Borglyn stood on the roof of a ruined building, magnoculars to his eyes. He studied the front gate of the Imperial palace to the northwest intently, looking for any sign of movement. A few minutes ago, he had seen a barrage of lasgun fire concentrated on a heavy weapons emplacement defending the entrance. Now that the guns had gone quiet, the colonel waited with bated breath to see if the enemy had been killed or only taken cover. He hoped it was the former.

Movement. Borglyn cursed. At least one of the enemy soldiers was still alive; they would have to deal with that before they could advance. He turned and descended the stairs back into the building to check on his soldiers: twenty-five Guardsmen, including a heavy bolter squad and a mortar squad. Those that weren't keeping watch sat close together in the centre of a makeshift furniture fort, some speaking quietly to one another, others tending to minor injuries.

The colonel had been in a makeshift command post on the right flank, planning an advance on the capital with his command staff, when the vox had crackled to life and Dovator's voice had shouted its frantic warning. Before Borglyn had a chance to react, a powerful blast had ripped through the metal to his right, throwing him hard against the opposite wall. He had struggled to his feet, smoke and dust swirling in the air around him, stinging his eyes as he shouted for his master-vox.

In the smoke and dust, Borglyn had just been able to make out the bodies of three of his staff; the master-vox sparked and crackled on one of their backs, destroyed. Cursing, the colonel pushed past the remaining two soldiers as they unsteadily gained their feet and ducked through the gaping hole that had once been the wall. The crop field was ablaze, plumes of thick white smoke rising high into the sky and hiding the capital from view. A barely containable rage welled up within him at the sight. He drew his power sword, pointing the humming, glowing blade toward the capital.

"Forward!" He roared, his voice equal parts anguish and unbridled hatred for those that had brought this destruction upon his home. "Death to all who turn from the Emperor!"

After what had seemed an eternity, Borglyn had crossed the field and had expanded the number of Guardsmen under his direct command. He had yet to find a working vox-caster, however, and so had sent some of his soldiers out to spread the word. He knew Dovator would be doing the same and was confident that his remaining forces would eventually converge near the Imperial palace for their final push. One way or another, this war ended here.

"Sir!" One of the Guardsmen on watch hissed, motioning Borglyn toward a nearby window as he readied his lasgun. Five of the Guardsmen from the centre of the room quickly took up positions around the one who had spoken, leveling their lasguns through adjacent windows.

The colonel strode quickly across the room, careful to stay out of sight of the streets below. All conversation had ceased, and a nervous silence fell over the room. "Report," he whispered.

The Guardsman gestured out the window, to the left. There was a large mound of rubble, the collapsed exterior wall of a building spilling out into the street. The cover was large enough to hide a sizable unit, and its position made it impossible to see further up the street in that direction. "Movement there, sir. I didn't get a good look, but they might be ours."

Borglyn motioned to his heavy bolter teams. Quickly and quietly, the Guardsmen at the windows parted to make space as the heavy weapons were repositioned. "Hold and await my order."

They sat in a tense silence, weapons trained, eyes unblinking. A strong breeze blew dust and debris down the street. A small stone clattered deafeningly down the side of the mound of rubble.

And then they heard it: a long, low whistle coming from behind the rubble. Borglyn smiled his relief, and let out two short, high-pitched whistles in response.

"Friendlies, coming out," a voice called from behind the rubble a moment later.

"Stay sharp." Borglyn was fairly confident all was well, but he wasn't about to take any chances, especially not now with his forces so severely depleted and scattered. A Guardsman appeared from behind the rubble, and then another and another; a dozen in total made their way quickly across the street to finally rejoin their commanding officer. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of the colonel's mouth as he saw what one of them carried: there, on the man's back, was a working vox-caster.


"What does it mean?" Lucia asked, breaking the long silence. She had recounted her visions and was hopeful that the Inquisitor would have some explanation for them. As he had listened to her harrowing tale, a growing sense of dread stabbed at his heart. He had barely noticed through all the chaos of the battle, but the signs were certainly there for him too: a tight, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, the metalic taste of blood in the back of his mouth. Lucia had always been more sensitive to the Warp than he was, so it was certainly no surprise that her symptoms would be so much more lucid, he just hadn't expected anything quite like what she had described. The Inquisitor had heard stories of psykers experiencing waking nightmares, but never had they been described as so vivid, so real. There was no question: these were clear signs of heightened Warp instability. Of the degradation of the veil between realms. Of daemons.

"Stay out of the Warp," the Inquisitor said at last. "The risk is too great right now. Do not use your abilities again until we are far from this place."

Dovator could see the anxiety on Lucia's face, saw her chest rise and fall as her breath quickened, her worst fears seemingly confirmed. She stared at him, and he met her gaze. The psyker's brown eyes were wide and uncertain, tears glistening in the corners, threatening to break free and tumble down her face. He forced himself to remain calm, to let his eyes project a strength and confidence he did not feel. The Inquisitor put a gentle, reassuring hand on Lucia's shoulder, forced a tight smile. "Just stay out."

Lucia nodded with a shuddering breath. "Understood."

The Inquisitor turned his attention to the other members of his retinue; Weiss and Sara sat in the corner of the room, inspecting their war gear and splitting the contents of the pack the tech adept had acquired on the battlefield.

As he made his way toward them, Dovator noted that Sara still carried the laspistol that he had given her, only now it hung from a holster on a utility belt around her waist, rather than being awkwardly tucked into a pocket of her greatcoat. She had removed two of the myriad pieces of parchment that intricately twisted and snaked around her body and pinned them to her lapels, her dedication to and faith in the Imperium on display for all to see. Whether they had any tangible benefit remained to be seen, but at the very least, they gave Sara strength, and, Dovator hoped, would give their enemies pause.

Weiss still carried the vox-caster on his back. He was sitting on his heels next to Sara, working intently on a small device on the floor in front of him. A lasgun lay by his side, and a laspistol hung from his hip, next to various utility pouches stuffed with tools and electronic components.

"An auspex?" The Inquisitor peered over the tech adept's shoulder. "Does it work?" The device would prove invaluable when they entered the palace. They were going in blind and with severely depleted numbers; detecting potential ambushes would go a long way to even the playing field.

"Does now." Weiss finished reassembling the device and activated it. Nothing happened. He tapped the screen a few times, shrugged. "Maybe just give it a minute?" A moment later, a soft green glow emanated from the screen as the auspex finally booted up. It chimed as the screen filled with readings, dutifully reported the positions of all the soldiers nearby: a dozen warm bodies including Dovator's retinue. "There we go."

"Great work, Weiss." Dovator helped the tech adept to his feet. "Are you ready to move out?"

Weiss clipped the auspex to his belt and picked up his lasgun. He looked over at Sara. She nodded. "Yeah. Ready when you are."

Dovator turned his attention to the Guardsmen. He had only been able to pull together a small group of soldiers on his way to the outskirts of the capital. Kraken had fared moderately better with double that number. Still, it wasn't nearly enough to inspire confidence. The Inquisitor hoped they would be able to find more of Borglyn's men — or even the man himself — in the city before they pressed forward toward the palace, but he didn't want to delay the advance too long: every moment they waited gave the enemy time to find them and separate them, slowly stamping out what little was left of their fighting strength.

"Status?"

"Ready, Lord Inquisitor. We move on your order."

The Inquisitor could see they were tired, but he hoped they would have it in them to give just a little more. With the growing instability of the Warp, they needed to end this battle soon, before things got worse. His plan was simple: Kraken would draw the enemy's attention with heavy weapons fire targeting the west side of the palace while Dovator's unit made its way along the southern edge of the city, bolstering their strength with any soldiers that hadn't yet joined either of the two groups. They would then push toward the palace from the south while Kraken attacked from the west. Once the fighting started, perhaps it would draw any stragglers.

Dovator realized all the Guardsmen were looking at him now. They needed some reassurance, something to keep them going when they felt the battle was already lost. He didn't know if he could give them that: he was barely convinced of their success himself. But he could try.

"We are the sword of the Emperor, sworn to smite his enemies with righteous fury. This day has tested our resolve more than any other in the past month. I see in your eyes the same exhaustion and uncertainty that grips my heart, threatening to overwhelm my resolve. But we shall not falter. We must stand firm, for we are His bulwark against the dark tide of heresy. We are His will made manifest, and we shall not fail in our duty."

The Guardsman who had spoken earlier was the first to react. He saluted crisply and yelled a loud battle cry, fire in his eyes. The remaining soldiers quickly did the same, and the Inquisitor could see the determination spreading between them, contagious. They will hold long enough to finish this fight.

Dovator turned back to Weiss and Sara. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders and looked at each of them in turn. There was nothing left to say, but he nodded to each of them, knowing that they would be with him in this no matter the outcome. The Inquisitor unclipped the speech horn of the vox-caster from Weiss' shoulder, preparing to check in with Kraken and commence their attack. As he opened his mouth to speak, the unit crackled to life and a voice boomed from the speakers.

"This is Colonel Borglyn. All units, report."