It was only a moment later did the loyalists move from their hidden alcoves. The dim lumentubes flickering with every impact of artillery. Shouts of the corrupted traitors echoed in the halls of the fortress-precinct as they rallied.
What they did was not on Verarya's mind however, her thoughts were on securing the armories. Without suitable arms and armor, the loyalists wouldn't be able to mount a sufficient resistance against the cultists.
They would be cut down before exacting the Emperor's vengeance upon them and Verarya was determined not to go so quietly into the Emperor's Light.
The man directed them to go with a hurried hand, keeping a wary eye on the cultists that had continued onwards.
The older Arbiters moved forward leading the group, while Verarya remained behind to follow along with the witchman. She needed to be sure that he wouldn't turn on them.
They didn't tarry for long as they joined the others, crossing the intersection as quietly and as quickly as they could to avoid the unwanted attention of the cultists further down.
It was only the Emperor's blessing that they had no run-ins with other mobs of heretics and it was not long until they arrived to the armories and made their way to the forefront of their group.
"There are two traitors in there." The Arbiter, his voice low and barely a twinge of sound left him. Had Verarya not been near to the man, she would not have heard it.
The constant rain of artillery masking whatever other noise that would have echoed into the armory.
She looked over the unknown man's shoulder. The Arbitrator was right, both cultists were plundering the sacred stores of the Arbiters, well as much as was left. Though they went for the more archaic autogun rather than the few remaining lasguns and while one was checking over his weapon, the other was trying to fit a flak vest over his body.
She was about to respond when the unknown man moved.
By the Throne, he was fast…something only comparable to those adored in power armor, shock maul at the ready and unheeding of her vain attempt to stop him as shocked as everyone was from the suddenness of the action.
A three note whistle came from him. It drew the attention of the closest traitor who turned to face him with confusion only to be met with a maul to the face, as the head snapped to the side broken from the blow. The cultist was dead before he even hit the ground.
The traitor that was putting on the flak armor stumbled at the sudden attack. And preoccupied as he was, he was not ready for the man to bring the maul backwards and into his chest. The vest did little to protect him and a sickening crunch was heard as bone broke and shattered under the power of the strike.
The altercation was over before she could even exhale the breath she had been holding. The loyalists slowly following after the Arbiters and Sororitas as they entered to retrieve what they could, while Verarya stepped forward, the man looking around in a manner that suggested he was searching for something but couldn't find it if the scowl on his face was any indication.
Verarya had more pressing concerns. Their sacred and blessed power armor was nowhere to be seen. So the Sisters had to make do with standard Imperial equipment, many of them donning the flak vests and clothing of the Imperial Guard and quickly taking the remaining lasguns in the armory.
Considering this was their armory, the Arbiters had a surplus of their own gear and those of the Emperor's Judges quickly donned their what they could of carapace armor, spreading what remained between them all, while the other loyalists began donning flak vests of their own and whatever weaponry that remained.
The unknown man however loitered at the entrance serving as a lookout but also keeping a close eye on them. As if he didn't trust them either….
Does he think we may be tainted? WasVerarya's thought as she returned to checking her lasgun, muttering quick prayers of purification and appeasement to the Machine Spirit within. There was no time for the rituals and she doubted that the Tech Adepts of the Machine God would appreciate any hastiness in such delicate matters.
The quick utterances would have to do.
She spied the elder Arbiter approach their self-appointed sentry. "Boy. Here." The elder Arbiter, donned in the carapace that marked him as a Judge, held an auto-pistol in offer to the unknown man. The man took it daintily and in distaste but took it all the same. Though he didn't seem to know how it worked and quickly set it aside, when the Arbiter looked away to her, in favor of a Combat Knife, sliding the sheathe into a loop on his pants.
Perhaps, he doesn't know how to use one. Which was odd. If the man was part of an honor guard of sorts, then he would have been trained in all manner of weaponry.
But it didn't matter. Verarya pushed her mind from such things.
She must focus on dealing as much damage to the traitors and if possible make contact with the besieging Imperial forces.
If the man wanted to fight with a close quarters weapon, who was she to stop him?
Still, after packing whatever equipment she could onto her form, she was followed by her Sisters though absent of any heavy weaponry they seemed more like regular Imperial Guard rather than their holy order. Only the tattooed Fleur-de-lis on their faces or on their arms marking them out as Sororitas.
"We must move quickly." The Arbiter Judge told her in determination. "We'll need to fight our way to the entrance."
Verarya nodded in agreement. "I agree. This is your precinct. You lead the way."
The Arbiter moved alongside the other Arbitrators, followed closely behind by their unknown man who in turn was followed by the Sororitas and behind them the other loyalists that she guessed what remained of the loyalist PDF.
Verarya maintained a distance between her and the unknown man. Still unsure of his intentions and what he was, the Sister didn't want to risk a spread of corruption should his powers prove lethal to those around him.
It was not long before they ran into their first group of manic cultists.
They did not stay hidden nor quiet. Not this time. They moved at a light jog through the corridors of the Fortress Precinct. The lead Arbiter's shotgun being a clap of thunder that echoed in the precinct halls tearing through two surprised cultists in a spray of blood and gore. The Arbiter stomped onwards, shoulder charging into the group and shoving the muzzle of the shotgun into the exposed torso of another cultist and discharging another round.
The other Arbiters and the unknown man forming a rushing wall of carapace armor in which they crashed into the remainder of the traitors. Their shock mauls crackling and arcing with electricity as they broke bone and turned the heretics into bloody pulps.
By the time that Verarya had been close enough to join the fight the group was already moving onwards, only taking moments to whip the gore from their mauls.
The Arbitrators continued to make quick work of the smaller mobs of heretics that were in their path as they continued onwards. The Sororitas and loyalists only adding their firepower to the fight if the Arbitrators had slowed enough in their non-stop push to allow them to get close enough.
By now Verarya had put the witch out of her mind. Or at least tried to. The unknown man had been nothing but effective in the purgation of the heretic and Verarya gave him the temporary benefit of the doubt that he was a sanctioned psyker, however unlikely that may be.
Still, it prickled at her mind even as she ran alongside her sisters.
They moved deeper and they began encountering larger hordes and the other less equipped loyalists were also thrown fully into the fray rather than simply following in the bloody and merciless wake of the Arbitrators.
They paused for a moment to catch their breath. Had the Sororitas their power armor, they would've been able to keep onwards.
However they were still mortal. While their souls burned bright with hope, an inconsistent diet of gruel did little to nourish their bodies and the strain of sudden exertion was draining them faster.
They were beginning to tire.
"Not much farther now." The Judge said between haggard breaths.
The charged and sudden assault from within had put the heretics into disarray. Verarya's meagre strategic training and intuition clued her into as much. The loyalist artillery had only intensified and while the hordes had grown in their size, they were sporadic and haphazard in their appearance giving them a chance to catch their breath.
The unknown man looked as refreshed as ever as he flicked and peeled errant gore from the maul he was using even as Verarya did her best to appear unshaken in her exhaustion.
He must be using the Warp to enhance his stamina.
It made sense and was the only sensible conclusion as to why he appeared unfazed at the constant exertion even after their internment.
There was also the tell-tale sign of a witch. Their glowing eyes often gave away their abilities.
And the man's were alit akin to a pair of vibrant green stars. Almost as if they were glowing.
She was sure the others saw though like her, must have come to the conclusion that so long as he was on their side…well… then he was on their side.
"Imperial forces are laying siege to this place. We must reach them." Another Arbitrator said. "We can't stay here."
Verarya nodded and stood and as they were about to move again, the unknown man turned to a different direction one that led in the opposite direction of their destination.
The elder Arbitrator stopped him, placing a hand on the unknown man's chest. "That leads deeper into the precinct, boy. We're not headed that way."
The man shook his head and pointed down the hallway. His words were jumbled and hard to understand but there was one she did manage and it made her heart freeze before alighting in a uproar.
Portal.
A portal.
The Sisters of the Vengeful Martyr shared startled looks.
Being a Sororitas and considering the Great Rift across the galaxy, her mind settled on a single conclusion.
A Gate was being made within the precinct.
"Change of plans." Verarya whispered in a tone that brooked no argument. "He says that a Chaos Gate is within the precinct. We are going to delay any ritual until reinforcements can reach us and if possible destroy the Gate."
The Arbitrators seized up and the loyalist troopers began muttering prayers of protection and deliverance. A few signing the Aquila in a warding gesture and one even going as far as to prostrate himself in desperate prayer.
"We have no way to contact the Imperial forces." One of the Judges pointed out, his expression betraying his nervousness though his words resolute.
"Then we'll pray that they go towards the fighting." She responded.
Verarya held her rosarius beads tightly and muttered her own preparatory prayers, to steel both her resolve and soul. She tucked them into an open pocket and mentally readied herself whilst checking over her lasgun.
"If we are to die today, then let it be done in burning His enemies!" A Sister from beside her proclaimed getting a couple murmurs of approval and agreement.
"Then let us go." Verarya said, looking to the unknown man and nodding and gesturing with the rifle. "Lead the way."
The man nodded and without any additional words, took off at pace, the Arbitrators in their heavier armor following closely behind while the others led by Verarya lagged slightly though were no less determined.
The drum of artillery grew louder and the shaking of the walls continued to rubble. Pillars of dust and showers of sparks from flickering lumen tubes falling with every impact.
Already she could hear the cacophony of shouts and yells of the heretic resound throughout the precinct.
The smell of the rank hallways had began to permeate. The floors, walls and holy iconography and engravings of the precinct caked and layered in a dark red and coagulating brown. It was no mistake that it was blood, both fresh and rotting.
Verarya hoped that it was the heretic bleeding themselves rather than the faithful.
And it was not long till they encountered a sizeable horde that was dallying in a lobby in front of a large set of heavy ornate dark steel doors.
They seemed to be shocked at their presence given the minute hesitance and surprise etched across their cut and carved faces.
The witch and Arbitrators did not waver in the slightest and crashed headlong into the horde, killing a many with claps of their shotguns and trampling a handful more on the sheer weight of their charge alone.
Verarya and her sisters were not found lacking. Immediately, the Sisters of the Vengeful Martyr fanned outwards into a demicircle upon entering the lobby, with their weapons firing into the backs of the heretics that had turned inwards to surround the Arbitrators.
The less equipped loyalists charging into the fray behind them, intercepting heretics that turned their attentions to the Sororitas.
While before there was little in the way of casualties, only in the way of cuts and bruises from what Verarya could guess, this was a full-on brawl where neither side had failure as an option.
One of the Arbiters was cut down by a mob of heretics, their haphazard and makeshift shivs and stakes cutting and stabbing into exposed places of the man as he was dragged to the floor. The frenzied shouts and yells piercing over the las-fire that burst forth from the Sororitas' firing line.
Fist sized craters were punched into the exposed bodies of the maniacs that rushed from the crowd and towards them. Whatever foul sorcery that was fueling them kept them alive longer than the other small heretic bands that roamed the precinct. Where a shot would usually be sufficient to mortally wound if not kill, it took three to put a traitor down.
The marks of the Archenemy burned and seared into the bodies of the heretics glowed like embering coals, before igniting into fire from wherever the flesh was broken as they fell dead, screaming.
Another Arbitrator fell.
"Let vengeance be our song!" The Sisters cried in unison as they fully entered the fray. Verarya butt-stroking a screaming heretic sending him to the ground, before shoving the muzzle of her las gun into the downed heretic's head and squeezing the trigger, turning it into a fine red splatter across the floor.
A trio of heretics came charging towards her, one being intercepted with a tackle by a loyalist survivor who used the butt of his rifle to club them to death, the other two fell before her as another Sister had turned her rifle and emptied her power pack into them. Their bodies riddled with large smoking and cauterized craters.
An Arbitrator fell, just at the edge of the crowd as a pair of heretics leapt upon her and driving stakes into the screaming woman who thrashed and swung her shock maul in desperation, killing one but dying to the other.
Verarya reloaded quickly with her last power pack and avenged the Arbitrator by plugging the heretic with a trio of laser bolts and then cutting down three others.
The fighting ended not long after that. The enfilade of fire and the ruthlessness of the Arbitrator and the witch saw the remainder killed in short order.
They were not without injury or losses however, Verarya counted half of the Arbitrators having been killed. Where there was eight before stood four and the witch, the elder Arbiter having been killed as well. The loyalist PDF reduced to a mere handful compared to their dozen and a half from before. What remained of the Sisters were only ten. Three having been killed, including the one that had so recently proclaimed their martyrdom.
They did not idle. What remained of the loyalists, pushed forwards to stand before the doors. Aware as they were of what would in all likelihood be their deaths, Verarya gestured for the witch to open the large doors with her lasgun.
She also took a moment to compose herself in the face of such a sight.
There didn't seem to be a single part of the door that wasn't defaced in blood or in sigils of the Archenemy. Her heart and mind burned in fury as her eyes trailed upwards.
The Holy Imperial Aquila….normally a standard of gleaming gold….was crying a stream of blood from its one eye that ran to the base and each head had a branded crown of human skulls.
The sight only inflamed her anger.
Around them the loyalists readied themselves, checking their weapons and whispering prayers.
The witch absently handed the shock maul to an Arbitrator that was beside him. He took it with a small amount of reluctance.
He then stood before the doors, seemingly taking in the sight before bracing both hands against the bloody metal and pushing them open.
The doors opened ominously. Not a whisper was shared between the loyalists as the doors groaned outwards. Those capable turned on the flashlights attached to their weapons.
With all the blood and corpses, Verarya didn't recognize it at first. It was dark and smelled of rot and iron. Its grand columns and walls covered in gore and blood. The few braziers that were lit sat sparking and popping breaking the low chanting that was further in, their rims lined with bloody skulls.
More bloody skulls lined the path further towards where the pulpit would usually be situated.
Instead, a bloody and embering sigil was erected. Atop a pile of even more bloody and flayed skulls sat an effigy of one of the Archenemy.
In particular that of the Blood God.
Verarya and the Sisters of the Order of the Vengeful Martyr spat in disgust at that particular sight. A vow of vengeance took hold in Verarya and she was sure it did so among here sisters as well. While her heart burned in vengeance at the mere existence of the heretic, a particular one gave way against the one that desecrated such a holy place.
In the pews, dozens upon dozens of pale branded heretics sat supplicated, their arms raised as if in offering. Blood ran like rivers from their bodies and across the floor tracing the bricks and chiseled recesses. The flesh of their backs cut open by whips and their arms carved with knives.
They were frozen in place. Their pale skin glinting against the firelight and the crimson that ran like veins. They seemed to be dead. No breath nor movement was taken by those sitting upon the pews. Had it not been for the running blood, Verarya would have guessed them to be statues of marble with how pale and sheen their skin was.
Further in, the Sororita spied a faint bluish, purple glow, pulsating as if it were a heart.
The Gate.
Verarya swallowed thickly and readied her rifle.
The Arbitrator handed the shock maul back to the witch who took it, absently. His hands still bloody, they followed his lead.
The Sororitas, indeed the entire loyalist party, was probably fighting the urge to simply begin tearing and burning the place down, cleansing it of the corruption that defiled it.
Verarya was sure that whatever was about happen would require her full attention.
The witch was taking measured and slow steps, looking every which way. Many others followed suit, sweeping the area with their rifles and shotguns, including Verarya, hopeful that they weren't walking into a trap.
They moved further in, they bluish purple glow getting brighter. None daring to stray from the group and all pointedly ignoring the sigil of the Archenemy as they moved past it. With no way to destroy it at the moment, it was the best they could do.
One of the loyalist PDF fell to his knees, dropping his rifle in the process and began clawing at his eyes and face. Had it not been for the quick reaction of one of the Sororitas, the scream that began to emanate from him would have pierced the ominous and quiet room.
A las-bolt to the head and whatever sound he would've made died upon his lips.
What they saw next made Verarya more sure that she was going to burn this place down even if it cost her life to do so.
Just beyond the sigil, there were eight corpses strung in an octangular manner. All missing their heads as an unceasing amount of blood poured from their bodies like waterfalls onto the floor. Below each was a singular iron pike, each set upon by a flayed bloody skull.
A sword stabbed into the ground. Its golden crossguard small and round yet intricately designed. Its blade of silver sat unblemished by the blood that it rest in.
Verarya never had a desire to learn more of the Archenemy. She still didn't but even she knew this looked like some sort of arena.
Beyond that, was a pulsating yet weakening purplish tear of energy, contained and seemingly embedded against the ferrocrete wall. Manic and frenzied whispers and bloodcurdling shouts and screams seemed to echo from the tear in reality.
Verarya grew uneasy at the sight and from the quietness.
The witch stopped in his place and held his hand up, causing everyone to stop moving. His eyes staring at both sword and portal.
He looked around warily, even pacing before the obscene altar as if he didn't fully trust it. Which to be fair, was smart. Verarya made sure to keep her lasgun at the ready, to bring it up in a moment's notice so as to kill him should he become corrupted.
Seemingly taking a deep breath and composing himself, the witch stepped within the pool of blood and towards the sword in the center.
And Verarya went to follow him.
Only to be halted by an unseen barrier.
I should've shot him when I had the chance. The thought immediately ran through her mind.
Verarya's adrenaline shot upwards as she raised her lasgun, expecting the trap to have been sprung.
Only nothing happened.
Still, Verarya would not be so easily lulled into a false sense of security in this abominable place.
They needed to close that tear and cleanse this place of the filth, and at the moment, they could only do so with whatever powers the witch possessed since they held no heavy munitions.
So now they had to wait.
The witch continued to take careful steps towards the sword in the center, blood that should've coagulated and dried stayed fresh, looking every which way, probably in case of ambush.
But none came.
Only when he stood before the sword, a good meter away, did something happen.
That tear from beyond the altar began to pulsate. The energies within writhing and contorting.
The loyalists took a step backwards in anticipation and in no small amount of fear of being exposed and corrupted by the eldritch energies. Another two PDF troopers succumbing to madness in the seconds that followed. One taking his own life and another having to be put down by a Sororitas before he began to lash out at those around them.
Verarya, as the did the others, took steps back as something pried and dragged itself from the tear before freezing in fear at the sight.
It was a grotesque creature, with hot red leathery skin, and eyes of burning, malignant coals. It had an elongated head with two jagged horns jutting from each side of it with a black claws and hooves. A cursed black metal blade as long as she was tall, held easily by a single hand, that burned hot on its serrated edges and point. A slathering maw, with jagged teeth and serpentine tongue that flicked to and fro as it regarded them for the barest of moments before locking eyes with the witch, in a standoff.
Still frozen the loyalists did not notice those statuesque cultists that had previously sat still upon the pews had risen and congregated around the group of loyalists. Verarya was torn from watching or preparing to kill as many cultists as possible.
A rumble was heard.
And just past the innumerable horde of cultists from where the loyalists had entered, the great doors of the chapel burst open.
From the doors, a stampede of troopers stormed the chapel, adorned in dark colored greatcoats and flak armor, spattered in blood and impenetrable gas masks and wielding lasguns. Their helmets emblazoned and glinting in the brazier-lit hall with the golden Imperial Aquila. Following them, stirred Verarya's vigor, resolve and hope.
An Angel of the Emperor, clad in metallic silver and black battle plate striding behind the mass of Imperial soldiers. It seemed that the Angel knew exactly what was happening and drew a bolt pistol aimed and fired, faster than Verarya could react. The bolt flew and impacted against the barrier beside her, exploding but not breaking it.
Whether it was to kill the witch or the hit the daemon it didn't matter.
For all hell broke loose.
The veritable mass of Imperial guardsmen opened fire with their lasguns and charged, bayonets fixed. Their red lasers killing a score of the horde of cultists. The Astartes lunged forward, barreling through the mob in an effort to reach them.
The loyalists were not found wanting, and joined in the fray broken as they were from their fear at the sight of the daemon.
The Sororitas and Arbitrators rushed to intercept the daemon. A few that were close, were easily cut down blood spilling like a fountain from where it broke flesh. The daemon entered the barrier before any could stand before it. Her own weapon discharging red lasbolts into the hide of the daemon but doing little more than leaving pockmarks.
The witch was not so idle, but the daemon was as fast as he. In the calm moments, before the fight began, the witch had rushed forward to the sword and grasped its handle.
Only the blade did not give, and seemed to be dragged further into the ground.
Verarya saw the witch sidestep an overhead arc, as she maneuvered to engage the manic hordes of the Archenemy, that would have cleaved him in two had he not and countered with the power maul in his other hand, its head illuminating in an arc of electricity and his hand still gripping the handle of the sword.
The daemon nor its blade was not so cumbersome as their large sizes might have suggested.
The hellblade was brought upwards and cut the shaft of the maul in two, as if it was made of simple cloth, the head snapping off and sailed away, the cut piece sparking erratically. But it seemed to be a diversion.
The momentum as the witch twisted, to evade another strike, the sword was pulled free, dragging a wave of blood, upwards in an arc, causing it to rain upon them.
It only seemed to aggravate the daemon and drive it into further rage.
The witch was not so easily killed either, as he evaded another strike, leaning into his previous momentum and twirling to send another arc of blood upwards.
Only this time it did not sail into an arc. This time, the wave of blood formed into bullets and sent at the daemon impacting across the otherwise hardy skin. Where those bullets of blood did connect a font of blood erupted from the red daemon who only roared in anger and pressed its rage-fueled attack.
Verarya was pulled from that duel as she turned her attention to the cultist horde. The Imperial Guardsmen in a contentious melee with the horde, stabbing and firing lasbolts into the cultists that had turned from lethargic and swaying abominations to frenzied and manic creatures clawing and dragging whoever they could get their hands on.
What remained of the loyalist party joined the fray, killing whatever cultists they could. Verarya adding what little ammunition remained in her charge packs before resorting to simply stabbing and clubbing the cultists to death. Inelegant for her tastes but effective nonetheless.
The Astartes was a storm of death, his roaring chainsword being the wind upon which absolution was found. Wherever he went, swathes of the horde would turn into pink and red mist as he simply tore apart the cultists. His path followed by a crowd of fresh Imperial Guardsmen who ensured that those killed remained dead and those few that the Astartes had missed were not lacking in attention.
It was almost over as soon as it started.
With the injection of the Imperial Guardsmen and the appearance of one of the Emperor's Angels, it was a one-sided affair.
With that the battle had turned into a viewing, watching the duel between the witch and the daemon.
There was not much that remained of the loyalist party as they had bore the brunt of the cultist ambush. The PDF survivors were down to a single man who was instantly arrested by the Guardsmen with a barrel of a lasrifle pointed at the back of his head. The two Arbitrators joined him and upon resistance were met with the butt of a lasrifle to their gut that buckled them. No resistance was had further.
The Sororitas were about to be among them but upon what Verarya guessed was the sight of the Fleur-de-lis, the Sisters were afforded some measure of decency. They were forcibly disarmed. Which meant that they weren't manhandled and instead corralled at the end of a bayonet.
And while Verarya mind itched, was irritated and cringed at the sight of the daemon, she was otherwise enthralled by the prowess of the witch who matched it blow for blow. Never challenging the daemon in a contest of strength and rather evading and leveraging his blade against the weight and rage of the daemon.
The Astartes paced and stalked the edge of the barrier as they fought, keeping close to where the daemon was should he see a chance to engage the scourge himself and a distance away from the portal ready to intercept anything else that should make itself known from it.
A few more armed and armored guardsmen stood around the barrier, weapons bared and ready the moment an opportunity presented itself.
The other guardsmen did not really concern themselves with that, with many setting about to purging the abhorrent shrine. Teams with flamers began burning away the blood and filth that pervaded the hall. The effigy was first.
It lit up in array of unholy purple and red flame and began dissolving into a cloud of ash.
The barrier flickered.
The Astartes attempted to breech it with an armored gauntlet but was rebuffed.
One of the guardsmen's officers, or who she assumed to be an officer given that they did not wear the high-peaked cap of the Commissariat, immediately ordered the burning of the rest of the hall.
The duel continued and the witch pushed the daemon against the barrier. A translucent pale glow flickered where it impacted and shifted the barrier back towards the portal.
The Astartes tried again but was rebuffed. Again.
The witch seemed to realize something and pressed his advantage, pushing the red daemon to the edge of the barrier closest to the portal. The daemon swung and the witch leveraged and deflected the blade to the side forcing the cursed greatsword into the ground and causing a splash of blood.
The witch forced his hand forwards, the droplets of crimson ichor stilled and were sent like bullets once again to the daemon who staggered at the impact and braced against the barrier.
Which flickered and shifted again. The Astartes seemed to realize something as well as he adjusted his pace to closely follow the duel keeping a close eye on both the daemon and the witch.
The daemon forced the witch back with a wide horizonal slash, but the witch did not relent his attack. He brought his hand up again and jabbed sending it forwards as if he were directing an attack. A series of spears seemed to coalesce and form from the pool of blood between the two and jutted towards the daemon who, again, staggered backwards and near fell to avoid the attack.
It still crashed against the barrier causing it to flicker and shift. This time, the two foremost hanging effigies were no longer protected by the barrier.
Verarya finally understood what was going on. She pointed at the strung up corpses that were still spilling unnatural amounts of the crimson liquid. "Burn them!"
The nearest flamer-wielding guardsmen looked, pointed the weapon to it and unleashed a torrent of flame to one.
It lit up just as the effigy did. The barrier flickered once again.
And then the next one burned.
The daemon roared and screeched in anger. It movements, less honed and more fueled by rage in seeing it's heretical shrine desecrated.
The witch took advantage and pressed it further.
The barrier flickered and shifted exposing the next two effigies to the Guard's holy flamers.
The daemon lashed out again.
But this time, the witch had pressed too far.
It pushed aside the silver blade with a cloven hoof and, holding the greatsword in both its clawed hands, swung its hellblade downwards to kill him.
In what could only be described as pure instinct as he was too committed in his attack, the man brought his arm up, the golden bracer upon it glinting against the braziers, the cursed sword wielded by the daemon sunk and bit deep into the metal, cutting a jagged valley into it and his arm, blood spurting from it.
The man shouted and screamed in pain as he retaliated. Before the daemon could take advantage of the situation, the man brought his own sword up and struck back. The daemon was forced to pry its blade out backpedal, crashing against the barrier.
And had it not done so, it would have lost both its hands.
Instead, the daemon only lost one.
The ashen clawed daemonic hand fell with a meaty thunk into the pool of blood. It began dissolving a withering wave of sparks and fire before disappearing completely. The daemon roared once again, whether in anger or pain, Verarya did not know but she hoped it was the latter. The stump spewed forth a torrent of blood.
The witch held his wounded arm close to his chest as it too bled, his bracer broken and caked in blood, adding his own to the pool beneath them. The man pointed his sword in challenge. The daemon brought its hellblade up to its mouth and its serpentine tongue licked clean the blood upon it.
And then it spoke.
The sound was hellish and caused Verarya and many others in the hall to cover their ears in pain.
Though neither the witch nor the Astartes seemed to be affected by whatever was said by the daemon, at least from what she could see.
The witch spat at the ground in front of the daemon.
The daemon screeched in defiance and charged.
The witch did as well.
The daemon swung, intending to bisect the man in half once again.
But the man seemed to have been expecting, he fell into a slide, causing a wake of blood from the pool to churn and wave. The silver sword was brought up, and driven straight into the chest of the daemon, sinking to the hilt.
The daemon roared, the pain seeming too much for even it, as it let its grip upon its hellblade loosen entirely. The cursed sword went sailing through the air, crashing upon the barrier, before dissolving into embers on an unseen wind.
Even more blood spewed forth from the wound.
Before the daemon could attempt to claw at him or to wrench free the sword, the witch brought his now empty hand up in a grasping manner, a large bloody and coagulating hand formed and launched forwards from below him mimicking the grasping gesture.
The bloody hand grasped the daemon whole, carrying upwards and slamming it across the barrier.
The barrier near shattered at the attack and dragged it closer to the now waning gash that sputtered to stay alive.
Holding his bleeding and most likely broken arm close, the witch kept his hand upwards grasping the daemon and pressing it further against the translucent barrier towards the tear in the ferrocrete. The barrier inched further and further until the next set of strung up offerings were exposed.
The guardsmen did not hesitate in burning them to ash.
At last, with six of the eight effigies burned, the barrier shuddered, blinked and then shattered.
The daemon grasped within the bloody hand was sent sailing towards the collapsing rift in the wall, the witch taking quick steps towards it, still cradling his severely wounded arm against his chest.
Immediately, the Astartes, bolt pistol in hand unloaded the magazine, penetrating the hand. The Emperor's Angel was not alone in dealing His fury, as those spectator guardsmen immediately raised whatever weapon they held and fired.
Lasgun, hellgun, shotgun and even a plasma gun was fired into the bloody hand and daemon.
The witch hissed in pain as if he had been stricken. The bloody hand collapsing into a puddle beneath the daemon, dropping it just before the flickering tear in the wall.
The witch did not stop his advance and moved forward, uncaring of the withering fire being placed upon one of the Archenemy's servants. The Astartes spoke, the first time since arriving, his voice piercing even the thick cloud of sound while also rushing forward, "Cease your fire!"
The guardsmen stopped firing.
Verarya watched as the witch shoved the staggered and tired daemon backward into the tear, his hand grasping the hilt of his sword, intending to wretch it free from the daemon.
Only it didn't.
The daemon's clawed hand lashed outwards grasping the forearm of the witch, intending to pull him along with it.
At this point, the daemon had been fully returned to the Warp, and the witch had not released his grip, heedless of the corruption and exposure to the Warp that his arm was now engulfed in.
He would have been fully dragged in, had it not been for the Astartes who had pull him away.
Severe burns covered the man's arm from where it was exposed and black smoke rose from the welts that formed, but it looked to be healing rapidly, a golden light spreading from the beneath the bracer. Immediately, a trio of guardsmen rushed forward as the Astartes stepped away, one of them appearing to be a medic.
One of the guardsmen immediately butt-stroked the man into unconsciousness, the other aiming his lasgun at the head of the witch while the medic immediately set to work on treating the wounded arm, making it a point to avoid the one exposed to those foul energies.
The guardsman with the plasma rifle fired once again, sending a ball of the energy into the ferrocrete wall that so recently played host to a tear in reality, collapsing it.
And it was over, the hall silent.
Another two Astartes had rushed into the chapel, both of similar armor to the initial one, followed by even more guardsmen.
However, Verarya's eyes were not on the Emperor's Angels of Death. Instead, they were glued to the witch's arm that had since dimmed away to reveal perfectly healed flesh.
Perhaps, the man was not a witch at all.
By the Throne, perhaps, he was one blessed by the Emperor Himself.
Verarya Sepherine for the first time in her short life had witnessed a miracle, one performed by who, instead of a witch, was a Living Saint.
Verarya fell to her knees as did her other sisters that remained among the living and began to pray, but instead of asking for strength, they thanked Him.
Thanked Him for giving them hope.
'Never lose hope. Storms make people stronger and never last forever.'
-Roy T. Bennet, The Light in the Heart
Butt-Stroking – The act of striking someone with the butt-stock of a rifle, shotgun or other long gun.
Figured I should clarify that particular term. I've also heard it called rifle checking.
On that note, (and as always), you can find me on the Emerald Library Discord! It's a fantastic place to interact with other writers and readers where we just chill and chat about ideas, future works and generally just have a good time!
The link to that is on my profile!