lightning fast swipe had connected.

The wall shuddered again, Kjarl losing focus on the slain enemy as he looked back to the Gargant.

That last strike had caused a metallic groan to emit from the gate itself.

The Grimblood immediately understood that the gate wouldn't be able to take much more punishment, and if it fell, the swarm would cut through the outer city in minutes.

But his worst fears were not answered.

Instead, something critical must have been struck within the Gargant's body. The metal monstrosity went supernova, its explosive death violently rocking the wall as Kjarl counted a brief blessing to the All Father.

His mind was drawn to an immediate concern however.

If any position were to fall, the southern gatehouse was perhaps the worst tenable position to defend from.

Their retreat would be cut off as the Ork forces spread across the Outer City, the Greenskins potentially encircling them as they made for the Southern causeway.

The Grimblood grimaced.

He would hold the wall for as long as possible… but he could not risk too many of his Wolves so early in the fight.

Should any puncture in the outer wall be significantly exploited by the Greenskins, the Grimblood knew he would have to call for a general retreat from his company. Lest they be surrounded and picked off.

As the first of the Stompa's reached the southern section, Kjarl prepared himself for the borders that would surely spring forth from the iron beast's mouth.

Far from him, to the east, the air crackled with power and energy.

It is said that a Rune Priest's whisper could turn into a Hurricane. That the quiet words of a foreign and forgotten language could breathe life into a natural disaster of decidedly unnatural proportions.

Ivur wasn't clear on where these rumors first sprung up, but he liked to believe he was a part of their founding.

As pridefully arrogant as that sounds, he also knew himself to be one of the foremost Rune Priests of power among his ancient order.

As such, Ivur faced this advancing monstrosity of steel and death, and brought about a storm from his lips.

His chant began in the Old Tongue.

Dark clouds crackled into existence, the booming thunder of the suddenly sprawling shadows overlapping the sounds of battle in abject denial of harmony.

His words coiled out from his tongue, the staff he held now in both hands fastening his mind to the mortal realm.

From his thoughts, he drew forth the desire of his thoughts.

The clouds continued to grow, their twisting shapes encompassing much of the sky as the sun seemed to desperately poke holes through the dark mass.

This was not to be some dazzling light show like before.

No.

Ivur needed a storm, but he concentrated the power of the lightning into one singular vein.

Dancing strings of Warp lightning howled in the clouds.

The Gargant advanced upon the Eastern Gate house.

And Ivur tapped his staff once against the floor beneath him.

The thunderclap that followed the powerful bolt of lighting was heard by all.

A spear of lightning descended from the heavens, piercing the squat head of the Gargant beneath its inception.

The energy traveled downward, cutting a cleanly vicious hole through the entire metallic beast.

For a moment the Siege Machine groaned, its keening death call heard by all in the brief second of silence following the thunderclap.

And then it exploded.

Sweat fell from Ivur's brow as the blast of the dead Gargant consumed his vision.

Even as the clouds began to dissipate, the Rune Priest shakily brought himself back to the real world.

He had dealt with the biggest threat presented to him.

Yet there were a hundred Stompas to deal with now.

Mustering himself, Ivur did his best to commune with the Warp once more.

He mustered the will to block out the tainted whispering of the Warp, his mission so clearly ingrained against his soul.

Ivur would do all he can to hold the wall.

Torrid's snaps of Warp Lightning were growing in frequency. The younger Rune Priest spat electric death in one hand while his sword cleaved oblivion in the other.

Ulvarr was glad that now he was faced with a considerable number of enemies, Torrid's usual foul mood was rendered null and void.

Can't be so pissed off when your fighting for your life.

And what a fight it was.

The Western Battlements had degenerated into a slaughter fest. Almost all of the Guardsmen stationed across this section of the wall were dead. To the last.

Here and there a regular mortal stood, but by and large the battle now remained between the Space Marines and the Greenskins.

A familiar chainsword growled to his right, Joran's form coming to rest against his back as the two circled in unison, each watching the rear of the other.

"One of the Inquisitor's Space Marines has fallen"

Ulvarr cleaved an Ork into bits and pieces before responding, "which Knight?"

"Their Chapter Master" Joran grimly replied.

Ulvarr was mildly shocked.

The Dreadnaught was slain?

Hmm.

A fell omen.

Joran swung away for a moment, his chainsword roaring as it presumably reduced an Ork into a bloody mess.

"Have you seen Skorn?"

"Nay" Ulvarr grunted, bringing his clawed hand down atop a Greenskin's skull, "lost sight of him near the Gate House"

A wave of Ork's came crashing toward them.

It took both of the Wolf Guard a few moments to dispatch of the rag tag Greenskins, Ulvarr having a question of his own.

"What do we do about the Gargant?"

Joran growled, "pray that the batteries take it down before it reaches us"

The rolling monstrosity was just beyond the battlements, its imposing design bearing down upon the defenders of the wall with an alien malevolence.

It had taken a considerable amount of damage from all the firepower dumped its way, but the blasted thing muscled through it all.

The Gargant was determined to reach the wall.

"And should it reach us?" Ulvarr asked Grimblood's guard, the appointed leader of the Eastern battlements.

"We hold for as long as possible"

Ulvarr grimaced.

They needed a powerful strike to fell the mechanical monster.

'Where was the Inquisitor's Psyker?'

"I saw… a battle" Fey humbly explained.

The eyes of every Farseer, including her Aunt, was upon her.

Only her voice, coming from her solitary position at the center of the Sanctum's dias, broke the silence they all found themselves in.

Bhaine Dhun stood in the corner of the room.

His gaze was encouraging and filled Fey with strength.

The other's held eyes coiled with questions and considerations, each prepared to take whatever Vision she had gleaned before taking it apart with their own teachings and experiences.

Fey pushed on, her words recounting the images that had been brought before her mind.

"I do not know how I know this, but it was the last battle, the culmination of a great war…"

"On one side were… Aeldari, but they bore markings and symbols I know nothing of"

"Can you show us one of the symbols?" Evlor quickly asked.

Fey raised a finger above her, tracing the sight from her memory.

"Ynnari" Cinnina had a name for these warriors, "you are certain this is the symbol you saw?"

Fey nodded.

Isennel and Faenris gave one another a sharp look.

"The Ynnari did not stand alone, did they?" the lightly inquisitive voice of Fey's Aunt, Ela'Ashbel, drew the eyes of the young Seer.

Fey respectfully nodded before the powerful Farseer, "no, they did not. A vast array of Mon-keigh warriors were with them. They fought alongside them"

Mutterings broke out from all the other Farseers. All except for Ela'Ashebel, who's sightless gaze twinkled with whispering power.

Fey found some confidence in her voice, asserting what else she saw.

"There were others that stood with them, but I could not see them clearly"

Elvor adjusted himself in the chair, his keen gaze fixing on Fey's nervous look.

"What of their enemy? It was a battle you witnessed, who was the foe?"

"The ruinous powers" Fey hissed, "all Four of the Dark Gods and their Champions"

A deathly silence swept over the room.

"At the center of this eternal battlefield, a great shadow fought with a beacon of light. They traded mighty strikes with one another, but neither managed to fell the other"

"What was the light? Asuryan? Khaine?" The bubbling hope in Isennel's voice was brought low by Fey's quiet shake of her head.

"I could not see" she tried not to feel shame at the disappointment on the Farseer's face.

Somehow Fey's eyes returned to her Aunt's, the two of them locked in a silent contest of wills.

The younger wished to say nothing more.

Considering Faenris and Isennel would likely see nothing come from this, she would prefer if no other damning words be uttered.

Regardless of how she felt, it would seem her Master could care less.

"The Light reached for her" Bhaine's voice called from his corner.
"Be silent Warlock," Faenris tone was clipped with frustration, but Ela'Ashbel's soft and calming hand raised toward the member of House Anyon swayed any further emotion from exploding out.

"Fey" Ela'Ashbel softly intoned, "tell us everything"

The young Seer felt an explosion of nerves in the palms of her hands.

But somehow she managed to speak.

"The light called for me. It called my name. It was speaking to me"

She recalled the stressful words, the tongue of her people from a foreign mouth. Fey had her suspicions of what exactly the Light was, but she couldn't deny the power behind the words.

"It told me, "find me…free me…""

The room returned to silence.

But only for a brief few minutes of contemplation.

Somehow in the silence, the Farseer's agreed to have a discussion with one another

"Thank you for sharing with us your Sight, Seer Fey" Elvor spoke to the Seer, the younger Aeldari sensing the dismissal before the Rivalin ever started speaking, "please wait outside. Warlock Dhun, remain with her"

Master and Apprentice complied immediately.

As the door closed behind them, the Farseer council looked to one another in deep thought.

"Fuck I'm hit! Fuck, fuck, FUCk-"

Five died with a curse on his lips.

They were dropping from the sky like dead flies. First Three, then Two and Four, and now Five…

Every pilot of the Aeronautica Imperialis was perhaps better trained and far better equipped than the Greenskin air force, but there just weren't enough.

The impressive quality of each Imperial Pilot was overwhelmed by the sheer numbers the Ork's had flung at them. Even with the aid from all the anti-air guns, the Airforce was slipping.

Tash was tired.

Even as Gold Five blinked out of existence, his anger did little to keep his exhausted body from going.

The stimulants in his system were running dry.

All around him in the smoke filled skies, his allies were dying.

Gold One, a man called Avery Mench, was still in the fight.

"Cap! You've got one on your tail!"

His radar confirmed it, a singular blip coming from behind him.

Tash almost let his exhaustion take him. The sight of a losing war, the burning blossoms of flame that signaled another dead comrade in the heavens…

A driving spear of fury lodged itself within him.

Tash violently dove his fighter downward, the view of the battlefield filling his cockpit.

"Splash one!" One's voice came over, having targeted his Wing-Captain's tail.

Sonnet twisted his plane left, the engine roaring at the harsh turns its pilot subjected it to.

"Hear me, Machine Spirit" Tash whispered beneath his breath, "Hold now. Do your duty, and I'll do mine"

As he executed the evasive spiral and readjusted his sightlines to the heavens once more, Tash started picking targets.

A cluster of Ork planes were sweeping their way toward him.

But… his plane was failing.

He knew it to be true.

Tash knew he wasn't going to last much longer up here.

Even as he flicked his weapons on and open, the man spoke evenly into his Vox channel.

"Imperial Command, this is Tash"

He took a shuddering breath.

"I'm running low on munitions and fuel. Give me an update on high priority ground targets"

His Vox crackled, "The Ork War Machine at the Western Gate House is the most pressing concern. Astartes forces are repelling boarders but the Gate must hold"

"Confirmed Command, I'll do what I can"

One's voice crackled over the comm as the Imperial Command disconnected. A blip approached his right side.

"Tash?"

The Wing-Captain spared a glance out the right wing of his cockpit.

Avery flew there, watching him as well. Even through all the smokey and smoggy skies, he could make out the man beneath the rebreather and helmet.

"Gonna help our boy's on the Wall while I still can" Sonnet's plane was turning toward the Western segment of the battlements.

Avery, having heard Command's designated target, and spotting the hulking mechanical monstrosity that Tash was aimed for, uttered a hollow rejection.

"You don't have the firepower to-"

"But I may have the mass"

Silence blossomed over the channel.

Through the cockpit, Tash saw One bring his hand up in an ancient Human salute.

"It's been an honor sir"

Tash smiled ruefully, his eyes breaking away from the other pilot "honors all mine, Mench" his plane started to dip.

The Gargant was in his sights

A slight shake worked its way up his hands, but Tash remained steady on. A weird bubbling sense of humor worked its way up his throat.

"Sorry for sticking you with the bar tab, Avery"

A whine was beginning to build around him, the speed of his descending plane slicing a loud noise across the sky.

His blood thundered in his veins, the adrenaline of the moment making sure Tash never heard the jib yet saddened comment his Wing-man gave him.

The Captain of Gold Wing let a quiet, yet shaky breath out as the G-Force held him to the back of his seat.

"For the Emperor"

Freyr whipped his head about as the Imperial Pilot Dashed his plane into the broadside of the Gargant. The force of the suicide dive dug the remains of the Thunderbolt deep into the Ork Siege Machine, the metallic monster shuddering with the strike.

With a deep and long groan of pain, the jagged Ork mech slowly righted itself, continuing its slow battering of the Western Gate. It's perverted machine spirit would not cease from even such a devastating strike rendered by a kamikaze.

The Lone Wolf twisted, his sword flashing out once. In the single swing of it, he beheaded one Ork and de-handed another.

While one died, he raised his bolt pistol to vanquish the injured survivor.

A chainsword carved cleanly into the back of the beast.

The blood covered Skorn emerged from the cloud of red mist he had created, a vindictive and savage smile on his features.

"Too slow, Drakth Maekith"

Freyr's moniker was delivered with vitriol and disgust. Skorn wasn't known for his subtleties.

The Lone Wolf adjusted his bolt pistol.

Skorn's eyes widened at the weapon that was pointed toward him.

Two shots rang out.

From behind the Wolf Guard, a spear wielding Orks found itself with a hole in its chest and forehead.

Skorn looked back to Freyr, but no arrogant comment came forward.

With a growl, the Chainsword wielder charged off, joining the melee that continued across the entire wall.

In short order, Freyr dove back into the fray as well.

Someone had to watch Skorn's grumpy behind.

And through it all, the heavily damaged Gargant continued to batter against the Western Gate.

Svessl picked targets out all across the battlements. From his parapet beside the Rune Priest Torrid, he was given a sea of potential enemies to choose from.

The Gray Hunters and Blood Claws were churning the endless numbers of Orks, melee combat being somewhat of a Space Wolf speciality.

But the Orks weren't slouches.

Between landing shots in unprotected Ork skulls, Svessl couldn't help but take note of the Wolves that were slowly being overwhelmed. A limb lost here, a head split open there… the packs of the Firewolf Company were almost beyond organization and order.

And the Orks had sent their armored and larger kin at them from every conceivable angle. These plate wearing Orks, each tackling a squad of Space Wolves to themselves. They didn't last very long against the full might of an Astartes, but the sheer undaunting tide of them was beginning to take its toll.

The fighting was slowly turning to madness.

With a grim mental note of understanding, the marksman realized that this section of the Wall would not hold for much longer.

It couldn't.

He scoped in once more, a bolt placed in the neck of a target far from him.

The warrior engaged with the Ork Nob was an Astral Knight, whose helmeted head briefly looked toward Svessl.

The Wolf Guard couldn't make out the emotion that the Knight conveyed, but he hoped the warrior was at least thankful.

Svessl had heard the news which had spread over the Vox just before.

The Astral Knights had just lost their Chapter Master to the Orks.

It saddened the Wolf Guard, knowing the pain that his Cousins felt. For the Astral Knights were but a shadow of their former selves, the last remnants of a Chapter destined for a slow death.

It seemed that the Inquisitor had some use for them, but the Knight's no longer had access to their gene-library's, nor did Svessl see an Apothecary among their numbers.

He had heard tell from Ivur that the Sons of Dorn did indeed have a cadre of Neophytes, but they had not undergone any of the augmentations to elevate them to full Astartes. They were still mortal, and as time dragged on they strayed further and further out of the acceptable age variance to be uplifted.

A slow death was their Chapter's fate, their number picked off one by one as they failed to recuperate from their losses.

The Marksman's mind returned to the fight.

Now was not the time for pity.

Ulvarr and Joran were as close to the wall as possible. Being some of the best fighters among the Fire Company, they would hold the choke points that the Ork Stompa's unintentionally created.

Smaller than the Gargants, the heads of these mechs opened to reveal the internal of the walkers to be teeming with Orks.

Fresh waves that would wash across the wall…

Not if Ulvarr had anything to say about it.

As the lip of the mechanical Ork head fell open, the steel shelf flopping forward to dig a bridge between the Stompa and the Wall, the Wolf Guard let his Lightning Claws crackle.

From across the bridge the swarm of Orks came, a roar on their lips and weapons raised with purpose.

The Claws cleaved into them, the tide having come across the rock which would stand in its way.

His hands blurred before him, the Grimblood's Peacemaker violently indulging the Ork's savage need for war.

Every Greenskin that crossed him was butchered, Ulvarr unable to spend a second regarding his kills before he needed to move onto the next.

He weathered the tide.

"Repel!"

More Stompa's were attached to the walls.

The Gargant's continuous strikes caused the battlements to shudder.

Joran was a blood storm of death, the constant howl of his Ceramite toothed Chainsword chewing through Ork after Ork.

And yet still they charged.

The Western Wall was falling.

Not all of the Ork Vessels had gone to ground once the Orbital War was won.

In fact, while not a significant amount lingered in space, more than a few were within orbit of Balor, the clusters of them high up in space.

Positioned as they were, these Greenskin battle clusters were in fact above the many Hive Cities of Balor.

They were placed there on specific orders.

Very specific orders.

And now their time had come.

From beneath their foul and jagged hulls, a wave of metal pods were released.

Krash-Kapsuls.

The Ork's planned to atmospherically insert their troops.

Above Hive Primaris, the wave of pods that descended through the atmosphere was noticeably thicker than any of the other Hive cities.

Vownus stayed clear of the fallen Dreadnought and the wraith of a warrior which guarded it.

A pain had stung the Witch Hunter's chest when Thade had been slain. But he'd buried the feeling as fast as he could.

The Captain of the Astral Knights however, had seen red as the body of their Chapter Master's form had joined the numbering dead of the battlements.

Germael was lost to his grief and fury, his anger projected upon the charging enemies of the Imperium. Every Ork that stepped within range of the Captain found itself granted a swift death.

Vownus knew Germael was a capable swordsman, but as the emotions of the Captain ran loose, the Inquisitor was treated to a dance of death.

Not a movement lost in his ever turning defense of Thade's corpse, Germael weaved his way from combatant to combatant. Killing strikes twisted into further fatal swings, a grace to his death dealing no mortal could ever find a mastey of.

Even as Kaede blinked between his own targets, Meganobz and the Spear Orks, he found he couldn't take his eyes away from Germael for too long.

The warp did not swirl around the soldier, but a Space Marine, let alone a Son of Dorn, rarely let their emotions run too rampantly.

They embraced them and mastered their feelings, they did not let them run wild without inhibition.

But Vownus wasn't left to worry for Germael's well-being for long.

The distinctive and near identical forms of Tiberec and Rhamine weaved their way towards the Astral Knight's Captain through the throng of combat.

It was likely they were already communicating with their Captain through their Vox link, attempting to coax him down from his anger and grief.

The two slipped into formation with Germael, fighting alongside him as the Orks swarmed around them.

Vownus' attention returned to the fight.

…until a multitude of dull thumps echoed above, and his gaze turned skyward.

From the light of day it was clear to see the hurtling masses that approached Hive Primaris. Hundreds of gigantic capsules, each teaming with Ork assault forces.

The Gun batteries did what they could, attempting to shoot them from the sky before they could reach Balorian soil.

And a few bursts of flak managed to land true, reducing the Ork Krash-Kapsules they connected with into dust, debris and dead Greenskins.

What pods that did survive the orbital insertion, crashed into hab-blocks, the layered walkways and the main causeways of the outer city.

A few pods landed atop the tanks of the Armored Divisions.

Some struck the Manufactorums.

From their hastily assembled and armored forms, the Orks burst forth. Many were the armored behemoths regarded as Meganobz.

All across the outer city the Greenskins ran rampant.

Responding to these threats were the elements of PDF and the few Arbites still left in the Outer City. With most of the civilians evacuated, the streets were far clearer than earlier, but still pockets of people were being brought to the Inner city.

Ballistics and Lasfire began to erupt all over the Outer City, small to medium engagements popping up wherever the PDF and Orks clashed.

The war for the Outer Wall was on a knife's edge.

Lucian dug deep within him, but before he could find the power to smite the falling pods from the sky… well they'd already reached the ground.

That, and Aethod quickly came alongside him, a disapproving look in his eye.

Yet the Librarian said nothing to the far shorter mortal, Lucian meeting the observing eyes with a glare of his own.

"I can't just wait here, Librarian"

The Astral Knight said nothing.

"Please" Lucian begged, "we have to get out there. We have to fight!"

Sound of combat and exchanges of gunfire echoed out from the outer city, a new wave of noise matched against that of the Outer Wall's battle.

But Aethod turned his eyes away from Lucian's, his sight set now upon the city beyond.

"Vownus instructed me to prevent you from attempting any acts of sorcery. I am not here to command you"

Lucian ground his teeth, before his eyes caught onto the very narrow and blank expression the Librarian held.

'Vownus's instructions… Vownus's… instructions…' the boy thought, wheeling away from the wall as his eyes sought one man in particular.

Caius and Lynwood stood beside his target, the Agents fixing Lucian with a stare of wonder and suspicion respectively.

The young Psyker marched right up to Grikken, Romeo squad's Sergeant and the man Lucian was looking for.

He stood at attention before what technically amounted to his commanding officer, the leader of his squad.

Lynwood seemed to catch onto what Lucian was trying to do a moment before the boy spoke, his glare intensifying. The older Throne Agent did not intervene though, seemingly grumpy but willing to let the boy talk his way into getting what he wanted.

"Sir"

"Operative Lucian" the leader of Romeo Squad observed the gold eyed boy, "what seems to be the problem?"

"I am requesting permission for Romeo Squad to go into the Outer City and provide support to any and all Imperial Forces stationed there"

Grikken looked to the Agents beside him one after the other.

"I thought the Inquisitor stated-"

"Vownus ordered me to remain with my squad" Lucian firmly stated, bringing the Sergeants eyes back to him, "if Romeo is to deploy beyond the wall, I will remain with my Squad"

Grikken looked between Lynwood and Caius once more. The stone-faced Decelus gave nothing away, while Caius's casual shrug and a smile did little to provide a clear line forward for Grikken.

Unknown to the Sergeant was how the Agents had both fallen into Lucian's trap of picking apart the specificity of commands given to him before. In this instance, as the boy essentially argued for an excuse to fight on the front lines, they were more than willing in this case to overlook it once again.

Grikken found no support there.

But he entertained the request, coming to understand the boy's blunt honesty quite quickly.

That, and the eyes of every Guardsmen around them was focused on the straightforward and direct conversation.

"I see," Grikken hummed, "what support do you intend to provide?"

Although the boy opened his mouth to answer, it was not Lucian who replied.

Aethod's large form had turned toward the conversation, his ancient eyes upon the Sergeant's visage.

"Search and Destroy, Sergeant Grikken. We Psykers are predisposed to dealing with High Value Targets"

Even under all the carefully watching eyes of his peers, Grikken managed to maintain a fairly casual expression considering the circumstances.

He nodded once, the supportive words of the Emperor's finest not an order for him to permit the boy's request, but certainly a weighty declaration on their own.

"I'll pass the request up to Colonel Wilk"

As it turns out, Colonel Xavier Wilk had approved of Romeo Squad's 'tactical expedition. Accompanied by Lynwood, Caius and Aethod, the Squad was quick to find itself on the main Causeway toward the Southern Gate. Clusters of Balorian civilians swarmed past them, the denizens of the hive fleeing away from where Romeo was headed.

Unlike the massive crowds that had been hurtling toward the central Fortress only hours ago, these pockets of people were the last of the Habblock dwellers.

The young Psyker saw bandaged faces, dirty and much covered features, nearly all of the people that passed him were covered in rags of some sort.

Their stench almost made him gag.

"When they said they're planning on saving everyone" Vartic grumbled from beside the Psyker, "they meant everyone"

"All are equal before the Emperor" Lynwood tartly mentioned, "they have a right to live as does any other servant of the Throne"

The Corporal raised a dry eyebrow at the man but said nothing in reply.

Their attention returned to the Causeway.

Of the three greatest pathways through the Hive, the central causeway and the one they were currently moving across was the largest. Nearly four hundred meters in width, the path they were on saw the highest amount of traffic. It's great size was large enough for all the Tanks, Guardsmen, PDF and civilians to comfortably move up and down its length.

Lucian took a moment to look back up at the towering Wall of the Inner City, his eyes trying to find the place he had occupied atop it.

Before he could, Grikken's sharp call for his name brought his attention back to the direction of their advance.

"Lucian"

Breaking out into a slight jog to pull up to the front of the Squad, the youth came alongside the Sergeant.

At the head of the pack, Grikken had unslung his Plasma Gun, his weapon at the ready for any sign of Greenskins.

This far away from the outer wall, Lucian felt the worry to be unnecessary-

"Unsling your Las-Rifle kid. Imperial Command doesn't have a good estimate for how many Orks dropped in from orbit, but it's enough for them to put out an alert"

A small part of Lucian felt like arguing against the order.

After all, why would he need a Lasgun, when he could just use his-

The wave of arrogance passed with a slight shake of his head.

"Sir" he nodded, drawing his issued weapon from over his shoulder and holding it before him in a relaxed grip.

"I know you can do magik, kid" Grikken gave the youth a look, some part of him having picked up on Lucian's mild discomfort at the command "but I'd rather you have a readied weapon and not need it, then need the weapon and not be ready"

The youth didn't know what to say, so he just nodded again.

Grikken gestured forward with the hand he used to brace the underbarrel of his plasma rifle.

"Command says it's madness at the Southern Gate. The Guard is holding, but word's out that the situation is looking grim" his hand shifted to the right, pointing toward the West, "but the Manufactorum seems to have drawn a fair bit of Greenskin presence. Enough that the Adeptus Mechanicus got in touch with command. They're also calling for reinforcements"

Lucian blinked stupidly at the Sergeant, "so?" what decision would he need to make? Grikken was the leader of Romeo Squad, not Lucian.

The Sergeant shot him a sly smile, "what? Thought I was going to choose? This is your outing, Operative. I did the Searching, now you pick what we Destroy"

The Inquisitor's apprentice nodded after a moment, turning around to look at the large figure that brought up the rear of their Squad.

Aethod walked slower than the members of Romeo Squad, but his long stride allowed him to keep pace.

"Librarian. The Manufactorum calls for aid. As does the Southern Gate. What takes priority?"

Aethod's hooded head twisted slightly in minor confusion, "you are asking me?"

Lucian nodded with an honest expression, "besides Lynwood, you're the wisest man here"

Lynwood's affronted, "are you calling me old?" was cut short by the Librarian's decisive answer.

"The Southern Gate is merely one of three entrances to the Outer City. The tactical advantage of holding the position lessens as more Orks deploy behind our lines. Conversely, the Greenskins will strip the Manufactorum for parts. With the scrap they will certainly build new and potentially more dangerous weapons. Its placement is just before the Western Gate, and thus will double as an Imperial fallback position when the Gate falls. For the Orks it is a strategic and highly valuable target"

It took the youth a few seconds to digest the spiel of information.

"And thus a position we must maintain control of" Lucian hummed. He made up his mind.

Graciously thanking the warrior, the youth turned to Grikken with his answer.

"The Manufactorum"

Grikken adjusted their march immediately, taking them towards the nearest path off of the main causeway.

Romeo Squad and their extras adjusted course.

They now headed West.

Freyr felt the moment the Gate was breached.

All across the Western battlements, the final swing of the beastly Gargant produced a trembling shake felt by all. Freyr remained upright, but many found themselves toppling over.

The fighting had an odd cessation as every combatant came to terms with what had just happened.

The wall was breached.

This knowledge was disheartening for the defenders, the last of the surviving Guardsmen finding themselves bunkering before the Gate House that lay above the forcibly opened steel entrance. Freyr could see the fear in their eyes.

Death was upon them.

And the Orks?

It started slowly, but it built with surety and strength.

As the battle along the wall resumed, fighting having found their feet once more, the hundreds upon thousands of Ork voices joined in a singular call.

The roiling tide announced itself as they came crashing over the battlements from the open maws of the Stompa's.

Freyr had his sword before him, but his foot was placed behind.

This was not a charge he would foolishly meet head on.

And the calling war cry washed over him.

It was a singular word, stretched by fury and bloodlust.

"WAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!"

While not as grand or direct as the main Causeways toward any of the three gates of the Outer Wall, the pathways between and around the Habblocks were still obscenely large.

Large enough that it was uncomfortable to be the only group of living things utilizing the promenade.

Echoes of distant battle sounded out between the towering hab-blocks that flanked Romeo squad's path, the occasional burst of anti air fire coming from the rooftops of the towering structures.

"Trust your eyes and ears everyone," Grikken reminded them, his head swiveling left and right as he regarded all the different sidepaths and ventways connected to the abandoned structures.

The others headed his words, their weapons held with far more readiness the closer they drew to the battle lines.

They had yet to come across any Greenskins however.

Lucian was almost disappointed by this.

Any chance to truly test his mettle in direct combat seemed to be slipping through his fingers.

"All these shadowy corners are making me nervous" Ezekiel honestly admitted from Lucian's side, the young Marksman doing his best to take account of the hundreds of different nooks and crannies that surrounded them.

"Master your fear, Guardsman. Ork's don't typically prepare ambushes'' was Aethod's simplistic reply to the comment he'd overheard.

Lucian couldn't help but snort at the blunt phrasing intended as a pep talk.

"Typically" Vartic hummed, "that doesn't mean it's never happened before, eh Librarian?"

The Astartes acquiesced to the point made by his mortal comrade in arms.

"I would not know Corporal. Of what I know of Ork's, I deem them neigh incapable of laying a cunning trap… but it is not out of the realm of possibility. Especially with this lot, I would imagine-"

The Librarian stopped.

It was an abrupt move, one that got the entire squad focusing on the Astartes, and then on the position he was fixated upon.

A dark alcove, one nestled between two Hab blocks was the focus of Aethod's intense gaze.

Grikken gave a hand gesture and all of Romeo, Lynwood and Caius included, adjusted their weapons to the direction the Librarian faced.

Lucian felt the warp crackle beneath into a frosty existence around the fist Aethod kept by his side.

"We've been followed. But not by Greenskins" the Space Marine informed his allies, before casting his voice louder into the air, "reveal yourself, or be marked an enemy!"

The fact that it was not Orks that peeled away from the shadows eased the trigger fingers of a few of the Guardsmen. But tensions still ran high as not one, but five figures swept out from the shadows.

Lucian blinked.

Their bulk was unmistakable.

Astartes.

But not any of the Space Wolves.

At the forefront of this squad of mismatched Space Marines was a warrior coated in deep red. The winged skull at the center of his breastplate was a dark gray, the only coloration on his torso legs and helm separate from the deep layer of crimson.

On his left shoulder was an insignia, a simple black winged bird, similar to the Aquila, set upon a white background.

At the center of the bird, nestled within the very heart of the drawn creature, was a single drop of blood.

But Lucian was more focused on how this figure had a hood instead of a helmet, a shrouding material drawn up over his head.

Aethod broke the silence.

"Inquisitor Kaede spoke of you, Blood Raven" the Astral Knight carefully studied the lurking warriors behind the 'Blood Raven', "and of your congregation… I am Aethod, Librarian of the Astral Knights"

The Blood Raven stepped forward, a gesture pointed at himself and then those that stood with him.

"I am Seraphis. These warriors are my allies"

As the Transhuman referred to his cohorts, Lucian's own eyes were drawn to the four fully armored Astartes.

Three were dressed in colors similar to one another if not for a few slight variations, but the fourth was markless, swathed in a uniform gray armor. Besides the glowing red eyes of his helm, the fourth warrior had no distinguishing symbols or colors adorning his entire form. He stood away from the 'Blood Raven' and the trio, prefering to linger near the darkened alcove they had all emerged from.

The other three were nearly identical to one another, and aside from a few jarring differences, Lucian had a feeling he'd have a bit of trouble telling them apart in the shadows of the habblocks.

Their armor was a primary mix of black and red, a singular pauldron completely coated in crimson with a black sigil over it.

Each had a checkered right hand of red and white, their fists colored the same deep red as the shoulder piece above it. Lucian noted how their helmets were beak like, pointed forward like that of a bird or hawk. A series of optics were also inbuilt into their helmets, a multipurpose set of magnifying eyes and lenses based upon the right half of the avian-like helm.

Besides these likenesses, Lucian's eye was beginning to take in the few more subtle differences between them. Their greatest contrast between the three was found in their equipment.

One, the closest to the leading figure of Serpahis, had a vicious tool strapped to their wrist. Some kind of drill with a series of protrusions and spikes attached to the savagely sharp device.

The second, flanking this drill-warrior on their left, had a distinctive sword held by his side. Something about the detail of the weapon drew Lucian's eye for a moment, the boy racking his brain at the odd familiarity of the weapon before he looked to the last warrior.

Huddled at the back of the group and nearest to the gray outcast, the final of the black and red trio differed in one aspect.

Metal limbs hung from over his shoulders, tools attached to the three additional appendages that disappeared beyond the warrior's back.

He reminded Lucian of the Tech-Priests onboard the Tempests Advance.

His visual observation drew to a close as Aethod engaged Seraphis in further conversation.

"Why were you following us, Blood Raven?"

Seraphis, an odd looking bolt pistol in his off hand, regarded the path before them.

"Our destination is the same. It is by coincidence that we happened upon you"

"Yet you followed us closely without announcing yourself"

"Curiosity" Seraphis dismissed the accusation simply, "it is no harm to observe those you know little of"

"It is a suspicious action"

Lucian and the other non-Astartes watched the back and forth between the two Astartes with varying degrees of concern.

"Perhaps" the Blood Raven admitted, "but when Destiny and Prophecy come hand in hand, I find myself tentative to so readily approach it"

Lucian's eyes narrowed at the word choice.

He didn't fail to note how the Blood Raven's sight flickered over to him at the D and P word's.

At that moment Lucian knew that Seraphis was a Psyker. A part of his mind could feel the connection to the Warp that the Blood Raven presented.

But this subtle and underlining conversation was a bit too much for the youth.

With an annoyed tone, the youth cut into the back and forth with a simple word.

"If the two of you are quite finished, we've got a Manufactorum to hold and a war to win"

The eyes of every Astartes, Guardsman and Throne Agent turned to look at the grumpy youth.

Seraphis offered a bleak smile, "quite so, Mortal. I don't suppose you'd turn down the talents of myself and my Flock to aid you in your mission?"

Lucian knew he was missing out on something, but while they chatted Balor was burning.

"We'd be glad for it" the youth nodded before turning away from the Astartes, "Sergeant. Lead on"

Startled out of his bystander's observation of the Space Marines, Grikken quickly pulled himself together and resumed their march.

The Balorian members of Romeo Squad were giving Lucian oddly prickly yet peculiar looks. Vartic and Ezekiel occasionally shot the grim-faced youth an eye of concern or consideration, but silence returned to the group.

Seraphis and his squad attached themselves to the back of the group, Aethod standing just off to the side of them.

The distant sounds of war grew closer with every step they took.

They'd be at the Manufactorum soon.

As they continued at a relatively sedate pace, at least for an Astartes, Aethod couldn't help but observe Seraphis' silent flock with as much subtlety as he could manage.

The factionless Space Marine was a mystery in himself, but the Librarian of the Astral Knights recognised the symbol on the three others.

Though they had not introduced themselves, Aethod knew of their chapter.

The sigil on their crimson pauldron was a compass ring that enshrouded spread wings and a bolt of fire.

These were Sons of the Lion, the Dark Angels.

And not just that, they were of the Hexagrammaton, a particular enclave of the ancient Six Wings battle formation of their chapter.

The Fire Wing.

Enigmatii. Masters of assassination, intelligence gathering, asset denial and the bloody secrecies of War.

And they were as mysterious as one could imagine.

Aethod was not incredibly knowledgeable regarding other specialists from different Chapters, but he knew a thing or two about power armor.

These Firewing Operatives were encased in ancient Power Armor. Adjustments and fixes were prevalent over the scratched and battered surface, their maintenance likely at the hands of the Techmaine that walked amongst them, but Aethod could see the age of it.

There was no need to remark upon their weaponry either.

Subtle differences in the design of their Bolter's rendered the weapon foreign to the Knight's eyes. They were slim and ergonomic, their bodies finding a thin stream line to be based around. A far cry from the stocky Bolter's wielded by the Astartes Aethod knew of.

They were old warriors.

Incredibly old.

From a time long past…

But how long ago was Aethod's concern…

The Dark Angels were an ancient Chapter, and these Astartes had to have at least been of the First Founding of their order.

Or before.

And that was the dangerous possibility of their age.

There were dark deeds committed by many in the time before the Emperor was brought onto the throne.

Most Traitors had revealed themselves in their entirety.

But some lingered amongst the stars, Warriors that had crossed over into the service of the Archtraitor and his dark Masters.

Vownus had mentioned how Seraphis and his group were a penitent bunch, these warriors having undergone crusades and missions to relieve the sins they had committed.

A deep worry worked its way into Aethod's skull.

As well as a voice.

.It has been some time since I've had the privilege of speaking with a fellow Librarian.

The Astral Knight couldn't help the side along glance at his hooded ally.

His worry was held at bay for the moment.

But Seraphis' head was still pointed forward, his physical attention focused on the path that the mortal Sergeant navigated them through.

Aethod decided to spiritually engage with the Blood Raven.

Even if this may be dangerous, he could not deny his curiosity.

.Your 'flock' concerns me.

Seraphis audibly laughed, a brief scoff that drew the startled surprise from the many mortals amongst them. Ignorant to their disbelief or shock at the queer sound of his humor-filled noise, the other Librarian dryly admitted;

.I had thought you might be.

Aethod was direct in his return.

.I know little of your Chapter. But enough of theirs to fill my mind with doubt.

The Blood Raven's reply was a lifted request for clarification.

.Doubt? What is it, precisely, that you doubt?.

.Where their allegiance may lay.

Seraphis turned to look at Aethod in the physical world, his eyes soft with sincere understanding but ringed with a serious proclamation.

.Not all joined with Horus willingly.

The name sent a spike of adrenaline through Aethod's system, but he mastered his despise of the Arch Traitor… a visage he had so recently been subjected to.

Instead, he delivered an accusation.

.So you do not deny it?.

The Blood Raven faced away from him, shrouding his face with the side of his hood.

.I do not.

They remained silent for a moment.

.However. Seraphis began, .They have sought penance for their actions.

.There is no penance for trait-.

The voice came like layered thunder, a strong will imposed over each and every word.

.I would not be so quick to render judgment on those who came to know they had sinned. We were all built by the same hand. And it is in our shared creation by the Emperor that the darkness that exists in us is confined in the hearts of us all. Thought we may come from different walks of life, if we have the ability and will to do Good by the Emperor… then we are the same as those who came to stand against him. Penance must be forgiven. For all who seek it. Otherwise we fall to the same conviction as our enemies prescribe too... We would be no better with those who have signed away their souls to the Great Enemy.

Aethod chewed through the words, drawing uncomfortable comparisons with the beliefs of another he knew closely. And trusted implicitly.

He took a moment to find a reply.

.The Inquisitor feels as you do.

Seraphis looked to Aethod with a brief smile.

.I had a good talk with Kaede. One based around Philosophy and Fate. If we are ever to be amongst one another's company, I would be glad to have you take part in another discussion.

Before the Astral Knight could make a comment in return, explosions sounded around them.

This time however, they were much closer.

They had reached the Manufactorum.

And it was under attack.

Lucian followed behind the hurried advance of Grikken, his eyes forward as the pathway opened up into a larger causeway.

As they came out from the tightly clustered habblocks into the open space, the sight of the Manufactorum was before him.

It was a grand building. Not so tall that it blocked out the looming Wall beyond its towering spires spitting smoke and steam into the sky, but of a height that Lucian craned his neck upward to gaze upon.

Pipes and metallurgical nodes and units covered its surface, the sight of witch was ordered in paths and lines drawn across its steely surface.

Flaps briefly opened, a sight into the many chambers of the building briefly exposed before jets of differently coloured smoke was released.

The smell produced by the structure was even present from so far away from it, the large causeway that surrounded the building doing little to prevent the taste of fumes upon Lucian's tongue.

His sight gave way to sounds, the explosive blasts revealed to be the booming blasts created by Imperial Tanks.

Las fire intermingled with ballistic fire rang out from a distance.

Lucian looked to the direction where the noise of battle rose from.

Far off, only a hundred meters or so, an Imperial barricade was erected around two Leman Russ tanks.

Presumably engaged with Ork's just down the adjacent path they were firing into, the young Psyker noted how this Imperial Cluster was stationed at what seemed to be the building's entrance.

"Quickly" Grikken's voice called out, his pace increasing into a run as he bolted toward the defended position.

After all, they were here to lend aid.

This was how they would help, by providing more guns in the fight. This was what it meant to be the Soldier of Mankind. To rally together, and stand against any and all adversity.

Lucian found his feet carrying him forward in a reciprocation of this charge, his mind discerning the role he was to now play.

An image of him cutting grain came to mind, the motivation to help his follow man echoing in his action.

He would defend humanity.

But now he was going to fight.

His own step was only a few meters behind his charge.

Lynwood had his weapon drawn, his attention focused on the frey they were so willingly moving toward. This kind of strength was to be expected of any self-respecting member of the Guard, but to see the young Psyker to readily embrace the responsibility….

It was a young man's confidence that Lynwood saw in Lucian, the youth powering forward to keep stride with the Sergeant.

The former Arbite had suspected the boy was fast. Long hours having been spent physically training the boy onboard the Tempest's Advance, but to see him effortlessly blur toward the fighting was incredible.

Lucian was indeed fast.

Grikken, who had initially been at the head of the charge, could barely keep up with his soldier.

The lumbering mountains that were their Astarte contingent swung alongside the running Agent. Though their legs moved at a slower rate than his own, their long strides carried them with greater speed .

Aethod stood with the Blood Raven, Seraphis.

Their darker cousins, Seraphis' allies, remained in a steady formation behind them.

The last of their number, the gray unknown, was nowhere to be seen.

Lynwood had little time to remark upon this.

His focus returning forward to the fight beyond them, his eyes drifted over to his charge, a modicum of pride at the visible determination of the boy.

Lucian wasn't scared.

Not anymore.

He had come a long way from the timid youth hiding beneath a pipe.

Lynwood's augmented limb drew his bolt pistol out, the weapon directed towards the Green menace.

The blond necromundan watched as his Psyker Squadmate reached the first set of sandbagged barricades. Lucian immediately aligned himself with the PDF soldiers posted there, drawing his Las rifle forward with a swift motion. He began firing into the enemy in short order, the only pause taken to align one shot to the next.

There wasn't a moment of hesitation to the youth's first meeting with true battle.

And Ezekiel found himself emboldened by his friend's freshly faced yet iron constitution. A small part of him was ashamed of himself, a memory of his own fear of battle upon the Tempest's Advance starting to drift to the forefront of his mind.

Where he had been frozen by fear of the enemy.

The Daemons that had killed his friends…

Ezekiel was shaken by the whistling rounds that passed over his head. Far too close for comfort, and a reminder of the short distance between himself and their enemy now was.

After all, he was just able to keep a close distance relative to the charging Lucian, and now found himself alongside the Psyker.

Bracing against the Sandbags, Ezekiel got a good look downrange of their position.

As the rest of Romeo came to their position,the Necromundan rifleman began sighting targets.

A wide variety of Orks were before them, a rolling mass of Xenos that roared their violent nature in their bloodthirsty rabble.

Readying his Lasrifle, the Necromundan looked upon these he fought with.

The staggered lines of the defenders' barricades and sandbags were ordered in rows, gaps between the erected cover to allow troops to move forward and back between these defenses.

Two sections were cleared away as tracked ground, the place which the Leman Russ tanks occupied.

Of these three rows toward the enemy, Ezekiel saw troops in every placement behind the cover.

Imperial Las fire blanketed the pathway beyond, bathing the advancing Orks in scarlet death.

The Rifleman was quick to join them. A quick succession of his own shots felled two targets, the ruby Lasfire having connected with the unprotected skull.

A shriek preceded the sudden lance of lightning, branches of white lightning reaching out into existence, its long tendrils seeking purpose in the Ork masses.

Greenskins were cooked by the electricity, instantly turning to char as the energy enveloped them.

Further concentrated Lasfire and some direct application of the twin Leman Russ's saw a seemingly swift end to the burgeoning Xenos assault.

A roar built up behind the wall of aliens.

From the many paths and walkways that splintered off between the habblocks, the fresh blood of more Orks joined the throng. An immediate bolster to their numbers saw the Ork's double down with their charge.

From beside Lucian to his left and Vartic to his right, Ezekiel let a soft prayer out to the Emperor as he steadied himself.

He was ready to fight.

He would not let his Squad down.

Not again.

Lucian felt Aethod's use of the warp, his eyes tracking the damage it did to the foreign enemy upon them.

It was precise and effective, a devastating ability that if one channeled correctly would wreck damage exactly upon their enemy.

Lucian didn't have that kind of control with his lightning. He knew this. Ivur and Red's teaching's were not enough for the youth to learn the control developed over countless hours of practice.

While a deep feeling within him called to his powers, the glow around his body subtly intensifying as he drew upon his connection to the Warp, he held firm to Vownus' command.

He would not use his Sorcery.

Lucian lined up his next shot into the charging mass of greenskins, Lasgun being the only weapon he was willing to use. As he looked through the rolling masses, his eyes came in line with an odd looking ork.

The beast, slightly larger than its brethren, was striding slowly through the masses.

It was coated in a thin layer of metal, a helmet adorning its head that exaggerated the size of the beast's eyes.

This Greenskin also held an odd weapon, a long rifle with haphazardly attached optics.

A very long rifle.

It took Lucian a moment further to realize that this rifle was pointed at him. The Marksman Ork was looking right at him.

"MOVE!"

A body shoved into Lucian's static form, a figure violently pushing him to the side.

As he hit the dirt, the young Psyker was treated to the brief image of Orm, the Balorian Guardsman he had addressed upon the wall-

The man's had a hole the size of an Astartes fist in his torso.

Blood leaked from his lips and the wound.

As if the miracle behind whatever force kept him standing ran dry, Orm's body toppled forward.

The dead man was sprawled atop Lucian, blood staining the front of the Operative's clothes. But the youth didn't care about that. Not at all.

Orm's glassy eyes were still met with his own.

Battle raged around the living and the recently slain.

Ezekiel's voice was calling to him, but Lucian's mind was deaf to the call. At the intimate distance he held with the corpse, the Psyker in training took in the intricate details of the man's face, the image of Orm's face plastered in his mind.

Words rose to mind, the memory of a conversation repeating in his head far louder than the chaotic world around him.

"You have family out there"

He remembered Orm's tight response, "I do"

Lucian found himself pulled to his feet as he remembered his promise to the now dead Balorian.

As Vartic was yelling something at him, Lucian's eyes returned to Orm's slumped body. The man's blood lingered across the Youth's face.

"We will do all we can. Balor will not fall"

And here he was, shackled and useless, his great power held back in the face of a fearful teacher.

Ignoring everything, Lucian looked to those that had slain his comrade.

He turned to the Ork's a madness in his eyes and white hot fury suffusing his body.

The youth reached out with a hand, his anger causing him to swipe it through the air in a firm order sent to the powers that be.

And the Empyrean responded.

Seraphis reacted a second after Aethod did. The Astral Knight sharply swiveled his head to observe Lucian as the raw and undiluted warp power surged. Once more the energies of the Immaterium beckoned forth in their terrible and oppressive nature, the invisible tendrils of the daemon realm frolicking into the mortal one.

There was no golden glow that surrounded the youth's physical form this time. The action was of an instinctual nature, a primal command ripped forth from a being that was connected to the Warp.

And the power headed it's master's call.

Nearly thirty meters in length was the width of the path that the Greenskins charged from.

They filled this measurement with their great numbers, a few gaps and pockets between the rampaging warriors that allowed the Imperium forces to glance at the many more that came charging behind the Orks.

In this tightly packed space, Aethod's Warp abilities were devastating. As were the two Tanks present.

Lucian's hate filled swipe of his claw-like hand, that was something else entirely.

Aethod's superhuman eyes were able to clearly discern as the invisible force brought forward by Lucian's anger connected with the first Ork.

The beast was shredded into blood and mist, any that stood near or behind it sharing in the same fate.

This had happened in milliseconds.

Aethod saw clearly as the wave of the swipe passed through the entire width of the Ork charge.

Each and every Greenskin of the hundred plus that stormed toward them, living, injured or dead… was rendered into a visceral spray of gore, bits of bone and pieces of biological matter.

It looked as if they had all burst into pieces simultaneously, but the Librarian's eye was keen enough to see how it had been like a wave passed over them.

The claws of an invisible entity….

As the blood of the dead Ork's came down in a brief sleet of crimson rain upon their freshly diced remains, Aethod turned to observe Lucian.

Both his mind's sight and his physical eyes observed the boy.

Vartic had been the one to pull Lucian to his feet. He'd tried to knock some sense into the frozen youth, tried to get him to focus on the fight ahead.

Orm had bravely sacrificed himself in place of Lucian, the Balorian Guardsman having spotted the threat before the youth could react. But it was an act that couldn't be addressed or understood in the midst of combat.

Lucian was a member of Romeo Squad.

He was expected to hold the line with the rest of them.

Vartic hadn't been surprised when the youth had shook him off, turning toward the fight with a look of malice across his features. Many reacted angrily when their comrades died.

The oldest Necromundan of Romeo Squad hadn't expected Lucian to draw upon his Psyker abilities.

He didn't expect the savagery behind the attack.

As quickly as it came forth, the Ork's were tested by Lucian's power. The Warp ability had ripped them into nothingness, piles and pockets of flesh that foreignly resembled their former figures.

Vartic was captured by the sight for a moment.

Until his mind twisted back to the youth.

Vartic's gaze, and that of every other Imperial soldier present, was focused on the youth.

Lucian didn't seem to care in the slightest that every eye was upon him once more, the odd silence of their battlements only disturbed by the distant booming explosions. Instead, the boy was keenly focused at the body which he now kneeled beside.

He'd flipped Orm's perforated corpse over, a hand brought over the man's eyes as he whispered a quiet but saddened condemnation.

"You didn't have to…"

Lucian's fingers gently closed the man's glassy gaze, Orm's face now looking as if it held some kind of solemn peace. A deep rest in which he wouldn't return.

The youth's second whisper was only caught by the closest beside him.

"Balor will not fall. I swear it"

In the stillness that their odd looking squad remained in, the gaze of the solider's they had reinforced slowly came to terms with Romeo Squad and its additional elements.

The Astartes gained a distinct sheen of consideration and whispering once the mortals of the PDF looked upon them. But so did Lynwood and Caius.

It seemed the PDF recognised the sigil of the Inquisition.

A figure was steadily approaching them, their armor denoting a rank separate from the others around them.

It was Grikken who made to intercept the individual and greet them.

"Sergeant Grikken"

He raised his hand toward what he presumed to be the commanding Officer of this PDF force. The Sergeant saw her eyes shifting from the Space Marines she approached to the Guardsman that had both spoken to, and greeted her.

It took her only a moment to focus on the individual.

"Lieutenant Tori Bliv, 3rd Company, Outer 5th Legion"

The Balorian Planetary Defense forces were similarly marked as the Guardsman they presented forward for the Imperial Tithe, the only difference being the brighter and distinguishing colors of their uniforms.

Grikken didn't bother with the detailed armor, immediately asking what he needed to know.

"Are you in charge here?" he looked over the other troopers similarly dressed to the Lieutenant before him. This was barely a platoon's worth of soldiers, let alone a company…

She nodded grimly, her words partly confirming his fears, "I am. Captain Quinten went into the Manufactorum with First and Third Platoons. We were ordered to hold here"

Grikken felt partially at ease. They hadn't suffered massive casualties at least, and instead their Commander was on assignment.

"Well, consider yourself reinforced" he nodded over his shoulder, "we're on open assignment; Search and Destroy until we're needed elsewhere. If your Captain wants us for any nail work we're the hammer he's be hoping for"

A look of concern and worry cut across her face, but it was mastered by her serious tone.

"I wouldn't be able to tell you what the Captain would want. We lost contact with him an hour ago. The Vox has been on the fritz since the Gate fell, but this bloody metal maze hasn't made it any easier" she looked up at the building that loomed above them all.

Grikken shot her a curious gaze.

"We've lost the Gate?"

That should have been all over the Vox channel. He tapped his Vox caster, a whine of static coming through the communication piece. Grikken gave the device a worried frown.

"The Vox channel is being jammed"

The large figure of one of the black and red Astartes preceded the approach of the figure. Coming to a stop beside the Sergeant of Romeo Squad, the warrior looked down upon the two mortals before him.

"Lieutenant. The fallen Gate in question is the Western Gate, is it not?"

The beaked helm and its red eyes were focused upon the PDF soldier, her posture stiffening before one of the Emperor's Finest.

"Yes milord" she affirmed, "the 88th Armored Division has kept the Ork's bottlenecked, but they will be overwhelmed eventually"

"And the defenders of the wall? What has happened to them?"

The Sergeant gulped lightly, but honestly admitted that "Last we heard milord, the Space Wolves were beginning to retreat from the wall"

"I see" the Warrior keenly observed her for a beat of silence, "The defense of the wall is no longer tenable. Instead of reinforcing the Western Causeway… you were ordered to destroy the Manufactorum"

The Lieutenant nodded once more, sharply affirming the Space Marine's educated guess with a startled note in her voice.

"Command has tasked us with asset denial just before we lost the Vox"

Grikken realized why this force was only a small fraction of its true strength. The Captain had taken it upon himself to see the mission complete and the Manufactorum destroyed.

This force was merely meant to keep the exit clear.

"Then by the Emperor's will, the Dark Angels shall see to it that your mission is complete" the Astartes turned away from them, marching over to the others.

Grikken nodded to the Lieutenant with a soft grin "we'll find your Captain and set a fire under this place. Just promise us a way out"

She accepted his reassuring words, offering a phrase of her own "no Ork shall follow you in"

"How is our situation?" Seraphis spoke aloud, his words coming forth once the Dark Angel that had gone to converse with the Mortal's stood amongst them once more.

"The Hive's Vox has been targeted by the Orks. It is functioning intermittently, if at all. The Western Gate is breached, but the wall holds for now. A staggered retreat and asset denial is presumed to follow" the currently unnamed Apothecary nodded his head back at the 5th Legion Company, "the Manufactorum has been slated for destruction. But I fear those tasked with the duty have been waylaid by the Orks"

The Orbital insertion by the Greenskins was a fresh thought in Aethod's mind, the quiet observer of this conversation between Astartes.

Groups of Orks had likely gained access to the Manufactorum already, their filthy need to cannibalize the technology and resources of the Adeptus Mechanicus building likely a priority effort for their war.

The Techmarine turned to the Blood Raven, his head swiveling away from the Apothecary that had just spoken.

"Where shall we assist?"

"The Manufactorum is likely compromised" Seraphis firmly replied in agreement to the Apothecary's concerns, "the Wolves and the Inquisitor will conduct the battle at the wall. Our skill and size of force will be more useful clearing out the Forges"

Aethod joined his voice to the discussion.

"There are two wings of the Manufactorum; the crafting rooms and Forges themselves. If we are to consecrate these grounds, I would suggest we split our forces in two, one squad to see to the destruction of each wing"

"The Astral Knight is right" the third Dark Angel, the one distinguished by his keenly designed sword uttered, his arms crossed over his chest.

"We will need to cover as much ground as possible. If the Imperial forces within the Manufactorum are under assault, we shall only know once we make visual contact"

The Techmarine spoke up, his helmet making a few clicks and pops just prior to speaking.

"Our local Vox still functions. But I cannot guarantee this once we are within the structure"

The Swordsman nodded, turning his head to Seraphis as he uncrossed his arms.

"The Enigmatii will see to the Forges. We operate better without a mortal contingent" the warrior looked to Aethod now, the red eyes of his helm focused on the Librarian's stiff gaze.

"If the mortals have indeed failed in their mission, we have means of inciting the destruction of the Forges. I presume you will not have any issue tearing apart the Craft rooms" he glanced at Seraphis as well, the beak of his helmet turning imperceptibly. The Dark Angel still took orders from the Blood Raven for some reason.

Aethod was the one who answered him.

"We will not, Child of Caliban"

The three stiffened slightly, a tenseness that only an Astartes could notice.

But the swordsman slowed bowed his head in a respectful motion, "I am Mikail"

"Aethod" the Astral Knight replied.

"Aethod" the warrior tested, before continuing on with his plan "our method will cause a chain reaction within the Forges. I shall not stress the importance of exiting the building before this happens…"

"We will only need an hour," Aethod affirmed.

Mikail stood straighter, the Apothecary and Techmarine stepping up to flank either side of the Swordsman.

"On our honor, an hour you shall have"

They departed swiftly for the entrance of the structure.

Aethod turned to the patiently waiting Sergeant, Grikken, who had been watching the direct and abrupt conversation from a respectful distance.

Even as Aethod regaled the plan to the Sergeant, he couldn't help but notice a spike of fear in his hearts.

The wall was falling…

His thoughts went out to his Brothers.

He hoped they were alright.

Andoa Paxat kept her seething fury as tightly contained as she could.

The Ork's were jamming the damn Vox.

Somehow, someway, the Greenskins had found a way to disrupt the Imperial communication network.

Until the Tech Priests found a way to circumvent this blockage, the disarray would begin to spread….

It spelt the beginning of the end for the Imperial defense.

But the Governor began to consider the situation further, her eyes upon the latest reports and war updates before her tactical display. These were the last updates to arrive before the Vox started to experience its crackling death.

And so she poured over them, seeking answers and a way forward through this development.

Communication was key to the Imperial line, and thus she would need to either establish a connection to the Outer Wall once more-

Vownus' warning of specialized Ork's came to mind.

-or find out what was jamming the Vox.

"Caruso!" she barked, looking up toward the Lieutenant General as she called for him.

"Governor" popped up from his desk, turning toward her with the Emperor's salute.

"Task one of the Fortress Regiments. Have them sweep the outer city as best they can"

The man raised a confused eyebrow, "for?"

"Greenskin deployments may have gone to ground. I believe they are responsible for the interruption in the Vox" she sneered at the display before her, "clever Xenos…"

She tapped her desk once, another thought coming to her.

"Assign a squad to deliver orders to the front lines. If they can, have them locate the Inquisitor"

A fell thought took her, and the Governor realized she had to entertain the possibility that Vownus could have fallen in battle.

She made a verbal addendum.

"Baring him, whoever's in charge down there will receive my instructions. The order will be to initiate a staggered retreat. Recall as many forces from the wall as we can. The PDF will need to establish positions along the Causeways for the troops to retreat to"

Andoa fixed the Lieutenant General with a cold stare.

"We will make the Xenos pay dearly for every inch they wish to take from us"

The Dark Angels of Seraphis' flock had broken away from them, their near silent steps breaking off once they had reached the first junction the group found themselves at.

Romeo Squad, Lynwood, Caius and the two Librarian's ventured the opposite way of the Engimatii, their path quickly leading to a large section of tight corridors arrayed before them.

Grikken was at the lead of the group, but once he saw that their path broke into multiple directions before him the Guardsman turned to look at the Astartes.

"I'm open to suggestion my Lords"

Seraphis made to speak.

Aethod, however, expelled his voice loudly and directly toward one individual in particular.

"Lucian"

The Psyker Youth turned to face the Librarian that had called to him, another confused but curious look on his face.

Without waiting for the boy to address, Aethod ordered, "what is your suggestion"

The youth was startled by the sudden yet forceful prompt.

He grounded himself quickly enough.

"What is the layout beyond us?"

"These passages are conduits for the Adeptus Mechanicus that operate within these halls" Seraphis answered, "each is lined with hundreds of workstations for the Tech Priests to work upon"

"Do these corridors reconnect on the other end?"

The Blood Raven nodded at the boy.

"A Fabrication Hall. A chamber filled to the brim with in progress constructions"

The boy nodded, turning back to regard the six separate passageways.

"Break off into pairs, sweep through every station" Lucian turned back to Aethod, his words possibly seeking approval from the wisened Astartes, "destroy anything of value before regrouping in the Fabrication Hall"

Aethod offered a light nodding of his head, "acceptable. We are weaker split up however"

He was prompting for a defense of Lucian's plan going forward. He wanted the youth to explain his reasoning.

The young Psyker's response was lightning fast.

"We will make do. Our duty is to deny the enemy assets, and we will complete our mission"

They would scour every section with as much precision as they could, looking for items and devices to destroy should they come across them.

No stone left unturned.

Lucian turned to look at Grikken, his passionate words filling the air around him with a soft glow of light.

All eyes followed the youth's gaze, everyone looking upon the now startled Sergeant.

The man, caught in the proverbial headlights, offered a gruff but agreement filled;

"Sounds good to me"

Vartic, Grikken and Krythe, a Balorian Corporal recently folded into Romeo Squad, had departed into the first tunnel before them all. The Sergeant had split the group into pairs in order to manage the close quarters environment they were about to transition into.

The Astartes had taken to the wings, a passage for each of them to be walked by themselves.

Ezekiel found himself striding alongside one of the Balorian recruits to the 501st.

He'd gotten her name before, but they'd hardly ever spoken.

So it was interesting when she engaged him in an abrupt conversation only a few minutes into their steady advance forward.

"Why doesn't he just kill all of the Orks?"

With his rifle leading his careful advance, Ezekiel shifted his head to look at Hinda with a raised brow. He was careful to keep his attention lingering on the pockets and shadows ahead of them, each Workbench only giving off minimal amounts of light from the abandoned tools left upon them.

The roof above them was lit as well, but not strongly enough to remove the shadows which clung to the deep corners of every station.

"What?" he asked, bluntly, not understanding what Hinda spoke of.

She was likely older than him, but not by much. Vownus had wanted well trained troops to replenish the fallen of the 501st, and most if not all of the selected Candidates had seen some form of combat.

This meant they had served for a significant amount of time. With respect to the average Guardsman's length of service of course, this meant at least a few years, if not more.

Hinda looked to be of a few years.

Her skin was tan, a shade darker than Ezekiel's own, her eyes a keen green that shone with focus. There was a sign of curiosity to her lightly defined features, one that was reflected in the look she gave him.

"The Psyker" she clarified, "the human one. What he did on the wall… why doesn't he just kill all the Orks?"

"You make it sound so simple" Ezekiel grunted, the gruffness of his reply having more in common with Vartic than his usual self.

But he entertained the thought of Lucian's potential ability to perhaps wipe the planet clean of the Greenskin hordes.

"Is it not?" Hinda asked as the blonde rifleman's eyes turned to the passage before them.

"I wouldn't know," he replied honestly.

"After he… after he burned the sky… many whispered him to be a Saint…"

"I heard" Ezekiel felt like rolling his eyes.

"Most of those whispers came from your own" she pressed, her words lifted by the lilt of some unspoken accusation.

"I'm aware," he admitted. And it was true. Across the wall the hushed voices had broken out about Lucian perhaps being a Saint of some kind.

But this wasn't the first time Lucian had been brought up with quiet reverence amongst the 501st. Even before they had arrived upon Balor, there had been talk of impossible actions. Feats only someone blessed by the Emperor himself could have done.

And after everyone at the wall had witnessed Lucian's power…

Stories were one thing. Action was another.

Silence lingered for a few moments, neither finding anything to say to the other.

Until the Balorian finally let loose a quiet quip.

"You're his friend. Perhaps you could bring up the idea" Hinda casually suggested, a slight humor having crept into her voice.

Ezekiel gave her an admitting nod, as he scanned ahead, a laugh of his own softly bursting out from his lips.

"I suppose I could"

The Librarian of the Astral Knights cautiously advanced with his sword drawn. Fire did not lick the length of the blade, the Astarte having yet to detect a presence other than his own in the small corridor he found himself in.

But even though his eyes could see in the perfect darkness, his ears consciously listening for any hint of an ambush or trap… he found the shadows empty of lurking threats.

The Warp tickled at his prosthetic palm, ever present to swathe his weapon in the fires of the Immaterium.

A voice reached his mind, the tone of Seraphis growing on Aethod with familiarity.

.I have run into Mordo, the last of my flock.

The fifth Astartes, the undistinguished one belonging to an unknown Chapter.

.You had him scout ahead?. Aethod wonders, trying to draw forth any clues as to this 'Mordo's' identity.

.He has been a recluse for some time. He operates better alone, and I permit him free range to do so.

That was as far as Seraphis was willing to go. Aethod thought to question him further, but saw no point in doing so. If Mordo was indeed to be an enemy combatant, then it was likely that Seraphis was as well, and then Aethod and Romeo Squad were likely walking into a trap.

No.

He'd go out on some faith here, but would unravel the mystery of the unknown Astartes later.

Seraphis's question reached him just as Aethod made up his mind.

.I did not notice it at first, but your limb reeks of Warp energies. Potent energies. I would imagine there is quite the story behind that.

.Now is not the time for tales. Aethod tersely replied.

Seraphis backpedaled in a surprisingly mortal manner.

.I am merely curious Aethod. Just as you are no doubt curious about my flock.

A trade then? Was Seraphis offering a trade of information.

The Astral Knight glanced down toward his prosthetic limb, the digits of the fake hand coiling tighter around his sword hilt.

.It is a recent wound. From a Daemon I did not understand.

Seraphis had a surprised note to his projected voice, .A Daemon in real space? A concerning situation.

Aethod grunted a reply, but said nothing further to describe the battle in question.

.If I may assume… the Daemon came for the boy? Didn't they?.

The Knight maintained a stony silence. Seraphis still managed to discern the other Librarian's answer however.

.I see. Whatever their intentions were with the child, I believe you stood before them, as any of my flock would do in your situation.

There was a beat of silence between the two.

.They attempted to kill the boy.

As Aethod spoke the words, the corpse of a child was tucked into Vownus' arms, the image so distant in his mind yet bitter in its remembrance.

He had ultimately done nothing.

If not for the boy's unknown nature, that day would have been the end of Lucian. A prophecy failed, the Imperium doomed to another 10,000 years of decay and-

.They failed. Aethod firmly declared.

Seraphis' questioning reply did not put the Librarian at ease, thoughts continuing to bubble in his mind without permission.

.The Great Enemy are as patient as they are cunning. This is perhaps their most dangerous trait… how can you be sure that they did not succeed in whatever purpose they set out to accomplish?.

Lucian discovered that besides their tools and equipment used to manipulate metal and technology, the Mechanicus had left these Workbenches somewhat barren.

That, or another force had come through to pick the stations clean of any important pieces.

Engines, weapon parts, and everything else deemed important enough to require their attention seemed to be missing.

The youth kept a calm pace, his head held high with his weapon across his chest.

His mind told him the passage was clear, but his hands were ready to draw his Las rifle before him.

He couldn't let his powers out here, even while Aethod was away from him.

Lucian didn't want to risk his abilities somehow striking the Guardsman that accompanied him.

A person who he… actually knew quite little of, even if she was a member of Romeo Squad. He hadn't much downtime in the way of socializing, not while under his Teacher's attention at the least.

Let alone the people that subtly feared his nature as a Psyker.

But Lucian extended the olive branch in as casual a manner as he could.

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced" the youth politely turned to the shorter soldier, offering a kind smile, "I'm Lucian"

The tan girl was approximately almost two heads shorter than him, her features soft and peaceful. An odd look for a likely grizzled Guardsman, but she had an air of innate innocence that Lucian didn't fail to notice.

Her eyes widened at the direct introduction, her mouth failing to form words for a moment.

"I- I'm Nora. My Lord"

Her stutter was one of surprise, but Lucian was drawn to the awe she had placed in her addressal of himself.

"I'm no Lord, Nora" he grinned lightly, his following phrase turning up a somewhat distant memory of himself and Lynwood "just a humble servant of the Emperor"

She seemed floored, her jaw rolling but no question coming forth immediately. Nora settled on one soon enough though.

"But are you not… a servant of the Inquisition, a Throne Agent?"

He shook his head slightly, "not really. Vownus is my teacher, but I'm not one of his Acolytes"

Her soft blue eyes somehow got wider, "your the Inquisitor's apprentice…"

"Aye" Lucian grimaced slightly, "someone had to teach me how to do magik"

The reminder of his status as a Psyker caused a suddenly tense silence to spring up between them. Nora's eyes darted away from Lucian, and the boy blew out a silent sigh.

Fear.

He was used to it, but for a second he thought Nora would be different than the others.

That she wouldn't be unsettled by his-

"What's it like?"

Blinking twice, Lucian looked back to the now calmly curious Guardsman.

"What do you mean?"

"What is it like to be a Wit-" she caught herself, a brief flash of embarrassment flushing her cheeks.

"What is it like? To be a Psyker?"

There was still some worry in her voice, but she bravely overcame it, a kind disposition shining through the underlying fear.

Lucian pondered on the question for a moment.

His answer was disappointingly honest.

"It's hard to describe"

He thought back to his youth, distant memories of grains and the golden harvest shining in his mind. Memories of a home secluded in the countryside. A peaceful existence.

"I didn't know I was a Psyker until, well, recently" he continued, " it's still new to me. I've yet to really understand what it is that I do. But it's more of a feeling, one that I never knew I had and then suddenly became aware of"

Lucian shrugged amicably, "I'm still what you could call a novice"

"A novice" she bluntly repeated, "what you did on the wall was…" she failed to find an accurate word.

"I'm a special case" Lucian simply dismissed the act, trying not to linger on what he'd done. Fear of the Psyker was one thing… but this quieted awe was foreign to him, and Lucian didn't know what to make of it.

She hummed to herself in thought before speaking again.

"When I first heard about you, I didn't know what to think"

"And yet you must have thought something"

She cringed slightly, "I always believed Psykers were… as the Ecclesiarchy teaches, I had thought them dangerous lunatics. Monsters in human skin"

Lucian nodded, his memory of Agrax coming to the forefront of his mind.

"They can be"

She hummed again, "But as I speak and see you now, you seem alright"

Lucian turned to smile at her, "I'll take that as a compliment"

"It is" she hastily admitted, eyes on him as well as she offered a slight smile of her own "a compliment. I mean, it is a compliment"

"Thanks" his positivity remained, "you seem alright too"

What followed was a somewhat awkward silence, the only noise between them being their advancing footsteps in the silent passageway.

Lucian didn't notice how Nora glanced at him a few more times as they continued on, her gaze speculative as she was looking him over in the dim light of the narrow corridor.

"The one called Mordo… the silent one, what Astartes bears no sigil…?"

Lynwood glanced at Caius, the thoughtful look his friend was giving the empty space before him a sure sign that the younger man was lost in his thoughts.

"Focus" the elder Agent softly ordered, "we are in potentially hostile territory"

But Caius was unperturbed.

"Admittedly, I don't know much about Space Marines. It just strikes me as odd... I mean, isn't it?"

Lynwood grimaced.

Caius was right. Of the Emperor's Finest, Lynwood had a long history with the Ordo Xenos before he had come to know Caius. He was one of the small group of people who knew explicitly of the legions such as the Death Watch.

While he had never spoken to them while in the Service of Inquisitor Yizabel, he had watched their interactions. He had been an Agent of the Ordo Xenos, thus while he did not know them, he had fought beside them on countless planets…

And though the many Space Marines that composed the Deathwatch were of many different Chapters, Yizabel had taught Lynwood that the Astartes were covered in the colors of the Xenos eradicators upon entering its service.

This uniformity to be in service of a greater mission than that of their Chapter's colors was still in of itself unique.

It was a look that Lynwood could easily distinguish amongst other Space Marines.

Yet Mordo had nothing.

Lynwood wouldn't help but aliken the Astartes to clay, something that had yet to be molded into its final figure.

In all his years, he had yet to see anything like it.

And judging by the subtle facial reactions of the Astral Knight, Aethod, then Lynwood wasn't the only one.

Caius noticing this as well, or atleast having the feeling that something was wrong was the nail in the coffin.

"It is odd," Lynwood grimly affirmed, "and you may be right to have concerns…"

Caius looked over at him with a grin and a winning expression, "I knew it. What do you know?"

The elder of the two sighed.

"Nothing. And that is concerning"

Caius questioned further, "there's a lot of Space Marine Chapters out there old man, even you wouldn't know of all them-"

"I know some of many," Lynwood tersely replied, ignoring the dig at his age, "and one that bears no distinction? No colors of his Chapter? It is a damned or shamed Astartres that does not recognise their origins"

"You are sure of this?" Caius wondered.

Lynwood fixed the younger man with a sharp look.

"I have been amongst the Emperor's finest before, Caius. Their feelings are hard to discern, but this is a skill I have learnt over my years" the reminder of his history caused a stab of pain in Caius' features, but Lynwood finished his point without verbally addressing the expression.

"Aethod is concerned by this as well. The Dark Angels presence was enough to draw consideration by the Librarian, but he is far more thoughtful with Mordo, of this I am certain…"

Caius chewed the words over.

"Is there anything we can do about it?"

"Not presently" Lynwood looked further ahead, "but be ready for a fight. We may not be completely in the presence of allies"

The pairs came out the other end of their passageways in short order. Each had found that the essentials had been stripped, and one they came into the small junction before the Fabrication Hall, another clue to their destination was revealed.

As Romeo Squad reformed, their eyes came to the Hall beyond them.

The title of Fabrication Hall somehow felt like it did the room an injustice, the word 'Hall' failing to capture how gigantic the chamber before them truly was.

Gothic architecture tied with the predominantly steel foundation of the room, the high ceiling of the cavernous room arrayed with spikes and hanging chains. Various sized pipes snaked down from the wall, breaking apart to allow iron walkways to crisscross the skies above them.

This observational floor just beneath the ceiling was connected with the raised platforms that dominated the room.

Short staircases came winding around these platforms, guiding a path to the top and whatever lay beyond the towering stations.

The Forges were for the molding of raw materials. This Hall was where these materials became one with the Machine God, the parts assembled with prayer and oversight on the Work benches before blessedly becoming one piece of a greater hall.

These platforms were wide and many, the gaps between them as large as the streets between the habblocks outside the Manufactorum. But in size only, the steel walkways within the Fabrication Hall were connected to the platforms they were beside, light slopes formed at the edges of the paths.

The pipes that littered the walls and snaked around the higher up walkways above the platforms were also entwined with said platforms. They gave the appearance of great metallic veins, connected to the organ with which they gave life.

Grandness of the room aside, the most immediate concern was not with the gigantic nature of the space beyond them, but of the blood and bodies that stained the black and gray steel.

Greenskins and humans lay amongst one another, but the Xenos were ignored in favor of studying the fallen Imperials.

Judging by the armor that still adorned some of the many corpses, the newly arrived to the room were able to make out the armor of the PDF.

These were soldiers of the same force as the one outside.

And thus, were the remains of those tasked with destroying the Manufactorum initially.

Their strewn corpses alongside obvious signs of battle pointed to a clear and foreboding truth.

There were Orks inside the Manufactorum.

Act 3 bby, so it begins! Super happy to be here. Before I get to reply to all the wonderful reviews, just wanted to clearly say thanks to you all for the support. Every word of support, every follow every fav, it means a lot. I'm glad y'all are vocal but what you like. Feel free to keep with the criticisms y'all do have tho, cuz you spot things that have slipped my mind. After all I'm just one dude and doing my best to write this.

To the reviewers;

: I agree. Angron vs Lucian is going to happen at one point or another. But I'm leaning on Morty appearing first due to the fact Nurgle has yet to make a proper appearance in the story. Only as Lucian starts to understand the natural order of the world, will gramps and his champion show up.

cHaZzi123: Squats you say? Well after Balor's all wraped up your going to be in for a pleasant surprise? ;)

BenjaminBones: I'm on that juggernog rn my guy. Trazyn is also set up for the future, not exactly tho. I know I want him to chime into the story at points before the Necrons make their appearance, but the void dragon slipped my mind. Gonna have to do a bit of reading on that before I tackle him. Thanks for the read in on Vownus' situation. I know he should have acted harsher to Lucian... but I'm trying to pull a few people back from the outright religious zealotry typically shown by the Imperium. People like Vownus were supposed to be outliers, people that do a bit more thinking for themselves than the Lords of Terra would prefer. And sorry bout thade. You're gonna hate me later :^)

desropter: Glad you've enjoyed it. History and backstory form the drama and points of contention for the characters. I'd die before I allow a moment to not have it's due build up. Can't wait to show you what I have in store for the Eldar my friend.

Godofwoof: maaaaaaaaaan. I really wanna get to the good shit, but if your patient you'll see how on the nose you are. regarding the tyrant star, things are gonna get wacky, and maybe out of cannon-ish, but I hope you see the gold I'm trying to craft

Hunter19941: Necrons are coming. They will be here when GRRM finishes GoT.

Valinhall: That's good to hear man, glad this is entertaining you. Hope to see you for next chapter as well amigo!

cudlypanda: thanks man. And it's not actually a Second Prelude lmao. I've been titling my recent chapters by the titles of the songs I've used to write them. It felt appropriate to do so. Null girl comes in later. I'm going to build her to hate lucian first, which is something that needs to happen.

Accountless Fan: NIGHTLORDS. MY MAN... Mordo may interest you for a bit ;)

Guest 1: I'm all about them payoffs bby, just you wait. Eldar waifuu in distant future tho, all I can ask for is your patience.

Guest 2: Scheme of Tzeentch or a blessing from big E? Who really knows... apart form me of course. And Lucian Vs Krork, we gonna make it happen.

And that's that for now. gonna be a little bit more time until next chapter is ready, gonna be going on a traveling trip again, this time to Costa Rica. Gonna be busy getting ready for that. If I don't get an update on the story done before I go, there will be one when I get back.

Love you all.

The Emperor Protects,

Freedom