A Light Against The Darkness

by nightbringer24

Remnants of a world called Cadia. A world called Remnant. Fate thrusts them together, and common cause finds them allied; the protection of humanity. But what awaits the forces of the Imperium of Man in this strange new world, cut off from humanity? What awaits Team RWBY and friends with these strange new visitors from the stars? But in the end, there is only war.

2. Chapter 2

It is the next morning after the destruction of Marysville, the act unknown to the entirety of the Kingdom of Vale, and the cafeteria of Beacon Academy in the city of Vale is busy with the morning rush of the students getting their breakfasts before the school day starts. Students, dressed in the black suits with gold piping for the boys and deep brown jacket with the same piping and a red plaid skirt for the girls, mill and walk around the tables, collecting their desired meals on their trays before heading to sit down at one of the tables.

Two such teams are Teams RWBY and JNPR. Lead by possibly the youngest student at Beacon, the red haired (or… black hair with red highlights, even her sister can't really tell at times) Ruby Rose walks proudly to sit at her table, a bowl of Pumpkin Pete frosted flakes on one side and a glass of milk next to it. She had been forced to ditch the cookies she had alongside it because of Weiss insisting on the team leader having a 'healthy breakfast'. Good thing she doesn't know about the pockets in Ruby's cape…

"Does anyone know if the meteor-showers will start up again today?" Yang Xiao Long, Ruby's older half-sister, asks as she takes her seat at the long table, a tray of high protein cereal, an apple and orange juice as her meal. She is as diametrically opposite to Ruby as possible; tall, with flowing, curly blonde hair and a very forward personality.

"No," Her teammate Blake Belladonna, dark of hair and light on personality too, replies as she sits down alongside Ruby as they take their place to Yang. Her outfit is the same school uniform, although her large bow made of black velvet and her catseye eyeshadow is decidedly non-regulation. Not that that matters in Beacon. "It seems like they stopped a few days ago. They were nice to look at."

"Aww. That's too bad." Comes the lament from the orange-haired member of Team JNPR, Nora Valkyrie. Short, playful and filled with more energy than the Energizer Bunny, she is happily munching away on a stack of pancakes the size of her head. "I wanted to make more wishes."

Beside her, sipping his tea from a cup emblazoned with the dual axe crest of Vale, Lie Ren, his black hair tied back fashionably into a ponytail down his back, looks in confusion at the girl next to him.

"Nora, you do know that you're only supposed to make one wish."

"Yeah. One wish for each star I see!" Nora replies happily.

The three other teens can't help but snicker at the comment, Nora's whimsical nature making the morning that much brighter. It has been a couple of days since Jaune dealt with Cardin, and while Ruby still isn't really sure what the whole deal was about, it means that Cardin and his team have stayed away from JNPR and RWBY for a good while, outside of classes of course. It's also meant that Jaune and Pyrrha have gotten in more training time with each other.

Ruby opens her mouth to speak but closes it as she hears a gaggle of activity from down the row of tables to her back.

"Hey, it's Team CFVY!"

"No way. Are they on a mission?"

Turning around, Ruby can't help but smile giddily at the sight of the four second years walking down the cafeteria, each one dressed in their combat gear. She's known about Team CFVY since Signal and to see them in person… it's still cool.

First up is the leader, Coco Adel, the Fashionista Huntress. Dressed in her iconic outfit of a cocoa shirt, with a dark brown waist cincher and trousers, she is decked out in a number of accessories that are more high end fashion than tactical gear. Several necklaces of black pearls and a black silk scarf are wrapped around her neck, while her weapon, currently held in its portable handbag form, is studded with golden studs, hangs from her right shoulder. A pair of gold rimmed aviator sunglasses hang lazily at the mid line of her nose, letting her dark brown eyes peer out over the world as she strutted her way down the row of tables, carried along on a pair of deep brown high-heeled boots, with a beret of the same colour completing the outfit. To Ruby, and everyone else surely at Beacon, she is a walking fashion show as much as a hardcore huntress.

Next up is Fox Alistair. A Vacuon native, if Ruby has to guess, with his deeply tanned skin and his dark, copper coloured hair, Fox gives off an almost remote vibe. While she doesn't want to admit it outright, the young huntress-in-training thinks it has something to do with his eyes; off-white and pupil-less, a rumour persists that Fox is blind, although with how easily he follows in Coco's footsteps… it's honestly hard to tell. In comparison to Coco, his outfit is very understated and simple; a deep orange, sleeveless, zippered vest, a pair of simple black jeans and a pair of simple brown shoes.

Behind Fox is probably the biggest, and also possibly the cutest, contradiction in Team CFVY. Standing a full head shorter than either Coco or Fox, Velvet Scarlatina is a Faunus. There is no way around that fact, especially when it stares you in the face in the form of two large, brown rabbit ears that bring her height up to the same as the other two members of her team. With a heart shaped face, large brown eyes framed by a long head of straight, brown hair, Velvet is really, really cute. Her outfit does nothing to hide her combat abilities however: a matching pair of brown shorts and jacket over a form-fitting black undershirt, combined with a pair of black leggings. The outfit is completed by a pair of golden spaulders and bracers, while her weapon is… Ruby can't see it, but she knows it's there. It might be in the gold and brown box suspended on Velvet's back…

And lastly, is Yatsuhashi Daichi, the giant of Beacon Academy. Taller than even Prof-Doctor Oobleck, and with the bulk to match, the final member of Team CFVY is probably the most imposing person that Ruby has met. Even if seeing him interact with Velvet and a few other first year students shows that he's possibly the nicest person that the young girl knows, next to her dad of course. Dressed in his combat armour though, the tanned-youth with the short black hair, looks like an old Mistralian warrior, it's a whole different story. With the curved greatsword on his back the same height as him, his pale-green, long short-sleeved robe worn over one shoulder, revealing the black muscle shirt beneath, and his plated armour on his left shoulder and fists, gives him the air of an ancient warrior.

All in all, as Team CFVY walk past her table, there is only one word that comes to Ruby's mind.

"Cooool!"

As she passes her, Coco gives a wink to Ruby before she moves off, Fox in tow giving a polite nod of his head.

"Hey, Velvet." Yang speaks up, raising a hand in greeting to the rabbit Faunus girl, making her stop and wave in response. "Going on a mission?"

"Hey, guys." The second-year huntress replies as she stops next to the table her friends are at. "And yeah, we've got a mission. Nothing big, just a small search and clear."

"Short and easy." Yatsuhashi speaks up, smiling slightly at the younger huntresses as a look of quiet worry comes to their faces. "Nothing too hard. We'll back before the evening, if anything else."

For Ruby, however, only one emotion is playing on her mind.

"Oh, I'm so jealous you guys get to go on missions and we have to wait until next year!" She says out loud before she pouts. "But we have classes."

"Oh, you are such a child." The high-class voice of Weiss Schnee, the white-haired Schnee Dust Company heiress, spoke up as she walked up to the table, the last two members of Team JNPR in tow. A while ago, the phrase would have been an angry phrase full of scorn, but now it's a friendly taunt.

"Hello, Yatsuhashi." Pyrrha Nikos, the flame-haired champion from Mistral, says in greeting while behind her, her team-mate and team leader, the blonde Jaune Arc, can only raise a hand hesitantly in greeting to the giant.

"H-hey, Yatsuhashi."

The giant of a student nods his head in greeting before he speaks to the boy who's a whole head and shoulders shorter than him.

"Jaune, I've heard that you've been sparring with Pyrrha."

Not sure what to say, Jaune goes for the simple, tried and true: "Umm… yeah."

Yatsuhashi smiles again. "If you would like, I have some texts on Mistralian fencing that I think would be beneficial to you. I could lend them to you, if you want."

At the suggestion, Pyrrha's face lights up with joy while Jaune's face reddens in embarrassment, before the redhead begins excitedly talking to Yatsuhashi.

Ruby, however, pays no attention to it, especially as she sees Velvet, leaning forward a bit, point to her large rabbit ears in a conspiratorial gesture.

"What's up, Velvet?" She asks in a low voice. "Is Cardin still giving you trouble? Nora is still asking if she can break his legs."

For a second, worry flashes across Velvet's face before an embarrassed smile comes to the second-years face.

"No, it's not Cardin." Velvet replies sheepishly. "He's been doing his best to avoid me, or he just simply says 'hello' and leaves it at that. What did Jaune do to him?"

For a second, Ruby thinks about telling Velvet about the incident involving Jaune, Cardin, the Ursa and the sap in the Forever Fall Forest… but that would take too long so she simply ignores it.

"Oh, not much. So… what's up?"

A small but warm smile comes to Velvet's lips.

"Ruby, I know that you were skipped ahead to Beacon, but just… relax a bit. Okay?"

Ruby's silver eyes widen open slightly in shock.

"Hey," Velvet continues. "I saw you guys in the initiation; all of my team did. You were good. But you don't have to jump at every opportunity for a mission. Your time will come. Until then, just… keep your head down and study. You'll get your shot."

She has to admit; it's a much better speech than the one Ozpin gave the day Ruby and her friends got over a month ago. She opens her mouth to respond, but is quickly cut off as CFVY's leader calls out from all the way across the cafeteria.

"Hey, you two! If you're any slower, we're going to leave you behind!"

Velvet squeaks out in shock before she calls out. "Coming, Coco! Yatsuhashi, lets' go."

Stuck in the middle of talking to Jaune and Pyrrha, the giant of a student can only nod his head before politely bidding farewell to the pair, allowing Yatsuhashi and his Faunus teammate to quickly rush down the aisle of tables.

As the pair of second-years pass their fellow students, they slow down as they run into a group that Ruby had honestly wished to have just disappeared.

Team CRDL.

Even in their school uniforms, Ruby can't help but make the comparison that the student team looks like a delinquent group from one of her manga, with their mismatched and attempts at suave hairstyles. A few days ago, they would have been walking around the school with a cocksure swagger in their step.

Now though, that air of superiority is gone from them all, after what Jaune did to them, and especially for one member of the team, in the Forever Falls Forest. They're not cowards, by any serious stretch, no-one at Beacon is. But being known among their circle as 'the guys who ran from an Ursa' is not something too easy to live down.

As the last half of Team CFVY passes them, three of the members of Team CRDL; Russel Thrush, Dove Bronzewing and Sky Lark, all shy out of the way of the pair, not wanting to even look at them, especially Velvet.

However, their leader and Velvet's former bully, Cardin Winchester, simply refuses to look at the rabbit Faunus as she walks past him. But looking at his face, Ruby sees that it's not contempt on his face. It's that he simply wishes to avoid looking at her in general, like seeing her will bring pain to him.

And if the killer glare that Yatsuhashi directs at him is any indication, Cardin takes it to heart as he takes a step backwards away from the pair, doing his best to keep his breakfast tray out of the way too.

The path cleared, the last two members of CFVY head off to join with their teammates, allowing Team CRDL to make their way to their table.

As Weiss, Jaune and Pyrrha sit down in their seats, the quartet of teenage boys walk them past in single file. They look at the two teams, and the two teams look back at them. A few days ago, a snide remark or two might have been made by the quartet, or Cardin would have made some remark about 'Jauney boy' needing to join them at the table (Ruby still thinks the nickname is stupid) and the blonde going off and joining them.

Now it's an awkward and tense silence, not a word given, or a motion made between the groups, before CRDL sits down at their chosen table.

With the tension gone, the talk at the table begins. Yang and Nora begin asking Pyrrha how her sparring sessions go, although… the way that Yang says 'sparring' is the same weird way that Yang says it when she talks about guys sometimes. It confuses Ruby, and it also makes Pyrrha's face turn bright red. So it takes Ruby by surprise when Pyrrha suddenly bolts up from the table, tray in her hand as she quickly excuses herself from the table, almost quickly enough to shift Ren's long hair, crying out as she goes past; "I'm sorry!"

It takes a few seconds for everyone to get over that event, but soon the topic of talk changes back to normal things: homework, lessons, tv shows, food, the like. And then the topic of before comes up again.

"Hey, Weiss," Jaune asks out of the blue, a spoonful of Pumpkin Pete's Marshmallow Flakes held at the ready in his hand. "I was wondering if… well… would you like to watch the meteor shower with me sometime tonight? After my training, of course."

The white-haired huntress opens her mouth to speak, but Blake interrupts her.

"Actually, Jaune, it looks like the showers stopped. They've not been seen for the last few nights."

Deflated at the news, Jaune simply lets out a low whine before he puts the spoonful of cereal into his mouth, while Weiss gives a happy smile. Before it shifts into a questioning look.

"Has anyone said anything about where this came from? I think the last time I heard about this many meteors coming to Remnant was when my grandfather was in his twenties."

Ren shakes his head. "Valean astronomers haven't been able to find anything, and Atlas scientists can't figure it out either. Some are saying it's pieces of the moon passing into our atmosphere, others say it's just wayward space rocks."

"Or it's aliens!" Nora suddenly proclaims loudly, standing up in her seat as she slams her palms down onto the table top, making her breakfast jump, along with everyone else at the table.

Six pairs of eyes blink at her in confusion, while several heads around their table turn to look at the pink-haired girl before they decide to turn back to what they were doing. Nora's loud outbursts have become a common enough occurrence now.

Weiss speaks up. "Aliens? Really?"

Ruby, ever the optimist, instantly lights up at the idea. "Like the ones from Alien Grimm From Beyond The Moon!?"

Beside her, Yang can't help but laugh at her sister. "Come on, we're not talking about those lame late night movies dad let us watch here, Rubes."

"But it could be!" Ruby replies, looking at her older sister hopefully.

"But it's not." Weiss coldly replies.

"But it might be!" Nora responds quickly, turning her head to look at the Schnee heiress.

Before anyone else can say anything, Jaune lets out a noise of pain as Cardin walks past him, the orange haired teen's elbow impacting against the back of the blonde's head, his try of half-eaten food held in his hands.

Every eye at the table turns to look at Cardin as he stands behind Jaune, waiting for what he says.

"… sorry about that, Jaune."

Jaune simply cracks a goofy smile. "No big."

Cardin just looks at the blonde teen for a few moments before he simply nods his head and continues walking. Behind him trail the tan haired Dove and the blue haired Sky, each one holding their trays in their hands. Only one member of the team is absent…

"Hey, Russel!" Cardin calls out as he turns to look at the member of his team sporting a light green mohawk, still bent over his tray of food. "You coming or what?"

Annoyed, the teen looks up from his breakfast. "I'm still eating here! I'll catch up with you in a bit."

Not saying a word, the deep orange-haired teen turned away and stalked off, the two team members following in his wake.

"Well, that was weird." Weiss says out-loud.

Ruby nods her head, as she easily knows what is weird. As she's about to turn back to her bowl of Pumpkin Pete flakes, a flicker of movement from the other table catches her eye.

Russel has gotten up from his seat and, after casting a cautious eye at the direction his team, begins heading right towards her team and Team JNPR?

What the…?

"Hey." Russel simply says as he stands behind Ren and Nora. "I… I couldn't help but hear-"

"Nora talking about aliens?" Jaune asks, a friendly and open look on his face, before he shrugs. "Yeah, that's kind of wild."

Weiss on the other hand looks at Russel with a pretty harsh look on her face. Like the one she gave Ruby when she sneezed Dust all over her.

"Why do you care?"

Yang doubles down on the teasing. "Yeah. Don't you have an Ursa to run away from?"

Amazingly, Russel bites his tongue and ignore the taunts, even as he reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out his scroll.

"Listen, I know you guys don't like me," He says as he pulls open the screen on his scroll and begins tapping away on it. "And I'm not really all that keen on you guys either. But… I think you're right."

Each member of Team RWBY and JNPR looks at Russel in quiet confusion as he brings up a web-page on his scroll before pushing it forward. On it, is an open page to a RemTube video titled 'Meteor shower over Vale: PROOF OF ALIENS'.

The eyebrows of everyone around the table furrow in confusion, while Nora's eyes light up with joy.

"See!" She says out loud as she points at the scroll in front of them. "See! I was right!"

Ren takes a hold of her arms and gently lowers it.

"What are you trying to show us here?"

Russel doesn't say anything. Instead he just pressed the play button, starting the video.

A black, night sky fills the screen. Everyone watching the videos sees some stars twinkling against the sky, much more than the ones that could be seen in Vale city itself. Then, one of the lights becomes brighter.

Brighter and closer.

The camera shakes slightly as the person recording it tries to focus on the point of light.

Ruby has seen a good number of meteor showers in her time, watching them with Yang and dad, but what the 'meteor' does next is something she's never seen before.

Instead of carrying on through the sky, zipping out of sight, the 'meteor' begins to very clearly level out. It moves slightly in one direction before it carries on flying, still burning with the aftermath of atmospheric entry.

And then there's the noise.

Ruby has no idea what sort of noise a meteor falling to Remnant should sound like, but she knows what a Dust powered engine sounds like. She remembers the sound of the Bullhead's engine on the night she fought that Torchwick guy and met Professor Goodwitch and Ozpin. That loud, whirring sound of its Dust engines shaking her ears will never leave her.

The sound she hears from the video is nothing of the sort. It's an angry, horrible and aggressive roar of power that seems to make the air shake with fear as the meteor… no, the ship, flies off out of view, before the video stops.

Everyone around the table is silent at what they've just seen. Each one processing the info they've just taken in silently.

Yang speaks up first, recovering quickly.

"So… maybe they're friendly."

---

The autocannon mounted on the high adamantium wall barks loudly, the cycling bolt spitting out the hot, heavy brass shells onto the rampart. Even with the sound dampeners in his helmet, Tychos can't help but flinch at the sound of the heavy weapon as the soldier manning the emplaced weapon fires at the local wildlife that had emerged right at the edge of no man's land around Fort Tempest.

Looking through his magnoculars, Tychos watches the beast, roughly a full head larger than him and looking like a frakked up combination of a man and mutated canine, have its lower half mulched right on the edge of the cleared area around the fort.

"Cease fire!" He calls out to the gunner, not taking his eyes off the animal. "That thing's not going anywhere soon."

Looking through the magnoculars again, Tychos sees that his statement is being generous. The predator, denuded of its entire lower half, struggles to pull itself along the ground before basic biology takes its toll and it falls down, decidedly dead.

Pressing the stuff of the microbead on his neck, the Cadian contacts his superior.

"Lieutenant Deckard? This is Tychos. Intruder put down in sector 15-G. Another one of the local wildlife. How copy?"

The light voice of his platoon leader comes into his ear as she responds.

"Copy that, Tychos. Any other sign of activity?"

Looking through the magnoculars, the trooper pans his vision across the ground in front of his area. Tall trees, taller than an Earthshaker barrel is long and with wide bright green canopies covering the ground in shadow, stand right at the edge of the no man's land around the fort, the rapidly decaying beast slumped underneath one such tree. The forests stretches beyond Tychos' sight, interspersed with a large mountain range that continues far into the southern horizon. An endless sea of almost uninterrupted green, which stops one kilometre out from the edge of the fort. In front of all of that, the land is cleared, blasted away by high explosive rounds and flamer burn, stripping the land of any and all vegetation, before supplanting that with the steel of the Imperial war machine on the defence: banks of barbed wire obstacles stretched out in concentric hedges, combined with the star shapes of Krieg hedgehogs anti-tank obstacles and dragon's teeth behind the wires, while the squat, nonagonal rocrete bunkers watches over all.

It is as strong a defence as could be afforded to an Imperial base on a potentially hostile world. Simple, timeless, effective.

"No other sign of activity, lieutenant. Want me to continue watch?"

"Negative on that. Return to barracks. Out."

Not saying a word, Tychos taps his microbead once, signalling the affirmative. Turning, he slaps the other soldier on the shoulder.

"I'm off, man."

The other Cadian, a pale skinned youth dressed in the deep brown armour and olive drab clothing of the 66th Infantry regiment, looks up in shock before he nods his head. His face is already beginning to become red from sunburn.

"Keep safe, brother." The youth says before he returns to his vigil on the fort's wall.

Nodding his head, Tychos makes his way across walls towards one of the large bastion towers that will take him down to ground level. The wall he's walking along is wide enough to fit a Chimera comfortably, and at every hundred yards is a strong-pointed autocannon or heavy bolter. At each kilometre mark along the line, the wall protrudes out into a bastion, with a glacis slope at the bottom, each one creating a dead zone with heavy bolters and lascannons.

Even if it only covered an area of thirty square kilometres, for it to have sprung up in a little under a month is still a testament to the power of the combined Adeptus Mechanicus and the Imperial Guard.

Although, Tychos reflects as he rides down the elevator in the closest bastion to the ground, it was not perfectly easy.

While the specifics are not fully known to him, the Cadian did manage to piece together what happened as soon as the first Mechanicus cohort landed on the planet. They had managed to clear away about half an acre of woodland before the first of the beasts had attacked. A pack of about twenty of the ones with the canine shaped heads had torn through an equal number of servitors before the Mechanicus had scrambled a force of skitarii, along with the reconnaissance force of Cadians sent down to the planet. They were tough beasts to put down, but lasguns and flamers always paid their toll.

But, as more woodland was cleared, and the construction of the fort had progressed, the attacks had just kept coming. Every day, scores and scores of the local wildlife, the same beasts with black fur and white skulls, would attack the construction site, and each day they would be driven back with lasguns, flamers, chainblades and heavy weapons.

As the days stretched into weeks, and the walls of the fort rose ever higher, it seemed that the ire of the beasts grew ever stronger. Larger mobs, sometimes numbering in the hundreds, would attack the walls. Learning the lessons, and using the mathematic computations from the Mechanicus adepts on the ground, the Cadians had deployed their own heavy guns to meet them. Leman Russ' in the Exterminator and Punisher patterns spat out punishing volleys from their heavy guns, while Hellhounds in conjunction with Sentinels plugged any gaps in the lines. Men and women died, as they always did, but each death brought the fort that one step closer to completion. It only took the use of the artillery guns; the Basilisks and the quad guns, to finally get the beasts far enough from the walls to allow the Mechanicus to complete the fort.

Word had it that those who died in the days before the fort was completed had their bones added to the very walls that Tychos now stood under.

Looking up, he thought it was an odd show of respect. Walls that are just shy of being the same height as Reaver battle-titan, were propped up by the bones of dead Cadians. At least it's a better resting place than being burnt in a firestorm, or lost to the vacuum of space, or having your soul-

The smack of a fist impacting the back of his helmet snaps Tychos out of his cold reverie.

"Hey! What the hell?"

Standing behind him, dressed in her own uniform, Sophia chuckles happily at the man in front of her.

"Man, if it's not dreams at night, it's you spacing out in the middle of the day. Should we put you down for a Section Eight?"

Tychos grimaces at the specialist's words. Section Eight was a man unfit for combat because of mental health. In other Guard regiments, it was a fairly safe way to get out of duty and shipped off to some Munitorum holding area away from the fighting. For Cadians…

"Terra no." The man replies as he walks past Sophie, the woman falling into step alongside him. "It's just… We're back on the ground again. Never thought I'd see it happen anytime soon."

Sophia nods her head.

"I know what you mean. I was expecting some more void combat, if I'm being honest. But I can't complain." Sophia takes a deep breath of air through her nose and exhales loudly. "It's so nice to breath actual air again."

Nodding his head, Tychos looks at his companion as a small smile forms on his face. Sophia, Reinhardt, all the other Cadians that are on the ground, totalling nearly thirty-thousand personnel in total (if you didn't include the flyboys from the Navy and their crews, as well as all the cogboys, servitors and their own skitarii too), all display one nearly universal reaction to being on this new planet; nearly absolute joy at being out of the holds of the Imperial Navy ships.

"What about you?" Sophia asks as the pair stop at one of the main roadways in the base as a trio of cargo-8 trucks trundle past, kicking up dust and promethium fumes as they drive past. "How are you feeling?"

Tychos stops and thinks for a few seconds, enough time for the last truck to go past and letting the pair continue their walk.

"I'm… better." Is all he can say.

Sophia looks at him sceptically, a well-shaped eyebrow arching slightly. "'Better'?" She repeats. "You're not waking up, calling out for-"

"Yes! I'm better, Sophia." Tychos snaps suddenly, not meaning to but he can't help himself before he calms himself down. "I mean… I'm not having the dreams anymore, so that's a good thing, right?"

The specialist doesn't show any reaction on her face before a small smile of her own forms on her lips.

"So the prayers and incense are working then?"

Tychos nods his head. "Yeah, quite a bit. Plus, I think the Reclusiarch was right that being out of the Warp would help…"

As soon as the words have left his mouth, Tychos stops moving as an arm is suddenly thrust across his chest and a hand stops his progress.

"Sophia?"

"Reclusiarch." The specialist says disbelievingly as she just looks at her comrade in shock. "As in… Reclusiarch… of the Adeptus Astartes?"

Tychos nods his head again, really unsure where this is leading.

"As in… the eight-foot tall warriors who wear a Chimera's weight in armour and can chew through a bulkhead? An Emperor's own Angel of Death?!"

By now, Tychos notes, a small crowd has formed around the pair, mainly made up of guardsmen and Munitorum workers just staring at the pair, obviously having heard the woman's cried out words. Really uncomfortable with the attention, he grabs a hold of Sophia's flak vest by the neck and pulls her along at a quick speed, moving quickly towards the barracks of the 1st Battalion, 589th.

It takes a fair bit of jinking and dodging as he leads Sophia safely as he can towards the barracks before pulling her towards one of stacks of large crates that were used to ferry their equipment onto the planet surface.

"Gulliman's Blood, you cannot keep your mouth shut." Tychos swears at Sophia as he lets go of her armour.

"You talked to an Astartes! One on one!"

"… Yeah, okay, yes," Tychos admits sheepishly. "It is a very strange thing."

"Strange?" Sophia says back, leaning forward to look directly at the man's face. "Tychos. You talked, one on one, with an Astartes Reclusiarch. Do you… I mean… how?"

Not saying anything, Tychos reaches up and scratches at the back of his neck not covered by his uniform.

"It was… when I went out to get the sleeping aids. I stopped to look at one of stained glass murals in the hull, and then he appeared behind me. Wanted to know why I was out of bunk during the sleep cycle. He… Akios helped me."

"Akios…" Sophia repeats the name quietly, like saying the name would summon the being into existence right then and there. "Wh… what was he like?"

"He was friendly, actually. Much friendlier than I expected." Tychos replies with a smile, before he chuckles softly. "He was the one who told me about saying the prayers and using the incense to help me."

It takes a while for Tychos to realise what exactly he is saying and who it is about. In the whole wide Imperium, to have an Astartes, especially one as high ranking (he assumes) as a Reclusiarch, to have a talk with a lowly trooper like himself is just something that doesn't happen.

"Okay, I get it." He says, holding up his hands. "I'm 'special'. But I bet that now that I'm here on the ground, I'll probably never cross paths with him and he'll have forgotten all about me. I mean… I'm just… a pebble and he's a… a boulder."

Sophia looks at the man in front of her in genuine confusion.

"It's something that Reclusiarch Akios told me when he first met me." Tychos says simply, like it would explain everything.

The sound of footsteps alerts both of the Cadians to try and get some semblance of professionalism as they stand away from each other and look like they were performing some important task.

"Why is it, when I hear about trouble, it's one of you two?" A heavy, almost gravelly, voice speaks up as the speaker turns the corner. The sight of whom immediately sends the pair of troopers to stand at attention as they raise their right hands to their heads in salute.

"Captain, sir!" They both call out in unison.

Captain Fidor Thade stands the same height as both Sophia and Tychos, although he is much thicker on top, giving him a heavy barrel chest. His face is round and ruddy coloured, the lines around his eyes stretched heavy through his advanced years. His hair, currently covered by the peaked cap of his rank, is thinning, but the captain still keeps a well-groomed and maintained moustache that reaches right up to his sideburns, the hair a thick black colour. His uniform, an officer's long coat in the same khaki colour as the other soldiers of the 598th which he wears under a flak vest, is adorned by a not insignificant number of ribbons.

"As you were, you two."

At the command, the pair of guardsmen relax heavily. As they do, Captain Fidor reaches into one of the pouches on his belt and pulls out a well-used and stained tobacco pipe, which he begins filling with small shreds of the leaf.

"I'm not giving one shit either way on the matter," Fidor says as he taps the tobacco into the chamber gently. "But I have to ask: did you meet with a member of the holy Astartes, Trooper Litten?"

"Yes, sir." Tychos sounds out in a perfect military cadence. "Reclusiarch Akios of the Steel Drakes chapter, sir."

The news makes the captain pause in his act, looking at Tychos from the brim of his cap, before he continues tapping the tobacco down.

"Specialist Kall, report to Lieutenant Deckard. Double time it."

Sophia looks ready to protest, opening her mouth, but she quickly closes it. Firing off a text-book salute, she gives a small, wry smile to her friend before she jogs off quickly, leaving her friend with their company commander.

The air between the pair is silent, Fidor not lighting his pipe as he simply holds it and looks at Tychos.

"So… why did the Reclusiarch speak to you?"

To the casual ear, it's a casual question any would ask of a man who has met with one of the Emperor's Avenging Angels. But the delivery; the flat, droll delivery says so much more than the question ever could.

Vigilance is the brother of truth.

"He… he met me before we dropped out of Warp." Tychos responds, not taking his eyes off Captain Fidor. "I was on my way to get… to get more sleeping aids and we met each other at one of the windows. Then we started talking."

For a few moments, Fidor just rubs his thumb over the rim of the chamber of the piper in his hand, before he nods his head.

"I knew someone like you wouldn't be a heretic." Fidor finally says, chuckling as he pulls a match seemingly from nowhere, like a cheap conjurer, before he lights his pipe. The hiss of the chemicals in the match-head igniting fills the space between them.

Fidor takes a puff from the pipe, agitating the flame in the pipe before fine smoke beings to drift up.

"Besides," He says as he takes the implement from his mouth and smiles sharply. "The fact you're alive really tells me all I need to know."

Despite himself, Tychos grins warmly as he shakes his head at the comment.

"Did you ever doubt me, Uncle?"

Putting the pipe to his mouth, Captain Fidor smiles around the bit. He's not Tychos' actual uncle. He's undoubtedly someone's uncle, but he's not Tychos. He's just… Uncle. Been that way since he was a second-lieutenant. Even as he advanced up in rank, he was still known to the soldiers of the 598 as Uncle, capital U.

"Was it about your sister?" The officer asks, his smile turning down as he moves to stand beside Tychos, earning a nod from the younger Cadian.

"It's… I think the Warp travel was making it worse, combined with grief. Plus, I think being sat on my arse doing nothing meant my mind could focus on it more."

Uncle nods his head sagely as he takes the pipe from his mouth, blowing a puff of smoke his nostrils as he does so.

"We're Cadians." He says simply. "We're not bred to sit around doing nothing for too long."

And Tychos agrees with him. In Warp-transit, virtually all of the men and women he'd seen had either been lethargic, barely doing the minimum of actions, or had resorted to doing almost anything within regs, and a few outside of the regs, to keep themselves active.

Moonshining, gambling, theft, and a very unfair few more behaviours were being investigated by the Commissariat onboard the Sublime Vengeance before the ready order had been given.

"It makes you wonder," Tychos says out-loud. "What would happen to us if all the fighting stops."

It's a question that's been bandied around the various mess-halls and tables, the barracks and even foxholes, in some form or another. "What would we do if the Eye closes?" "What would it be like if the Emperor steps off his throne?" "What will the universe be like if all the aliens were killed off?"

Tychos is silent for a few seconds before he speaks.

"I honestly don't want to think about what it would be like for us."

Captain Fidor nods his head as he takes a draw on his pipe.

"Let's not dwell on that for now." Uncle says. "Let's head inside. We have a meeting to go to."

'Inside' is underground, underneath one of the many square bunkers that line the avenues of Fort Tempest in the areas set aside for each regiment. Above ground, each bunker can hold at most a single platoon at action, firing from prepared slits with their lasguns, including pintle mounted heavy weapons. Underneath each bunker, however, is enough space for a company of Cadians to rest comfortably and safely. Plasteel buttresses and stanchions hold the ceiling aloft high enough to let a man comfortably pass beneath. A large communal space has been cleared to form the company's sleeping quarters. All ablutions and latrines are set up above ground, of course.

It's not a palace, but it's home enough.

---

The bustling noise inside the barracks area for B company, First Battalion, 598th fills the space almost fully, even as Tychos and Fidor make their way down the steps into the cavernous room.

"Atten-hut!" Calls out the sergeant-major, a stocky woman with burn scar tissue covering her left eye, before every man and woman in the room clatters to attention. Silently, Tychos takes his place amongst his squad, drawing a sly side-grin from Sophia, which in turn draws an annoyed grimace from Tychos.

Silently, Captain Fidor moves past the various squads, nodding his head in greeting to a few before he takes his place among the senior staff of the company. Five men and woman clustered around a single rectangular table set near the side of the barracks, a matte-black hololith placed on top.

Commissar Anton Schreiber is present, his heavy black storm-cloak buttoned over his chest with his hands behind his back, looking every part the Commissariat officer. He recognises Lieutenant Deckard, the tall, short-haired blonde who lost an ear to an ork shoota on Belasus III. Next to her is Second Lieutenant Maulville, a head shorter than Deckard, with umber skin and a close-cropped black hair, and an ugly wreck of nose from a boarding action against eldar pirates when he was a sergeant. There's two more second lieutenants he knows by face; Nathson, a man who would have been selected for Kasrkin training before the Fall, and Willers, a fresh-faced junior who has been recently been given his commission.

Only one face is hard for him to place a name to. Waker? Walks?

"Is everyone accounted for?" He asks as he takes his pipe from between his teeth, looking at Deckard, who promptly nods her head.

"Lieutenant Walker's counted the last ones in. The only one missing was Trooper Litten, but we knew you were speaking to him."

Walker! That's the name.

He doesn't want to say it, but the 598th has been lucky in surviving fairly intact from The Fall. It took a beating, sure, but the numbers remaining were still near full strength for Tactica Command to keep the regiment together. Walker was the result of the second decision for the regiment.

Fidor is in command of Bravo Company of the 1st Battalion of the 598th. Before the Fall, he was just the captain of Brave company of the 598th. The addition of the second battalion, drawing the regiment to nearly two-thousand men and women, was unorthodox but necessary in the grand-scheme of things. But to combine five badly mauled regiments along with one near full strength was… strenuous.

Cadians were a martial race, no denying that. Of probably all of the offshoots of humanity, Cadians seemed to the human spirit for combat and martial power almost to its limit. That was apparent in their culture, but it was taken even further in its regiments. If the Imperium could be called a planet, then each regiment was like a country unto itself; its own customs, its own rituals, and its own honour and glory.

Fidor was lucky in that Walker was not from one of the five regiments joined to his own. He had been in officer training right as the Archenemy attacked, and had been among one of the refugees that had managed to escape. He had acquitted himself well, though, leading a force of Whiteshields and militia to the landing zone.

"Let's get this over with." He says quietly before he turns to face the assembled company. "At ease."

The tramping of feet fills the air as the trooper's stances relaxes.

"All right, everyone. I'll keep things simple and obvious; we've been here just nearly a month now, and all we've seen of this world are the forests we've seen from the tops of the walls of the fort. And those frak ugly beasts that crawl out of their hovels to be blasted apart by our guns again and again."

The mention of this worlds beasts causes a small ripple of laughter to flow through the room.

A hand rises above the crowd.

"Yes, trooper?" Fidor says, gesturing with his pipe at the speaker.

"Sir." A woman, with heavy acne scarring on her cheeks, speaks up. "Do we have any idea what in the Emperor's name these things are? I mean… from what I've heard, they turn into… into mist, when they die. What does that?"

It's an important question to ask, and unfortunately, Fidor cannot answer that question.

"I'll be honest; I do not know. The cog boys might know, but they aren't saying anything right now."

Another low murmur of conversation fills the space before another hand raises above the crowd.

"Sir," The unseen soldier says without prompting. "Do we know if these things are Warp-spawned?"

That is another important question to ask, especially for Cadians. And this time, the captain has something to offer as an answer.

"At this time," He begins diplomatically. "The astropaths and psykers have been unable to find any trace of Warp taint in the bodies that we've managed to secure before they… they decompose. So, I think it's safe to say that these are just… a very strange race of xenos."

The answer mollifies the troopers, and it also calmed part of Fidor's mind too. Because, although he won't tell the men, the situation is not good. While the pyskers of the 598 and the other regiments planetside, cannot discern any warp presence on the planet or in the beasts they had fought, there has not been a chance to study the beasts in detail, to see what they truly are.

Although one thing could be said to vouch for their lack of taint; there no reports of anyone, pyskers or otherwise, being driven mad at the sight of the beasts.

"We're going off topic, however." Fidor says sternly, as he takes a draw from his pipe and blows out a long plume of smoke. "As I was saying; We've not seen much of this world, only the local wildlife. Or a part of it, at least. While command does know that there are settlements in the area, it's unknown if they're inhabited and by what."

He turns to look at Second Lieutenant Maulville.

"If you please, Maulville."

The umber-skinned officer nods his head before he steps forward and presses a small number of buttons on the top of the hololith. Soon, a broad beam of green light is projected out of the box and onto the wall of the barracks. The light quickly formed an image of the local area, the outlines of Fort Tempest clearly visible, the no man's land around it, and then the surrounding forests.

There is a lot of forest around the fort.

"Recon flights from the fly boys, and what pics we've managed to take from high-orbit show that a lot of the continent we're on is mainly woodland, with settlements scattered few and far between. We're going to one of them."

Another series of buttons are pressed on the top of the hololith, before the image shifts from the fort and its surrounding area to the image of what is clearly a town, a walled settlement, sitting on the fork of a river and surrounded by forests, same as the fort.

Fidor continues.

"At twenty-two-forty-eight local time, a Thunderbolt of the 568th Fighter Wing, Ogre Squadron, piloted by Flight-Lieutenant Miro Jax, was performing a routine patrol over this area of the countryside," He gestures broadly at the hololithic display on the wall. "When she came across this town. From her report, the town was under attack, but by what, she couldn't quite tell. But one thing the flight-lieutenant saw was a large number of aerial predators that were drawn to the fight."

An inlaid image comes into being in the corner of the screen. It's blurry, off-centre, clearly taken from a gun-camera in action and flight, but it shows something clearly. A large avian predator, large enough to equal the size of a Thunderbolt, its dark body, clearly seen against the night sky by light green lines. Even as heavy calibre rounds from a pair of autocannons are blasting away at it.

"Another flight was undertaken this morning, over the same town to ascertain the situation. For now, all is quiet."

"And that's where we step in, captain?" Deckard asks, almost sounding hopeful at the prospect of ground action.

Fidor can't help but smile at the comment. "It was a hard contest deciding who should go. Twelve proud regiments, thirteen-thousand men and women of Cadia. So Colonel Creed decided on a simple lottery; one for all the regiments, and then one for each company of the chosen regiment."

Reaching into one of his pockets, the captain makes a show of fiddling around for a bit before he draws out a small slip of paper, marked with a small red cross.

"We got lucky. So we'll be sent out."

Putting the paper away, Fidor's expression turns stern.

"We'll be heading out within the hour. Let me make this plain; while we will be marching under arms, this is not a combat situation. This is not an invasion or an attack. In this situation… we are simply factfinders."

"With guns." Maulville points out, drawing a chuckle from the assembled company and a smile from Fidor.

"Yes, with guns. But the SOP is as follows: we retaliate, when necessary. Against those beasts, it's free-fire. But if it's locals, human… or otherwise, we only fire when fired upon. We'll also be taking a cadre of medicae staff and supplies with us, along with food and emergency aid kits. We're going in peaceful, this time around. But be prepared for violence at any point. Any questions?"

Not a hand is raised, nor a voice sounds out. Fidor nods his head.

"Good. Get your gear squared away for marching orders. Dismissed. Emperor be with you."

The sound of stamping feet fill the room.

"And with you, sir." The company intones, all stood at attention as they salute the man, before they disperse, leaving the senior staff alone around the table.

"One company? For a reconnaissance mission?" Maulville asks. "Bit hefty if you ask me."

"With those beasts out there? I'd be thankful for two-hundred lasguns than just ten." Deckard answers, brusquely. "Are we having any other support in this?"

"We'll be taking a recce Salamander from the motor pool, autocannon only. I'll be in it leading the column." Fidor raises his pipe to his mouth, tapping the mouthpiece against his lower lip in thought. "We'll also have some… other support, too."

That focuses the other officers on him.

"We getting Kasrkin on this?" Commissar Schreiber asks, appearing at Fidor's shoulder in near silence. "I didn't know they were in country."

"No, not Kasrkin." The captain says, shaking his head. "Although that does remind me: send for Father Constantine. I want him on this mission. No. Our support is… not who we'd expect."

The group is silent as they mull over what the answer could be.

Walker speaks up in a hesitant voice. "A-Astartes, sir?"

Sharp lad.

Fidor nods his head. "Eleven Astartes, sent on a scout mission. Seems those above want to find out about this world too."

The table is silent as they all process the information.

Schreiber speaks. "Are… are they going to be taking orders from you, or are they acting independent?"

Fidor shrugs. "Don't know. I haven't been told."

Putting the pipe back in his mouth, the captain raises an eyebrow.

"I see a lot of officers here that aren't moving…"

Realising the unspoken order, the five other officers and one commissar quickly move away to go about their business, leaving Captain Fidor alone at the table.

Turning around, he looks up at the hololithic display on the wall, as he begins committing to memory the layout of the town. Sure, he'll have a copy of the town's layout as a map just before they move out, but it never hurt to remember details.

Soon, though, his eyes attention moves away from the town and to the gun-camera still taken from the Thunderbolt.

Something about the image… makes him shudder more than the knowledge that the Emperor's Angels of Death were being involved in this mission.

A thought enters his mind: if that beast was as large as the report said it was… what else was out there?

---

The great, Aquila embossed gates of Fort Tempest rumble open as the column moves out. Two hundred men and women march in parallel down the path trodden by the passage of heavy vehicles and numerous other feet, lasguns held ready, while between them rumbles eight large, cargo-6 trucks carrying the mix of medical, food and other supplies, as well as the medicae staff to use them, all being led by a single reconnaissance pattern Salamander. It's a long and winding column of bodies and machines that snakes its way down the broad path heading from the fort, through the no man's land around the fort, and out into the forest.

It takes just shy of fifteen minutes for the company to reach the boundary of the forest.

As they approach the edge of the tree-line, an order, short and clipped, reaches every man and woman.

"Valiant Actual to all units: Redcon two."

Almost as one, each lasgun is primed, the mechanisms inside whining as the charge pack is prepared for firing. On the trucks, bolts are slid back and released as the heavy stubbers are prepared, a round chambered and locked. The more esoteric weapons are prepared too: plasma and meltaguns hum as their ammunition is prepared and grenade launchers give a dull thunk as their heavy, forty-millimetre rounds are cycled into position.

At the head of the column, standing in the bay of the Salamander, Captain Fidor listens to his microbead as each platoon calls in that their squads are ready. When he is certain that everyone is ready, he waves the column onward, the Salamander churning up the dirt as it advances.

Looking down, he consults the map on the dataslate in his hands. The map is only formed from date gathered by Navy reconnaissance flights from the air, and also by on the ground information gathered by teams of scouts and Sentinels. So it's simple, patchy and has the good potential to get them lost. Which in this world, could be a death sentence. But he has been assured that their reinforcements are waiting for them a mile in the forest.

The sky darkens as the boughs of the trees begin to take over above their heads. Sunlight filters down in patches, casting down beams of light that stab through leaf and branch. Above the Cadian's heads, the air is shielded by rustling leaves in varying shades of green, while on the ground, boot, tire and track tread over the detritus of a living world once more.

For the Cadians, even the battle-hardened veterans, they cannot help but be held in rapture at what they see around them. For the last week, all they have seen of the world they are now on is what they can see from the walls of the fort, the sight compounded by the flash of bursting munitions, tracer fire and gun smoke, and before that, it has been a near uninterrupted sight of steelwork and iron. So to once more tread the ground of a living world again… it fills them with awe.

As they march along, hands reach out to stroke the foliage that lines their path. Fingers brush against leaf and bush, while some of the more athletic ones make attempts to jump up and grasp at any low hanging branches above their heads. One soldier, a veteran of five years before The Fall, stepped out of column and began to place some dirt into a small steel tin that he quickly replaces in his backpack before joining back in the column.

Throughout the journey, the whirr-click of a pict-recorder filled the air, as Trooper Corditz snaps away with his device. Commissar Schreiber's adjutant, he is also the companies, and the regiments, designated remembrancer.

To Colonel Creed, it had made sense. "Better to have a man who knows how to use a rifle in a bad situation and a pict-recorder in a good one, than a man who doesn't know how to use either in a bad situation."

So, as the company trundles on down the pathway chosen for them on the map, Corditz snaps away.

Whirr-click

A photo of a trooper, rifle slung across his chest, touching a flower that was high as his waist.

Whirr-click

A photo of the Salamander rolling along, the company commander looking at his map as they pass under a large tree.

Whirr-click

A squad of Cadians moving past a tree, one smoking a cigarette, while something vaguely in the shape of a man stands behind the tree trunk.

"What the frak…?" Corditz says to himself as he lowers the pict-recorder from his face and looks again. It's got to just be the work of shadow on a bush, that's all. It happens often.

He looks at the spot again.

He can see a pair of eyes, blue as the blue sky, staring right back at him.

Reaching up, Corditz just about touches the stud on his microbead before the voice of Uncle comes through.

"Valiant Actual to all units; column halt."

With shuddering squeals of brakes being applied, the cargo-6's grind to a halt, as does the Salamander, and the infantry around them. Men and women look around in confusion.

Lieutenant Deckard speaks up. "Sir, what's going on?"

"I think we've just met our support."

From his position in the bay of the Salamander, Fidor watches what unfolds around him with awe and instinctual trepidation.

They filter in from the shadows. There's no bursting from the foliage or straight up marches from behind tree-trunks. They literally… emerge from shadow.

Each one is taller by half a head than the average Cadian, thicker in body and limb, but they move with the grace and fluidity of predator felids. They flow around bushes and under branches, stepping over root and fallen twig almost noiselessly. Their carapace armour, thick steel plates dulled to loose their sheen, shift in the light slightly, even as a cameleoline cloaks shift before their eyes through the different woodland hues.

There's ten of them, five on each side of the path. He sees bolters held ready in gloved hands large enough to crush a man's head with ease. He spies sniper rifles, as long as he is tall, trained expertly from the shadows. He spies the stub-nosed profile of a shotgun held low on one side, while on the other, one of them carries a heavy bolter with ease as if he was carrying a bolter proper. Even that one makes as little sound as the others.

As they advance out of the shadows, Fidor sees their faces too, even under their camouflage paint. Each one is… to put it simply, they're becoming larger. Growing to a size that no human should possibly reach. Necks are thicker and corded, faces become heavier with muscle and bone. Yet, even still, each one contains the distinct signs of youth. Eyes glow brightly, fearlessly, at the world. Heads of hair are a still strong, even if they're cut short, or in one Astartes' case, cut into a low mohawk.

Scouts of the Astartes. Trainees, to become the mighty Emperor's Avenging Angels. To Fidor, a veteran of nearly twenty years of combat, he's still reminded of the time he met a Kasrkin as a Whiteshield officer cadet.

The stances of the scouts relaxes slightly, weapons lowered a fraction as they look on in unearthly silence.

Fidor scans again. He counts only ten.

"Where is your commanding officer?"

The words are ready on his tongue, his mouth open ready to speak.

But he never gets the chance to say anything.

The Salamander rocks slightly, making him stumble and the trooper at his side call out in fear, as dull steel blur jumps down from above and lands on the front of the scout vehicle.

As he rights himself, Fidor looks up, and brings his face level with one that he never truly wanted to meet up close, but has seen many times over, helmeted and armoured.

The gigantism is there, hard and solid now. The face, while clearly human, is now stretched and moulded in such a way that, even though he knows it belonged to a human, is not human any longer. The face, lined and marred with scars, visible even underneath the expertly applied camouflage paint, stares back at him. A thick head of jet black hair, leading down to a thick moustache and trimmed beard, show Fidor the veterancy of the being in front of him.

Before him is not a man at all, nor a trainee. Even dressed down in carapace armour and cloth, the being in front of him radiates danger more than any xenos Fidor has encountered. He stands in the presence of one who's very craft is swift, silent death.

Then, beneath the moustache, the mouth parts and reveals a row of large, thick, clean white teeth that are shown in a smile that… is surprisingly, genuinely happy.

"Captain Fidor Thade, I presume?"

---

The forest is filled with noise. The tramp of two-hundred Munitorum issue, hard-soled leather boots, the clanking treads of the Salamander, and the horrendous cacophony from the cargo-6s in the middle of the column.

To Thaddeus, veteran scout sergeant of the Steel Drakes Tenth Company, it's grating.

He and his squad of neophytes had made a perfect entry during the night via Stormraven, the pilot flying low over the tree canopy before hovering at a clearing in blackout conditions. At the signal, the ten scouts had rappelled down heavy cables onto the forest floor. Even with the noise from the gunship's engines, the eleven Astartes had executed the drop flawlessly.

Local wildlife had been a problem. But point-seven-five mass-reactive rounds put them in their place. Along with the toxic darts of sniper rifles chosen for this mission, the amputator shells used by Neophyte Karis and the brutal bite of Neophyte Ollarus' heavy bolter, the jet-black furred fauna encountered are quickly shown that, even at the lowest rung in the chapter, an Astartes initiate is still a capable warrior.

It helps when Thaddeus has been heavily studying the reports sent from the Militarum regiments and the Mechanicus cohorts planetside to ascertain what the enemy he and his trainees will be fighting.

Xenos lifeforms, a disgusting parody of animals. One was similar to an ursid, the other was a disgusting combination of canid and man. Armoured skulls, with patches of armour-like bone on the upper limbs and spines on the back. Nasty creatures. Quick, brutal and aggressive.

A test for any aspirant of the Steel Drakes.

Still, even the veteran had recognised that facing a horde of several hundred of them without any support was suicide, so he had ordered his squad to take cover for the night.

But then to be placed, leading a squad of ten neophytes along with a column of a company of guardsmen… it's not too far outside of the range of his abilities. Reconnoitering unknown areas and linking up with allies to gain intelligence is the barest minimum of a scouts duties, but its still rare for Thaddeus to actively lead allied forces in the field.

It rankles him.

His scouts are spread out on the flanks of the column, their weapons and eyes scanning the surrounding forests as they pass by, their senses open to any and all threats. They're not yet on the level of their older kin, but they are still good.

Behind Thaddeus however are half a squad of Cadians, chosen by Captain Thade as their vanguard. He recognizes their skill; weapons held ready, eyes and ears open to the world around them. But to the scout sergeant's trained eye, they fall short. To him, their movements are clumsy, awkward. Every pass of their lasguns over the surroundings is almost hesitant, missing areas of foliage. Blind spots are uncovered.

Thaddeus stops himself, however. He realizes that he's thinking of them as his own neophytes, beings on their way to become full-fledged Space Marines. These five, and the others with them, are not those beings. They're simple, baseline humans. They're well-trained and motivated. They're Cadian Shock Troops, some of the best guardsmen that Thaddeus has ever known.

They're just not on his level. They probably never will be.

Still doesn't make the situation any better for him.

The Imperial force advances down the path for roughly half an hour before it happens.

It's not enemy contact that draws the column to a halt however, as Thaddeus raises his fist up.

In an instant, all the lasguns around him are up and scanning, while the air fills with the sounds of heavy vehicles squealing to a halt.

"Contact, my lord?" One of them, a male with dusky skin and a marksman's insignia and rifle, asks as he looks at his immediate area to Thaddeus' left.

"No." The scout sergeant says as he looks down at his ground. "I'm standing on rockrete of some sort."

It's an unexpected oddity, especially on a continent that is largely forest and the inhabited settlements are few and far between. But it is an undeniable fact that the ground that Thaddeus is now standing on is in fact rockrete, or a local variation.

Beneath the patina of earth and dirt, Thaddeus can distinctly see the dark grey colour of the material. Moving down into a crouch, he places a gloved hand against the material, brushing the top slightly. He can feel the scouring down to it by the seasons and the elements, meaning that it's been there for a good long while, probably even years.

Looking up from the spot he's crouched over, the scout sergeants sees more of the rockrete stretch out before him, probably for several hundred yards.

"Curious."

"M-my lord?" Another Cadians asks hesitantly, making Thaddeus turn his head to look at him. The man recoils in fear.

Thaddeus can't really blame him. He knows how he looks to mortals. Even crouched down, he is still greater in bulk and height than almost any non-augmented human. His head of wild black hair, combined with his cameleoline cloak give him an almost savage appearance, which isn't helped by the steel colour of his scout armour, along with the four-foot long blade attached to the back of his waist and the extra knife he keeps on his hip. The only other piece of equipment that marks him out as an Astartes is his bolter: Tigrus-Exitus pattern, modified with a drum magazine and silenced and extended barrel.

"Answer this theoretical for me, trooper?" He asks as he stands up, seeing Captain Thade advance towards the vanguard but ignoring him for the moment. "Why build part of a rockrete road in the middle of a forest that is home to deadly xenos race?"

The trooper looks stumped as he thinks on the question, while beside him, his other squadmates think on the question too. Even the tramp of their commanding officer's boots doesn't distract them as he stalks closer.

"Is there a problem? Why have we stopped?"

Indicating with his head, Thaddeus draws Thade next to him to show him the road.

"There's a settlement nearby?" The Cadian officer asks as he pulls out his map, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion at what he sees. "Strange. According to this, we're still a good couple of miles away from our target."

Thaddeus activates his vox-bead.

"Thaddeus to all scouts: eyes up. Anyone have sight of a settlement of any kind?"

It takes a few seconds for any reply to come through, but they all come back negative. No settlements in sight.

"My scouts tell me there's no other settlement in sight, Captain Thade." Thaddeus says. Looking down, he gently touches the rockrete underneath him with the toe of his boot. "This is an entirely random placement for a roadway of any sort. Especially in territory such as this."

Looking around, Thade nods his head at the logic. The practical situation is that the woodland is home to incredibly hostile and dangerous lifeforms, and they are too far from any large sized settlement, especially what they designate as the capital city for this region.

Even with his six-centuries of experience and his gene-enhanced mental abilities, the veteran scout sergeant can't fully create a theoretical as to why this road was sited in the first place, let alone built.

The barking roar of a heavy bolter to his right draws his, and everyone else's, attention, their heads and weapons snapping around to the source of gunfire.

"Neophyte Ollarus." He calls into his vox-bead. "Report."

The gunfire stops before the scout speaks in a cocky tone of voice.

"Hostile wild-life, brother sergeant. Now no longer hostile."

Thaddeus' mouth sets into a thin grimace. "Next time; you report 'contact' before you open fire. Understood, neophyte?"

There's silence from the other end of the vox before Ollarus replies, his ego decidedly deflated.

"Copy that, brother sergeant."

Thaddeus shakes his head. Children…

"Do you think we should follow the road, my lord?" Captain Thade asks, looking between the map in his hands and the road in front of him.

The scout sergeant thinks on the question.

Theoretical: the road could lead to anywhere in the wilds of the woods, right into more creatures.

Practical: roads are built for a reason, so it must lead somewhere.

Moving towards the captain, Thaddeus looks at the map. Quickly using mental calculations, he judges the columns' position from the fort and their meeting point, along with the time spent marching through the woods. He notes the direction of the path and their relative position, which puts them on a near direct path with the town. It would be easy for the column to cut across the woodland diagonally to reach the town, but having a few hundred heavily armed men and vehicles bursting out of the woods might send the wrong message to the locals.

Thaddeus lets out a low groan. He laments that he didn't do more to investigate the surrounding area before those beasts came in.

"Follow the road, until we come to this junction here." He points at the map. "Then it's a straight path to the town. Your Cadians will lead, my scouts will hold back and recon the surrounding area."

The captain nods his head before he turns back to the column, voxing to the rest to carry on moving.

"My lord?"

Turning, Thaddeus sees the dusky skinned marksman has moved towards him, lasrifle held loosely but in way that would allow it to be snapped up to the shooter's shoulder quickly.

"Speak, trooper."

Visibly nervous, the Cadian swallows the lump in his throat before he responds.

"My lord… I think that maybe this road was meant to lead somewhere, or go from somewhere. From the looks of it… they just never got the chance to finish it."

Looking behind him at the stretch of dirt that the column has just come up, Thaddeus agrees with the marksman practical. The road itself is evidence of that idea too. No markings for dividing or directing traffic, no lighting posts, even the surface has been left untended for many years.

The veteran scout nods his head before he locks eyes with the Cadian.

"A solid practical observation, guardsman. What is your name?"

The trooper stands up straighter, even as the column begins to move past the pair.

"I'm Trooper Tychos Litten, my lord."

A small smile, genuine in its intent, creases the paint on Thaddeus' face.

"Carry on, trooper."

---

The sun is approaching its zenith as the column carries on down its chosen path. The finding of the paved road was a blessing, since it allowed the men and machines to more easily traverse the terrain, but it was soon clear that the road was unfinished. Large patches of grass and dirt were pushed up between large broken slabs of rockrete, some of them even seemingly torn up physically by something strong before being hurled aside. The terrain soon becomes uneven and difficult. While it doesn't slow down Bravo's progress, it makes things just that little bit harder for the cargo-6s and the Salamander. Moving forward at a walking pace, the vehicles jolt and jumble with each pothole and lump of rock they cross over.

As they move further into the woods, more signs of human industry in some capacity, both big and small, are revealed. At first, it's small bits of machinery, tools and devices used to prepare of rockrete for use. Mixers, hand tools for digging and spreading; each one of the following a decidedly human construction. Each one is layered with a rich patina of rust and dirt, moss and creeping grass growing over them, showing they've been there for some time. Years.

It took another half a kilometre before they found the remains of the work site. It wasn't anything huge like one of the larger Munitorum construction sites, but it was large enough to suggest a serious attempt at working in the area.

It was also a complete wreck.

A small, squat rectangular hut on wheels had been set up in a cordon made from wire fencing, but both had been completely wrecked. Almost utterly and totally destroyed by something very angry. The only thing remaining of the constructions had been simple frames of both, as decrepit and rusted as the tools. The vehicles inside the cordon were just as bad; their frames smashed beyond recognition of any shape or form the Imperials would be able to recognise. The metal work was rent and torn as if by tooth and claw.

And all around them were the decaying remains of shredded clothing, and skeletal remains left to the open air, equally as broken as the ruins they lay among.

Disconcerting, yes, but not the worst thing any Cadian had ever seen.

But it has left the atmosphere tense. Lasguns sit tighter in hands, stocks are set closer to shoulders. Even the neophytes of the Steel Drakes are more on edge after finding the ruin.

For its not the sight of the ruins and body parts that sets everyone on edge. It's the atmosphere of hate that seems to permeate the area they came across. It's not something any of the column can verbally express in a way they would find to be correct, but it's there. And everyone is all the gladder when they move away from it.

---

Their journey has taken the Imperial column nearly fifteen-kilometres away from their starting point in Fort Tempest. Setting out from oh-six-thirty local time, it has been a near six hour march over rough terrain, interspersed with small bouts of combat to defend against local wildlife. Every man and woman is tired, their feet sore and beginning to blister. Water has been rationed in their canteens, but everyone is beginning to feel the effects of thirst hitting them.

A scout on the left hand side of the column sends a message on the vox to get their attention as they pass a natural embankment along a well-trodden dirt road. The column halts, and Captain Thade, along with the higher ranking officers of the company, and Sergeant Thaddeus scramble up the rise to carefully peer over the top.

Through the line of the trees, not even having to take out any magnoculars, they see their objective.

Resting his hand against an oak to get a better look, Fidor takes in what he can see.

In the cleared area directly in front of him, he can see small farms, probably communal or family owned, fenced off my low wooden fences and gates. Each one is in a horrible state, almost similar to the work site they found earlier. Crops in the form of tall stalked grain and low tubers have been shredded, torn and uprooted, although either by collateral or deliberate, Fidor can't tell.

The captain shifts his focus, taking his eyes past the farmland and up to the wall. Dark granite stone, rising up to five metres, if he has to make a guess. They look sturdy enough for sure, but past the tops of the walls, he can see the dark smoke of burnt material rising above it.

Looking intently at the wall, he can see dark pock-marks in the wall.

"Gunfire, I reckon." Maulville chirps up, looking intently at the marks through a small hand-held scope. "Looks like… flechette rounds?"

"It's not flechette rounds." The Astartes scout sergeant says, looking intently through the scope of his boltgun, as all the Cadian officers turn to look at him. "The patterns aren't consistent with any weapon, human or xenos, I know to use flechettes. Too big, and too concentrated together. They look like… claw marks."

Not saying a word, Fidor turns back to look at the town ahead of him. Reaching into one the pouches and draws out his own pair of magnoculars before raising them to his eyes. Scanning across the top of the wall, he sees no movement. No people looking out for help, no guards looking out for another enemy attack.

The town seems dead from where he is.

"Okay." He says to himself, putting the device away before he turns and begins walking back to the column, the officers and Astartes in tow. When he reaches the waiting column, he speaks loudly.

"Okay, listen up." Fidor calls out as he stands up in the back of the Salamander. "We found the town. For now, it's all quiet, but that doesn't mean shit. I know that many of you have been in situations that started out as a quiet, then got very loud quickly."

A small ripple of laughter goes through the ranks of the troopers as they form up around the Salamander.

"But this will not be a combat operation. This is a reconnaissance mission, fact-finding only. We'll also be providing medical aid and support, if the populace needs it… Regardless if they're human or not."

The words are hard to say. Out of all the truths of the Imperium, one is the most simple for the Guardsmen to follow: destroy the alien. They come in a myriad of horrifying shapes and alien race that humanity has encountered has been hostile in some shape or form, with only a tiny majority being considered anything close to 'clean'.

But here, on this world seemingly so far outside of the Imperium, he had been told by his colonel who had been told by an Astartes Chapter Master, they could ill afford to make enemies. Better to spin the situation to their advantage now and use it later when they rejoin the main crusade

"So remember; we shoot only when shot at, anyone with a weapon is a valid target. Watch your fire. We'll be going in armed, but not aggressive. Father Constantine, are you ready?"

A figure steps forward from among the press of troopers. Dressed in a black cassock with large red trimming on the hems, itself lined with thick black High Gothic script, Father Constantine, is the oldest man in the company, perhaps the whole of the 598th. Well into the latter half of a century, no-one can really be sure how far, the priest is still a bear of a man, standing a head taller than the Cadians around him. A long, waist-length, salt and pepper coloured beard is offset by the close-cropped white head of hair, while his eyes, the same violet as any Cadian, burn brightly beneath a pair of thick bushy eyebrows.

Father Constantine bows his head solemnly.

"I am ready to perform my duty."

Fidor nods in reply, really unsure about what can else can be said. They're Cadians, troopers, guardsmen, lasmen, soldiers. They can dig a slit-trench, prep a building for combat, use virtually every weapon the Imperium makes for them, and, above all fight.

To come and save people, as a main priority, is… strange.

Still, orders are orders.

"First platoon will lead, with Second ready to provide support, in either style. The rest of the company will remain here on standby until we're called up. Lieutenant Deckard, we clear?"

"Clear as crystal, sir." The first lieutenant sings with a warm smile. "By your leave, captain?"

Fidor nods his head, prompting Lieutenant Deckard to turn around and begin calling out orders to her platoon. Forty troopers detach themselves from the column, moving to the right of the line, forming a gap to allow one of the cargo-6s to move out with them, all of them heading for a flatter part of the embankment.

Moving back to his original place on the embankment, Fidor drops into a crouch as he watches Father Constantine emerge from the woods, followed by Deckard, first squad, then the cargo-6 behind, and the rest of the platoon forming around the transport.

It's a slow, almost torturous walk from the woods to the edge of the town, the miniature column advancing at a non-threatening walking pace. Weapons are holstered or slung, but even at the distance he's at, Fidor can feel the nervous energy radiating off his men.

Deckard speaks up, her voice coming through to the captain's ear. "Valiant Actual, this is One. We're approaching the main gate now. Looks like it's been smashed open. Advise?"

Fidor grimaces at the words before he speaks. "One, this is Actual. Keep advancing. Slow and easy now. That's all you can do. How copy?"

"One copies all. Out."

Beside him, Fidor hears movement, slight but deliberate.

He glances to his side. It's one of the Astartes Scouts, his form covered almost fully by his cameleoline cloak, while in his large paws, he holds a long barrelled sniper rifle, which he is currently peering through the scope of.

Even next to a neophyte, a being on the way to being a full-fledged Astartes, Fidor still feels small. Even though he's seen them die…

"See anything?" He asks quietly, not taking his eyes of First Platoon as they make their way to the town.

"I'm not seeing any movement on the wall." The scout replies, not breaking his concentration from his scope. "No guards on the wall, no people coming to see us."

The scout turns his head slightly, letting Fidor see the pale-green eyes of the being for the first time.

"Theoretical: With all the noise we've made… wouldn't someone come up and investigate?"

Turning to look at the town in front of them, Fidor swallows. He knows what the reason could be… and he hopes to the Emperor that he's wrong.

"Friends!" Father Constantine's voice booms across the farmland, reaching the ears of the Cadians in the tree-line. "We come in the name of the God-Emperor of Mankind, and of the Imperium of Man! We have aid and are here to help you. Do not be shy! Come forth!"

Even across the field, the preachers voice is filled with power and compassion that has easily swayed many people to his side once before. His is a voice that has made a rioting crowd on Calduri drop their weapons and desist their actions. The same voice that, when faced with a tide of a blood-mad cultists and the heretical masters, led the guardsmen of the 598th and many others in a hymn to buoy their hearts and lead them to victory.

But now, all it gets is the fluttering of wings as a small group of carrion birds fly over their heads from the gate.

'Oh, God-Emperor, please let me be wrong…'

Fidor activates his microbead. "Valiant One, this is Actual. Tell your driver to try his horn."

"Copy that, Actual."

It takes a few seconds, but soon the space is filled with the loud, almost bestial roar of a Munitorum transport blasting it's horn three times.

The reply? A veritable cloud of carrion birds, of nearly all shapes and sizes, take wing, the fluttering of their wings and the cawing of their beaks filling the air as they're disturbed from their roosts at the loud intrusion. They fly over the tops of the walls, far above the heads of the Cadians who stand in shock in front of the broken gate, before they return back to their roosts.

"Oh, Terra, no..." Fidor hear Maulville moan out, the man already guessing what's happened.

"Valiant One, get your men inside. Double time." The captain turns to his men. "Everyone! On your feet! We're going inside, now!"

---

She's tired, cold and hungry. Her throat hurts from crying and calling out, and her legs hurt from crouching in the bucket for too long.

Night made way to morning, and no help came. Her momma and papa didn't return.

She wants to scream out, to cry out. To say she's sorry to her momma and papa for doing anything wrong, for having them leave her like this. She didn't mean to do whatever she did! She's just sorry.

She wants to be warm again, to wear her favourite blue-dress and to have her bunny again. She wants food, whatever's being made, and she wants to be able to sleep in a bed again.

She doesn't want to be in the well.

She doesn't want to smell the horrible smell. The same smell that momma used to have on her when she came back from her hunting trips, before she washed it off with rose-water or lilac. It's coming from above her, and she's been smelling it all night now that it's probably the only thing she can smell now.

The crows, the ravens are all squawking above the well, their wings and cries making a horrible noise, that she just wants to stop. She tried to cover her ears, both of them, when they started, but they wouldn't stop, won't stop.

Carmen wants to get out of the well.

Her Faunus hearing makes her ears prick up slightly, as she thinks she hears a voice calling out from somewhere. But wherever they are, she can't hear the words properly.

"Please.." She croaks out, eyes beginning to water.

Then the roar fills the air, then again a second, and a third time. Carmen cries out as she covers her ears again at the horrendous noise the birds make as they're disturbed from what they're doing. Looking up, she sees the flock spiralling, turning, flying above the town at random before they quickly make their way down to their roosts.

Carmen is confused. That sound was like nothing she'd heard the night before, nothing like the sounds the Grimm had made. But it's still scary, nonetheless.

SQUAWK.

Perched right on top of the well, there's a strangely large crow, with beady red eyes, looking down at her. It tilts it's head from one side to another, before, with another cry, it flies off, leaving her alone in the well again.

Carmen shrinks down on herself.

She's tired, cold and hungry. And she wants to sleep.

---

The smell hits him.

It is immediately, viscerally familiar, a scent he's known nearly all his life.

The sickly-sweet smell of decaying meat, and the acrid metallic tang of fear.

He knows the smell, and the horror that accompanies it, from the many worlds he's campaigned on, and even his own lost home world.

Death. The guardsman's closest companion.

The gate they pass through has been smashed asunder, wrecked beyond repair by a great bulk, or many great bulks, throwing themselves through it. The gap created is large enough for the squad to pass through unhindered and the cargo-6 behind them to follow suit.

Inside… a massacre. It's the only word that springs to Tycho's mind.

The town would have been idyllic the day before. The sort of town the Munitorum would advertise as a reward for long service served. The sort of town that would be ready and waiting for any guardsman that came through the hell of the Emperor's wars alive. The sort of town any man and woman would dream of living in. Small homes, some no more than two stories tall, with stone walls and wooden doors, slate roofs and simple garden plots.

The houses closest to the gate have had their doors smashed to kindling, the stone around them smashed out in places. Cautiously and silently, Tychos turns and motions to the door with his hands, in Cadian battle-sign, to two of the troopers behind him.

Check inside. Be careful.

Nodding their heads, the two troopers detach from the small column and, lasrifles raised, they enter the house one at a time. Inside, Tychos can hear the pair moving around, their hard soled boots scuffing wooden flooring before the pair come back out.

Their lasguns hang loosely in their hands, and their faces have become pale.

"What did you find?" Lieutenant Deckard calls out, making her way over to the pair, her laspistol and power sword held loosely in her hands.

One of the pair just looks at the floor, his eyes unfocused. The other one, a trooper with a nasty scar running down the middle of his face, swallows what was in his throat.

"There… there was a family in there. And they… they've been…"

He suddenly turns away and vomits loudly, being careful not to get the liquid on his flak armour.

He begins to sob. "So much blood. Oh, Emperor Above… the bodies… were so small."

Not saying a word, Tychos steps past the trooper, leaving Deckard to deal with him. He doesn't even go through the door before what he sees stops him cold.

The interior of the building is dark, both from the shadows cast and the colour of the wood, but even in the low light, Tychos can easily see the large number of scratch marks in the flooring. And he can also see the dark stains that seep from a side room into the central room.

Bile rises in Tychos' throat before he turns away, swallowing it with a grimace. He's seen this level of death and murder before, enough that he should be desensitised to it.

But seeing the idyllic setting, a place he has had dreams of reaching himself, triggers something in him. That… and the small hand he saw sticking out of the doorway…

"Everyone off the streets!" Lieutenant Deckard calls out, her voice duelling with the sound of approaching engines and feet. "The rest of the company is coming in! Clear the way!"

The troopers in the settlement quickly scramble out of the way, climbing over low fences and walls or simple going through open gates or holes into once pristine gardens, or simply stepping off the street as the platoons own cargo-6 trundled into a place out of the way.

The first through the breached gate were the Astartes scouts, weapons up and trained, even as they run past the watching Cadians. In their cameleoline cloaks trailing behind them and covering their faces, they look like metallic and heavily armed spectres. Their leader, boltgun held low as he jogs into the settlement, slows down as he surveys the carnage around him, even as he orders the warriors under his command to fan out.

Soon, nearly all hearing is lost as the powerful, promethium engine of the Salamander propels the vehicle through the gate, its tracks clattering loudly on the stone tiles of the settlement as it runs past the troops, the other five cargo-6s close behind. The gunners in the cabs swing their heavy stubbers round, scanning the area, as the rest of the company fills the settlement.

The mad dash into the town slows to a trickle as each man and woman takes in the full scale of what had occurred in the town.

Climbing down the back of the Salamander, Fidor looks around forlornly at the scene spread out around him and his company. Houses are broken into, destroyed in some places while others have been burnt down. Bodies litter the place, no two… brutalised in the same manner. Bodies in all shapes and sizes, different clothing, from what can be seen under the blood and gore.

"What in the Emperor's name happened here?" He asks himself absently, even as he covers his mouth and nose to block out the foul smell.

The deliberately heavy footfalls behind him tell who is approaching him.

"I'm amazed that you of all people would ask that question, Captain Thade." Sergeant Thaddeus says simply, raising his bolter to rest against his shoulder, barrel pointed to the sky behind him.

If it's a barb, Fidor bites down a retort. For he knows that the Astartes is right.

This is death, plain and simple.

"First platoon!" He calls out, turning to look at the soldiers who entered the town first. "Sitrep. Now!"

Deckard nods to Tychos, telling him that's his cue to answer. Moving quickly, the trooper breaks into a run, moving around the troopers in his path and avoiding a few bodies on the ground that are as much trampled as they are eviscerated to stand before his commanding officer.

"Sir!" He says as he stands to attention, lasrifle against his chest. "We entered the village, as ordered, and we came across the habs that surrounded the main gate. Sir… there's bodies… everywhere."

"Yes, I can see that." Uncle responds testily, looking around at the town before he turns back to Tychos. "What about the bodies? Anything you can tell us?"

The trooper shakes his head. "Not a lot, sir. The bodies are… hell, I've seen artillery strikes that left prettier corpses. These bodies are just…"

"Eviscerated." Sergeant Thaddeus speaks up, his tone solemn as he looks around at the village, his eyes taking in the scale easily.

At his side, Captain Fidor nods his head. "Okay. There might still be survivors."

"Captain Thade…" The Astartes sergeant begins before he's cut off by the Cadian officer raising a hand.

"There's always a chance, no matter how small, that we could find someone." The captain says, looking at the Astartes firmly in the eye.

For a moment, nothing is said as Sergeant Thaddeus simply looks at Captain Fidor square in the face, his eyes unblinking as the Astarte's face darkens, even underneath all the camouflage paint.

"I suggest you watch your tone with me, captain."

The voice that comes from the sergeant is chilling to a level that Tychos has only known once before. It's akin to the growl of a predatory animal warning a lesser animal to keep away from it lest it be slaughtered. It makes Tychos, and the other troopers present, take several steps backwards in fear.

But Captain Fidor keeps his gaze, not backing down and not wavering.

Not saying another word, Sergeant Thaddeus draws himself to his full height, bolter braced in his large hands, before he turns and stalks off, talking into his vox-bead in short clipped tones. Almost instantly, the other scouts move away from where they are and join him as they all move as one away from the main body of Cadians, vanishing into the town.

When they're gone from sight, it takes Fidor several seconds to let out a shuddering breath, sweat beading on his face, his skin turning pale at what just went down and how close he had come to avoiding something very unpleasant done to his person.

"Sir?" Tychos asks as he takes a hesitant step towards his commander. "Uncle? Are you all right?"

When Fidor speaks, it's with the voice of a man very relieved to be alive.

"Tychos, whatever you do: do not let me do that again. That's an order."

All the trooper can do is nod his head at his captain's words as Tychos waits for Fidor to compose himself again. Thankfully, it doesn't take long.

"Okay. Here's what we'll do." Fidor says firmly, once more in control of his faculties. "First platoon will push to the centre of town, look for any survivors there. Second and third go past, to the river, see if anyone is holed up there. Fourth will act as security outside the gate. Get all the trucks into the centre."

"What about the Astartes, sir?" Tychos asks, looking in the direction the eleven warrior-scouts left in, no sign of them now.

"Leave them to their own." Fidor replies. "They've got their own mission, and we've got ours."

Tychos nods his head as his commanding officer beings giving orders to his juniors, his voice mingling with the sounds of the cargo-6s moving, their engines growling, the sounds of orders being shouted, and the ever present cawing of carrion birds.

---

"You should have reprimanded him, brother sergeant."

The statement is simple and curt, almost catching Thaddeus by surprise. But it doesn't, as he knows that one of his neophytes would say it. Neophyte Karis just had to be the one to say it.

Thaddeus turns to look at the scout, regarding him. Compared to his fellows, Karis is thinner, his form still heavily muscles from the gene-therapy and training, but still slight. It makes him quicker than the others, of that there is no doubt, which makes him very lethal in certain environments, especially with his shotgun. Thin faced, with close-cropped black hair and pale green eyes.

He'll make a good assault marine.

"Should I, Neophyte?" Thaddeus responds, turning back to lead the squad through the village, boltgun held ready but gently in his hands. "And why is that?"

"He's Astra Militarum, sir. He's got no right to question, let alone talk back, to one such as you."

The sergeant lets out a short, shallow chuckle at the comment.

"'One such as me'? No. No, I don't think so."

He doesn't need to look behind him to see the confusion on his charges faces.

"I'm confused, brother sergeant." Ollarus says, which draws a small snigger from his fellows.

"Wouldn't be the first time…" That was Justus. Sniper, marked for tactical squad.

Thaddeus rolls his eyes.

"A man who can meet a glare from an Astartes with a glare of his own is worthy of commendation. Not a reprimand." Thaddeus says sagely. "Besides, the Cadians have their orders, we have ours. I will not begrudge an officer, mortal or Astartes, for following their duty."

The Cadians had been tasked with aiding the people of this town. That was the information that they have been given and, even though it is out of their regular remit, Thaddeus sees it as an honourable mission. Reclusiarch Akios would certainly think so.

For the Astartes scouts, their mission is more clandestine in nature. This is an unknown world. As members of the Tenth Company of the Steel Drakes, it falls to Thaddeus and his neophytes to discover all they can about this strange new world.

Orders had been specific: locate any local nations, governments, tribes, or similar groupings of intelligent life planetside. Discern from those groups which has the most power and which is most likely to aid the Imperials. Ascertain which groups or members of the groups would be willing to meet with emissaries from the Imperium, and then create a connection.

Not the simplest of orders since, by their nature, Astartes scouts are not diplomats. Hence why they were detached to the Cadian Shock Troops stationed planetside.

Right now, however, a feeling is gnawing away at Sergeant Thaddeus' gut. And he does not like it.

Moving away from the hustle and bustle of the Cadians, Thaddeus takes his scouts to a secluded area of the town. The ruin here is just the same as in the entrance to the settlement. Habs have been broken in to, some burnt down, while butchery is everywhere.

"Spread out." He commands. "Search the area."

Noiselessly, the ten scouts move out, weapons raised as they look around the area. Meanwhile, Thaddeus moves towards one of the bodies in front of him.

It was once a male, and from seeing the face, it was human too. No doubt about that. But everything from the chest down has been eviscerated, their internal organs, destroyed almost beyond recognition, are sprawled on the floor around him. Amongst all the dried blood, Thaddeus can see the ruined stumps of the ribcage, while beneath all the carnage, he can see the bones of the man's spine. He doesn't need to touch the body to know it's gone cold, the skin taking on a greenish-blue tint as the gases in the body begin to swell the parts of the body that are intact.

It's not the worst sight that the veteran Astartes scout has seen, but it's certainly not pretty to look.

"Looks like he's taken a couple dozen shotgun rounds." Karis says from behind Thaddeus.

The destruction is similar. But it's not the same.

"No. Look at the way the organs are torn." Thaddeus says as he drops into a crouch, nearly resting himself entirely on the heels of his boots. "These have clearly been done with a cutting implement. Or something equally sharp."

"A chainblade?" Karis asks as he too drops into a kneel next to the body.

Thaddeus isn't sure. The destruction is the same as that from a chainsword used repeatedly on the person, but something… doesn't fit.

"They look like the marks made by Tyranid claws." Justus says as he appears behind the pair, his eyes locked on the corpse they are investigating.

Not saying a word, Thaddeus nods his head. That's the assessment he was reaching with the evidence. The brutality of the strikes matches their formation and size.

But it couldn't be Tyranids. They would have known about that as soon as they entered the system. Their bio-ships would have been everywhere, and that's not forgetting that the planet would have been in the process of, or even would have been fully consumed by now.

No, this is something else.

Lifting his head, the Astartes sergeant begins scanning the area taking in what facts he can from the settlement he's in and from what he knows from the reconnaissance reports.

Stout walls surround it, high enough to eclipse a dreadnought in height, but not thick enough to protect against any heavy armaments, nor have any gun mounts been sighted on the walls themselves, so to say this place is a military outpost is incorrect.

The north-eastern side of the settlement is open to the river, which itself is nearly bordered by the heavy forest of this land, a serious design flaw in a true military settlement, unless one is part of a chain of such outposts for supply and reinforcement. None of which Thaddeus can see.

So, for all intents and purposes, this place is purely a civilian settlement.

"Theoretical." Thaddeus says out loud as he stands back to his full height. "Given what we know about this settlement: the walls, the lack of serious defensive firepower, the openness of the side of the settlement facing the river. What does that tell us?"

Karis answers. "The settlement had concerns of defence against a more primal adversary than other… people." He's silent for a moment as he thinks on his answer. "Practical: hostile wildlife, possibly comparable to that of Fenris or of our own chapter world."

"Your chapter world, more like." Thaddeus hears Justus mutter under his breath, the neophyte hailing from another recruiting world than Karis or Thaddeus himself. But the sergeant ignores it. There are more pressing issues at hand.

"A solid practical." He says as he stoops down to look at the corpse again. "But something is missing."

"Brother sergeant?" Karis asks.

"Even the dracons of Sigilis V would glut themselves on so many corpses. The territorial ones would take some to use as a larder for mating season." Thaddeus says coldly, not taking his eyes off the corpse in front of him. "None of these corpses have been touched by teeth. Only the carrion birds have had their meals."

Thaddeus turns to look at the pair of neophytes behind him, his eyes unblinking pools of brown.

"Whatever creatures attacked this settlement, they were done so only to sow destruction and death. The greenskins and the drukhari are the only beings who do so, but their intents for doing so are different: orks attack for loot, slaves and delight. Drukhari do the same, but for the latter two reasons."

Standing back up, Thaddeus looks around at the portion of the settlement he is in.

"No. This was not the act of simple wild animals. This attack was orchestrated by something. Or someone."

---

The search of the slaughtered settlement is a sombre affair. Even for the battle-hardened scions of Cadia, the sights they see in the town are sobering. As the first three platoons of B Company advance through the town, the scale of destruction increases. The Fall was brutal in its intensity and scope, no part of Cadia being untouched by the Despoilers curs. The destruction of Cadia was calculated, orchestrated and carried out, even on a level no sane man can understand, by a horde of intelligent beings.

The destruction of the town is more akin to a force of nature.

Artillery hits on buildings vary with the shell type. High explosive rounds set to detonate on impact will blow up a wall, part of a roof, or both if the gunner is lucky. Delayed fuses can blow out half of the walls and most floors. High-explosive armour piercing create neat in whichever part of the building is hit, turning the interior into a mess of hot brass shrapnel and other fragments, while white phosphorus burns the stonework, filling the inside with blinding, cloying smoke, forcing a fighter to stagger out confused into waiting guns. The unlucky ones would be burnt alive.

Big or small, broad or narrow, all artillery barrages leave their mark.

Even Archenemy artillery still follows set patterns of fire from prepared battery positions.

The destruction of the town is singular and wild. Almost nothing is spared, seemingly no building unbroken by whatever attacked this town. Walls are scoured with deep claw marks, as if the attackers intended to try and bring the buildings down by hand. Doors and window frames have been smashed to kindling, allowing whatever attacked entry.

And everywhere is horror.

If they were killed by artillery fire or even simple gun fire, Tychos would imagine it would be easier for him and the others to look at, for its something that they've seen many times well before. Even the few that have faced the horrors of the Tyranid hive-fleets know that any attack from the beasts leaves little in the way of bodies. The Archenemy finds use for bodies too.

But this…?

As First, Second and Third platoons make their way through to the settlement's centre, the scale of what happens becomes apparent in the town.

The first bodies that are found are found either within their own habs or just outside of their abodes, telling that they were caught unawares. The slaughter is indiscriminate; men, women, children, old people. All have been butchered. It's hard for Tychos to tell if the ones who died together were luckier than the ones who died by themselves.

Resistance is evident; bodies clutching weapons in the forms of axes, swords, knifes. A few stub-guns are present too, but they're simple things; revolvers, bolt- and lever-action rifles, even a few automatic rifles too, although none where evidently of any good against the attack.

The advance into the town centre is quick, smooth and cautious. Lasguns are up and ready, stocks against shoulders and eyes trained down sights. The cargo-6s have been withdrawn to a makeshift corral with Fourth Platoon outside of the walls as safety, leaving the Salamander to act as fire-support, the tracked vehicle slowly rumbling up the cobbled streets, its metal treads grinding against the stone.

As they advance, the urban drills ingrained in every Cadian takes over. Houses are entered in pairs, lasguns and frag grenades ready. But they're not necessary in this place. Death has already visited.

One squad finds a pair of males wearing a facsimile of flak armour, pressed back to back, chipped and broken weapons in their hands. They've been gutted and eviscerated, their armour offering no protection against their attackers. The squad leader orders the corpses separated and taken outside.

It takes roughly five minutes for the first burnt dwelling to be found. All that remains of the building are blackened walls of stone and burnt wood. The squad investigating the hab find the bodies of what they assume to be the dwellers outside the abode, roughly a few yards away, telling them that the fire was started after they left.

Another burnt hab tells a grimmer tale. Third squad from Second Platoon are the ones who find the discovery. Trooper Carturs is forced to break down a stuck door to enter the abode, however, as soon as the door hits the floor, she wishes she hadn't. Four burnt and charred corpses, two adults and two children, are inside, a family, huddled together. At first, looking at the blackened, manically grinning corpse, she thinks that group was simply taken by the fire. But drawing closer, she sees the distinct glint of metal in the hands of the parents.

The implication of what she finds makes her sob in grief and anger.

And it's a feeling shared by so, so many in the company.

---

"Frak, this is depressing as shit." Reinhardt says out loud as he slams another door shut behind him as he exits what used to be a small clothes merchant, a large bundle of cloth held in his thick arms which he deposits in front of Lieutenant Deckard. "The owner shot hisself. Can't say I blame him."

Tychos watches as Deckard nods her head in response. "This place is a ghost town. No-one's reported any sign of anyone still around, so we'll go to twenty percent watch. Everyone else; get these bodies ready for the pyre."

As if to underscore her words, the sound of splintering wood reaches everyone's ears. Turning around, Tychos and the others sees a squad take axes and prybars to what would have been a vending stall, the simple wooden construction holding fruit and vegetables in better times. Now, the foodstuff is spilled across the ground, trampled and smashed to pulp. No-one wants to guess where the owner is, although everyone has a vague idea.

First and Second platoons are in what Tychos has to guess to be the settlement's centre, if the large several hundred metre square expanse of cobblestones surrounding a simple but large well, in turn surrounded by various habs and shops, is any indication.

Deckard speaks up again. "Everyone split into fireteams then spread out. Take some cloth and use that to shroud the bodies. Gloves and respirators on if you need it. We don't want anyone getting sick. Call out if you find anyone alive." The first lieutenant pauses. "If."

No-one says a word as they each move forward, Reinhardt and a few other troopers already cutting the cloth into large strips with their knives.

"How many people do you think were in this town?" Sophia asks, taking Tychos by surprise as she places some fabric in his hands. "Several hundred?"

Tychos shrugs as he checks the fabric, not wanting to actually look at the woman.

"So there's got be at least a few people who made it out." The voice she uses is as filled with hope as it is with fear. It's the voice of a woman who wants the best but fears the worst.

Tychos can't bring himself to look at the specialist.

"Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment." The sour, raspy voice that comes from behind is what makes Tychos turn around.

Trooper Kian Vorster had once been a nice man to talk too. Not exactly the friendliest or the most easy going trooper Tychos knew, but he had been a pleasant sort of person to be around. The Fall had changed that. Now, the pale, thin, drawn face was marred by a large black Aquila tattooed across his forehead and down to the tops of his cheeks. His face isn't the only thing that's had a makeover.

Sophia looks at Kian in annoyance. "It's not hope, Kian. It's basic statistics. A place this size? There's no way everyone could be killed. Some have to have gotten out."

The trooper's reply is mirthless, sardonic laugh.

"Look around us, Sophia. This place reeks of death. There's blood and corpses everywhere, and fire has gutted so many of these habs. This isn't the place for the living."

A part in Tychos' mind snaps as he rounds on Kian, stepping directly into the man's face.

"Then why the bloody hell are we here if we aren't the living?"

Even though Tychos has a full half head of height on him, Kian smiles back at the man.

"Oh, we're not alive, Tychos, my old boy. We've been dead since we lost our world." The trooper spreads out his arms wide. "This is the Emperor's Divine Punishment."

Inside his mouth, Tychos feels his teeth grind together in annoyance. Kian's been slipping, becoming more and more nihilistic for every passing cycle since The Fall. His mood has gotten worse and his manner has gotten worse too.

"A prudent man forseeth the evil, and hideth himself; but the simple pass on and are punished." The tattooed trooper says, that smile still on his face. The look pisses off Tychos even more.

"So at least you admit you're a coward." Tychos growls out, a small smile of his own coming to his mouth as he watches Kian's smile drops to be replaced by a glare, looking ready to retort.

Thankfully, Lieutenant Deckard is still close. "Hey! You two! Get a shift on."

Glaring at Tychos, Kian turns away sharply, stalking past one of the corpses on the ground as he moves to join his squad.

To his side, Tychos sees Sophia looking down forlornly, holding one of the bundles of cloth in her hands.

"You okay?" He asks as he steps towards her.

Sophia shakes her head. "He's right. It's stupid of me to think we'll find anyone alive here. This place is…"

A hand on her shoulder stops Sophia in her speech, causing her to look up at Tychos, his violet eyes looking into hers.

"Just… have faith."

It's not much and the man knows it, but at the moment, it seems to be the best thing he can say to her.

"The Emperor delivers."

Father Constantine would be a better speaker, Tychos knows, but he had to say something. And judging from the returning smile on Sophia's face, it was the right thing to say.

"You're right." She says as she nods her head. "Let's… let's do this, and then see about helping anyone else."

Deciding to move in the direction that Kian stalked off in, Tychos moves to the closest body to him and Sophia. Like the others they've come across, it's been horribly mangled, savaged. The once-man is missing his right arm, and his torso and stomach have been violently ripped open several times, his entrails pooled around the corpse. His face, bloated now, is locked in a horrible rictus cry of fright, the sight of his killer probably remaining in his eyes, if they hadn't been pecked out by a carrion eater.

Silently, Tychos moves the sheet in his hands and lays it over the cadaver as he kneels down, a funeral shroud being the least the man deserves.

He doesn't stir from his position, even as he hears Sophia's feet tread past him to another corpse. He doesn't stir as he sucks in a small breath of air, fighting the anger that wells inside him. They had been so close the whole time! They could have done something!

Jax did! Even if she did it with a Thunderbolt, she still did something.

They were the Imperial Guard, for Throne's sake. What's the point of being called 'The Guard' if you can't protect anyone?

Stiffly, Tychos pushes himself to his feet, intending to follow in Sophia's direction. He takes one step forward, before the quick, black blur races past his face.

SQUAWK!

"Gah!" Tychos calls out in instinctual shock, taking a full step backwards as the carrion bird flies past his face. Turn, he looks at the animal as it settles on the lip of the well.

It's a crow, or at least, something local that's close to being a crow. It's large, larger than a crow has any right to be, and its eyes are an evil shade of red that peer at the Cadian intently as it finds a perch on the stone of the well.

"What the frak?" Tychos asks out loud, even as he hears Kian make a snide comment from somewhere behind him.

"That's one brave bird." Sophia says from close behind him. "He didn't give a shit about you being there."

"A pet, maybe?" Tychos asks, turning to look at the woman.

SQUAWK!

The bird cries out again, making Tychos to turn and look at it.

"Maybe." Sophia responds. "Probably wants attention. Best to leave it."

Almost on cue, the crow flies up into the air, performing a circle around the well before settling back onto the lip of the well again, looking directly at Tychos.

"See. A pet." Sophia says before she turns away and walks off. "Probably wants a treat or something. Leave it. Let's get to work."

Tychos nods his head, but he just can't help but look at the bird as it lifts itself into the air again and flies around the lip of the well once more.

SQUAWK!

---

The riverside is a mess, in the simplest sense. Not that the Cadians expected anything less. Third platoon followed the trail of activity, the death and destruction like markers for the searching guardsmen.

It leads to a small dock yard, with wooden jetties stretching out about fifteen feet or so into the slow moving current of the river. Wooden boats of simple but hardy design and manufacture sit either tied to the jetties or beached on the shore. Many have been smashed to kindling or simply wrecked.

The number of bodies here is maddening. Scores of them, nearly over a hundred or so, fill the area. Torn to pieces and ravaged, they litter the ground and some even fill the jetties, staining the wood and the dirt of both dark with their blood. The scent is nauseating, forcing some troopers to fit their respirators on lest they vomit.

It tells a grim story: with only one direction to go, nearly everyone wished to cross the river to safety. Many were not able to. Some might have, but that's not for anyone to say.

With only low murmurs of despair or anger, the Cadians get to work.

Not caring that his robes are being stained with congealed blood and mud, Father Constantine kneels down next to another corpse as he says a prayer for the dead to another poor soul, gone to the Emperor's side.

"Him on Earth, Father of All Mankind; even in this hour and place, far from your holy light, grant your mercy to this poor, departed soul, known only to you, and those who loved him. See him safely through the afterlife, and let his soul be granted the peace he was denied in life. In your name, we pray. Amen."

"Amen." The soldiers accompanying repeat as they dip their heads.

Cadians take death seriously, in their own way. Living, or having lived, in the only sector of humanity in the most cursed area of space, gives a person… a certain perspective on death.

On Cadia, as long as a person had a name that could be said or read, then the person was remembered. With space at a premium, the honoured dead, those chosen for actual burial, had a careful vigil held over them by priests of the Imperial Cult. When the name on a grave, or section of a graveyard, was deemed illegible, the dead was considered to have been forgotten, their honour gone, so the remains were exhumed and placed in a communal pit, ready for the next honoured dead.

But here, on this world far beyond the Imperial truth and light, Constantine finds himself troubled.

He knows not a single person he is praying over, not a single name is known to him as he watches the body of the young man be lifted up in a sheet and placed on the ever growing pyre, ready to be cremated.

It is a test of his faith, is what he tells himself. To be tested in the simplest way; to see if his faith still holds, even in this dark place. To be surrounded by the nameless dead.

Even dead guardsmen have nametags to read.

Standing up, Constantine randomly picks a direction to walk in. There are so many bodies that to pick a direction would see him driven mad with trying to organise them all in his mind, so he simply turns to his left and heads towards a partially smashed building. Inside, through the broken wall, he can make out a pair of slumped forms on the floor.

He lets out a weary sigh as he walks towards the ruined abode. Is it a parent and a child, clutched together in their final hour, the former futilely shielding the latter with their body? Is it two lovers who wished their final moments to once more be in each other's arms? Or is it simply a pair of strangers who did not wish to die alone?

The first thing Constantine notices as he enters the hole in the wall is the bullet casings littering the floor. They clink and clatter against his feet and the floor as he steps inside, a great many of them surrounding the fallen pair.

Then he sees the pair fully. A man and a woman, the former taller than the other by a full head. It's hard to make out what clothes they wear, stained as they are with so much blood and dirt, but one thing is noticeable; they died protecting each other, the weapons in their hands telling that tale. The man has a revolving-cylinder stub pistol, while the woman has a lever-action rifle, double barrelled by the looks of it. Simple weapons, but potent. Against the right foe.

Clearly they were not used against the right foe.

Constantine lets out a world weary sigh.

"The blood of martyrs is the seed of the Imperium." He intones as he carefully reaches out and touches the body of the woman, wishing to move her into a more easy position for removal.

Then he stops as her head lolls sideways, surprising him. Almost as much as the large pair of hare-like ears that loll down with it.

An abhorrence, a mutant. Part of Constantine's mind is repulsed by what he is touching; the form of humanity is divine, teaches the Imperial Creed. The mutant is to be abhorred and rejected, outright destroyed even. Only those species considered to be 'abhuman', those just short of attainting humanity, were considered 'clean' by the Ecclesiarchy. The female in front of him is not part of any such group.

And yet… he mourns for her, nonetheless. She is alone, at death's very door, among the blood and death of a town she called home, among people she knew and befriended, possibly. Looking down, he sees a small band of metal on one of her fingers, the same band shared on the hand of the man behind her, and it is clear to see that she knew love too.

"Only in death are all judged equal…." Constantine says forlornly.

Reaching up, his fingers press slightly into her neck, to check for a pulse.

In a snap, two things happen. First, the abhuman's eyes open wide, the pupils shrunk in fear, showing the grey colour of her eyes, bloodshot and strained. Secondly, the rifle that is close to her hand is snatched up, the barrel pressed against Constantine's chest.

"Shit! Father!" The soldier accompanying Constantine calls out as he moves to approach the hole, his lasgun ready. But the priest waves him off.

Calmly, the priest looks the female in the eye.

"Calm yourself, child. I am Father Constantine, Preacher of the Imperial Creed and Priest of the God-Emperor. I come in peace, and mean you no harm."

Indecision plays on the abhuman's face, as below he can hear the gun rattle slightly in her grip. But, with the speed of a felled limb, the rifle drops away and the female sags slightly in Constantine's grip.

She opens her mouth, and Constantine braces for what will come out. A curse, a plea for aid, a hidden weapon…

The female speaks… in clear, but accented Low Gothic.

"Car… Carmen…"

"What?" Constantine asks, taken aback. The female's voice is rough, sore from lack of fluid, making her breath ragged and scratchy. But she speaks again.

"Carm… Carm… in… Well…"

Constantine tries to understand. "Car… Carmine… Well?"

She shakes her head, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"C-Carmen… IN… Well…"

It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in.

Constantine's head snaps around to look at the trooper accompanying him.

"Do we have any squads near a well in town?! Hurry!"

"On it!" The trooper replies as he begins fiddling with the microbead in his helmet.

---

The crow cries out again as it flies around the mouth of the well again.

SQUAWK! SQUAWK!

Tychos just stands there, transfixed and confused by what he is seeing.

"Tychos, just shoot the damn thing and help us already!" Sophia cries out as she stands next to another body.

Her complaint is just waved down as Tychos takes a tentative step towards the crow above the well, the bird once more performing a loop around the mouth of the well before, suddenly, it moves to the middle of the well and dives straight down before shooting back up just as quickly.

"What the frak…?" The Cadian asks himself as he moves to the well, watching the crow repeat the same act again before it comes to sit on the lip of the well.

SQUAWK!

The carrion bird gives off one more cry before it flaps its wings and flies away, leaving Tychos standing in place, partway in front of the well.

He lets out a weary sigh.

What was he thinking? That it was a sign from the God-Emperor, to grant his request that they could find someone in this Throne forsaken mess?

'Cut the shit, Tychos,' He tells himself. 'You're not important enough to warrant a miracle.'

The flutter of wings above his head draws his attention. Looking up, he sees the crow perched on top of a lamppost. And if a bird could give him a look that said it was pissed off, it was doing that right now.

SQUAWK!

Tychos narrows his eyes at the bird in confusion, before he turns to look at the well, then back to the bird. Not taking his eyes off the black feathered carrion eater, he moves towards the well.

Drawing beside it, he looks over the rim, expecting something.

Nothing comes out. Just blackness down below.

Sighing in annoyance at the antics of someone's pet bird enjoying its freedom, he unclips the illuminator on his belt and switches it on as he shines it at the wall of the well.

Instantly, he can see the scratch-marks several feet, if not the same length as his own height, down the side of the well wall. And they're deep into the rock, and broad too. Raked right into the mossy wall, showing the light colour of the stone underneath. The sight makes him recoil in instinctual fright before he steels himself and peers down into the well itself.

The beam of light tracks downwards, the wall cast in the light getting darker with water stains and moss, until it finally shows the water at the bottom.

And a pale face, framed with messy brown hair, and a pair of bright golden eyes looking hopefully up from a bucket sitting in the water.

"… help." The girl says, her voice coming up clear through the well.

Tychos nearly drops the illuminator, although his jaw drops instead.

"Oh, shi… HEY! EVERYONE! GET OVER HERE! WE'VE GOT A SURVIVOR!"

---

"Father, they've found a survivor at the well!" The trooper calls out in joy, before he turns to call out to the other soldiers nearby. "Hey! First Platoon found a survivor!"

A pregnant pause fills the air before, almost as one, a glee-filled shout fills the air. Even Father Constantine can't help but laugh out loud in joy, the death and misery around him all but forgotten at the happy news.

"They found her, my dear. They found Carmen…"

The smile on his face slips as he sees the female abhuman's eyelids begin to droop, her body becoming slacker, even as the smile on her face remains.

"No. No, no, no. Not now. Not now!" He calls out, even as he lays her down on the floor.

But it's too late, and Constantine knows it. He's seen it too many times, on too many battlefields, on too many faces. She's sliding into the place where the living cannot go, the last vestiges of strength that kept her alive purely for this moment finally leaving her.

Gently, Constantine places his hand behind her head, lifting it slightly.

"I am a priest of the Imperial Creed. Be calm now, my friend, for the God-Emperor of Mankind is rushing here to present you with the gift of peace you crave. Is there anything you wish to confess at this hour?"

The abhuman opens her mouth slightly, nothing but a small rasp leaving it as her eyes begin to lose focus. But Constantine nods just the same.

"I hear and understand those sins as you have confessed them to me, and I absolve you of them, as I absolve you of all other sins you cannot enumerate. It is in my power to do this thing, for I am a priest of the Imperial Creed. The winds have blown your sins away, and the saints have blessed you and, though there is pain, it will pass, as all pains end, and you will ascend without the pain of the mortal world to the place the…"

He trails off. No need to say anything more.

The light has finally left her eyes, and her soul has departed, to join her lover and the others in the afterlife.

Laying her head down gently onto the cold, wooden floor, Constantine reaches up and gently shuts her eyes. In death, as she would have been in life, she is quite beautiful.

Sighing softly, he says the words again.

"Him on Earth, Father of All Mankind; even in this hour and place, far from your holy light, grant your mercy to this poor, departed soul, known only to you, and those who loved her…"

---

AN: And low and behold, Chapter 2 is done! It took a while, and also forced me to write about a few things I'm not wholly comfortable with writing, but it's finally done.

Um.. not much to say, really. This chapter very much speaks for itself.

I will say this though: for everyone who asks "When's the next chapter going to be up?" or the like? cool it down. I write at my own pace, and also events in life can force me to slow down, so be patient.