It took plenty of effort not to regrow his limb. Actually, holding back his body's automated regeneration was harder than simply letting it pass, because he had to consciously remind himself – again and again – that it had to stay that way. It was like holding back a dam of water – difficult, but not impossible. He'd done this many, many times before, actually. It was surprising how much he had to hide his own immortality from his peers. It was actually easier to just get blown up, because then he'd just reform somewhere else with a younger body.

Perhaps, the greatest problem he faced with regards to his missing limb, however, was that...

It itched – badly. And the urge to remove the bandages and scratch the stump was somehow stronger than the very whispers of the four tumors.

"I don't see him," Mira said, looking through the viewing scope. No doubt, the only thing she'd see coming out of that facility was black smoke and fire and debris. Mira sighed and shook her head as she leaned away from the scope. "May he find rest and find peace with the Emperor. At the very least, his death was not in vain – right, old man?"

Olly nodded. "No. He died so we could recover a proper armored vehicle. His death certainly is not in vain."

Ah yes, the strangest guardsman he'd ever met, Perry. He'd met many strange beings in his very long life, but he'd never encountered one as peculiar as that boy. Olly had no doubt that, somehow, Perry had survived the flames; the boy's presence lingered on even now – powerful and intense. The Obliterator hadn't been alone. He'd sensed the presence of a Mutilator as well. Somehow, Perry was able to defeat both monstrosities, killing both. Olly wasn't sure how the boy did it, considering even seasoned Astartes had trouble defeating such creatures. But he did so anyway. It was clear that the humble lad possessed a gift of some kind, the sort that would've garnered him the attention of a certain someone if he'd been born ten thousand years earlier on Earth.

Was he a Psyker, then? Did his powers manifest in a very unique and specific way as to enable him to engage monsters in close-quarters? Perry wouldn't exactly be the first if that was the case. And, considering the guardsman had been in the Imperial Guard for a while, it was likely that his power had only very recently manifested. That also meant, however, that the boy possessed a powerful will; to awaken as a Psyker in this desolate, daemon-infested planet was little more than a death sentence. If the boy's will was weak, then he would've already fallen prey to the denizens of the Warp. But that was not the case. Perry was strong. And Olly had a feeling that the boy would go on to do great things.

This was not farewell or goodbye. Their paths, he knew would converge soon once more.

"We should hurry back." He finally said to Mira. "The others are waiting for us and we have to move out soon, before the enemy figures out our position."

Mira grinned. There was a fire to her now, burning in her eyes. It'd serve her well, Olly thought. Only time would tell if she lived long enough to strike back at the enemy or if she'll fall... like all the others. "Let's show these bastards the Emperor's fury!"

Their vehicle blared suddenly. Olly knew that sound; a message had been sent to them, likely a general order of some form. The signal was heavily-encrypted, an attempt to prevent the forces of chaos from intercepting it. Mira flicked a switch and the interior vox casters announced, "All troops, by order of the Lord General, all surviving forces are to muster either at Camp Caine or at Storm Point. Reinforcements are on the way. Have faith, guardsmen, for we shall soon strike back against the enemy. The Emperor Protects."

Olly's eyes narrowed.

Reinforcements?

This far out?

Who could it be?

The Nicor stirred in deep space, turning towards the world – designation: Praxtor – that had called for aid. Warp transit was smooth. No incursions. No turbulence. Strange, but not unwelcome. It meant they arrived exactly as intended. The world stood upon the brink of defeat, but preliminary scans revealed mass-fighting all over the planet. The guard was holding. That was good. It meant they were strong. Perhaps, this world would be a good candidate a Red Tithe.

Te Kahurangi noted a strangeness in the sea of souls. Daemons were never quiet or subdued. They attacked and assailed whenever and wherever possible. But now they were silent – afraid, almost. There was an air of danger that lingered around the planet ahead, a heft that tugged at the edge of his soul. The Daemons were weary of something on that planet. And they stayed clear of it. Otherwise, the world would've already been overrun. It wasn't. It was clear that whatever Daemonic influence had once been on its surface was strong at a point, before suddenly disappearing entirely – retreating, something Daemons almost never did, unless faced with an...existential threat.

Whatever the source of the mystery, the Pale Nomad thought, he'd soon find. There were many strange and unnatural things in the galaxy and this was just another one of them.

Something tugged at his soul once more, but this one was pure – safe. Te Kahurangi recognized it immediately; it was a vision – one that was not of such grave importance as to barrel right into his mind. No, strangely, this one demanded consent – a novel thought. He almost laughed, before allowing the tugging through. The vision played in his mind's eye.

It was short – quick, a series of flashes, images that showed the gathering of a massive fleet. He recognized the symbols and icons upon them. A Mechanicus Fleet – a very large one, composed of a hundred ships. It was headed straight for Praxtor as well. Strange. That fleet was... too large for the purpose of recapturing only a single planet. This world was important – every world was. But to attract the attention of the Tech-Priests, to spur them into mustering such a massive fleet, meant that there was something special about the world. Was it, perhaps, an STC?

Of course it was; nothing else could summon the Mechanicus in such numbers.

Te Kahurangi had never seen one, but he knew of their importance.

The forces of Praxtor were losing, but they made the enemy bleed for every inch of ground they lost. It was admirable. The knowledge that the Charcarodons were coming to their aid only made them fight harder. Still, they were losing. The enemy forces, it seemed, heavily relied on Traitor Astartes for almost every engagement, a sizable number of marines. Emperor's Children. The very name brought him no small amount of fury. They were accompanied by abominations and mutants, bolstering their numbers, alongside a few Daemon Engines here and there, mostly Defilers – too mad to retreat like the rest of their misbegotten brethren. They were led by a Chaos Lord who was yet to reveal himself.

This would be... relatively simple. It'd become easy once the Mechanicus arrived.

Te Kahurangi stood up and made his way to the Chapter Master's quarters. Tyberos needed to be informed of what was coming.

"A boon – this early? Don't wanna wait and see what happens? It hasn't even been a week. The others are going to complain if you play with the setting too much."

"Fine. I'll alter something for his faction – an indirect boon, I'd say. But, it'll come with a curse that's arguably very bad – for this setting, at least. Warhammer 40k is up there in grimdark, but there are plenty of ways to make it even worse."

"We still have to run this by his admin; you're aware of that, right?"

"Yeah, M will get pissed otherwise."

"So, what are you thinking?"

"So, I pluck the speed-junky Genghis wannabe and drop him back in his homeworld."

"Seems like a pretty big boon. And what's the curse?"

"I drop a few... Flood Spores on an imperium planet that's about to be invaded by the Tyranids and cross my fingers?"

"Dude, that's not balanced at all."

"I'll throw in the furry and a Divine Gacha Token."

"Is that your idea of making it more interesting for the rest of us?"

"Yes?"

"... shit, I'll talk to M."