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.

4. Chapter 4

It watches from the shadows, far from the sight of the humans, hiding in the deep forest.

It watches as the rider on horseback gallops up to the gate of the town before they stop and are greeted by one of the humans. It can't understand what is being said, it never can or will, but it seems to be a greeting, if the relaxed posture of the people are to be believed.

Standing up from a crouch, the Alpha Beowulf steps a pace forward, snarling softly at the sight of the town it had lead its fellows to destroy the previous night. It had lead the other Grimm in the rightful destruction of the human creation in the wilds. And yet, not a day later, it is filled with people.

It can see them from its vantage point. The vile redness of humanity is present, it can smell the same but somehow different odour of gun-oil, marking these humans out as guards. The Alpha can also smell the scent of decaying and burning meat on their clothing.

And yet, there is another smell to them. Something the Beowulf has not smelt before.

It's a noxious, cloying, heady smell. Even at the distance the Alpha is at, the smell sticks to the back of the throat, making it growl in annoyance. It smells of decay and smoke and metal. It's cloying and sickly, and it sticks to each of the new humans like a disease. Some of the humans smell more strongly of it than others, but it's there on every one of them.

And those contraptions too, the big metallic boxes on wheels. They reek of the smell.

But above all, there's something… else it can smell. Something that the Alpha has never smelt before in its life. Something strange. Something… wrong.

The Alpha has learnt the value of patience, and so it uses it. It waits. It watches as the rider is brought to the gate of the town as more humans emerge, each one smelling of burning wood and meat, sadness, and the strange smell again.

Again, the beast is taken by surprise.

In its lifetime, it has seen human negativity as a beacon. The baleful red colour becomes bright and attractive to a Grimm like itself, the hues shifting colour to display the negative feeling that the prey is feeling. Red for anger, green for jealousy or envy, blue for loss. The greater these feelings become, the stronger the colour becomes until it is like a burning fire.

These humans… they burn. The aura of negativity around each person is like a walking pyre, the anger and rage surrounding each person like flames. They move and talk to each other like nothing is wrong, even as one of them, their own alpha, starts giving orders to them, but it's there. That overwhelming feeling of hate-filled anger.

The air is soon split by the roar of the contraptions, the machines coming to life with growls deeper than any Ursa can make, and more of the acrid smell is thrown into the air, this time accompanied by dark, cloying smoke. From inside the town, another vehicle, squatter than the others, comes rumbling out, belching smoke and scent like the others. Even the vehicle radiates anger.

As the humans form into a long line, the vehicles in the middle and the front with the rider leading, the Alpha Beowulf moves away.

In it's lifetime, it has seen many humans who find destroyed settlements, and usually the anger or despair at what they find drives them to become easy prey for the Grimm, their emotions blinding them to the presence of their enemy.

But this time… it has no idea what to do. It knows that it must kill. It must destroy these humans, to rend them limb from limb and feast on their despair. But, in its mind, a voice speaks up. Not a human voice, but a primal voice. A voice of nature. A voice of warning.

"Attack these humans… and you will perish."

It is just one Alpha. But the Grimm are many. It knows that many of the other creates are around in the forest, watching the group of humans move away from the town, wherever the rider is leading them to. The human's emotions will draw them out. Draw them to them. Draw out their doom.

An ambush in the forest would work… but the Alpha feels that the time is not right. They do not know what these humans are capable of doing with their weapons, or their contraptions. Or their emotions. And, as it racks its mind, there is another settlement nearby. One that has been left untouched by the Grimm for far too long.

Slinking away, it drops to all fours as it lopes away. There are others nearby. Other Grimm. Other Alphas.

Plans must be made.

Then… then they will strike.

For Her.

---

The pace the column is setting is close to punishing. The mid afternoon sun is beating down hard on the company as they quick march through the forest. The progress is helped by the flat road they now found themselves upon, being guided by the rider on horseback who introduced himself as Rufus Goldthwaite , the nephew of the mayor of the next town over. He had been sent by his uncle to investigate the town the Imperials now knew was called Marysville.

Marysville…

It was a town, a place that people lived in, were born in, found love in and worked in.

Seeing the town destroyed makes it all seem far off, distant. Like seeing something through a haze. But give it a name, and the haze goes away, revealing the true image for it is, for what it was: Someone's home.

It sets Cadian blood to a boil.

Yet, even in the punishing pace, with anger boiling through their veins, the most basic motives of humanity come to the fore.

"So…" Sophia calls out as she keeps pace behind Tychos, her flamer-tanks sloshing heavily on her back. "Any idea what the hell is going on?"

Panting, Tychos doesn't even bother to look behind to answer. "H-how should I know? You know we don't get told anything."

"But who was that guy?" Sophia asks loudly. "Is he… is he human? Or is he like Carmen, but we just can't see what's different about him?"

"I can't tell you, Sophia, because I don't know! So please stop asking me!"

That finally gets the man to turn and look at his fellow trooper.

"Why have you got your flamer out already?"

At this question, Sophia smiles happily as she hefts up the nozzle gleefully.

"Lieutenant's letting me have fun." The smile fades from her face quickly. "But she did say that all flamer units need to be prepped and ready. Captain's orders."

Turning back, Tychos just shakes his head, a confused smile on his lips. Sophia liked her flamer, no lie about that.

But still… at the pace they're moving right now, something doesn't fit. Tactical column, weapons at the ready, being led somewhere by a strange local on horseback. Even with a Salamander leading, and four cargo-6s as backup. Throne, the backup of a full squad of Astartes scouts nearby should quieten the voice of suspicion in Tychos' mind, but that small voice is there.

Where were they being lead to? And for what purpose?

Running parallel to one of the cargo-6s, a small bit of movement from the front of the vehicle catches his attention.

Pulling herself up to look out of the open window of the cab, Carmen looks around as she sees the column moving at speed. She's nervous, hunched in on herself with her ears flat against her head, her gold eyes nearly bulging out of her skull as she scans the surroundings as they go past.

In her searching, the abhuman child's eyes fall onto Tychos as he runs a small ways behind the cab.

In an instant, her eyes lock onto his, gold meeting violet.

And she smiles.

It's not the sort of smile Tychos imagines she'd make in happier times. The sort of smile which would see her cheeks glow red and make the world just that bit brighter. She's experienced too much for that smile to come back soon, possibly never. But when she smiles, it's the heartfelt smile of a child.

So Tychos smiles back, and he knows that behind him, Sophia is smiling back too. And the man in front of him, and anyone else who can see it.

Because her smile is precious. And the smiles of the Cadians shows an immutable fact; no matter where they are going, not one of them will allow Carmen to come to harm.

---

It takes B Company eleven kilometres to reach the walls of Carterstown, each man and woman of Cadia's finest bearing the march with the professional stoicism of their title. They do not grumble (too loud) nor yell out at the injustice of having to march the extra distance on top of the fifteen they've already march (although many of them silently scream out at the agony their feet are in). But they make it.

Carterstown is an older town, older than Marysville by many decades. Built in clearing that started as natural and has been expanded through the attention of mankind, the town is the same size of Marysville, except surrounded this time on all sides by tall and stout walls of grey Valean granite. The top of each wall is crenulated like a feudal fortress, parapets lining the length of the walls while each corner is stopped by a cylindrical tower twice and a half the size of the wall. Even the tops of the walls below the parapets have been lined with cast-iron spikes driven right into the wall at a downwards angle.

'Defence' was obviously the main key-word when this settlement was built.

People watch from the tops of the walls as Rufus leads the column of nearly two hundred people, each one wearing the strangest uniforms and carrying the strangest weapons they've probably seen, and definitely with the strangest vehicles they've laid eyes on. The group is led out of the woods at a quick run before, up reaching the first of the farms that surrounds the town, they all slow down to a quick walk, each person looking happier for it.

Although the same cannot be said for the townsfolk.

As the Salamander trundles behind the rider, Captain Fidor watches the walls of the town draw closer. Looking up at the walls, Fidor casts a critical eye over them. They're similar to the to- Marysville, he reminds himself. It had a name.

Marysville's walls were much the same, but these ones have been given more consideration in terms of defensibility. The fortification runs the whole length of each wall, and the towers are manned by guards armed with stub weapons of a local manufacture. The spikes angling down from the wall is a nice touch which Fidor can respect.

Although, these walls obviously pale in comparison to the walls of old Cadia. But to the locals, they had to have been good enough for the job.

The words of Sergeant Thaddeus swim back into his head.

"These beasts that exist on this world," The Astartes scout said in a low voice, even as their conversation was being drummed out by the lasgun salute. "These are not mindless beasts."

"What are you talking about?" The Cadian replied in shock.

"This massacre was done with simple violence, but the beasts that carried out this act… they knew what they were doing."

Fidor is taken back. "What do you mean?"

"All of the dead… the ways they were killed were done not to just destroy or to cause as much pain, but to terrify and spread as much fear as possible."

The lasguns fire off a volley again.

"To spread fear?" Fidor repeats disbelievingly. "My lord, I… I don't understand."

Thaddeus was silent, almost as if he was listening to the lasgun volleys intently.

"Neither do I, captain. And I do not like that fact at all."

Nearly being thrown forward from his position in the backstep of the Salamander, Fidor regains his sense of where he is as the vehicle halts in front of the town gates. The gates are taller than him, probably tall enough to allow an Astartes dreadnought passage with about a foot of clearance on both the head and sides.

Not too dissimilar to the gates of Marysville.

"Captain, sir?"

The voice draws his attention.

Looking down from the open top platform of the fight vehicle, Fidor looks down into the face of the young man. Rufus Goldthwaite's face is almost ringed with bright red hair from head to chin, and his eyes, a bright shade of green look up at the Cadian inquisitively.

"So what's going to happen now, Master Goldthwaite?" Fidor asks as he leans over the armoured siding of the Salamander. "My men have been run ragged today."

"I know, sir. I can see." Rufus responds, earnestly and apologetically. "But I honestly can't say. My uncle just sent me to investigate Marysville. He didn't say-"

"Oi!" A voice calls out from the top of the wall, drawing both men's attention to the man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and carrying a stub rifle in his hands. "Rufus! Who the hell are these people?"

"They're soldiers, Tanner! I found them around Marysville. I think my uncle will want to talk to them!"

The nervous energy practically radiates from the wall as Fidor begins to see more faces peer over from the tops of the parapets, and Fidor remembers how he's seen similar looks on the faces of people he in warzones he's visited as a 'pacification force'; the fear, the distrust, the confusion.

Someone has to say something to bring down the situation.

"Good friends!" The loud voice of Father Constantine comes out from behind him, making Fidor turn to see the preacher walking towards the front of the column with his arms outstretched. "Be not afraid! For we are not enemies, we are fellows. In the name of the Imperium of Man, and of the God-Emperor of Terra, we have come to the wilds to bring aid and assistance to those who require it. Please! Do not be afraid."

The preacher stops besides the Salamander, his arms held open to show he is unarmed, as the echoes of his words reverberate across the clearing. And the tension becomes heavy in the air enough that it would need a chainsword to cut it.

This is the moment. The moment that decided how the Cadians would proceed on this world. How B Company, 1st Battalion of the 598th would go down in the annals of history.

Seconds tick by.

Above, Fidor can see the man named as Tanner talking to someone who can't be seen below the wall. Their tones are hushed but hurried, the man constantly looking down at those below the wall.

Suspicion is a watch-word of the Imperium. Reaching down, the captain unclasps the cover of his holster and rests his hand on the grip of his plasma pistol.

Through his bolter scope, Thaddeus watches the scene at the town's gates unfold. Or rather, watch them not unfold, since so far, no-one appears to have done anything.

The inaction drags on, the only sounds coming from the column are the purring noises of the vehicles as their engines idle.

Creating human contact was the important aspect of the Imperial mission to this world, but Thaddeus knows that it is best to let the Cadians be at the forefront of this endeavour.

"They're taking a long time." Georg says as he looks keenly through the scope of his sniper rifle. "I've got six… make that seven, easy kill shots on potential shooters on the wall if things go south."

"Hold your fire until I give the order." Thaddeus gives as a response, still looking through the scope of his bolter at the scene not unfolding in his sight.

---

Hidden in the woods roughly four-hundred metres away from the towns walls, the Scouts are all camouflaged, their cameleoline cloaks shrouding their bodies in the hues of the woodland. Sniper rifles are raised, while Ollarus has his heavy bolter resting against the thick roots of a tree.

"I see movement." Justus points out.

"Report." Thaddeus commands, even though he can easily see it for himself.

"Looks like the men on the wall above the gate are moving away, splitting up. They've all gone down behind the gate, behind the wall out of sight. They're not rushed though. Definitely not a combat stance, but they're… edgy."

Thaddeus nods his head as the veteran sergeant lowers his boltgun.

"Brother-sergeant?" Ollarus' voice comes out as a low rumble of a whisper. "Permission to ask a question?"

The scouts not looking at the wall turn to look at the biggest of their number quizzically.

"When, in the Emperor's Name, have you ever asked for permission before, Oll?" Neophyte Carnus asks in genuine shock.

"Permission granted to ask." Thaddeus responds, turning his head slightly to look at the scout. "But do not expect an answer."

"… when you used your omophagea… what did you see?" Ollarus asks, still not looking at his superior. "What did you see that we had to change our mission orders? To contact chapter command?"

The question seems to kill sound. All the neophytes turn to look at Thaddeus, except for Justus and Ollarus who are still focused on the town. They want the answer too.

Thaddeus, for his part, remains silent as he mulls over what to say.

"I saw… I saw humanities greatest foes, manifest in bestial form." He finally says as he turns and looks at the inductees of the chapter under his command. "I saw rage, anger, pride, and fear, manifest into the physical forms we've seen on this world. And they represent a threat to the people of this world."

The sentence hangs heavy in the air, like raw promethium on water, as each scout process what he has just been told.

Justus, not having taken his eye off of his scope, speaks up. "The gate's opening. They're being let in."

Turning to look at the town, Thaddeus sees the wide, wooden gates slowly open inwards, a party of figures moving out of the open portal to meet with the Cadians.

"We leave them to their task." The Astartes veteran says, moving away from his position beside an old oak. "Now we go about ours."

Around him, the scouts move away from their positions, stealthily slinking away into the darkness of the woods.

"What is our task, brother-sergeant?" Ollarus asks as he moves to walk beside Thaddeus.

"What it has always been, neophyte." Comes the reply, coupled with a small but toothy grin. "The destruction of mankind's enemies."

---

The first officially documented meeting between representatives of the planet of Remnant, specifically the kingdom-state of Vale in the form of the town council of Carterstown, and the representatives of the Imperium of Man in the form of B Company, 1st Battalion of the 589th Cadian Infantry Regiment, is one conducted without any due fanfare.

Not simply because B Company did not bring their musical instruments with them, nor because Carterstown has no town band, but because the air of suspicion and intrigue have mixed themselves together to form an almost permeable barrier between the two groups of humans.

Valean frontier-folk pride themselves on self-reliance and independence, free from the rule of the main city and its council.

An armed force represents order, obedience and the rule of the Vale council.

And the claim that these people serve a 'God-Emperor' does not sit well with the older townsfolk, and those who remember their history.

Even though the Cadians are allowed entrance to the town with their vehicles, they are done so under careful eyes and readied weapons, weapons not tacitly pointed at them but weapons ready to be pointed at them.

In the middle of the town, possibly one of Remnants tensest political meetings unfolds.

While the basic political niceties are observed; greetings exchanged mostly, neither person in charge really knows what to make of the other.

It is the preacher that offers the simplest solution, and possibly the oldest one known to mankind: no weapons present, no backup or support. Two men in a room to talk.

---

The interior of the office of the mayor of Carterstown can be summed up by Fidor in one single word: wooden.

Casting his eyes around the room, the Cadian seems incapable of spying a single piece of metal that isn't either attached to something wooden, or is just a piece of decoration. The floor, the ceiling, the walls, the door; everything is made of varying shades of wood. The panelling on the corner beams reflects the nature the town is in, with vines, branches and leave over almost very surface, while the large desk the mayor is sitting behind shows scenes of a rider on a hunt with hounds. Behind it is a wall almost covered in books of varying sizes and thickness.

It tells more about the mayor of the town than any words can. Although the words will help.

Mayor Cole Goldthwaite is a tall man, just an inch short of standing eye to eye Fidor, with a weight-lifters paunch and a quill-pushers head of receding pale-blonde hair on his square head. Those details tell Fidor all he needs to know about the man. Although the obvious and painful looking limp on his left leg solidifies the fact.

This man was something grand once, but now he's a shadow of what he was. Even looking out of the window in his office, its glass panes reinforced with iron diamonds, Mayor Goldthwaite looks imposing.

"Okay, Captain… what was it again?"

"Thade, sir." Fidor says diplomatically, having had to repeat the same thing several times on worlds where his Cadian accent differed heavily to those of the locals. "Fidor Thade."

The mayor turns to look at the Cadian, moving from the window with a critical eye. "Fidor Thade… strangest name I've heard, let me tell you that. And I've certainly never seen your sort of getup before. Even in the Atlas military."

Fidor stiffens his back slightly. "I was named for my great-uncle, who was a famed leader of men on Cadia, sir."

The mayor's eyes blink slowly in confusion. "Come again? Ca… Canadia?"

Fidor's eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Wha… no. Cadia."

Goldthwaite just blinks in confusion again. "Is… is that a region in Atlas I've never heard of? A military base perhaps?"

Wordlessly, the captains mouth moves up and down. How can this man not have heard of Cadia? The famous Cadian Gate, the door to the Eye of Terror? His own world is famed and praised throughout the Imperium of Man, enough that even vaunted Ultramar, home system of the Lord Commander, gives their own praise to just that one single world. Entire systems and planets have had their own forces and defences based around the Cadian model.

So… how in the name of the Great Angel has this man not heard of Fidor's home planet?

The answer clicks into place like a hammer striking a firing pin; the mayor, and very possibly everyone else on this planet, simply hasn't.

Fixing his face into a professional mask, Fidor looks at the man flatly.

"Sir, I'm going to tell you something that may sound shocking, but I assure you that ever word of it is true: I, and all the men outside, come from a world far from your own planet. A world called Cadia."

Silence fills the office, the only sounds coming from the Cadians standing around outside, the few townsfolk brave enough to venture out to look at the strange arrivals, and the tick-tock-tock-tick of the clock in the room.

Seconds pass in silence, before Goldthwaite speaks.

"You are not lying, are you."

It's not a question, but a statement.

Fidor shakes his head. "I am not lying, no, sir."

Stepping forward, the limp making his face grimace slightly as Goldthwaite approaches him, Fidor wonders what sort of injury could cause that sort of lasting pain.

Not saying a word, the mayor looks the man in front of him up and down, taking in almost every detail of his uniform and gear with a professional eye before, unhesitatingly, he reaches forward and taps at the armour on Fidor's chest. Specifically, the aquila over his heart.

"In all my years across Remnant, I've never seen a symbol like that, in any of the kingdoms."

Remnant. Fidor files that name away in his mind for later. High command will want to know that name. But as he does, he thinks on it. Remnant, the last.

'How fortuitous for us Cadians…' He thinks to himself.

During that thought, the mayor has moved away from Fidor and back to looking out of the window.

"Besides, all that gear you guys have. Those weapons. Those vehicles! Those things sound worse than any Grimm I've fought against, and I've fought a few, let me tell you something. Outer space, you say? Wow."

Leaning forward, the man rests his knuckles against the window-frame.

"Man, this world really is changing."

Fidor stands silently, not knowing what to say in the matter as he watches Goldthwaite look out of the window.

So far, this conversation is going in the direction he imagined it would go; awkward and uneasy. Throne, he should have had Father Constantine come with him. The preacher is better at these sorts of things than he is. One on one conversations with bureaucrats are not his forte.

"About Marysville…" He says out of the blue, hoping to get the conversation in a direction he wants it to go.

"Oh, yes, right." The mayor begins, turning back to look at the officer. "Yes. We had heard the noise last night, and we'd seen the smoke in the morning, and me and some of the townspeople were debating on whether we should go. The last month, people around these parts have been very nervous because of what's happening up north."

'Up north…' Fort Tempest.

… Well, that was definitely a lot of machinery and men to move down to the planet. And you can't clear an area of that size without some serious amount of noise and motion. And when those beasts attacked, they had to respond with every single weapon they had on hand planet-side…

But he can't wrap his head around it.

"And then we saw the smoke after noon, and we had to send someone to look. We had to find out, right? Whether it was bandits or… or Grimm."

There's that word again. The mayor's nephew, Rufus, used it before when he had met the Cadians, and the mayor himself has used it twice now.

"Grim what?"

"Pardon?" Goldthwaite asks in return.

"You keep saying 'grim'. Grim what?"

For a second, the mayor just looks at Fidor like he's a simpleton before the penny drops.

"Wow. You… you don't know? About the Grimm?"

Fidor shakes his head, before something makes him stop.

"Wait. Those black furred beasts? Kind of look like canines mixed with humans, and some look like large ursids?"

A look of relief comes to Goldthwaite's face. "Well, that's two types of Grimm, yes."

Disbelief comes to Fidor's face. "But… there's no way those things can destroy a whole settlement, let alone a town of that size."

The mayor doesn't say anything as he regards Fidor with a disapproving eye. Not saying a word, Goldthwaite stands and moves to the bookshelf, before he quickly finds and selects a thick tome bound with leather. He turns, and, with a large thud, he places the book on the desk.

"Maybe some reading will help."

Turning the book round, he shows off the cover and the title. Unadorned, the book has only three words on the front, written in thick, blocky gothic script.

Grimoire of Grimm.

Reaching forward, Fidor carefully lifts open the book, randomly picking a page.

The parchment is thick and laden with ink in easy to read Low Gothic, which Fidor beings reading.

'… For as long as humanity has existed on Remnant, the Grimm have existed alongside them. They are creatures yet are not animals. Many cultures once considered them to be the spirits of tortured and slain animals, while others believed them to be animals possessed by evil spirits. But as the centuries have unfolded, and more and more strange patterns of Grimm arise, many of them differing significantly from regular animalistic body-types (see entry 14 'CREEP' and entry 16 'GRIFFON'), scientists and scholars are unsure of how to classify them.

'However, one definitive way of describing the Grimm is to describe them as 'empathic', or as close to empathic as possible. While it is clear that the Grimm that have been encountered lack the mental functionality to understand the situation when negative emotions arise, they are aware of where these emotions arise from. And, similar to the Vacuon arrowheaded rattlesnake, they can sense these emotions regardless of distance or cover. They are drawn to negative emotion in an inexecrable fashion, like moths to a flame.'

Steadily, Fidor closed the book and let out a small sigh.

It reinforces a worry he has but one he did not want to give voice too. The nature of these… Grimm settles it for him.

Fidor Thade has fought many alien lifeforms in his life and service to the Golden Throne. He has fought the wretched drukhari, the perfidious aeldari, the brutal orks and the monstrous tyranids. He's lead operations to clear out nests of hrud, ambulls and umbra, and has even been forced to work with the irksome T'au, and fought against them as well.

He has seen the horrific shapes and forms the xenos can take when assaulting the realms of Humanity. He has seen the dreadful weapons they have at their disposal and the effects they have on the human body. But above all else; he knows them. Some Fidor knows more than others, but in the end, he knows what they are and how to kill them.

These… these beasts challenge all that he knows about the xenos. Their bodies fade to nothing, yet do not reproduce by spores like the greenskins. They fight only through teeth and claws, yet they do not have any single mind like the hive mind akin to the tyranids. There is no technology to counter, no clan structure to decapitate and take advantage of.

The Grimm are a force of nature. And yet, are nothing natural.

As he looks up from the closed book, Fidor knows that he must have a stunned look on his face as the mayor looks at him sympathetically.

"You boys are a long way from home, aren't you?"

---

They peek from behind curtains, from behind partially open doors and from keyholes. Hundreds of pairs of eyes, filled with fear, worry, apprehension, wonder and confusion, all look out from the homes that make up Carterstown as they try their best to take a look at the strange group of people that have been allowed inside the town's walls.

The people of Carterstown trust the mayor. They always have. He's negotiated good trade deals with other towns, and he's helped defend the town from Grimm himself on many occasions, which is how he got his limp. But the decision to let these strangers in, to allow them to wait within the town walls for gods only know how long? It confuses many. And confusion leads to fear.

Watching from the kitchen window that looks out over the town square, Nella Stone, has one major emotion playing at her mind as she watches the strange men and women stand or dally around their strange and ugly vehicles.

And it is nothing to do with outside the house.

"Come on, you…" Her bear of a husband, Bear Stone, who is not a Faunus as he has to repeatedly point out to anyone who asks, growls out as he messes with the lever-action rifle he's pulled from the chest under their bed.

"Bear, will you put that thing down now, for the Brother's sake?" Nella says sharply, not taking her bright green eyes off the people in her town. "You've been struggling with that thing ever since you pulled it out from under the bed. You'll never get it to work."

Bear lets out another growl as he pushes at the level, edging it out of the receiver to a triumphant "HA!" before it gets stuck by half an inch.

"Gods damnit. Too much rust." He growls loudly as he lets the rifle drop onto the table before he stands up and leaves the room. "Where's the gun oil?"

"Where you left it." Nella answers, still not taking her eyes off the scene outside.

From an adjoining room, she can hear the sounds of numerous bottles and other small things being moved. She honestly has no idea where the bottle of oil is, and she frankly doesn't care. Serves Bear right for not looking after his gun. Plus, the last thing the situation needed was for someone to start taking pot-shots at these clearly well-armed and professional soldiers.

Not that her bear would do something like that. But still…

"Ma." A small voice comes from behind, accompanied by a pair of light footsteps. "Are those people still out there?"

Turning her head slightly, Nella looks at Melo, her twelve-year old daughter. Taking more after her mother than her father, Melo is wiry, a sprinter while Bear is a weightlifter. Her hair is a deep green, a shade darker than Nella's and totally different to Bear's dark brown head of hair, although her eyes are his hazel colour.

She is normally an outgoing and friendly young girl, but the… 'visitors' have her worried.

"Yeah, sweetie, they're still out there." Nella responds, turning to smile at her daughter. "They're just standing around the mayor's home. Doesn't look like they're in much of a hurry to do anything."

Turning back to look out of the window, Nella sees the truth to her words; the soldiers are just standing around their vehicles, which are parked in a diagonal row in front of Mayor Goldthwaite's home. They stand in small groups, some numbering only half a dozen or so, some less, either looking in at the house or out on the town.

It's not very easy to tell from the distance of the house, but Nella can see they're all uneasy about something, which doesn't help the mood in the town either. Armed people on edge is never a positive combination.

"Pa's got his gun." Melo says in the simple, point-out-the-fact way that only children are capable of. "Will he have to use it?"

Nella doesn't say anything, still looking at the people around the centre of town.

"I see someone coming out of Mister Goldthwaite's house." Melo suddenly chimes up, drawing her mother's attention to the fact.

What looks like a woman, dressed in the same uniform as the others except with a flat top cap on instead, walk out of the large building before she stops in front of the large mass of people, the soldiers looking at the newcomer intently. From the distance, it is hard for Nella to hear what is said, but whatever the woman tells the people has to be an order of some sort since a large portion of them move to sit down on the floor, removing large packs from their backs and also taking off their boots once they're on the floor… and begin to check their feet.

The sight is very strange, and almost comical, if it wasn't for the fact that a lot of the soldiers still have their weapons on them.

"Well, I'm sure they've walked a long way-" Nella begins before she's interrupted by her daughter calling out.

"Ma, look!" The young teen points, her fingertip directly against the glass of the window as she directs her mother's attention to one of the vehicles.

At the back of the large, six-wheeled truck, Nella sees a man with a white helmet removing a few boxes and taking out what looks like bandages. After a certain amount is in his hand, he bends down and hands them off to a small…

"Is that a Faunus with them?" Nella asks out loudly.

"Faunus!?" Bear's voice calls out loudly from an adjoining room. He has always been sensitive to that word.

But right now, Nella is not focused on that as she watches the young, rabbit Faunus girl take a large (for her) armful of bandages and move to the group of soldiers sitting down on the floor. She can only see the mouths moving and the general body language from her place in her house, but it seems that the soldiers are grateful for the young girls efforts. They take the rolls of white gauze from her, gesturing their thanks to her, or even giving her little pats on the head if they're standing.

"She's so cuute." Melo says happily as she looks at the little girl with shoulder-length brown hair, rabbit ears to match, busily working to help the soldiers. "But… why are her ears down? I thought rabbit Faunus had their ears sticking up."

Nella blinks at her daughter before she turns to look at the young girl. Sure enough, instead of having her Faunus ears standing tall above her head, like other rabbit Faunus that Nella has seen, the young girls are down, flat against her head. She looks happy enough, smiling at some of the soldiers as they thank her, but still… it's not right.

Bear's presence looms behind the two Stone women, even as he growls low in his throat.

"What is a group of grown-ass men doing with a girl that young?"

Despite all of the faults that Nella can name (and there's a good few), Bear is an honourable man, and above all he cares for children, even those not his own.

"Easy there, hun." Nella says peacefully as she turns and puts a comforting hand on to his left bicep. "There's got to be a good reason for all this."

Her husband doesn't give a reply immediately. Soon, a low growl leaves his throat before he turns back to trying to clean his rifle, letting Nella turn back to looking out of the window with Melo.

The pair watch as the Faunus girl hands out the last of the bandages, the soldiers happily taking them as they continue checking the condition of their feet, before she's left with nothing in her hands. Almost instantly, the girl spins around and moves to sit next to one of the soldiers sitting down, this one putting his boots back onto his feet.

When she's close, the girl carefully sits down onto the ground next to the man. In an instant, the juxtaposition of the girl in the lovely blue dress and the soldier in the khaki clothing and armour is jarring and worrying to the mother, but it almost vanishes as she sees the girl lean her head sideways to rest against the taller man's arm. It's a strangely peaceful scene, especially when the soldier relaxes and leans back against his seat near one of the vehicles.

"Well…" Nella says in surprise at what she's just seen. "That's… that's sweet."

"Still wonder why she's with them though." Melo says, not taking her eyes off the pair, a small but sincere smile on her face.

It is a cute scene, Nella has to admit. But it's still strange.

---

The afternoon sun begins to wane as evening sets in. Shadows lengthen in the woods as the sun dips towards the horizon. The houses at the western edge of the town become bathed in deep shadows, while the town square and the Cadians occupying it are cast in the light, turning them almost into living bronze statues.

Normally, Carterstown would be becoming busy with afternoon commerce and life. People would be finishing their shopping or buying the last few things they needed before they headed home to fix their meals for themselves and their families, or head to the tavern for a well-earned drink.

But the town now knows a silence it has not known for an age. The streets are virtually deserted, only the bravest of the populace daring to venture out of doors to either pick up the much needed items from shops for dinner, going across to gossip and worry with friends and neighbours, or were in dire need of a pint of Valean ale considering the situation.

For the Cadians, indecision is still the rule of the hour. Captain Thade is still in discussion with the town's mayor, leaving the junior officers to their own devices. Since they're not in a true combat situation, although the situation is still tense, the company is dropped to a twenty-five percent watch, leaving three-quarters of the men and women to go about on their own. The population of the town is still not forthcoming, so the Cadians keep to themselves. Blister checks continue, weapons are taken apart and cleaned, the more engine-savvy assist the drivers in the maintenance of the cargo-6s, rations are consumed, and bullshit is talked.

It will take a miracle for any connection to be made between the two groups.

But… sometimes miracles come in the most unlikely of forms.

---

Putting her spoon down, Nella lets out a small sigh of satisfaction at her own cooking. Living outside of the city of Vale, she knows it's the one of the few things she can take pride in. Her job is to keep the home, tend to the garden and vegetable patch and keep her family together.

And Brothers damn it, if she wasn't good at it.

Pushing their empty bowls away, neither her husband or daughter said a word as they went back to the tasks they've been doing all day. Bear has been meticulously cleaning each part of his rifle, having taken the gun apart before cleaning it the gun oil he finally found (Nella is still not really sure how that tiny bottle clearly marked 'gun oil' ended up in the medicine box), while Melo has been watching the soldiers out front almost religiously. Sometimes she'd have a book with her, sometimes not, but always, she's been watching the people.

Nella just lets out a sigh at what is going on. Admittedly, she herself is happy that such obviously interesting people have come to her town, but she knows that it's not a good idea to approach the people in the town centre. Outfits and weapon like the ones carried by the two-hundred odd people in the town do not belong to people whose main skill is 'socialization'.

Inwardly, Nella lets out a sigh as she stands up from her seat, since her food usually gets a great reaction. But the commotion in town has caused everyone to lose their appetites it seems.

Collecting the bowls, the woman moves to the sink in the kitchen. Cleaning was all that was left for to do today.

"Hey, something's happening."

Looking up from the dishes at her daughter's quiet exclamation, Nella moves quickly to stand behind her at the window.

"The little bunny Faunus is doing a dance."

Looking closely, Nella can see the object of Melo's attention out in the town square. Sure enough, the woman can see the Faunus child standing next to the soldier she was sitting beside before, hopping slightly from foot to foot, her hands clutched over…

"Oh." Nella says, at the realization of what she's seeing. "She's not dancing. But… it is a 'dance' of sorts."

Melo just looks at her mom in confusion as the scene unfolds outside. After a few seconds of anxious looking back and forth, and some muted comments between him and his comrades, the soldier quickly takes a hold of the girl's upper arms in what is clearly a calming gesture before he carefully lifts the girl up into his arms.

The move sets off something in Nella's mind. The mothering instinct kicks up. The move the soldier pulls off is obviously done with care; the way he lifts up the child done so as to keep her safe and secure in his hands, but the fact that it's a person like him doing it… something doesn't sit right.

She watches as the soldiers around the pair laugh at the antic, although from the distance she's at, it's hard to tell if it's derisive or not. The soldier responds by giving a dismissive wave before he moves off, one hand against his helmet as he carefully balances the Faunus girl in the seat of his elbow.

And he starts moving towards the area of town the Stone family lives in.

"They're coming this way!" Melo calls out in surprise, obviously excited about meeting the two strangers in the manner of so many children at the strange and unusual. But for the mother and father, other emotions come to the play.

"What the hell?" Bear says loudly as he stands up from his seat, rifle in hand as he begins reaching for the bullets.

"Bear Stone! You put that down right now!" Nella commands in a stern voice, the strong voice of a matriarch. "I will not have you taking pot-shots at anyone, especially a little girl!"

Chastised, Bear moves away from the box of cartridges, but the rifle remains in his hand. Her work done, Nella turns back to look out of the window.

The man is moving down the path to the houses in the row that the Stones live in. His gait is steady, but unrushed, clearly trying his best not to needlessly jostle the child in his care. As he moves closer, Nella begins to pick out the detail of his outfit more clearly. His torso and shoulders are fully armoured in a piece of body armour that looks like the type worn by the Atlesian soldiery, except more rounded and also drab khaki. His uniform is well worn and dirty around the boots, but it's clear that it's made from good, tough material. In the late afternoon light, Nella can see iconography glinting in the sun, but she can't quite make it out.

And she can see the rifle hanging over his right shoulder, barrel pointed to the air, along with the pistol, knife and grenades at his waist. None of which are designs she has seen before.

The man's path keeps moving forward, even as he turns his head to look at each house with a critical eye, seemingly wanting to choose which garden to enter and not sure. It takes a few seconds for him to choose one.

"Mom! He's coming to the house!" Melo calls out in equal parts shock and joy.

In an instant, with a speed that only a mother's fear can produce, Nella grabs Melo by the shoulder and pulls her away from the window and behind the door.

"Mom…" Her daughter whines out before the woman puts her finger to her lips in the universal sign for 'quiet'.

Nella's mind right now is in turmoil: she cannot trust the man outside, the man armoured and armed with strange equipment, showing that he is not a Huntsman but definitely a soldier of some stripe. But… she cannot deny that she is curious. She wants to know who this man is, who his companions are, where they're from, and why they're here in Vale.

She can hear the crunch of the man's boots on the ground outside before he knocks on the door.

"Hello?" The man calls out. "I know you can hear me. Please, just hear me out."

"Nella, don't you even think about it." Bear whispers out in a firm voice.

"But ma, you saw that he's got the little girl." Melo whines in response. "And she's so cute!"

Nella doesn't say a word as the man knocks again.

"Please. For the love of Sanguinius, open up!." The man calls out again, his accent making the words sound coarse. "At least do it for the child!"

If it had been any other phrase at all, Nella would have ignored it. She would have just pushed it down and simply let it slide, letting the man stay out there and move on… but her maternal instinct kicked in enough for her to stop and listen.

To listen to the small, pained and pitiful whine that came from the other side of the door.

"Please…"

That loosens the shackles in her heart.

Turning back to the door, Nella silently moves to the peephole set into the wood, letting her see outside. The immediate view through the peephole is taken up by the man's chest and the lower part of his face. She can see the dusky skin of his round chin, constrained by the strap of his helmet, with his mouth set in an uncomfortable grimace.

But at the height of the peephole, she can see the small Faunus in his arm. She is so small, much smaller than Melo. Her shoulder length, russet-coloured hair is tidy but clearly in need of a proper clean, while her deep blue dress could do with a bit of a scrub. But, apart from the obvious need to go to the toilet creasing her face, she looks perfectly fine.

The feeling of her fingers brushing against the metal of the door handle jars Nella back to the waking world. Unconsciously, she's made to open the door, letting this clearly armed stranger into her home.

She swallows nervously, as she withdraws her hand the door handle.

At the same time, a sigh comes through from the other side.

"Come on, little one."

An uncomfortable whimper comes as a reply.

That breaks the chain.

Even at the protest of her husband, Nella's hand lunges forward and grabs the handle, before, remembering her composure, she carefully and simply opens the door.

The soldier is half turned away from her, his right side and rifle presented to Nella, while he holds the Faunus girl against his left shoulder. Both people look at the woman expectantly with wide eyes, the girls a pair of golden orbs bright with age, his…

"Umm…" He begins, not sure what to say at the exact moment before he points a finger at the girl in his grip. "She really needs to use the loo."

To emphasise his words, the girl nods her head vigorously, her hair and ears bouncing wildly.

Even though she can hear Bear grumbling to himself behind her at her decision to open the door, Nella simply nods her head.

"All right then. Come on in." She says, entering the house and moving to one side. "We've got an outhouse out back. Melo can take her."

Looking to the side, the youngster's face brightens up with joy at the offer of spending some time with the cute rabbit-ear girl. Gingerly, almost like he is scared to let the girl down in case she might break, the soldier places the girl on the floor, who immediately has her hands taken by Melo, a broad and welcoming smile on the teens face.

"Sure! Here, come with me. What's your name by the way?"

"C-Carmen…" The young girl says hesitantly, surprised by the other girls greeting before she's lead out of the house at the back, leaving Bear and Nella with… a heavily armed and armoured soldier in their front room.

Now that it's just the adults, Nella gets a better look at the man. His skin is dusky, either from a life spent long outdoors or natural, she can't tell. It's also hard for her to tell how old he is. He looks like he could be in his late twenties, but the lines and weathering on his face make him appear older than that. And then there's his eyes. Violet, a shade of violet that Nella has not seen in an age, hard as stone and yet…

"So…" Bear growls out as he moves to stand closer to his wife protectively, his arms cross his huge chest. "What's your name, soldier-boy?"

The man shifts his eyes from the Stone patriarch, who is at eye level with the soldier, before he looks down slightly at Nella herself. And then she sees them. Eyes filled with sadness. A sadness that has turned what once would have been bright and clear to lustreless hues of colour.

"Tychos. Tychos Litten." The man says evenly, not betraying anything. Before his mouth widens in a small smile. "As you can probably guess, I'm not from around here."

Nella can't help but reflexively roll her eyes at the comment. Like his gear and weird accent weren't a give-away enough, the name definitely clicked as foreign, even a little exotic. But if that wasn't enough, the icons on his gear were definitely strange, and a little scary too. A winged skull on his helmet, coupled with a skull surrounded by what seemed to be a house, if Nella had to guess, on one of his shoulders, and a dual-headed eagle on his left breast. They were foreign, strange and also intriguing too.

"Where are you and your friends from then?" Nella asks, looking up at the man.

The man opens his mouth to speak, before a decidedly female voice fills the air.

"We're from Cadia, ma'am."

To Nella's eyes, Tychos spins around so quickly that it makes her almost jump back into Bear's arms. Past him, through the doorway, she can see another person, a woman this time, dressed in the same outfit as the man in front of her, appear half way down the footpath. Her skin is tanned, with an angular, pretty face, while she herself is lithe and tall, almost statuesque. Nella can definitely call her attractive.

Although right now, her gaze is fixed on Tychos as he lets his hands drop at his sides. Hands that were very close to a pistol and knife. The speed with which his hands had gone to his weapons was so quick that she almost couldn't see it. He was like a coiled viper.

"Sophia!" The man growls out in annoyance. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Lieutenant's orders." The woman says nonchalantly as she walks closer to the man, letting the rifle on her back slide into view with each step. "Had to make sure you had a buddy. In case…"

The statement hangs in the air, the comment not being completed out of politeness' sake. Although it does still rankle Nella's sensibilities that these people think one of their own would be killed by anyone in Carterstown. But, she can see the sense in it a bit.

"Fine." Tychos responds in annoyance. "But… just wait outside, please. Carmen's out back, using the toilet, so we won't be long."

The woman, in return, gives off a quick thumbs-up and a broad smile. "Then I'll wait out here then."

Nella blinks quickly as Tychos turns back to face her and her husband, a resigned look on his face. "Sorry about that, ma'am. Sophia… she's a friend and she's always been a bit quirky. But, she did answer your question. We come from a place called Cadia. It's… a long way from here."

"You don't say…" Bear mutters out simply. "So… how did you folks end up with the little girl?"

"Bear!" Nella says in shocker exasperation, knowing that there's being blunt and being rude.

For his part, Tychos says nothing against it. "No, it's a fair question. Umm… can we step inside? It's… it's a bit of a story."

---

Sitting at the table in the room, Nella can't help but stare, wide-eyed in disbelief at the wooden tabletop in front of her. To her side, Bear has his eyes closed and his head shaking in disbelief at what they've just been told.

Marysville. Gone.

"I can't believe it." She finally says out-loud. "But… but I thought Marysville was a safe-town."

Slowly, she raises her head to look at the soldier sitting across from her. Tychos has his helmet off, revealing a head of short, black hair. His face is neutral, although Nella can see the apologetic look in there.

"E-everyone, apart from the little… Carmen is the only survivor?"

Tychos nods his head. "Yes."

Just one word. Just one word to say about an entire town almost being wiped out in a single night by the creatures of Grimm, if the man's words are anything to go by.

She'd been to the town before, many times even. She can remember seeing the different faces, the faces of the townsfolk and the people living their lives as they went about their jobs. Children playing in the streets, all so happy and content with their place in the world.

All of them… gone.

"And so… you took in the girl." Nella says simply, stating the fact.

Again, Tychos nods, a small, wry smile playing at his lips. "It was the right thing to do. We buried her parents… and we gave the people proper send offs. Or as proper as we could. We don't know how those sorts of things are done here, I'm afraid, so we followed our own customs."

He's sincere in his words, Nella can see that. And she appreciates it.

In his own seat, her husband leans forward, putting his arms against the table as he opens his eyes, fixing the soldier with a simple stare.

"Young man," Bear begins. "I want to apologize if I caused you any offense over asking about Carmen. It's just… seeing a girl that young with so many grown men… it's…"

Tychos holds up a hand. "It's fine. I understand perfectly. There'd be the same sort of questioning from us if the situation was the same. Although, in our history, a lot of regiments from Cadia end up adopting orphans from warzones we visit, mainly to keep them safe too."

"Well, it's good that you're keeping her safe from the Grimm." Nella adds in, smiling sweetly at the man across from her.

At the mention of the name 'Grimm', Tychos' face shifts to a perplexed look.

"I… I'm sorry. I don't know what a 'Grimm' is."

The revelation earns a shared look between the two Stone parents, a look that screams 'is this man for real?'.

"Oh!" The man exclaims with a loud snap of his fingers, a look of realization on his face. "Those are the big, black and white beasts, right? Some of them look like a frakked up version of a man and a wolf? Oh. Pardon my Gothic."

The loud guffaw from the woman outside, combined with the fact that this obviously hardened soldier apologized for swearing, can only do anything but make Nella smile at the man.

It was a fact, and one that Nella knew well: you learnt nothing about a person just by looking at them from a distance. It was only when you met someone up close and personal that you can find out what kind of a person a man is. And from what she's finding out about Tychos is that she likes him. Well mannered, friendly, and open.

She hopes all the others in his group are like this.

The sound of the back door being opened fills the space.

"We're back." Nella hears Melo call out as she enters the house. "Sorry it took so long. Mom, we're nearly out of toilet paper."

The young teens bluntness, which Nella swears she gets from her father, is enough to make all adults in the room, and even the one outside, to laugh, and it helps calm the atmosphere down even further.

"Thank you for letting me use your toilet." Carmen says demurely, even as a smile is on her face.

Nella returns the smile warmly. She sees that the girls Faunus ears are still drooping down the back of her head, pressed flat against her hair.

'Poor girl,' She thinks to herself. 'To be orphaned at that age…'

"Did you wash your hands?" Tychos' voice suddenly cuts in, his voice sounding less soldierly and more… brotherly, which earns a shake of the head from Carmen. "Well, Miss… Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't ask for your names."

"Nella Stone." The matriarch responds, raising a hand to indicate her large husband beside her. "And, as you can probably guess, this is Bear. And yes, Carmen can use the sink to wash her hands. It's no trouble."

Watching as Carmen quickly makes her to the kitchen sink, raising herself up on her tiptoes to reach the faucet, Nella can feel the maternal instinct coming again. This is a little girl that has seen the worst, and she needs to be protected, in so many different ways. Physically and mentally. Shifting her vision slightly, she can see Tychos watching the girl go about cleaning her hands, and she smiles again.

'He can do it.' She thinks to herself. 'He can protect her.'

She doesn't know much about these Cadians, where they come from and why they're here. But if they can save a little girl from a town destroyed by the Grimm, then can they really be bad people?

The room lapses into comfortable silence, the only sound in the room is the sound of the running water. It's an almost domestic scene, like Carmen and Tychos are but relatives visiting for a day. It's nice.

And then the bells start tolling, making everyone turn their head to look at the window.

"Sophia?" Tychos calls out, as he pushes his chair back a ways. "What's going on out there?"

"Ma, what's happening?" Melo asks in fear, moving towards her parents, even as Bear steps away to the rifle he now has leaning against the wall.

Another bell joins the tolling of the first. Then a third. And a fourth.

It's a signal. A dreadful signal, a signal that no-one in town wants to hear, and those that have heard it have never wanted to hear again.

The door opens quickly as Sophia bursts in. "There's a black cloud, coming in from the south-east. It's moving fast. Against the wind."

Then the noise reaches them. The sound of manic, hellish cawing.

"Grimm." Nella breathes out in fear.

---

They come. A maniac horde of black wing and feather, white bone and talon. An airborne armada of destruction and hatred given avian form. Body shapes that should have been majestic in flight, wings sweeping and beating over the landscape, are now naught but forms to bring ruin and death to humanity.

The swarm of Nevermores fill the air. They are not numerous to black the skies, like they would have done nearly a century ago during the Great War. They are more of a dark cloud than a storm, but they number just over a hundred strong. Not enough to wipe out the town by themselves, but enough to leave it weakened for their kin to slaughter. The makeup of the swarm varies in size, from ones no larger than a raven, to some with a wingspan the size of an adult human. The largest of them all, a true Alpha, is a monster, with both wings the size of a full-grown draught horse, each wing beat buffets the air with a blast of power.

The vanguard, outriders of the group, ride swiftly on quick wingbeats. The fly low over the tree-tops, the green foliage passing them by in simple grey blurs. Young Grimm, they have no clear indication of what they pass. They blur over trees and foliage, over numerous fleeing forms of wildlife. To either sides, they can sense and see conflict against their ground-based kin; to the far north-west, a group of three humans and a Faunus are battling a small contingent of their kin around a ruined relay tower, while in a shorter distance to the south, a group of eleven individuals, their bodies flaming with anger, are engaging the vanguard of the horde that is on the tail of the Nevermores.

But neither of those groups as the flocks concern. Their target is the town ablaze with fear and apprehension. It calls to them, like a flame to moths.

The forerunners of the swarm, the youngest and the quickest, shoot over the woods, the bells atop the towns walls as much as a lure as the emotions within the town itself.

The Nevermores, about twenty in all, plunge on through the sky, their wings beating faster and faster as they build up speed. Racing right towards the middle of the town.

The people gathered almost right in the centre are unsure of what direction the attack is going to come from. The face all directions, weapons at the ready, nervous energy radiating from them. They're also spread out.

Not an ideal target for an aerial attack, but the Nevermores don't care. They only desire to kill.

Almost as one, they stop in the air, as they push their wings out in front of them. It's not a learned skill. It's not something that a young Nevermore is taught to do by an older Nevermore. It does not work like that for Grimm. Nature does not apply to them, and they do not know an ounce of nurturing in their body.

They are anathema to both.

Like the hissing of a great multitude of snakes, the Nevermores unleash a barrage of their dagger-like feathers at the humans on the ground.

Pandemonium follows quickly.

Feathers lance at the ground, clattering off stone and metal with a great ringing on the latter. Some punch through canvas, shredding the fabric.

But the humans are moving.

While they have been caught unawares by the sudden direction of the attack, as soon as the feathers were unleashed upon them, they scatter, running to take shelter behind any solid barricade they can find. Discipline takes over from shock and fear as guardsmen dive into cover beneath or around their cargo-6s, even as the rain of lethal feathers come as a deluge.

Many are quick. Some are not.

The unluckiest are in Fourth Squad of 3rd Platoon. As they run for the closest piece of clover, they are caught in the barrage of natural flechettes. The ones at the front manage to dive into cover, leaving three of their squad still out in the open as the feathers hit their marks. One man goes down, a single feather digging right through the gap between his helmet and his flak armour, smashing through his skin and out the front of his neck in a spray of arterial blood, dropping him to the ground wordlessly. The other two are luckier; one takes a feather to her left hip, staggering her with a yell before she manages to right herself and hobble to cover. The last of the squad to be injured takes a feather right through the sole of his foot as he dives over into cover.

One killed, two injured. Good numbers from an ambush. But the real damage has been caused. Panic and fear has begun to spread through the town.

Fear and anger.

---

The doors to the mayor's house are thrown inwards with a loud bang as Captain Thade storms out of the man's house, his facial hair bristling with anger at how badly his Cadians have been caught unawares by this new enemy.

Damn the Eye, they should be better than this!

"Captain Thade, slow down!" Mayor Goldthwaite calls out from behind, his limp, marked by the irregular thump of his boots, slowing him down. "You need to calm down!"

"Dorn's Blood!" Fidor cries loudly as he steps through the door and out into the town square. In front of him, still parked in their original positions are the cargo-6s, only now they have men and women ducking behind them for cover. "What the bloody hell are you people all playing at?"

In the sky, the avian… Grimm, Fidor forces himself to remember, are flying back, back to the large swarm that is bearing down on the town. His mind begins to form plans.

"Sir!" Lieutenant Maulville calls out into the microbead in the captain's ear. "Third Platoon is reporting casualties: two wounded, one dead, sir."

Deckard chimes in. "Trooper Litten and Specialist Kall haven't come back from the hab-blocks!"

Commissar Schreiber. "Captain, I have panicked civilians in my area, urging the men to come into the homes, and we can't get them to calm down."

Voices. Many voices. So many voices, all clamouring for attention, for notice. For words of comfort or guidance. To be told what to do, where to go. He can lead them all, tell them all what to do, but a simple order will not do it. He needs something more. Military discipline will not help Fidor right now. He needs something greater.

"Fury of Cadia!" The loud booming voice of Father Constantine rolls across the square, and maybe further, as the bearded man strides directly into the open space. "You! You are all guardians of the Cadian Gate, the wardens of the Eye of Terror! What fear does this putrid xenos species hold on you, when you have faced the very forces of hell itself, and walked away unscathed? Stand tall, my brothers and sisters! Stand tall as the mighty Praetor of Terra himself! Stand tall as the walls that surround this town! Rise up! Rise up and strike down these beasts! For the God-Emperor is with us, and we shall not fail!"

At the words of encouragement, and slight chastisement too, each guardsman stands up from their cover, eyes raised to the sky, with weapons held surer in their hands.

"Steel your hearts, and stoke in your breasts the fires of rage! Kill the alien! This is your mother's prayer! Burn the xenos! This is the cry of your Terran ancestors, your holy blood-lines! These spawns of foulness are the cause of the destruction you saw at Marysville! Remember your rage at those sights! Let it flow through you like holy wine, let it stoke in you the fires of vengeance, and then let your lasguns be your holy instruments of destruction once again! In the Emperor's holy name, let it be so!"

Fidor can feel it. The anger he felt at the ambush changes, shifting in heat and intensity from a burning anger at himself, to a broiling fury at the universe, at the sort of world that would create such beasts like the Grimm.

A hand on his arm makes him turn around. Having finally caught up, Mayor Goldthwaite looks at the man, eye to eye. A look of fear mixed with shock is on the man's face.

"Your man needs to calm down!" He says, in a voice somewhere between pleading and commanding. "He's getting your men worked up, and getting them angry leads to nothing good when Grimm are concerned."

'They are drawn to negative emotion in an inexecrable fashion, like moths to a flame.'

The words flow through Fidor's mind. And a savage grin forms on his face.

"Good!" Fidor calls back, almost laughing as he smiles. "Let them come! It'll make it easier for us to kill them."

Goldthwaite's shock deepens, as a terrified expression falls across his face. He relinquishes his hold on the Cadian's arm and he takes a shaky step backwards.

"Y-you're mad."

"I'm not mad." Fidor replies evenly, as he reaches down and unsnaps the leather cover of his holster. With ease from years of practice, he withdraws the plasma pistol from its sheath and activates the energy coils in one go. The pistol is archaic, but elegant. Steel all over, with a bronze barrel and cooling vents, blackened and blued with use. As he activates the coils, the blue glow of the weapon comes to life, casting his face into something… hellish. "Just doing my duty. For Emperor, and Imperium."

Turning away, he marches down the short steps into the square, to stand next to Father Constantine.

"Forget about Litten and Kall." He calls out. "Knowing them, they'll be holed up somewhere. They know their duty, and we know ours. Tell Commissar Schreiber to ignore the civilians and get his soldiers here on the double-quick. Tell Third Platoon to get their wounded to an emergency triage position as direct by Doc Valim and then join up with the rest of us here. Everyone else, execute defence protocol Sigma-Two-Delta. On the double now."

At the command, each squad moves away from cover and out into the open, where they split. Each ten man squad splits into small rectangles, two men deep, five men across. Without a word, the front five men drop to a kneel, lasrifles held to their shoulders as they point their weapons up at the sky and at the approaching horde of Grimm.

"Tell the Munitorum crews to man their heavy stubbers. We'll need their weapons in the next few minutes."

Seconds later, the clack and clatter of loaded and readied heavy stubbers fills the air, before the only sound that fills the town square now is the approaching wingbeats and caws of the aerial beasts.

"Any words, captain?" Father Constantine asks.

Fidor thinks for a second. He checks the charge on his plasma pistol. Then he speaks.

"Not a beast survives."

---

With loud cawing cries and shriek, the flock of Nevermores descend onto the town. The avian Grimm fly pell-mell down through the sky, their first barrage of feathers sending the humans into disarray. The miasma of fear and nervousness that wells up from the town is a mask to them as much as a lure, blinding them to what the group of humans in the middle of the town are doing.

"OPEN FIRE!"

The cry rings out loud and clear, repeated from dozens of throats, well suited to calling out against the most cacophonous of noises.

Seconds later, the air is filled with the snap and whine of lasbolts spitting forth into the sky, angry red against the blue. They fill the air in blinding arrays of lines, bolts intersecting and crossing the other. And Grimm die.

Nevermores fall from the sky before they realise what is happening. Smaller Grimm are simply blasted into oblivion, their bodies scattering to the four winds as the atoms that make up their wretched bodies are burned away by the searing heat of the Cadian guns. Larger ones have their bodies perforated, multiple bolts slapping into and through them, tearing their feathers and wings to ragged shreds. They fall to the ground even as their bodies begin to disintegrate.

And yet still the Grimm come on. So driven in their own rage and desire for the destruction of humanity, they continue their dive, beaks open in wide cries of avian anger.

The chatter of heavy stubbers comes as their reply. Heavy solid slug bullets, each one point-fifty in calibre, roar out of the long barrels of the guns mounted on the cargo-6s and the Salamander into the sky. Every fifth bullet is replaced with a tracer, the ammunition burning red hot as it flies through the air. Long streams are cut through the air, the guns tracking back and forth through the aerial horde, cutting Grimm to pieces, feathers and ichor to fall streaming to the floor as they begin to dissolve.

But the Nevermores keep diving. The younger ones, the smaller beasts, keep going because that instinct to kill, to rend and claw and tear, is all they know in their short lives. Some of the older ones are trapped by gravity, their own speed their undoing as they hurtle down to earth. A few manage to pull back, an emotion not unknown to Grimm but hardly experienced by them creeping into their minds: fear.

It's still too late.

As they close, the whine of the specialist weapons of the Cadian arsenal powering up fills their hearing.

Far too late.

Five separate blasts of light, each one as bright as a star, fill the air as they lance out into the enemy flock. Plasma weaponry, so poorly understood by the Imperium of Man, treated with superstition more than any other piece of technology in the Imperial arsenal. Yet still, it is the most single most destructive weapon the Cadian Shock Troops possess. Searing bolts of raw energy blast up into the heavens. Nevermores are atomised instantly as they contact with the plasma, while those at the coronas of the blasts are set aflame, making them fall to the ground in shrieking fire balls.

The swarm is in disarray. Torn between their instinct to destroy humanity and their fear at the heavy decimation of their flock, the Nevermores scatter in different directions. Some wheel off, making for the safety of the trees, over descend further onto the town. At least, in their minds, their deaths will still bring ruin to humanity.

The biggest one, the Alpha, turns aside, leaving the smaller ones to their fate. It knows it will die here. It just needs to wait. So it lets its smaller kin die.

Lasbolts still lash up at them, red hot beams that sear and slice through flesh and feathers with ease. Bolts of plasma energy spit upwards, broiling fire that incinerates packs wholesale. And yet still the Cadians have more weapons at their disposal. Ones nearly as ancient as war itself, and one as deadly as they day they were constructed.

---

Standing by the door of the hab, Tychos stands besides Sophia as they watch the carnage their comrades are unleashing on the enemy. They whining snap and crack of lasbolts, the clatter of stubber ammunition and the potent roaring whoomph of plasma energy being let loose. It's a stirring sight, of that there is no mistake, and being able to just watch it from the side-lines is a very rare thing for either of them to do. Their viewing place is usually right front and centre.

Still… it's not a good feeling to know that you should be doing something while you're doing nothing.

"They're putting up a wall of fire, no mistake." Sophia says simply.

Tychos knows that she, like himself, wishes they were at the front and centre of the action, right in there with their squadmates, but the situation doesn't allow it.

Turning his head slightly, Tychos can see Bear Stone, his rifle clutched tightly in his hands as his wife and daughter stay behind him, hiding behind a very sturdy wall. They either look at the tumult outside in wide eye fear, or at the two Cadians, their rifles hung across their chests as they stand by the open door, in confusion.

Tychos doesn't say a word as he turns back to look at the display of Imperial small arms fire in the centre of town. He doesn't want to say it, but he thinks that his and Sophia's body language definitely tells them everything they need to know: this is not a big deal to either of them.

A loud, roaring whoosh fills the air as a giant, rolling tongue of flame, probably a hundred metres in length spits out from the square up into the air, sending screeching, flaming bundles to the ground in ruin.

Sophia lets out a back of laughter, absolutely filled with joy. "Throne damn, it's good to see a flamer in use again! Just wish it was mine!"

To her side, Tychos just rolls his eyes. 'Fire-freak.'

His thoughts are interrupted as a small tug pulls at the thigh of his left leg. Looking down, he sees Carmen has come to stand beside him. Her eyes are wide open with fear and shock at what she sees outside, while her ears are still pressed flatly against her head. Tychos will admit that he does not have the best knowledge of non-human biology, other than a lasbolts to the head will put down most xenos beasts, so he's unsure how her ears relate to her mental state. But something about the way they are tells him that the child is scared.

"Don't worry, little one." He says, shifting his rifle to his side as he moves to a crouch next to Carmen. "We won't let them come. Not now, not ever."

At his words, Carmen turns to look at him directly, the worry in her face shifting to wide eyed hope.

"Y-you… you promise?"

He doesn't mean to say it. He can't stop himself. Nearly every rational fibre inside of him, every intellectual nerve in his brain tells him he should not say what he is about to say. But his heart tells him to say it.

"Big brother won't let anything happen to you." He says, putting a comforting hand onto her head.

She's not Arie, he knows it. Nothing short of intervention of the God-Emperor would be able to bring her back to him. The rational part of his mind is telling him that it's just to make her feel better, to make sure that Carmen doesn't get into trouble with the rest of the soldiers, and to keep her in line. But the irrational part of his mind tells Tychos that she needed to hear it. To see her happy again, to see her smile, will be the thing that makes all of the shitty situations they have been through on this planet all worthwhile.

She needs this.

"They're bugging out!" Sophia cries out in glee, making both Tychos and Carmen turn to look outside.

Sure enough, the last of the xenos-beasts still capable of flying are wheeling around and away, chased by las and heavy stubber fire. A horde that must have been just over a hundred was cut down in a couple of minutes of sustained and disciplined fire and Cadian fury. A paltry number escape, while the slowest of the beasts are cut down from the air. As the last one clear the field of fire, a great cry rises up from the centre of town: a cry of victory.

Behind them, the sound of Bear loosening his grip on his gun reaches them. "You… you made the Grimm turn tail. … Even the best Huntsmen have trouble with that."

At his words, the pair turn around and they see the Stone family looking at them with both admiration and hope. Emotions that Cadians have seen very rarely since The Fall.

The microbead in Tychos' helmet, left in its place on the table in the scramble for cover, sounds off, prompting the man to take it off the table and replace it on his head.

"Tychos!" Lieutenant Deckard's voice calls out. "Are you there? Come in, over!"

"I'm here, lieutenant." Tychos replies. "We're still holed up in one of the civilian habs with Carmen. We would have left sooner but-"

"No time for that now!" The woman replies testily. "Just get your arses over here now. Double time! Uncle's orders."

"Copy that." Tychos says in response, clipping the helmet back in place. "Sophia, we need to head back. Uncle needs everyone there."

"You're leaving!?" The young teen, Melo, replies in shock and fear. "But what if the Grimm come back?"

"I think that's why they're going, sweetie." Nella Stone says in a soothing voice, as she turns to look at the pair. "Right?"

Tychos nods, before he turns to look at Carmen, the young girl seeming to have shrunk down on herself in fright.

"Carmen." The Cadian begins. "I need you to be a good girl, and stay with the Stones, okay? Something bad is going to happen, and I want you to be safe. All right?"

Fear fills the girls eyes again before she lunges forward, wrapping her arms around Tychos' waist.

"No! No, don't go! I want to stay with you!" She cries out, pleading in her voice as she looks up at Tychos with watering eyes. "I'll be a good girl! Please! Don't leave me like momma and papa did!"

Looking at his squadmate, all he gets from Sophia is a noncommittal shrug.

"I can't see a reason why we can't take her."

Tychos nods his head. "Okay. Okay." Bending down, he picks up Carmen full in his arms. "We won't leave you here, but you have to do what we say. Okay?"

Carmen nods, even as she wipes away the tears in her eyes. Taking that as his cue, Tychos turns to face the Stone family.

"Thank you all for the hospitality. But we need to leave."

Bear nods his head. "You stay safe, soldier-boy. And keep her safe too."

Tychos nods before he watches Nella move out fully from behind the wall.

"May the Brother Gods and the Maidens protect you."

The words are blasphemous, of that there is no doubt. There is only one god, and he is seated on a throne of gold orbiting a distant star. The words should see them shot for heresy by the commissariat, or any good guardsman.

But now is not the time or place.

"The Emperor protects." Tychos gives as a reply, Sophia nodding her head at the side, before they turn and leave the house.

Moving at a quick jog, they cast a look between the other.

"This is the strangest planet I've been on." Sophia says.

Tychos cocks an eyebrow at her. "Stranger than Mortus IV?

Sophia's brows furrow at the mention of the planet. "… okay, maybe a close second."

In his arms, Carmen just looks at the pair in confusion, not understanding what is being said between the pair.

It takes them a minute to reach the town square, slowing to a walk as they approach their company. A few soldiers give them exasperated looks for not taking part in the fighting, while others simply bid them 'welcome back' as though they missed a small jaunt in the woods. Others say hello to Carmen more than the pair of Cadians she is accompanied by. Out of the corner of his, Tychos can see Anton, his commissariat black uniform flecked a bit with mud, eye the pair suspiciously, but he ignores it as Lieutenant Deckard joins the pair.

"Missed one hell of a show, you two." She says warmly, before turning her gaze to the child in Tychos' arms. "Good to see you safe, little one."

The words earn a smile from Carmen, the gesture copied by Tychos and Sophia.

"So what's the word?" Sophia asks.

Silently, Deckard just points over her shoulder at Captain Thade, who is currently holding a vox-caster set to his head and speaking loudly.

"Say again, Sergeant Thaddeus! What is your situation, over!"

He falls silent as he listens to the Astartes on the other end of the line.

"I'm sorry, my lord. Repeat your last! Situation is… a little hairy?"

---

The canine-faced xenos beast roars as it charges. In reply, the Tigrus-Exitus pattern boltgun spits out a shell, the internal self-propellent pushing it past a speed that can only be dodged only by those with the most honed reflexes.

This beast has none of that skill, natural or otherwise.

The shell flies straight and true, punching through the bone like armour of its head, before it detonates inside in a cloud of black ichor and white bone fragments. The creature drops to the ground without a noise, its body steaming blackness as it begins the strange process their kind undergo upon death.

More come. And Thaddeus does his killing work.

A beast leaps over a fallen log to his left. Double shot to the chest, blowing out its internal organs and sending it sprawling to the ground.

Another one powers along the loamy forest floor on all fours from the right. One shot to the left shoulder, sending the limb cartwheeling as it crashes to the floor in a heap. The Astartes veteran dispatches it with a single shot to the head, blowing out the top and back of the skull.

And the horde keeps coming.

"I repeat, Captain Thade," He says into the microbead in his ear, even as he pumps round after round into the beasts. "It is getting a little hairy. I have estimates of roughly an eight to one disparity in numbers of these beasts. And they're all converging on your location."

Thaddeus never means it, but every time he ends up in an operation with the Militarum, he always finds himself slipping into their parlance at times. While he chastises himself for it each time, he finds that it often gets the point across.

Around him, the trees erupt in fire as his neophytes fire into the approaching horde. Bolters spit out their mass-reactive shells, shredding the beasts at mid-range, Neophyte Ollarus' heavy bolter roaring as he swept it side to side methodically. In every direction he points it, black-furred beasts are blown apart and even a few trees fall to the ground, crushing some of the horde underneath and forcing others to go round.

But still they keep coming.

Neophyte Karis' shotgun barks, the amputator shells doing their namesakes as he shreds off limbs at the joint, sending the bests to the floor struggling and snarling in pain. Behind the lines, the sniper rifles of Neophytes Justus and Markis snap as they take out targets of opportunity. Which is virtually every beast in front of them.

"Can you hold your position, Sergeant Thaddeus?" Captain Fidor asks, worry evident in his voice.

Thaddeus fires off three shots as he beheads two of the beasts and destroys the right side of the head of a third. Bad shot.

"Negative, captain. Falling back is our only option, but we'll slow them down."

A curse comes through the vox as Thaddeus disembowels another beast.

"Understood, my lord. I'll contact command for evac. Keep the Grimm back as best you can."

Thaddeus' brow furrows in confusion as he cores the chest of an attacking foe.

'Grim. Synonymous with dread and foulness. An apt name.'

"Scouts! Fall back by fire team! Now! Justus and Markis, engage snare mines and timed charges! Ollarus; keep up your suppressing fire!"

"On it, brother-sergeant!" The two snipers reply over the vox before the sound of their sniper rifles drop away. Which does nothing to decrease the noise level in the woods. The Grimm keep coming, and the Astartes keep killing them.

It is not a retreat. Astartes do not retreat. To retreat is to turn your back on the enemy, to admit defeat and accept the battle as lost.

The Angels of Death do not retreat. The scouts walk backwards, weapons kept ahead and still blazing death. Ollarus moves atop of a rock, allowing him to pour the fire of his heavy weapon upon the heads of the onrushing horde as his brothers withdraw.

"Grenades!" Thaddeus roars, not taking his eyes off the enemy in front of him. His bolter kicks in his hands as he kills another, and another.

Above his head, fist-sized objects fly over his head and land in the onrushing horde. Cacophonous explosions send up clouds of dirt, while sprays of razor sharp fragments zip out. Limbs are shredded, while torsos are flayed open by the detonations and organs pulped. Bodies are hefted into the air as if by a giant hand before slamming down, snapping necks and spines or crushing other beasts.

It does nothing to slow the horde.

A theoretical comes to Thaddeus' mind: the manner of attack brings to mind the chitinous swarms of the tyranids, or the more base and feral variants of the greenskin orks. There is no discernibly organized rush, just a pell-mell assault on the enemies front. A rush to overrun and destroy.

But, even as he fires more bolts, taking easy and sure steps backwards, Thaddeus realizes that there is no practical to that theoretical. Tyranids are not mindless beasts; the Hive Mind and synapse creatures allow a swarm to ebb and flow as the battle dictates. Greater beasts support the lesser broods, walking artillery-beasts acting as tanks while being commanded by the Hive Lords or Swarm Lord.

And yet… there is no manner of the greenskins taste for bloodshed. While some beasts are fleeter than the rest, and there is the jostling for position that comes from such large bodied animals being in close proximity, there are no clashes for position or larger beasts lashing out to reinforce their position in the swarm. Each beast knows their place in the swarm and their role in their task.

They are an instinctual force, a force that knows its role in this world. But at the same time, they are as alien as anything he has faced.

And that is unsettling.

The last round of his bolter spits out, coring through the torso of another Grimm, the sixtieth that Thaddeus has killed. A good kill-count, but worthless against the horde advancing on him.

"Reloading!" He roars as he reaches to his waist to draw a standard sickle magazine while simultaneously moving his finger to press the ejection button of his bolter.

Senses attuned by centuries of combat to minute changes go off and combat time kicks in for Thaddeus. His bolt rifle drops out of his hand, the sling on his shoulder going taught as it takes the dropped weight. His hands go down to his hips, moving to grasp at the twin blades he wears, even as the Grimm beast lunges at him, its head and upper torso armoured heavily in white bone. A mighty forepaw, almost as much a hand as a paw, is outstretched, ready to grasp and kill.

His hands grasp onto the hilts of his blades as Thaddeus pitches his upper body backwards, letting the limb sail above him. He draws his weapons; one a shining, superb example of Imperial craftsmanship in the form of a cruciform pattern power sword, three and a half feet of finely wrought and polished steel, quickly becoming wreathed in potent blue energy at the press of a button. The other is simple but no less lethal. Triangular and wickedly sharp, its eighteen-inch long blackened blade is no less deadly for its shorter length. For it's a Night Reaper of Catachan, held in the hand of one of the Emperor's Avenging Angels, even in a reverse grip.

The blades cross over his body, each one hitting a different target. The Night Reaper speeds through the air with a whistle, ramming into the pit of the Grimm beasts armpit, even as the power sword sings upwards and severs the offending the arm at the elbow.

The beast howls in pain. It slams its feet into the ground to arrest its lunge, turning to face the Astartes, but all it does is leave itself open.

The Night Reaper is withdrawn, and the power sword is brought down diagonal, splitting the armour open from right shoulder to left hip in one single swipe, the powered field of the blade making a mockery of the armour the beast is clad in. The Grimm beast lets out a death-rattle, or as close to one as such a beast can make, before its two pieces drop to the floor in a flurry of ichor and dissolving matter.

And the horde still keeps coming.

"Charges and mines set, brother-sergeant. Recommencing fire."

The snap of precision sniper rifle fire joins the din of battle again, the marksmen covering the steady advance backwards of their brothers from afar, while Thaddeus hold the line at the front by himself.

He's a whirling dervish of death. His cameleoline cloaks spreads around him as he spins his Night Reaper and power sword in concert. He is a blur of movement. The cloak on his back shifts colours faster than the eye can track, disorientating his opponent, leaving each beast that tries to bring him down merely snapping and clawing at empty air or the edge of his cloak. The power sword and Night Reaper lash out in concert. Limbs are shorn off, heads run through and bodies are sliced open, all as he moves surely backwards.

Thaddeus grimaces in annoyance, even as he executes beast after beast that get in range. He needs to reload his bolter lest he get swarmed. He needs an opening.

The roar of Ollarus' heavy bolter, coupled with his own roar of rage, as he tears apart the Grimm beasts in front of the veteran sergeant is the opening he needs. Quickly bounding backwards, Thaddeus deactivates the power sword and sheathes it and its sister blade in one fluid motion. The bolter is soon up in his hand, drum magazine ejected, and a fresh sickle magazine inserted. In seconds, he adds his own bolter fire to the din.

"We need to withdraw to the settlement. Link up with the Cadians!" He yells as he puts down beast after beast with pinpoint shots. A slight twitch of his jaw to the side activates his vox link. "Any Imperial Navy units, this Brother-Sergeant Thaddeus, Steel Drakes Astartes, 10th Company. Request for air support against ground targets from any available attack aircraft. How copy, over?"

The only sound to reach his ears is the roar of gunfire at his sides and back, and the roar of the swarm before him.

A female voice suddenly clicks in. "Brother-Sergeant, this is Miro Jax, Ogre Squadron, 568 Wing. I have a flight of three Thunderbolts with me, loaded for bear. What is the target, over?"

Even in the middle of a firefight, Thaddeus keeps his voice level, making sure his words come across easily through the tumult around him.

"Large horde, over a thousand strong. Ground based organisms, no air cover or support. Coming in from the south. How copy, over?"

More gunfire, more beasts die.

"Copy all that. Am approaching from north-east. ETA sixty-seconds. Mark positions with smoke. Emperor be with you, my lord."

Sixty seconds. In a combat scenario, a lot of different scenarios can happen in sixty seconds. Thaddeus knows this from over six hundred years of experience. Not all of those scenarios are positive ones.

"Squad; use flash and concussion grenades to cover our withdrawal. Justus, cover Ollarus as he pulls back. Break contact as soon as you're able, and make straight for the settlement and link up with the Cadians."

The horde presses inwards as Thaddeus switches out his magazine. The sun is dipping lower, the soft tinge of orange beginning to grow stronger against the darkening sky. He glances it only through the gap in the treetop briefly before his view is taken up by the maw of a Grimm beast, which is promptly decapitated by a bolter round.

Thaddeus is not cursed with the gift of foreknowledge. But experience has taught him many things, and he knows. The sky will glow tonight.

---

The inside of the command centre is in tumult. Junior officers and aides are calling to each other, talking loudly to be heard over the noise their fellows are generating. In contrast, silent servitors, hardwired so their hands are connected to banks of cogitators and rows of readout machines, their glass eyes staring blankly at their screens as they look at potential shipping manifests, rotational readout, weather and climate reports.

In the midst of the large room, an island of calm in the sea of noise exists. It's a hololith table, it's display glowing bright green in the subdued military grey of the Cadian bunker. The display is nowhere near the most complex display it has shown. No blasted cityscapes that stretch for hundreds of miles. No interconnecting trenchworks, zig-zagging across a continent spanning warzone. No alien jungle teeming with life, even as parts of it are subsumed in atomic fire, great fireballs engulfing swathes of flora and foliage.

In the grand scheme of the Imperial war machine, the view on the display is nothing great at all. A simple walled town, five square Terran kilometres in size, surrounded by a vast clearing, in turn surrounded by woodland. It's an insignificant little town, compared to the grand vistas of the Cadian kasrs, or any other Imperial hive.

And yet, in that town, over two-hundred men and women of the Cadian Gate have their lives at risk.

"Well…" Major Maxwell Bellechenko says gruffly, his hand never leaving his chin as he stares at the display alongside his superior officer. "That snowballed quickly."

"To go from a simple reconnoitre and humanitarian mission, to a full-blown siege in less than twelve hours. That's got to be a record in some way." The comment provided by Commissar-Captain Mycella Trakis sound almost jovial, were it not for the hard stare she directs at the table in front of her.

As she speaks, the image on the screen is supplanted by black. An almost foul blackness that forms like fast-moving mould as it spreads through the woods to the south of the settlement. Numerous tendrils of the swarm speed towards the treeline, although those are stopped by timed explosives or aerial firepower provided by Ogre Squadron's Thunderbolts.

Through it all, Colonel Leontij Creed just stands there, leaning both arms against the table's surface as he gazes down at the display. To an outside observer, the sixty-year old Cadian officer is the picture of coolness and calm, but inside, his mind is in turmoil.

Mycella's words are correct. What has happened is a record. A record in disaster for a force already reeling from disaster.

Taking a breath, Leontij pushes himself to stand fully upright.

"Someone get my Captain Thade, immediately."

Exactly five seconds after the order is given, a subaltern appears at his side, a vox-caster placed on the table and a mic in hand which the colonel swiftly takes.

"Valiant Actual, this is command. Do you read? Over."

Static fills the air for a second before the voice of Fidor Thade comes through loud and not perfectly clear.

"Command, this is Valiant Actual. Signal is good. Over."

"Captain. I want a no bullshit assessment: what the Throne is going on down there? Over."

Static again fills the air.

"Command. We've got a horde, just over a thousand strong, all bearing down on us. Veteran Sergeant Thaddeus is withdrawing his scouts to our position, but he estimates that they'll be on us in roughly fifteen minutes. They can slow them down… but they can't stop them. Over."

Leontij processes the news as he looks at the major and commissar-captain across from him. Moving the mic away from his mouth, he address his junior.

"Get me the flyboy. Now."

Major Maxwell nods his head, before he turns smartly and marches out of the command centre to fetch the Officer of the Fleet. Bringing the mic back up to his mouth, Leontij continues speaking.

"Captain, what is your status? Over."

Static again, slightly stronger this time.

"Unbroken, sir. We've got two wounded, one KIA, so we're still combat effective. But we've got around three-hundred-plus civilians with us, sir."

Civilians… that complicates matters.

A chime in the vox-mic goes off, a stronger signal overtaking Captain Thade's.

"Colonel Creed, this Sergeant Thaddeus." The Astartes speaks in a flat and unhurried tone of voice, completely at odds with the screams of aircraft engines above his head as they unload munitions on their target. "Suggest you begin an evacuation process, immediately. This horde will not stop."

"You want us to evacuate to facilitate an evacuation of a whole company of infantry?" Mycella says in confusion as she moves closer to the vox-caster. "My lord, with all due respect-"

"Commissar-Captain." The veteran Astartes interrupts quickly. "In over six-hundred years in the Emperor's service, I have yet to meet anyone who is respectful when they begin a sentence with 'with all due respect'. But I was not talking about the company. I was talking about the town."

The pair of Cadians stand absolutely still and stare at the vox-caster in silence.

"Facilitate the evacuation… of a settlement of three-hundred-plus civilians… who aren't event Imperial citizens?" The commissar-captain says aghast. "My lord, what you are suggesting is… it's treason."

The voice that comes back through the vox is as low as far off thunder, but drips with danger.

"I know treason, Commissar-Captain Trakis. I also know duty, as I'm sure you do. For Astartes, our duty is our life. And our lives are considerably longer than yours." His voice softens slightly, even as the sound of fast paced running filters through from the background. "But to answer your question: yes. I am saying that you should evacuate the town of the civilians.

"Let them see that these men and women from a world they have never heard of, from a far-flung empire that have only just heard about today wishes to aid them in this terrible time. Show them that men and women from a distant world, who serve a distant lord, are ready to lay down their lives for them."

Leontij looks over at Mycella as she process the Astartes' words, and she sees the flash of recognition that only a life-long political officer could have.

The distinctive bark of bolter fire comes through the vox.

"Besides," Thaddeus continues, his voice sounding nonchalant despite the danger he is undoubtedly in. "We take a vow in our chapter. As long as one Steel Drake draws breath, then we defend humanity. The wall that defends all; innocent, lost, pure, impure. Faithful, and unenlightened. That is our duty."

"We guard the realms of the Emperor." Thade's voice cuts in, still laced with static. "Colonel… we'll do it. We'll hold the line."

"That's not your decision to make, captain." Mycella says sternly, as she turns to look at the colonel. "Sir, what are your orders?"

'We guard the realms of the Emperor'. Leontij Creed repeats in his head. 'What are the realms of the Emperor? How far away from his light can we be before they stop being His, and ours? Cadia sat on the edge of Hell itself… and yet it was still the Emperor's. It was humanities wall, our gate. And we stood there. That was our duty then. Why the hell does our duty stop because we're in this backwoods system?'

When Leontij speaks, his voice has a tone of finality in it. "Captain, I want you to be honest with me: is a breakout possible?"

Silence comes from the other end of the line, as silence begins to fall in the control centre, everyone wanting to listen to what is about to be said.

"Negative. If we try to get everyone out, then we'll get caught by the Grimm, as the locals call them. We'll loose everyone. If we just try to get the company out by itself… it'll just be a massacre."

That settles it.

"What do you need then, Captain?" Leontij asks.

"Sir… we desperately need heavy weapons. Missile launchers, mortars, heavy bolters. Anything that we can use against 'nids, we can use against these beasts. We'll also need close-air-support and air-strikes ready at our call."

"Ask, and the Aeronautica Imperialis will provide." A new voice says with no small amount of pride.

Turning his head, Leontij sees the form of Officer of the Fleet attached to the 598th, First Lieutenant Constantius de Pikalov. A tall man, dressed in the emerald green and blue uniform of the Segmentum Pacificus fleet, his slender and well-kept aristocratic features are at odds with the battle-hardened looks of the trio of Cadians before him. The row of ribbons he wears on his left breast show him to be a capable man though.

"Officer of the Fleet, reporting, colonel." Constantius says with a smart salute and a click of his heels before he walks towards the display table. "I know it's out of place for me to tell you how to do your job, if we're going to be executing a civilian evacuation while also simultaneously resupplying infantry in the field, then I suggest… how large is the landing zone?"

"Able to comfortably fit a Destrier and a pair of Valkyries, but nothing larger." Captain Fidor chimes in. "We don't have enough time to clear a larger landing zone."

Constantius nods. "… not perfect, but workable."

Reaching down, the Officer of the Fleet pulls out a personal data slate before he begins typing in various numbers and figures.

"If we need close-air-support, then I can set a flight of Thunderbolts and Avenger Strike Fighters on hand. Anything larger, I will need to liaise with the fleet."

As he lets the flyboy do his work, Leontij sees Major Maxwell approach him quietly from behind.

"Sir." He says quietly. "We run the risk of loosing an entire company, for faithless unbelievers."

Leontij nods his head.

"Yes. But we swore an oath of duty to the God-Emperor and the Golden Throne, to defend humanity from all enemies within and without. That oath does not stop just because the Warp shat us out somewhere only the Emperor knows about."

Turning back to look at the display table, Leontij's voice hardens.

"We have lost our home, but are still sons and daughters of Cadia. We have lost our kasrs, but are still Cadian Shock Troops. Our planet is gone, but we are still the bloody Imperial Guard. And here and now, we do our duty."

Looking up, he lets his eyes scan the room quickly but steadily before he speaks.

"Everyone, report to your posts. Sound the general alarm. First Lieutenant de Pikalov, alert all your pilots for the job at hand. I want the first craft launched within the hour. Major Bellechenko, alert Alpha Company of the First of the 589th, tell them to get their heavy weapons teams on stand-by for combat drop. Move!"

At his commands, the officers in question, and several others began their tasks, moving with speed to their stations, just as a whooping siren sounded off within the walls of the fort, signalling the beginning of movement for the Imperial war-machine on Remnant.

In the organised maelstrom, Commissar-Captain Mycella takes the colonel aside.

"If this falls through, colonel…" She warns him, quietly.

"I know the price. And I'll gladly pay it. But this must be done." Leontij says, putting his hands firmly behind his back as he draws himself to his full height. "Now… is there anything else you wish to add, commissar-captain?"

At that, a small but deadly smile comes to Mycella's face. "I think there is. I was informed, not too long ago, that the 57th Battalion stand ready for action. The kasr's kin stand ready for action."

A smile of his own spreads on to the colonel's face.

"Then let's show this planet how the Cadians fight."

---

AN: And with that, chapter 4 is UP! This was both a challenge and fun to write in the same measure. I look forward to doing more Cadian/Remnite moments.

And action! The one thing about Grimm is that it is hard to humanize them, since they are a purely destructive force, with no real will or individuality to them (apart from the Alpha Beowolf I created in this story), so it's fun to just wipe them out of existence with Imperial weaponry.

As ever, read, review and also enjoy!

Oh, as another note: to kind of help with my dream of getting money from something I enjoy outside of my actual job, I've started up a account. Called Ciaran's Curios, it's a place for me to post models I've painted, many of which will be from this story too, some bits of writing for said models, and I also might post up bits for A Light Against The Darkness too. It's nothing major, just a flat $5 for everything. If you join, I'll be grateful to you. If not, no worries.