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.

6. Chapter 5

There's always noise in an evacuation. Tychos has known this for his whole life. The sound of panicked yells and screaming, the roar of aircraft engines duelling with the sound of vehicles moving to positions to facilitate or hinder the escape, and the sounds of running gun battles by both defender and attacker alike.

Despite the sounds of the Thunderbolts in the distance unleashing their fury on the Grimm horde still in the forest, the residents of Carterstown are… quite subdued. Sure, they flinch every time one of the aircraft makes a pass with its engine or commits to a strafing run, but they all largely stand ready. Families clustered together, small packs of supplies and valuables deemed too precious to be left behind, while young children stand near their parents with faces torn between wide-eyed terror and wide-eyed awe at what's happening.

"They're taking this in stride." Tychos unwittingly says out loud in amazement.

"It's not the first time this town has had to be evacuated because of Grimm, son." The mayor of the town says as he looks up from the data-slate that Captain Fidor is showing him. "Usually, the evacuations are a lot more hectic and with the Grimm a lot closer. So this is definitely one of the better ones."

Tychos looks at the man simply, not knowing what to say before the mayor turns back to look at Uncle.

"Captain, I appreciate all of this, but if this horde of Grimm is as big as you claim it to be, then surely an evacuation is out of the question. Or at least, a full scale one you seem to think you can pull off."

To the mayor's side, Tychos sees Captain Thade look at Mayor Goldthwaite with a confused look.

"You don't think we can pull this off?"

The mayor lets out a weary sigh.

"Captain… you don't live to be my age in the wilds unless you're fast. And being fast means that you end up leaving people behind. It's not fun, but it's a fact of life. Try to take care of everyone, and you end up letting people down. And here… that gets people killed."

His words make Tychos look down at the floor. He understands that logic too well. It's the logic of the Imperium at its core; the many before the few. If a settlement can be saved but for a single hab-block, the hab-block is sacrificed. A city sacrificed to save a continent, a continent sacrificed to save a world, a world sacrificed to save a sector. That's why the Imperial Guard exist. They're the few that are sacrificed to save the many, the few that stand before the horror and stand to cover the others.

But most of all… they stand.

"Mayor Goldthwaite, I understand that logic perfectly." Captain Fidor says simply as he places both hands onto the data-slate. "But this evacuation is still going through."

"But how can you expect to save everyone? Is there enough room for all your men as well as my town?"

Tychos raises his head at the question, and he lets a small smile grace his lips. He knows what's going to be said.

"Mayor Goldthwaite. In our society, there is a saying." Uncle says almost conversationally, like he's giving a lecture. "Two sayings, actually. The first; 'the blood of the martyr is the seed of the Imperium'. And the second; 'only in death does duty end'. I know that to you people they must sound strange, but to us Cadians, they mean more than probably anyone else.

"This town will be evacuated. And your people will get out safe. Because we'll make sure they get out safe."

The mayor's mouth drops at the comment, the man at last fully comprehending what has just been said.

"Captain!" Another guardsman calls out. "The Astartes are back."

Turning, Tychos blanches at the sight of the eleven transhuman warriors pounding up the street to the centre of town at what would be a jog to them. They're massive, bigger than anyone in the company or the town, with corded muscles and giant hands hefting giant guns. They are giants of war. And apparently, ten of them aren't even full Astartes yet!

The group slows down, their leader in front ordering them to halt as he moves to talk to Captain Fidor. Out of the group, he is undoubtedly the leader. Seven feet tall, and built like a Leman Russ, the veteran Astartes exudes power, lethality and authority in his every step. But this warrior has become even deadlier looking since their first meeting outside of Fort Tempest. Sweat and dirt has matted his beard and hair, while the bolter carried in his giant mitts has obviously been fired repeatedly, with a sickle magazine replacing the large drum magazine it had not half a day ago. The camouflage cape that trails over his shoulders has been torn, the edges becoming jagged and torn, looking more like a ghastly burial shroud as he stalks towards the group of Cadians.

Around them, the townspeople slink back in fear at the sight of the warrior towering a full head and shoulders above them, and the mayor just stares up at him in wide-eyed fright.

"By the Brothers…" The man gasps out in fright and shock. "They… they grow you lot big on Cadia, don't they?"

"I'm no Cadian, good sir." The Astartes says as he stops next to Captain Fidor, letting his boltgun go slack on its sling. "More's the pity, I must admit. I am Sergeant Thaddeus, Veteran Sergeant and lead Scout of 10th Company of the Steel Drakes chapter of the Emperor's Adeptus Astartes. I apologise that we must meet in such circumstances."

For a few seconds, the man says nothing, simply looking up at the Astartes in a mix of aw and confusion.

Finally he speaks.

"Greetings. Were you lot with the Cadians in the town? I don't think I saw you."

The veteran Astartes lets out a small chuckle at the statement, seeing the man quickly overcoming his fear.

"I was with Captain Thade's company from before the settlement known as Marysville and was with them until we came to outside your settlement's walls. But the situation dictated us to remain in the woodlands outside. So, yes, this is our first meeting."

The mayor swallows. "… And. What is the situation like?"

Tychos looks up at the Astartes warrior as he contemplates what to say. The response is what he imagined a veteran of the Emperor's Finest to say.

"Not terrible. I've certainly seen worse."

Mayor Goldthwaite blanches, looking like he's just been struck by Sergeant Thaddeus.

"But…!" The older man stops himself before he yells out the news. "But you said the horde is over a thousand Grimm strong. That's 'not terrible' to you?"

When the Astartes answers, it's not with a single hint of pride or boasting. He says it simply and flatly, his features falling to an impassive mask.

"I've faced worse odds."

The mayor's mouth beings to flab open and closed as he tries to figure out what to say, but the large warrior ignores him as he turns to face Captain Fidor.

"Captain, I'd estimate that we have around five minutes until the horde arrives at the walls of this settlement. Maybe less if their numbers prove greater. What's the earliest that we can get the first transport here?"

"Fifteen to twenty minutes for the first wave of aircraft, my Lord Astartes." Fidor replies quickly.

"Then you know what you must do, captain?"

The Cadian nods his head before he turns to face his men. The next second, he's bellowing out his orders.

"Bravo Company! Ready yourselves! The enemy is coming. Make sure your weapons are ready and the rites are said. We go to war!"

A joyful cheer meets the proclamation, the other Cadians raising their fists into the air at the order before they quickly ready themselves for combat. Packs are dropped and stored against walls, power cells are checked while sights are adjusted for range. Those troopers with melta- and plasma guns being the process of preparing their esoteric weapons for action, while flamers have their pressure and flames checked and rechecked, and grenade launchers have their rounds readied.

Squads fall out one by one, packs left in bundles near the parked cargo-6s, before they pound up the streets towards the main gate and wall.

"Bring up the company and platoon colours!" Fidor calls out. "Let's let these motherless beasts know who they're dealing with."

Turning, Tychos can't help but grin at seeing the older man looking in awe and confusion of the action around him, a look echoed by the other townspeople.

"I… You people are really going to do this?" The mayor asks, looking at Tychos in confusion.

Tychos shrugs, a smile still on his face. "We're the Guard, sir. It's what we do."

Mayor Goldthwaite blinks at the strange man in front of him before a look of understanding comes to his face. Slowly, he turns to see Veteran Sergeant Thaddeus stalking off quietly, too quietly for a being of his size, as he gives out orders of his own, hand gestures pointing to different parts on the wall to emphasis his orders.

"And.. what about him? Them? Are they… are they 'Guard' too?"

Tychos shakes his head. "No, sir. They're Adeptus Astartes. The Emperor's Finest. They're something different."

To say that though is an understatement, Tychos will definitely admit. To compare to a single Cadian to the likes of an Astartes neophyte, even just by equipment alone, a person can easily tell that they are two very different warriors. Their large suits of carapace armour, their massive boltguns, sniper rifles and shotguns. It is easy to see that an Astartes Scouts are not in the same league as humans.

"So," The mayor asks again. "What are they?"

Tychos' brow furrows at the actual inanity of that question; how does no-one know, even in passing about the Adeptus Astartes? The Emperor's Angels of Death?

But he stops before he speaks, once he remembers where he is. Or rather, where he isn't.

"The best answer to that question, sir, is pretty long-winded and given the current situation, it's best not to go into too much detail about it. So to answer quickly and bluntly; they were made to kill beasts like your Grimm. And they do it bloody damn well."

The mayor's brows furrow at the comment. "'Made'…?"

Tychos prepares himself to have to explain what Astartes are to this man, but the voice of his platoon sergeant catches his attention.

"Tychos! Stop fraternizing and get your gear stowed!"

"I… ugh. On my way!" He calls out behind him before he turns to face the mayor. "I'm sorry, sir. Duty calls."

And with that, he turns and quickly jogs off, leaving the mayor of the settlement very flustered and confused about has been happening and he has been told.

---

Another Thunderbolt makes a pass in the distance, its autocannons chattering as it unleashes its payload into the woods, as Tychos moves to his squad's staging area. Set to the side of a large enough field of grass chosen as the landing zone for the evacuation. As such, it's almost jam-packed with locals, which are simultaneously jostling for first place in the evacuation, or trying to keep away from the Cadians as they prepare for war.

As he approaches, he sees Sophia, her fuel tanks filled with promethium slung over her back, the flamer sat atop them, as she crouches in front of the girl who is quickly becoming the company's mascot. Carmen is standing next to the pile of discarded packs, all of them bundled into a pile as tall as her, and she looks very distraught.

"Carmen, sweetie," Sophia tries to say softly. "You have to stay here. It's too dangerous for you."

"But I don't want to be left here!" The young girls cries out, her eyes wet with tears. "I don't want to be alone again!"

As he shucks off his backpack, Tychos can't help but frown at the girls words. She's panicked, worried by the strange things going around her, the sounds of combat going on outside the wall, the press for evacuation from the townspeople, and now the soldiers that have been so nice to her are preparing for combat.

No wonder she's scared.

"Carmen," The man says as he places his pack on the ground in the pile, coming up beside the girl. "Come here."

He holds out his arms in front of him and the girl walks into his arms, sniffling slightly as she is lifted up.

"Don't go." She sobs out. "Please. Please, I'll be good."

Shushing her gently, a hand brushing down her hair, Tychos looks around the area. He's not sure of what he can say right then.

"Look around you." He finally says, making Carmen look up, even as she rubs the tears from her eyes. "Look at all these people; the families, the children, the old people. Merchants, farmers, tradesmen. You had all of them in your hometown, didn't you?"

The little girl doesn't say anything, her face downcast as she nods her head.

"You're a good girl, Carmen. So I know you don't want these people to suffer like you suffered last night."

The words aren't nice, but they're not meant to be. Carmen shrinks on herself at the Cadian's words.

"I'm not saying this to be mean, but to tell you the truth; what happened in Marysville could happen here. If we don't step up and stop them. That's why we have to go."

Looking around, Tychos remembers. He remembers this same sort of scene unfolding at the landing ports in Kasr Drak. The chaos as the Archenemy pushed on the port, the interior troops pushing back with all they had. The horrible screaming of enemy shells incoming, the roar of outgoing shells and the roar of ascending and descending jet and plasma engines as they ferried evacuees out of the spaceport and came back down to pick up more.

As he looks around the civilians, he spots a set of familiar faces.

"Do you want to see them suffer?" He asks softly, directing Carmen to look at the Stone family, seeing Nella Stone holding onto Melo, both looking worried at the goings on around them, while Bear stands behind them both, rifle in his hands and a pensive look on his face.

Whimpering softly, Carmen shakes her head, making her hair and rabbit-like ears whip around slightly.

"Good girl." Tychos says softly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the squad assemble nearby, watching what's going on and what he'll do next. "Come on, let's go see them."

He's wasting time, and Tychos knows it. But it needs to be done. As he approaches the family, the youngest of the family turns to look at the approaching duo. Instantly, Melo's face shifts into a look that is rarely seen by soldiers of the Imperial Guard; unrestrained joy.

"Tychos! Carmen!" She cries out, drawing her parents attention onto the pair. Almost instantly, their trepidation is forgotten as they see the familiar faces.

"Hello, you two." Nella says, false calm in her voice, even as her eyes betray her. "So this is really happening then. You're going to get us out?"

"That we are, ma'am." Tychos says with a nod of his head before he falls into an uncomfortable silence.

A commotion behind him makes him turn. And he smiles.

"Now that's a sight and no mistake." Bear breathes out in awe at what he sees.

The company colours are up. A single solitary flag, a thick blue saltire against a red field, and set in the middle is the symbol of the Cadian Gate. Battle honours, small pieces of plain cloth, over a hundred on each side, line each side of the flag, while a pair of golden tassels dangle down from the top of the pole beneath a golden aquila.

The command squad is moving out, heading towards the wall, a stream of guardsmen following in their wake, lasrifles and other weapons held at port as they quick jog in time.

"I need to go with them." Tychos says simply as he turns back to face the Stone family. "Look after Carmen. Please."

Releasing her grip on her daughter, Nella Stone steps forward. "Yes. No problem. She'll be safe with us."

Tychos begins to hand the small child to the mother, but Carmen grips tight onto his flak vest.

"No!" She cries out. "No! Don't go! Big brother, please!"

The words sting but still Tychos carries on, prying her small hands off him as Nella takes hold of the girl.

"You be a good girl now, Carmen. Do what Miss Stone tells you. I'll be back when this is over."

"Please…" Carmen sobs out, tears streaming down her face. Without a word, Tychos places a hand against her cheek, using his thumb to wipe away one of the tears on her face.

Then he turns and jogs off, leaving Carmen with the Stone family, not looking back. Not looking back as he hears her cry out for him, begging him to come back, begging him not to leave her.

He jogs to reach up with his squad, no-one saying a word as they keep pace with the other. Just keeping their attention on the man in front of them and the incoming fight.

That's the trick.

Never think about coming back. Never think that you will come back, that's what Tychos' old platoon sergeant had said. If you think about coming back, you think you'll live. And if you think you'll live, you'll think your special, that you're protected, that you're invincible. You'll get sloppy, careless, reckless. And that will kill you.

So Tychos doesn't think he'll come back. To him, that was as much a good-bye as he could muster for the little abhuman girl. The others don't deride him for it, for they'd do the same.

Cadians only live one life. And it's lived for the Emperor and the Imperium, never for themselves.

Ahead, the gate looms tall and foreboding. It's nowhere near as tall as the walls of the Cadian kasrs, but they're good walls, stout and tall. With minimal fanfare, the Cadians spread out across the wall, taking up positions by platoon and squad. There's little jostling, no fussing, even as they spread out around the large forms of the Astartes scouts, their own weapons trained on the woods in front of them. Without heavy weapons apart from the solitary heavy bolter of the Astartes, the Cadians are at a disadvantage.

But when has that ever stopped them before?

---

"Come on, you sons of bitches! Do you want to live forever?" The black-clad form of Commissar Anton calls out as he waves the last of the guardsmen up steps to the wall. They don't give a reply, none of them do, but he sees a few of them smile at his words.

When the last man is up, only then does Anton ascend the stairs himself, his steps measured and unhurried, even as he unsheathes his weapons for the oncoming fight. A simple bolt pistol and chainsword, the classic tools of the commissariat. He tests the grip of the chainsword as he walks behind the backs of the Cadian gunline, watching each man and woman as they go about their own little rituals for the oncoming fight.

Some readjust the sights of their lasrifles, making sure they're set right. Others offer words of prayer and protection to the Emperor. Father Constantine would do that himself, but he has elected to stay behind with the townsfolk, to keep them calm and to help liaise with the Imperial Navy when they arrive.

As he walks along, Anton stops behind a familiar figure.

"How are you feeling, Trooper Litten?"

Tychos is silent for a few seconds, his eyes fixed ahead.

"Good to be back in it, commissar, sir."

Anton nods.

"And the child?"

Silence again.

"She's safe."

Anton nods again before he walks off again. Best to leave it at that.

He's just behind Lieutenant Deckard's squad when he hears the roar of the trio of Thunderbolts peeling off in a loop above the forest before receding into the distance. For a few seconds, he can see the bright red wing tips and pale blue undercarriage of the lead aircraft as it leads its fellows away from the fight.

"They're at bingo fuel and need to rearm." Deckard says as she hands the vox-caster back to her subordinate. "They'll be back in ten minutes. Lieutenant Jaz wishes us Emperor's speed."

She turns to look at the commissar, a flat look on her face.

"Crunch time." She says simply.

"Crunch time, indeed."

A shout soon ripples down the wall.

"FIX BAYONETS!"

"Fix bayonets!" Deckard calls out, furthering the chain of shouts, her platoon sergeant taking up the call.

A ripple of glinting metal lines the walls as the fifteen-inch knifes are drawn from belts and attached to bayonet sockets, each weapon sliding home with a click of finality.

"Do you have any words for us now, commissar?"

He's silent for a while as he thinks before he starts moving. Close by, he can see the command squad formed up on the portion of the wall above the gate. There's no local militia here, they're in the town helping with the evacuation. Just Cadians. So he knows what to say.

Walking along the wall, Commissar Anton holds his bolt pistol ready, his chainsword purring hungrily down at his left side, gunning the motor to a roar as he walks to emphasise his words.

"Once again… we find ourselves standing at the walls that divide Humanity from the foulness of the wilds! Once again… we see with our own eyes the horrible and terrible forms the foe brings to bear against us! And once again: We. Will. Not. FALTER"

He raises his chainsword high above his head as he stands above the gate, surrounded by Cadians.

"We are Cadians! For generations, we have stood as a bulwark against the terrors of the Eye, and the Archenemy! We have spilt enough of our blood to regrow the oceans of Holy Terra itself, but once again, the Emperor asks us for more. And we will oblige!

"These craven beasts seek to kill the innocent people of this town. But will you, braves sons and daughters of Cadia, let them?"

"NO!" The soldiers roar out as one.

"Will you let these foul beasts desecrate and destroy their homes?"

"NO!"

"What will you do to these beasts?"

"KILL THEM!"

"Again!"

"KILL!"

"Let your hatred be your armour, and your rage your weapon! Let your contempt be as the lasrifle in your hands, and let the fury in your breath be your battle-cry! Not one step back! For the Emperor, and for the Imperium!"

"For the Emperor, and for the Imperium!" The guardsmen reply as one, all two-hundred odd voices yelling as one in pitch to match the roar of the Grimm charging at the walls.

Lowering his chainsword, Anton moves to stand next to Captain Fidor. Standing beneath the company banner, with his face set in a fierce scowl and his plasma pistol held ready in his hands, at the right angle, he could easily be the subject for a recruitment poster. His facial hair bristles strongly, even as his violet eyes are locked onto the horde emerging out of the forests and towards the town.

"Anything you'd like to add, Captain?" Anton asks diplomatically.

The captain is quiet for a few seconds. Silently, he takes a step forward, placing a foot onto the ramparts of the wall, before he raises his pistol high above his head.

In a loud, booming voice, he cries out. A cry that was called out by one greater than him nearly a decade ago during the Fall, a cry that has issued from hundreds of other throats since then, and will continue to do so. It is a cry that is taken up his command squad, and by the squads on either side of them, until the entire wall cries out in one single voice.

"CADIA STANDS!"

---

The sun sinks in the west, its rays sweeping over the treetops in rays of blood red and fiery orange, making the shadows beneath lengthen.

Shadows that snarl and roar. Shadows edged with razor teeth and claws, white bone and red eyes filled with malice and rage. Shadows intent on death and destruction.

Like a tide, the Grimm charge. They charge pell-mell across the open field, their hunger for destruction overriding every instinct in them. Alphas and minors alike, Beowulf and Ursa run across the field towards the walls of Carterstown.

As the horde advances, they roar. They snarl, and growl and bellow. Each and every beast generating a noise in some form. It is a cacophony of sound that is created to horrify humans even more than the sight of the creatures making the noise, a sound to void the bowels and empty the stomach in fear. To make limbs quake and to send the weakest fleeing in fear.

On normal humans, it would work. But on Cadians, it stands no chance.

Silently, the guardsmen on the walls watch the advancing horde, weapons held low but ready. Waiting for the command to be given.

As they wait, sergeants pass out simple orders, the kind that strengthen a soldiers mind through rigorous discipline and drill.

"Look to your front. Mark your target when it comes. Look to your front. Mark your target when it comes…"

The baying horde rushes closer.

"Company!" Captain Fidor bellows. "Present – Arms!"

With a clatter, lasrifles are raised and stocks pressed against shoulders. No other move is made.

The first of the Grimm have crossed the boundary of the clearing around the town properly now, four hundred metres from the base of the walls.

"At four-hundred yards!" The captain commands. "Company will give volley fire. Take aim!"

Lasrifles are tightened against shoulders as the guardsmen pick their targets in the oncoming horde.

The baying horde passes into the killzone.

"FIRE!"

With a sound like hundred pieces of wood snapping at once, the top of the wall erupts into a flash of light as each lasgun fires. A volley of energized photons, each beam travelling faster than the eye could track and building up intensely in heat until they hit their targets in small eruptions of light and flame.

In the hands of anyone, a lasgun is an ideal weapon for a shooter: lower recoil than any solid-slug weapon means it's an easy gun to handle, even for raw recruits from a backwoods tribal world. For soldiers of the Cadian Gate, it's the perfect weapons.

Each round hits their targets.

The front rank of Grimm are hit with miniature sun blasts, their centre mass erupting in tiny balls of plasma as the heat from the lasers explosively turns their skin and air to gas.

The Grimm in front roar and growl in pain. The shock stalls their advance, making the line directly in front of the wall waver. Then they keep running.

"Fire!" Fidor calls out again.

Internally, he has a suspicion that a single volley of lasgun fire would not do a thing to halt a charge of these Grimm. The construction of Fort Tempest showed that these beasts are as resilient as any ork 'boy', and as the second volley of light snaps out from the wall, he sees it with his own eyes.

The front rank of the horde wavers again, but the Grimm recover and keep running towards the town's walls. And they're now over halfway distance to the wall.

"Independent! Fire at will!" He calls out again.

Each Cadian with a lasgun fires at his own pace, although their drilling means there is almost no loss of rhythm in the volume of fire. A near continuous stream of lasbeams spits down from the walls as the Grimm grow closer.

Again, the strength of the lasgun comes to the fore again. No propellent to burn means less recoil per shot, letting the shooter stay on target easier. And on targets that are almost as large as an ork, it makes it all the easier to hit. Each shot fired by a lasgun hits its target, and soon, the first wave of beasts falls to Imperial firepower. As they fall, the nature of the horde shows itself; the dead and dying are dragged under and trampled by those behind, and the horde advances into the fire.

A scowl comes to Fidor's face. It's horribly, naturally perfect. It's the way the Imperial war machine operates; those at the front are killed to waste the enemy's ire and to allow those behind to take their place. The Grimm don't care about the casualties they are receiving, they don't care that the forms in front of them are being gunned down indiscriminately. They just keep advancing.

It's horrible. And it will succeed in time.

"For the Primarch, for the Emperor!" One of the Astartes scouts, the one wielding the heavy bolter, calls out before he hefts his huge weapon and begins firing into the mass of enemies, the weapon roaring as loud as the shooter as its mass reactive rounds scythe through the horde, closely followed by the bolters carried by his brothers. Limbs are torn off in sprays of ichor, heads are blown apart and torsos are blown open. On the extremes of the Imperial line, stationed in the two large towers, the Astartes snipers work their deadly craft, panning side to side as they hunt for larger Grimm to kill.

It still does nothing to the horde, as they now within a stone's throw of the base of the wall.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

The sound of grenade launchers firing adds to the maelstrom of sound. Some of the gunners aim their weapons straight, laying round after round into the swarm. Forty-millimetre explosive rounds arc through the air and sail into the horde and explode with small but no less impressive detonations, sending dirt and twisted limbs in geysers of ichor and fire. Some of the Cadians improvise with their weapons, resting the tubes against the tops of the wall's embrasures and aiming them upwards, turning their weapons into small, makeshift mortars. They drop their rounds over the heads of the vanguard of the swarm and into the main body behind.

It's with a sickening crunch that the Grimm smash themselves into the southern wall, literally. The Grimm that have not been downed by lasgun and bolter run straight into the stonework of Carterstown's wall, trying to clamber up the wall. The creatures called Beowolves dig their claws into the stone, but they never manage to pull themselves further before they are crushed by the weight of the mass behind them. The drive to get at the town is so strong in the horde that being within its presence drives them into a frenzy. They become less of a swarm and more of a tide, each successive wave climbing and clambering of the one in front to get the humans on top of the wall. They crush the ones beneath them, even as more of the fellows try to clamber upwards to get at the Cadians.

Numbers begin to win out. Slowly, with a cacophony of sickening crunches and roars of pain and anger, the horde begins to scale the wall at different points.

"How's the gate?" Fidor asks, not taking his eyes off the horde in front of him.

"Holding." His sergeant-major answers, the woman grinning broadly. "These folks build good quality walls. But Terra knows it won't hold for long."

Fidor nods his head in agreement.

"Grenades! Disperse these bastards!" He roars his command, his voice fighting equally with the noise being generated on and in front of the wall.

Seconds later, small, fist sized cylinders are tossed over the crenelations of the wall, tumbling through the air behind the scaling Grimm. Detonations rip through the air, sending white hot fragments of razor sharp metal outwards in expanding coronas. Hide is torn asunder, armour is cracked and what passes for organs are mulched by overpressure. Bodies fall to the ground, filling the air with their dissipating forms, while the masses clambering up the walls hit by the explosions of the grenades fall to the ground with howls of denied rage.

But the horde presses again, and more Grimm swarm up the walls.

"Flames!" Fidor roars.

"Flames up!" Sophia calls out, almost with glee as she swings her flamer forwards, the pilot light burning bright as she steps up to the wall. Carefully but surely, she climbs up between the protective battlements of the wall, letting her see the enemy.

A tide of black fur, white armour and fang, and baleful red eyes greet her. The noise generated by the horde almost buffets her, and she can feel it. She can feel the baleful energy emanating from them. It's a miasma of anger, rage, despair and pain that these beasts create. It's the sort of feelings that sap the strength from lesser men, leaving them weak from fear at what they face as they realise how hopeless their situation is.

But to the Cadians…

"Burn, you freaks!" Sophia cries out as she depresses the trigger of her flamer. With a mighty roar of flame, a tongue of burning promethium over sixty-feet in length jumps down from the tops of the wall, burning every Grimm it touches. A conflagration springs up at the front of the horde, joined by another and another as the other flame specialists in the company lend their ire to the battle.

Sickly smoke, rich with the metallic reek of promethium and stringy smell of burning xenos, fills the air.

And yet the horde does not stop. It keeps charging forward, and it keeps baying.

But the Cadians keep firing.

---

The people are getting restless now.

The Stone family can feel it around them as much as they can see it. The gunfire, the roars of the Grimm and the sound of the Cadian's strange weapons mixing together is a sound that none of them have heard before. The sound fills the air at a level that almost drowns out conversation, and everyone sticks to the area around what the Cadians call the 'LZ'. No-one is brave enough to venture towards the sounds of the fighting.

Nella swallows a lump in her throat as she feels the two shivering forms in her arms. Melo is clutched in her left arm, while Carmen is stuck in her right. Both have their attention focused on the fighting, but for two very different reasons.

The Faunus child still surprises the Stone matriarch. After she had taken her from Tychos, the little girl had been practically kicking and screaming to go join the man she called her 'big brother', trying her best to follow the soldier towards the wall.

It had taken a frank word from Bear that, if Carmen had followed the man, she'd be in a lot of danger if she went with him, and then he'd be in a lot of danger too to look after. And that would mean neither of them were safe.

His words calmed Carmen down, but she still looks longingly in the direction of the fighting, completely at odds with the look of fear on Melo's face. So Nella does what any mother should; hold the children close and keep them safe. Carmen is now clutching a small stuffed rabbi tightly to her chest, her eyes fixed on the far wall.

A succession of bangs from the direction of the wall fills the air, followed by a loud roar, makes everyone at the 'LZ' flinch in shock. As she raises her head to look, Nella sees large plumes of smoke, jet black and angry, climb quickly to the sky.

"Brothers, I hope they're safe." Nella says out loud, although whether she means Tychos and Sophia, or the Cadians as a while, she can't truly say.

A harsh, derisive laugh comes in reply, although it is definitely not from a deity.

"Are you daft, woman?" Cole Tanner says, the town guardsmen having a near manic look on his face. "They're fighting probably the biggest horde of Grimm I've ever seen! Come on! You can hear the noise!"

"Yes, Mister Tanner." Nella says flatly, looking at the militiaman in annoyance. "I can hear them. Everyone can. And I also know that they're doing it for us."

Tanner just scoffs at the statement. "For us? Really? Who in their right mind would go towards a horde of that size? You'd have to be mad to even think of doing that!"

Nella wants to defend the action, but living in the Valean wilds, there is a simple fact: if you're ever faced with a horde of Grimm at least twice the size of your town, you run. If it numbers in the thousands, you run like holy hell. You'd have to be insane to run towards the Grimm.

And… she can't help but think about it. Those men and women were happy to actually go to fight the beasts. The demons of darkness that haunted and hunted humanity on Remnant, and these strangers actually wanted to go and fight them.

"But…" Melo says softly, looking at the taller man in child-like worry. "They said that they were going to get us out, didn't they?"

Tanner lets out a loud, derisive scoff, which makes the girl shrink into her mother's arm in fear.

"How can we even trust these sorts of people? They're fight junkies!" The man says, sweeping his arms broadly, a manic grin on his face.

"Well at least they're doing something!" The loud roar of an angry Bear Stone calls out as he moves past his wife, Nella protectively holding the two girls closer to her. "And what the hell are you doing then, Cole Tanner?"

"Oh, fucking come off it, Bear." Tanner drawls out in a snarky tone of voice. "You bloody well know they got the mayor to have us wait here to protect you lot. Now why would soldiers with as much gear as them order us lot to do that?"

Bear's eyebrows furrow as he takes on a tone similar to talking to a problematic child. "Because there's only two-hundred of them, you twit. Do you think there's enough of them to protect everyone in town if they all stayed with us here?"

Their argument has drawn many eyes on them, with many of the townsfolk now looking at the militiaman and father arguing with each other. So Bear uses it as he turns to face some of them.

"Those people, these Cadians, have put themselves in the best position to shield us from the Grimm. They chose to do this. Like they chose to protect us from the Nevermores. They do this without knowing a single one of us. And they didn't hesitate either!"

"Of course they don't know us!" Tanner replies loudly. "They don't know us, because they don't care. They're doing this because they just want to fight."

Nella can't help but smile at how the militiaman's argument is falling about. He's scared, that's easy to see. No-one in this town has ever had to face a horde of Grimm as large as the swarm outside their walls, and certainly never had to hear a battle pitch like the one coming from said walls either. Tanner is a good man, no lie about that, but the situation has just unnerved him and everyone else.

A fearful mind is not a straight-thinking mind.

"They do care!" Melo suddenly calls out, pushing around to stand in front of her mother. "If they didn't care, they wouldn't be doing this!"

The young teen turns to look at the little girl held in her mother's other hand.

"And they wouldn't have rescued Carmen if they didn't care either!"

Tanner's mouth begins to move up and down in confusion, but it's clear that the man doesn't have much to say anymore. He stops trying to speak all together when a black-clad figure appears at the side.

"Do you think you're the first people to find us scary?" The preacher called Father Constantine says in a loud but calm voice. The man walks purposefully but calmly towards the crowd, even as the sword that now hangs at his waist dangles into view.

"We know how we look to outsiders, to civilians." The preacher continues. "Even to our own fellow Imperial citizens, we terrify them. They know us by reputation; the reputation of our world, our sector and our deeds. And those that have seen us know that reputation is well-founded. We scare people. That is a fact."

Wordlessly, the bearded man approaches the Stone family, moving to stand near the youngest of the group. Even though the man's form, dressed in the long black and red cassock and a sword at his waist, can be scary to the wrong person, Carmen shows no fear, even when the man places a gentle hand onto her head.

"And yes. We don't know a single one of you. The only person we know here is little Carmen. But that is the same on every world our people visit. We know none of the people we fight for, none of the names of the families we protect from vile aliens and monsters like your Grimm. But we do this nonetheless."

He turns and looks at all the people gathered around him. Nella and Bear. Tanner. Everyone. He looks each of them in the eye as he lets his gaze move across the crowd.

"Only a small number of us ever find out the names of the people we protect. For many of my brothers and sisters, we die, never knowing a single soul we meet. They pass us by, like simple motes of dust. But we do this. We do this willingly, because it is our duty. Our pact, our pride. And some would say our curse. Yet we do this, because it is what the Emperor expects of us. We do this… because it is our lives."

The words are simple, and they're sincere. They say much by saying so little. The man removes his hand from Carmen's head as he puts his hands into his voluminous sleeves.

"The evacuation is coming. That is a fact. And it is also a fact that all of you will leave this town alive. Because we Cadians will make sure that you will leave this town alive. And that is a fact."

The mood in the air changes. The tension is almost removed, although it still remains. The words of the holy-man has mollified the people and the agree to return to a state of readiness for the evacuation. Tanner, for his part, looks ashamed of himself.

Nella, for her part, is curious.

"Sir." She calls out to the man, as he prepares to walk away.

"Yes, my child." Father Constantine replies, stepping towards her. As he comes closer, she sees it.

His eyes, the same violet colour as Tychos' and Sophia's eyes, are ablaze with light now. They show a sense of vitality and readiness that Nella didn't think possible.

"I… I don't mean to be disrespectful to you and yours, but I have to ask… why? Why do all of this, for us?"

A confused look passes across the preachers face, before it swiftly shifts to a friendly look.

"Because we're Cadians, ma'am. It's what we do." He shrugs his shoulders. "Who else would do it?"

---

The Grimm are scaling the walls, climbing paw over paw, claws digging into the stonework. Even as lasbolts, burning promethium and grenades rain down on them. They are insatiable in their hunger for destruction, their drive for death pressing them further into the Imperial guns. Even as the Astartes bolters blast away limbs and foreheads with precision application of mass-reaction rounds, the horde advances.

"Plasma guns!" Fidor roars. Adding strength to his order, he leans over his portion of the parapet, plasma pistol aiming over the stonework into the face of a climbing Beowulf. The captain's portion of the wall is briefly lit up with the intensity of a sun as he depresses the trigger.

A single ball of broiling plasma, blue-white in the air, splashes down into the beasts, atomizing any it hits directly. Those caught at the edge of the corona of energy are melted, their bodies reduced to ash and glass. The piling collapses into itself, beasts braying in denied fury and anger.

Along the wall, miniature suns flare into existence and are let loose onto the Grimm, Imperial plasma weaponry venting the ire of humanity on the beasts below. Grimm are either atomised quickly or turned to molten glass.

But numbers still continue to win out.

As the horde climbs, the construction of the wall becomes much less friendly. The row of spikes, cast-iron and driven deep into the stonework, point downwards at a fifty degree angle. The perfect angle for attacking Grimm to drive themselves onto the spikes.

Metal rends fur and flesh and bone, making dark ichor and black blood rain down onto the beasts below. The spacings of the spikes in the wall are clever in their brutality. Iron pierces through skull, shoulder, torso and back as the horde climbs, pushing the 'unfortunate' Grimm at the summit of the pile. So focused on their goal, the beasts below are blind to the roars and death cries of the Grimm above them all.

The horde kills itself in its desire to kill the humans before them.

But again, the numerical superiority of the Grimm wins out.

In places, the pressure of the beasts below forces the piles against the wall up, tearing the Grimm stuck at the top to be shredded to bloody ribbons. The first Beowolves to reach the top of the wall are dead already, their bodies oozing ichor and particles as they crest the ramparts. Some spasm weakly as brains send signals to move limbs that just can't be moved.

The second Beowolf that makes it to the wall is neither dead or dying.

It is torn bloody from the spikes, its fur matted by its own blood and the blood of the beast that preceded it. It roars and growls as it hauls itself over the wall, ignoring the damage the spikes are doing to its own body as the metal tears away at it. Claws are cracked, and some are broken from the climb, and the armour plating on its head along with the spines protruding from its shoulders are scored and blackened from battle damage. Its yellow-in-red eyes burn balefully at the humans on the tops of the wall who have denied it a vent for its rage.

It is, in a single word that is universally singular in its application, pissed.

The first to feel its ire is Trooper Kalvin Mesters. He had been sixteen years old, 668th Whiteshield, when Cadia fell. As a Whiteshield, he and many of the others like him had been split up and sent to the numerous understrength regiments that needed their numbers shored up. In another circumstance and world, Kalvin would be considered a veteran trooper.

He cries out in anger as he swings up his lasgun, bayonet outstretched to skewer the beast in the neck. But he is too slow.

A paw large enough to engulf his entire head, with claws akin to Catachan knives in length, slams down into the troopers body. Claws smash more than cut through his flak armour, tearing the front of his body to khaki edged gore and ruin before the corpse is sent backwards to fall off the wall.

Kalvin is the first Cadian to die officially in the defence of Carterstown.

The Beowolf opens its mouth and lets loose an exulting bellow, the roar growing in its throat.

"Cadia Victor!" Commissar Anton cries out, his chainsword matching his battle cry as he revs the engine.

The chainsword rips through fur and flesh as the teeth bite and tear through the Beowolves throat, turning its roar of joy into a grizzly death rattle. The adamant-carbon alloy teeth shred the Grimm's throat into bloody ruins.

But the beast does not die easily. It tries to swipe at its attacker, swinging a large paw at it, even as the act pushes its body further along the chainblade. It snarls and roars, even as the chainsword embedded in its neck and larynx tears it to bloody ribbons. Anton has to duck and dodge to avoid the killer claws, but he keeps his grip on his chainsword firm, his teeth clenched with determination. The beast has to die.

Three more bayonets stab up, right into the creature's chest and neck. A trio of guardsmen have moved to support the commissar, lending their blades to end the thrashing and roaring beast before it runs roughshod on the wall.

The beast swings wildly, pain, anger and rage driving it past the point where basic biology should tell it that it's now dead. It lunges forward with its head, jaws snapping loudly as it tries to bite. Its forearms flail in all directions, forcing the Cadians to duck and dodge this way and that way to avoid getting hit.

One soldier is just a fraction too slow. A claw swings right at her face, catching her at the point of the skull behind her eye. She can't even let out a scream as the claw reduces her face to gore and blood. Noiselessly, the troop falls backwards off the wall to the floor below.

The Grimm lets out a roar. The pressure is off, and it now only has three opponents instead of four.

The beasts roar is replaced by a crueller roar. A mechanised roar of fyceline propelled anger splitting the air with a heavy crack, followed by a piercing roar of rocket propellant. Explosions, one after another follow a split second later, the beast's torso erupts in fire, black blood and ichor.

Anton forces himself to look away, risking a glance to see what's happening. And he commits the sight to memory.

Brother-Sergeant Thaddeus is running full-pelt along the top of the wall, his steel armour slick with dissipating Grimm ichor, his cloak still flowing behind him, even as he fires his bolter from the shoulder. His quick pace does nothing to impede his aim, each bolt hitting its target square on.

As he runs, Thaddeus has to rethink his theoretical on these beasts, even as he quickly shifts aim and promptly decapitates three more that are trying to clamber over the wall. These xenos-beasts were easier to put down before they got within bolter shot of the wall. Limb and head shots still work, but it takes more shots to the centre-mass to put down one, he notes grimly as the bolt in his weapon cycles out more empty shells to clatter on the stonework.

They seem to grow stronger as more of them gather together. A gestalt resilience… not comforting.

The Astartes veteran's bolts have done their job, turning the Beowolf's torso to ragged gore, the commissar's chainsword still embedded in its throat. It staggers backwards, clearly in pain. But it still won't die.

"Commissar!" Thaddeus calls out as he skids to a halt, covering the last few feet of the run before he comes to a stop in front of the beast.

Anton hears the command, and he instinctively knows what to do.

"Move!" He orders the two other Cadians, the troopers removing their bayonets with spurts of black blood. Anton revs the engine of his chainsword, churning the toothed-blade in the beasts throat to further reduce it to offal, before he yanks out the weapon hard, spraying blood and ichor in all directions.

The beast bellows a gurgling cry, its throat rendered to ruin, even as it still manages to stand albeit on shaky legs. It lowers its head, glaring at the being in front of it as Thaddeus squares up against the beast.

It happens in a blink. The Beowolf prepares to lunge forward, a claw swinging forward to skewer the Astartes. But Thaddeus is already directly in front of the Grimm, his foot directly against the beasts chest before, with a sickening crunch, the Astartes' foot goes through the front of the Beowolves' chest. The beast is suddenly kicked backwards, pitching over the wall, knocking down some of its fellows as it falls.

A scowl of contempt never left Thaddeus' face.

"Grenades!" He calls out, unhooking an explosive from his belt as he gives the order. Quickly, a trio of grenades are thrown over the wall, tumbling through the air before they reach the cresting wave of Grimm. The detonations throw up razor sharp, white hot pieces of fragments and bits and pieces of Grimm.

Thaddeus turns to the commissar.

"Carry on along the line, commissar." The veteran says, just sounding slightly out of breath. "Go where your presence is needed. I'll remain here."

Anton takes a brief second to process what he has been told before he nods, his face grim. He guns the engine of his chainsword to rid the blade of the gore that has quickly built up before he looks around. To no surprise, the scene on the wall has not distracted the other Cadians from their task. The rate of fire does not slow, the two surviving troopers from the skirmish moving back to their place on the line, the snap of their lasguns joining with the bark of the Astartes' bolter.

A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye draws Anton's attention, and he removes his bolt pistol from his holster. Combat time takes over.

He sees the face of the Beowolf, black blood pouring over its white skull head, its eyes burning bright. He depresses the trigger of the pistol, sending a bolt flying from the muzzle with a roar of its own. The second-stage ignition kicks in after the munition leaves the weapon, blazing bright against the evening sky before it flies straight and true. Directly into the mouth of the Grimm that is trying to bite the arm off the flamer specialist turning to douse it in promethium.

The creature's head erupts like an overripened fruit before it sags out of sight beneath the rampart, quickly followed by a torrent of flame.

Not holstering his weapon, Anton turns back and walks down the line.

"We hold them here!" He calls out loudly, punctuating his words with another blast from his bolt pistol at another Grimm. "We do the duty we are entrusted with; the protection of Humanity! This, we have been entrusted by the God-Emperor Himself and our ancestors! Do not let them be shamed this day! Not one step back! Let these beasts pay for every inch! And remember, above all else: as long as one Cadian draws breath, Cadia stands!"

Above the roar of the swarm, the crump of explosions, the constant droning snap of massed lasguns and the bark of lasguns, his call is echoed by every throat capable.

"Cadia stands!"

The call is challenged by the roar of the Grimm.

---

Las and bolt. Claw and blood.

The evening sky falling on Carterstown, turning the air pink even as black clouds rise up to meet it, sees it all.

The roar of the Grimm is matched by the roar of explosions, the massed snap of lasguns on full auto, their wielders foregoing accuracy for volume, the bark of bolters, and the various other noises of the exotic weaponry of the Imperial arsenal, accompanied by the roar of the Cadians as they refuse to permit the Grimm any advance they can gain on the wall.

The mindset of the Grimm is almost singular in its desire for the destruction of humanity. No thought of strategy enters their minds. No thought of simply out-flanking the humans on the wall. To them, their desire to destroy, to kill and rend, is so overwhelming that even the eldest and 'wisest' among them lose any rational thought. They simply wish to close on the humans as swiftly as possible.

Multiple times, the weight of numbers comes close to spilling over the wall. Lone Beowolves or sometimes small packs manage to survive to the tops of the battlements, where they set upon the Cadians. The Imperials fight back with as much ferocity as they can, and parts of the wall become slick with blood, black and red, as the Grimm set about trying their best to butcher the humans who stand before them. Limbs are shorn off, bodies laid open and smashed apart. But no ground is given.

With bayonet, chainblade and power sword, the Cadians hold and refuse the line. With battle-cries on their lips, they charge at the beasts. Unheeding of the danger they are in, they do this willingly. No threat can cajole them now, no promise of reward. No such thing holds sway over any living Cadian now. They become beings of anger, of wrath and righteous vengeance against the universe that denied them their home.

They fight for their lost home. They fight so no-one in Carterstown will lose theirs.

Bayonets thrust, chainblades hack and power swords slice. Each Grimm that reaches the tops of the wall is met by the fury of man encapsulated in one single body. And there are nearly two-hundred of them on the wall top.

Lending their fury to the fight, the Astartes neophytes earn their marks.

An armoured Beowulf, a beast as large as any greenskin 'boy', tries to make for Captain Fidor while he is directing plasma fire on a group of great Ursa beasts that are charging the gate. His attention away from the wall, the commander makes a tempting target for any predator. Discarding the body of the guardsmen it has crushed the life from, it charges, it's intent on murder and slaughter.

It's lack of attention makes it an easy target for any predator.

Lunging upwards from his position on the wall, his heavy bolter swinging upwards to slam against the beast's lower jaw, Neophyte Ollarus puts all his strength into his gene-enhanced muscles as he can. Though he lacks the power afforded by the full remit of genetic manipulation and surgeries a full battle-brother would possess, Ollarus is still stronger than any normal man.

"We are the Last Wall!" He roars out as he beats the heavy bolter upwards into the Grimm's maw, shattering bone and teeth, stunning the beast. In a second, before the creature recovers its wits, he depresses the trigger of the heavy weapon, blasting a quick burst upwards into the Beowolf's skull, pulping it beyond recognition.

Unphased by his own deed, Ollarus quickly takes his place back on the firing line, lending his firepower to the defence.

Bolters bark, sniper rifles crack and Grimm die. They die by the dozen, by the score. But more replace them.

The first wave of reinforcements come.

Drawn by the negativity in the air, the sounds of battle and the scent of death, a minor horde of juvenile Death Stalkers emerge out of the woodland. Pincers snap, mandibles snicker and feet clatter as the horde of three dozen oversized scorpions, the height of a medium sized dog and the length of two combined, is almost insignificant in number compared to the Beowolves and Ursa already attacking the town. They are simply a single drop of black chitin and white exoskeleton in a sea of black and white.

But they're fast. Fast and nimble enough that they can slip through the push and pell-mell of the attack on the human settlement, dodging and weaving through the press of bodies to reach their goal. They slip and weave through stamping legs and claws and latch onto the stone of the walls. Like quicksilver, they scale the stonework, their claws digging into the bricks.

Some are brought down by the actions of their fellow Grimm, Beowolves and Ursa smashing them aside like they have done their own kin on the attack, while others are wasted by plasma, grenades and scorching fire from above. But enough brave the death and clamber up the wall. More are taken by the spikes, yet enough remain.

Pincers pierce through flak armour into flesh and bone beneath, drawing quick cries of pain that are silenced just as quickly either by the pincers snapping shut on necks or their stingers, horribly nearly bright gold, stabbing into chests or even faces. They make no move to devour the dead. They just kill and move on, ignoring the bodies of the fallen.

They are alien in the mannerisms, just as they are alien in them as well. A paradox of nature and unnature.

And yet, to the Cadians, they are some of the most familiar beasts they have yet to see on this planet.

Shotgun barking, blasting pieces of armour plating and stone away in equal measure, Sergeant Mira can't help but smile as she discharges shot after shot at the beasts. Pumping the slide of her Accatran pattern shotgun, she ejects another spent, bright red shell before she fires off another shot.

It's like fighting the Tyranids! At least with the scorpion looking ones.

Her shot is a bit high, clipping the beast in the tail. The stinger, still dripping with blood from the chest of another Guardsmen, is sent flying into the swarm below, causing the beast to screech angrily in pain before it turns to face her. All ten eyes, blood red and blazing, lock onto her before it charges.

Another shotgun blast booms into existence, the sound much deeper than her own shotgun's report, as the Grimm is blasted sideways against the parapet. Holes smoke in its thorax as it tries to right itself, but another blast sends it reeling, black ichor pouring through various holes in black chitin.

Striding purposefully through the battle, Neophyte Karis levels his shotgun at the beast as he steps closer to Sergeant Mira.

"These beasts are tough." He growls out, before he turns and looks at the woman a full head and a half shorter than him, with tawny-coloured skin and bright purple eyes. "Two shotguns should be enough to end it."

Mira says nothing as she nods and levels her weapon at the beast's exposed body.

The reports of their shotguns are lost in the battle-din.

The second wave of reinforcements are inbound.

The first to notice them are the Grimm not engaged in the battle directly. Beowulf and Ursa halt their manic pace and lift their heads to the sky, turning this way and that way to try and discern the increasingly loudening roar they can hear. Ears twist and turn, trying to pinpoint the noise.

Some of the ones with keener noses can scent things on the air above the battle smell. The smell of heavily burning air and the scent of something close to gunpowder. But above all, all can feel it. Negativity; hatred and rage approaching at quick speeds.

The doppler-scream of Imperial Navy aircraft eclipses nearly all sound as the three heavy Thunderbolts rip over the treetops. Autocannons chatter away as the heavy rounds tear through Grimm, sending limbs, torsos and ichor to spray into the air. One of the aircraft dips lower as the pilot lines up with their target.

Two bombs drop from the aircraft, their ovoid forms falling and tumbling haphazardly, almost lazily, as they drop to the ground.

They impact on the ground, the noise a simple 'boom', which is followed a split-second later by a loud roaring whoosh as a wall of raging fire that expands outward with the forward momentum of the bomb. The flame chases the Thunderbolt as it flies off, eating up Beowolves and Ursa to fuel it's fire as it tries to chase after the one that unleashed. Black smoke rises to the sky in a thick sheet, while below, Grimm bellow in rage and pain as the promethium burns through their skin and armour plating, devouring them.

Flailing pillars of flame run from the edges of the walls of destruction. Some are consumed quickly by the fire, dropping to the floor without any other movement, while other beasts thrash around in agony, trying to somehow beat out the flames engulfing them before they too are snuffed out by the raging promethium.

The trio of Thunderbolts peel off, their fury sated but for the moment as another trio of aircraft fly in behind them. Inverted gull-wings and a pair of powerful engines keep the pair of Avenger strike-fighters in the air, their noses pointed at the broiling horde, the attack of the mass interrupted by the arrival of strange and powerful aircraft.

Their pilots tilt slightly to the right to get their aircraft in the right position for an attack run. The pilots depressed the triggers of their guns, engaging the mechanisms to make the barrels spin and fire.

The whirring of the mechanisms is quickly eclipsed with the deep, bass howl of the guns firing.

BRRRRTT!

BRRRRTT!

Each gun fires for two seconds, but each gun spits out fifty rounds. Mass-reactive bolts in point-nine-nine-eight calibre slam into the horde. Ammunition designed to bust open any tanks below super-heavy class pulp, burst and generally disintegrate Grimm. Beasts explode in puffs of black ichor and blood as the Avengers carry on their pass, their guns firing again in tandem.

BRRRRRTT!

BRRRRRTT!

More Grimm are blasted into non-existence by the powerful guns of the Avengers.

The attack has stunned the Grimm not at the wall. They have been attacked so quickly and horribly, by an enemy they have no defence against. The aircraft are too high to reach with claw or even with anything they can throw, and they can feel the negativity from the machines, or the pilots, or possibly. The hatred and anger directed towards the horde on the ground. So the beasts attention is drawn away from the wall and the town, and to the sky instead.

And what they see enrages them further.

Six aircraft; one huge and ungainly, five sleek and powerful fly in from above the smoke, the waning sun lighting their flanks in hues of pink and orange, highlighting various symbols in steel and silver. Twin headed eagles, winged skulls, grinning razor teeth painted onto the noses of two of the smaller ones, while wicked, predatory eyes scan around.

Two of the smaller aircraft detach from the aerial flotilla, their engines pushing them fast as they skim towards the ground. Suddenly, the undersides of their wings are covered in smoke before, with whooshing roars, missiles fly out. Corkscrewing on contrails through the air, the missiles streak down to the ground before the wall.

They detonate on the ground with heavy claps of explosive compression, destroying Grimm wholesale in clouds of pulverised dirt, bodies and fire. Grimm that were trying to scale the wall are mulched by the concussive force, causing multiple swarms to pitch and fall to the ground.

The four remaining craft, a mighty Destrier and three smaller Valkyries, shift their path as they move towards the area of town now marked by three burning red flares. Passing over the wall, the Valkyrie crew chiefs give their own support, firing pintle-mounted heavy bolters into the swarm below.

Beneath them on the wall, the Cadians notice their passing, but they return their focus immediately back to the fight. Now is not the time for rejoicing. Even as the Thunderbolts and the Avengers make their own passes over the Grimm again, the Cadians and Astartes keep on firing.

Now is the most important part of the battle. The central key to victory or defeat. To lives being saved or uncounted being lost to the fury of the swarm.

The evacuation of Carterstown has begun.

---

Angling its four huge engines, the Destrier dips low before the wall of the town. Its bellowing engines throw up massive clouds of warm dust and dirt into the faces of the townspeople as they simultaneously try to get closer to it and also back away from the large flying machine. To the sides, the engines of two of the Valkyries reach a screaming pitch as their pilots set them down on the ground, throwing up their own clouds of dust. The other keeps a vigil over the parked craft, hovering above its fellows like a mother hawk.

The clouds quickly settle as the engines fall to a soft roar.

Father Constantine watches as the rear ramp of the Destrier opens up, casting harsh red lights out of the portal.

"Double-time it, men!" A voice calls out from the transport. "There's work here needs doing!"

At the command, the sound of feet pound on metal fill the air as the soldiers in the back of the transport disembark. Although there's only thirty-six of them in total, the sight of them fills Constantine's heart with gladness.

They are Alpha Company, 1st of the 598, and while they only represent the small fraction of the unit, the sight of them still swells the preacher's spirit.

Men and women come out carrying heavy weapons: mortar tubes and boxes of rounds, heavy bolters, missile launchers and autocannons. Even with their own personal weapons, lasguns slung on their backs and their own ammunition, they carry the larger weapons steadily but hurriedly out of the Destrier.

Directing the action is a lieutenant. Middle-age, she is a stern looking woman, her patrol cap sat squarely on her head as she directs her soldiers with barked orders and a pointing hand. Past her, Constantine sees the passengers of the two Valkyries disembark. Emerald green uniforms underneath flat steel carapace armour, their heads covered in helmets of the same colour with bright orange goggles. Naval armsmen of Segmentum Pacificus Fleet. Each one is armed with either a matt-black hellgun or a brutal over-under pump-action shotgun.

A man, clearly the officer of the detachment starts directing his men to spread out in a semi-circle around the landing zone, before he advances towards Father Constantine. A brutal looking shock-maul hangs on one side of his hip, while a bolt pistol hangs on the other side. The Cadian lieutenant moves to join as her Cadians move to stand by in formation beside her.

"Father Constantine." The naval man says respectfully, nodding his head. "I am Chief Petty Officer Sanctus Karilian. First Lieutenant de Pikalov sends his regards. Me and my men are her to facilitate the evacuation of the… civilians, father."

Constantine nods his head before he turns to look at the infantry officer, smiling as he does so.

"Lieutenant Karoline. It is good to see you again."

Galdina Karoline was considered one of the beauties of the regiment. A wide, olive-skinned face, with almond shaped eyes, small nose and naturally pouty lips. The Fall broke her beauty. A large mass of scar tissue on her left side has wrecked her left ear and eye, forcing her to wear an eyepatch.

She still smiles though. The horrors didn't take that away from her.

"Alpha Company stands ready, father. Just say us where you need us."

"Good." Constantine says with a nod. "Captain Fidor needs your mortars firing as quickly as possible. He also wants your weapons teams deployed on the walls; missile launchers and autocannons at the flanks on the towers, heavy bolters on the wall."

"On it!" Lieutenant Galdina calls out happily, before she begins giving out the orders.

At the wall, the cacophonous explosions of aircraft-borne munitions reaches a pitch again as the aircraft of the Imperial Navy swoop in for another attack run.

"Chief Petty Officer, tell your craft to begin the evacuation of the civilians of the town." Constantine tells the Navy officer before he raises his eyes to the hovering Valkyrie. "And tell that pilot that he needs to be ready to take on passengers. Tell him to land!"

The officer raises a hand to the vox-unit replacing his right ear, relaying the orders to the pilot, even as some of the armsmen move towards the gathering of people. A shift of engine tone is the reply as the Valkyrie moves to hover almost directly over the heads of the preacher and Navy personnel.

"What in Dorn's name is he doing?" One of the armsmen calls out as the downward blasts from the aircrafts engines force the people below to cover their face from the heated dust.

Looking up as best he can against the wind, Constantine sees the rear loading ramp open downwards, a dark square of metal backlit by red light against the waning sun. Seconds later, thick lengths of rope are cast over the side to drop to the ground in static lines.

The preacher's eyes open wide at the figure he sees move to the end of the ramp and rappels down the line.

"Kasrkin…" He says in amazement at the figure that hits the ground firmly.

The figure is armed head to toe in thick carapace armour, brutal, blocky lines that deflect las- and solid-rounds. Although their armour bears the same marks and designs as the regular Cadian flak armour, even the standardized woodland camouflage, the figure is more deadly than any trooper of the Gate. The soldier's face is covered by respirator at the mouth and nose, and reflective lenses cover their eyes, but Constantine can tell the critical eye that is being cast around the area, accompanied by the practice sweep of the matt black hellgun held in the thick gloves of the soldier.

They are a Kasrkin, and eleven more like him drop down to the ground around him. They carry hellguns, grenade launchers, flamers, melta and plasma guns. They are armed to the teeth with the most potent weaponry that the Imperium can give them.

"Father Constantine." The commanding officer, a thick bull of a man, with square, tanned face, steel lower jaw, all underneath a pair of fiercely burning violet eyes and a green beret, a silver Cadian Gate under an Aquila, steps forward to the preacher. "A blessing before battle, if you please."

Clearing his throat, Constantine as he looks over the Kasrkin assembled before him. Looking at their war-gear, their weaponry and their uniforms, he mentally rehearses his benediction chosen for this moment. Clear over the roar of battle outside and the roar of the aircraft engines within, he speaks.

"In the name of the Great Angel, beloved by all, grant your holy servants the holy light of your protection as they prepare to fight the enemies of your father this night."

Immediately, the Kasrkin give their reply. "Emperor and saints, hear our prayer."

It is an answer that they give at each pause in the preacher's benediction.

"In the name of the Lion and the Khan, grant your warriors the strength to defeat the foes of your father at the gates before us this night.

"In the name of the Praetorian and the Promethean, give our souls the strength to stand firm in the face of the horror of the enemy this night.

"In the name of the Great Wolf and The Gorgon, grant your warriors the strength in their wargear to see this night carried through till dawn.

"In the name of the Avenging Son and The Deliverer, grant your warriors their insight into battle! Let your spirits guide them through this night and through until the hallowed dawn.

"In the name of the God-Emperor, let this night pass with the destruction of the enemy, and with the victory over His enemies come the dawn.

"In His holy name, we pray!"

Constantine turns and points his hand in the direction of the gate into the town. An area wreathed with black smoke, flames and plasma fire.

"Go forth! And remember; you fear no darkness! You are the light which stands against the darkness! You are children of Cadia! This is your duty!"

The Kasrkin officer draws his blade, a single-edged power sword, bright steel blade and golden basket-hilt, as he orders his men forward. Quickly, the break into a jog, a pace that is quicker than any man could attain. They move without a sound save for their equipment, even as the newly placed mortar teams begin to add their fire to the battle, the hollow thwomp of their mortar tubes launching rounds high into the air.

Seeing the Kasrkin on their way to fight left a sour taste on Constantine's mouth as he turns back to join the evacuees. Though he was a member of Ecclesiarchy mission on Cadia, his birth-right was to be in their place, right on the front-line. He has done that many times before, he knows that and does not delude himself of that fact.

But faith calls to him. The men and women who face the fury of the Grimm have their faith in their very hands, clutched tight against their heart in the midst of the fury of battle. Their faith is in the God-Emperor, his beloved sons, the Primarchs, and their comrades. It is in their wargear, their weaponry and the vehicles that are assisting them this night.

Faith calls to Father Constantine this night. It is the faith of the unknown, the unknown of the faith. These poor souls know fear, but in their hearts they do not know faith. He has heard, and he has seen; there is no font of worship in this town, nor was there in Marysville, though some houses kept small shrines to what deities are worshiped on this world. Some worship 'The Brothers', pagan deities if he has ever heard of them, but ultimately not heretical.

They do not believe because they simply have not heard the word.

But how to approach this? That is the key. How to turn fear into faith and having it not spill over into horror? Especially at this critical juncture.

He looks at the evacuation. The first group is being brought onto the Destrier. It's not many; fifty souls in all, made up of children, the elderly and the infirm, those who would suffer the most in an evacuation.

But it is not a silent evacuation. Mothers and children weep at the separation from each other, while some older people cry at their perceived indignity of it all. There is, above all, an absence of prayer, and it disturbs Constantine.

At all times in the Imperium, there is the undercurrent of prayer in all day and life on any noise that exists in the universe: transports engines idling, the sound of a hive city in motion, a bust Mechanicus shipyard, a battlefield. Prayers to the Saints, to the Primarchs, to the God-Emperor Himself are all being given in praise by all voices, automated and natural at almost all times in the Imperium.

It is as alien to him as any xenos form he has met.

But like any xenos, it can be conquered.

But how?

"How are you so calm?"

The question sounds like an accusation, but Constantine steels himself against the question as he turns to face the speaker. They're a father of two children, a teenage boy and girl, twins by the similarities in face and hair, and all three of them are looking at the preacher with wide-eyed shock and fear.

"How are you not scared by what's going on?"

Ah. Ask, and the God-Emperor provides.

"I am scared." The preacher admits, as he carefully takes a step towards the family. "Deep down within my soul, a part of me is scared. For myself, and my fellow Cadians, and for all of you. But there is something else there. Something beating back the fear."

The girl looks at him. "W-what is it?"

Constantine smiles. "Faith. Faith in my brothers and sisters, who will stand against the darkness. Faith in the crews of the Imperial Navy, who will get your fellow townspeople out of this night to safety. And above all, faith in the God-Emperor. For he is the light, the way, the truth. Through Him, all things are possible. Even the defeat of these Grimm. And with the God-Emperor, victory is assured."

The family calm down, the preacher's easy rhetoric cooling the fire of their fear. Around them, several other people have moved closer to listen to Father Constantine. His words have sparked something in them that neither he nor they can place.

"C-can you tell us?" The father asks. "More about your… your God-Emperor."

Constantine smiles warmly.

"Certainly. But he is not my God-Emperor. He is the God-Emperor of all. He is Him on Earth; the Master of Mankind and the Father of the Imperium, the Lord of the Golden Throne. He grows neither tired nor weary, and His thoughts, none can understand. He gives strength to the weary, and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall, and they will stumble and fall."

The roar of ascending engines almost drowns out his words as the first Valkyrie full of evacuees lifts off into the night sky, but Father Constantine does not waver in his impromptu sermon.

"But those who keep faith with the God-Emperor shall have their strength renewed. They will soar on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not grow faint.

"This is my faith. Faith in the being, who gave His life for humanity to live in a harsh galaxy. And faith in the Emperor who commands us, His servants, to protect humanity."

---

Muttering the prayer of reloading as fast but as clearly as he can, Tychos ejects a spent power cell before he slaps home another cell. As soon as the 'ready' button lights up, the stock of the lasgun is against his shoulder and he's firing into the mass of Grimm before the wall.

"Starting to run low on ammo!" He calls out. "Fly boys could have gotten here earlier!"

None of his squadmates give a proper reply, but Tychos is sure that he can see a few lips curl up in a smile, even as these men and women fight for their lives. Not that he really expected an actual reply.

He's been lucky to even get a word in edgewise during the fight. With the arrival of the Imperial Navy, the pitch of the battle kicked upwards. The roar of the engines as they skimmed several hundred metres above the ground, autocannons chattering away, while the Vultures swoop side to side almost directly in front of the wall, their noses aimed down to direct accurate heavy bolter and missile fire into the swarm beneath. The Avengers tear up great chunks of earth and beasts with their heavy cannons before they drop promethium bombs on the swarm.

The cacophony is dreadful; the snap of lasguns, the roar of engines passing overhead, the crump of small scale explosions, and the myriad beastly noises of the Grimm horde.

It's a horrifying mix of noise. But nothing he hasn't heard before.

Tychos fires his lasgun steadily. Even with the low recoil of the weapon, Tychos does not switch to full-automatic like his compatriots have. He didn't earn his marksman lanyard by doing so. Through the small but powerful scope attached to the top rail of his M36 Kantreal pattern lasgun, he picks his target with care. Heads, throats, armpits. Anything to maim the enemy or kill them outright, those are his targets.

He leans his body as far over the wall as he can, allowing himself to see the broiling madness of snapping maws, thrashing limbs and flailing claws that ebb and flow like a tide against the stonework. Baleful red eyes stare up at Tychos from white bone armour, and he can feel it.

The inhuman hatred. The desire to destroy all that stands in front of them. To rend, and tear, and gore, and gut, and…

Tychos gives a cry of alarm as he pushes himself backwards, his lasrifle swinging up just out of reach of a stout snout that quickly clamped shut on the space he formally filled. For a second, Tychos is certain he sees teeth crack and shatter before the maw slips below the stonework.

Letting out a growl of his own, the Cadian swings his lasrifle back over the wall and depresses the trigger. A red hot beam of energy stabs downwards into the mass below. He's certain he's scored a kill, but the swarm swallows the slain beast before he can identify if it was a sure kill. He knows it has to be a sure kill though.

"Keep up the fire, men!" Lieutenant Deckard calls out, her sword arm red with blood but her sword still clutched tight. "The first transport is away!"

As if to give truth to her words, the roar of Valkyrie engines boosting upwards accompanies her declaration, the craft's engines burning blue and white against the night sky before it bangs off into the now dark sky.

Tychos doesn't watch the craft fly off though, focusing his attention solely on the fight. He fires his lasgun again and again, smoothly, methodically. He was trained slowly to fire his lasgun, trained to fire it smoothly. That means that now, he can fire it quickly. Each depression of the trigger fires of a shaft of red-hot light, each shaft accompanied by a snap as it lances into the horde below.

There is a shift in the pitch in battle. Years on the battlefield have tuned Tychos' sense, not to the same level as the hallowed Astartes can attain, but it's enough to have kept him alive through the years.

The mortar shell drops right in the middle of the portion of the horde in front of Tychos' portion of the wall, the scream of its descent cutting out a fraction before it hits the ground. The impact is nowhere near as devastating as an Earthshaker round, but the detonation sends Grimm flying in pieces. Limbs, entrails and other pieces go spiralling through the air on the tops of a mushroom of earth.

More rounds drop over the tops of the wall, screaming loudly as they fall to the earth. Each explosion kills scores of Grimm.

The sight stirs the hearts of the Cadians. Some of them whoop and cheer out in joy, even as they go about pouring more fire onto the horde below.

"Watch your backs!" A voice calls out. "Friendlies coming up on you six o'clock."

The sound of heavy, jogging feet makes Tychos move from the wall to look behind him at the new arrivals and turn to face. The sound of heavy carapace armour is distinctive, the sound known to every son and daughter of Cadia.

"Kasrkin." He breathes out in awe at the figures he sees coming across the top of the wall.

They move into position with a word, twelve of them in all, taking places seemingly of their own choosing before they leap up onto the tops of the parapets and begin firing. Hellguns roar sharply, their lethal beams of energy cutting limbs and heads to pieces, flamers let loose torrents of burning promethium, while melta and plasma guns spit out energy that turns Grimm to cinders and glass on contact.

Their arrival does more than help stem the tide though.

The Kasrkin are the elite of Cadia. Before The Fall, the arrival of even a squad of them like now, did more to harden the resolve of any Cadian regiment in battle. They are at their best in times of great stress, never wavering, never folding. Each battalion raised was for a kasr, and like the kasrs themselves, they are bastions of Cadian resolve and strength in times of fire.

They are fury girded in carapace armour and steel, and that fury flows across the wall now. Cadians stand taller, even those that were proudly standing before. Their aim is surer and their anger more directed. Even the roaring bark of heavy bolter and autocannon fire seems to grow in strength, a roar that mingles with each fired shot and each beast brought low.

Now, the top of the wall is alight in fire. Bright lasbeams stab out, tracer rounds from autocannons skip over the heads of the Grimm, mortars, bolter shells and missiles strike out at the horde in explosions of light, sound and smoke. Flames, balls of plasma energy and melta beams splash into the horde.

The bangs of power as the last two Valkyries pitch up and away, accompanied by the Destrier go unnoticed. But as they fly over the clearing and then the forest, the crew that fire out of the side notice that the ground still swells with the forms of Grimm.

And some of them are getting bigger.

---

Letting loose a furious bellow, Yatsuhashi Daichi swings his greatsword in a wide arc. The wide, curved blade, nearly as long as Yatsuhashi is tall and curved to an almost wicked hook at the reverse of the tip, sings coldly as it cuts through the evening air before it hits the Beowolves trying to attack the huntsman-in-training. The noise the blade makes as it digs into and then through the bodies of the Grimm is one that Yatsuhashi has no taste for. It's a horrible, sickening, cracking sound as Fulcrum both cuts and smashes through fur, armour and bone alike.

It's almost as bad as the Grimm he kills.

Three creatures fall to his blade, the bodies falling to the floor in disparate heaps of limbs and bodies. But more are attacking, so Yatsuhashi doesn't allow himself to let up.

But he's tiring, even as he charges into the fray once again, holding his weapon in a double-handed grip above his right shoulder. His Aura lets him keep working past the limitations of any regular human, and even with his muscular body, he's still a force to be reckoned with without it. But Team CFVY has been almost constantly fighting and moving for nearly a full twelve hours now.

Leaping up, Yatsuhashi lets gravity pull him back down sharply, seconds before he swings his sword down to the ground, right onto a small pack of Beowolves below him. The impact is tremendous, his Aura and naturally prodigious strength cratering the ground, while the Beowolf directly below his blade is bifurcated cleanly. The two to the sides are blasted off their feet, rocks and dirt peppering their skin, sending them reeling. He doesn't let them. Fulcrum swings out, side to side, and the beasts are beheaded cleanly.

"Yatsu," Fox says into his head, his voice coming in as if he was directly behind the giant of a student even though he was over a hundred-metres away at the CCT relay tower with the rest of the team. "How you holding up? Need to switch off?"

Casting a critical eye around the immediate area, he can still see the forms of Grimm slinking and running at the boundary of the clearing around the support tower, but none of them are making a move towards it and the Team.

"No, I'm good." He calls out instead. "It looks clear right now, so I'm heading back."

Not taking his eyes off his surroundings, Yatsuhashi begins to move back to the support tower. The sky is now a deep shade of blue with the barest hints of a pink sunset in the west, but in the east, the sky is bright with the colour of flames, and it's alive with the sounds of a pitched battle.

It's been going on for the last three hours now, and Yatsuhashi nor anyone else in the team has any idea what's going on.

The distinctive sound of fast-moving aircraft, faster than anything that they know of Vale possessing, has been snapping back and forth through the air, above their heads almost. The engines aren't the same as any other engine that Yatsuhashi has heard however, either in Vale or in his native Mistral. The engines are brutal, aggressive loud roars of power, almost equal to an Ursa Major. But… somehow more angry.

Turning his head slightly, Yatsuhashi watches the Grimm as they move through the forest. Beowolves and Ursas of all sizes, stampede past them, throngs and hordes of them barrelling through the undergrowth. Even in the relay tower, he can hear the snarls and roars of the Beasts of Grimm as they charge to the fight in the distance. Sometimes, a solo Grimm or a small pack will stop, looking intently at the relay tower and huntsmen-in-training within. They will snarl, and roar and stomp at Team CFVY. Sometimes, they'll charge at the group, forcing them to fight. But largely, the beasts will turn aside, their attention returned to the distant fight and leave them alone.

'That must be a hell of a lot negativity'. Yatsuhashi muses to himself as he stops outside the door to the relay tower.

Coco is standing outside, Gianduja set and ready in its minigun form. She's running a cloth over a section of the barrels, picking out dirt and built up Dust particles out of the mechanism. Even in the middle of the chaos of a simple search and clear mission gone foul-up, the team leader still oozes confidence.

"Good hustle, Yatsu." She says happily, looking up at the taller teen. Her aviator glasses, which were definitely becoming next to useless as the light fell, were resting almost on the tip of her nose, letting the young woman peer at Yatsuhashi with her dark brown eyes. "Although it seems like we've been getting the small fry now."

The giant teen gives a noncommittal grunt. Doing nothing but fighting and running all day, it saps the strength out of even the best of them, and Yatsuhashi is no exception.

"Fox, how's it looking up there?" Coco calls out to their teammate currently crouching on top of the lower segment of the relay tower like a gargoyle, setting her minigun back into its purse form.

Yatsuhashi still can't help but smile slightly at Coco's choice of words when talking to the only member of the team that, technically, can't see.

"There's still a shit tonne of Grimm out there." Fox sends to the pair, as he looks out into the woods around the tower. "Man… if you guys could see what I'm seeing."

Without a word, Fox drops from his perch on the tower and lands beside the pair, the only disturbance from his movement a little pall of dust at this feet.

"Bad?" Coco asks.

Fox nods.

Turning, Coco opens the heavy door to the support tower and steps inside, Fox and Yatsuhashi following.

"Velvet? How are you coming along in there?"

While the CCT relay mechanism of the tower itself is tall, probably around seventy-five metres in height, the area that bottom is a squat circle, roughly five metres in height and ten metres in diameter. Space is taken up by walls of stone and steel that are two metres in thickness, while the inside is taken up by various monitoring devices and other devices needed to keep the CCT up and running.

Normally, there'd be a crew of three technicians inside, keeping the devices working and checking for anything strange, but they had fled by the time that CFVY arrived. At least, Yatsuhashi hopes that they'd fled. So the sole occupant of the building now is Velvet.

The rabbit Faunus is sitting at a control panel, her scroll put into a slot in the device. The display of an oscillating frequency is shown on the screens of the scroll and the machinery, although there's nothing but static coming from either. Paying attention to her work, Velvet has a large pair of headphones pressed against one of her human ears as she fiddles with the dials of the machines.

"Still working it out…" Velvet says in a distracted manner, her eyes flitting between the machine in front of her that is almost as tall as Yatsuhashi and the scroll connected to it.

Out of the four of them, Yatsuhashi has no qualms admitting that Velvet is the best suited for this task. Ever since he's known her, Velvet has displayed a keen knack for anything technological. In classes, if there's anything to do with scrollwork of any sort, she's always the one in the team who can figure it out quickly. Plus, her semblance of a photographic memory, which works more with her combat style, still allows her to quickly remember passages read from books and such, so finding a manual on how to find radio frequencies has helped her greatly.

Plus, she's the one who had found it. The weird radio signal.

"Any luck?" Yatsuhashi asks as he moves to stand next to Velvet, his eyes fixed on the display in front of them.

Velvet fiddles with a dial again before she speaks.

"It's… it's annoying. The radio wave is definitely one that the relay can pick up, but it's either too low on the frequency, or it's not powerful enough to fully connect."

"Got some more Grimm coming in." Fox sends to all of them. "I'll take care of them."

Without another word, the other three members of Team CFVY hear their friend running to the fight, leaving Coco and Yatsuhashi to stand beside Velvet.

"If it was any other place and time," Coco began. "I would say you were imagining it. But…"

The team leader lets the sentence hang in the air, and Yatsuhashi knows what she's referring to.

They had been trying to call in an evacuation, just before the Grimm horde had barrelled their way through the forest; Coco, Fox and Yatsuhashi covering Velvet as she tried to contact Beacon. It ended up not working though, since a relay tower must have been knocked down the line. Emergency channels were in place for this sort of situation, ones that are strong enough to bypass local, minor relay towers and go straight to major cities. Although fighting against a horde of Beowolves and Ursa makes it a bit of a challenge to find the correct channel.

Velvet had been using her scroll to find the right channel for Beacon when she had stumbled on the message.

It was fragmented, scratchy and almost indecipherable but it came through clear.

"…Evacuation… Carterstown… squadron heading… Emperor be with you."

Soon after that, the loudest amount of gunfire that anyone on Team CFVY has ever heard started up, a good few miles to the east. Even as the sun dipped below the horizon to the west, the sky still lit up in the east. Angry, red with fire.

And then the aircraft came, fast and low. Engines roaring, guns chattering a deep bass note. Yatsuhashi could tell that they were firing at Grimm. The sound of a horde of beasts is unmistakeable, and the Huntsman-in-training can tell that whoever's doing the shooting is punishing the horde hard.

But more beasts have been coming, and it doesn't look like they will stop any time soon.

Velvet lets out a frustrated sigh, taking the headset off and letting it dangle in her hand.

"It's not a ghost signal, I know it's not." She says out loud, more to herself than anyone in the room.

"Hey, we all know it wasn't a ghost." Yatsuhashi says reassuringly, putting a hand onto Velvet's shoulder. "We believe you. Plus; how could we have missed those aircraft overhead? They have to have responded to the signal."

"Exactly." Coco says in return. "So, the signal has to exist. And if it exists, you can find it."

The sound of footsteps on stone announces Fox's arrival.

"Done. We're definitely getting the small-fry here. Whatever's going on outside is attracting the big ones." He says casually, flicking Grimm gore off his tonfa blades. "Any luck on the signal?"

"I'll give it one more shot." Velvet says firmly, putting the headset back to her ears before she begins fiddling with the dials again.

While she does, Yatsuhashi motions with his head slightly to Coco to pull her to one side. Not saying a word, she follows the taller teen to a side of the room. The area is a little bit more cramped, a desk that comes up to Yatsuhashi's thigh and a row of shelves taking up space.

Without aplomb, Coco boosts herself to sit on the desk.

"What's on your mind, Yatsu?" She asks flatly, taking off her sunglasses to look at her teammate directly in the eye.

"Coco… if this doesn't work…"

"It will." Coco interrupts. "Velvet can do this."

"No, I know she can." Yatsuhashi says, putting his hands up defensively. He's one of the last people to knock Velvet's skills. "But… just on the off chance… what if?"

Coco is silent as she looks down. It's a sore spot for any huntsman-in-training; the 'what if'. Being a Huntsman has its ups and downs, that's a fact. The ups are right up there; sponsorships from companies, fame in the kingdom, money, glory. But the downs? Those are often six-feet under. And those aren't rare.

Professor Goodwitch and Port, in his own rambling way, never shied away from describing the horrors that professional and semi-professional Huntsmen face in the wilds. The luckiest ones had a teammate who lost a limb. It was lucky to lose a single teammate. But it wasn't unheard of for whole teams to be listed as Missing or Killed In Action.

In their first year, CFVY had to attend two funerals for classmates. The families… Yatsuhashi wished he could get rid of those memories.

Coco lets out a sigh. "If it comes to it… then there's not much we can do about it." Her tone as she speaks is low and morose, giving voice to the question she never wanted to answer. "But… I know that we'll do what we do best. We'll protect each other."

Yatsuhashi, the Giant of Beacon, smiles warmly at Coco's words as he nods his head. The question still unsettles him though.

"Hey!" Fox calls out, actually calls out with his own voice, showing his surprise. "I think we got contact!"

In an instant, Coco and Yatsuhashi are next to the machine Velvet is now leaning over intently, both headsets covering her ears as she delicately fiddles with a dial. The oscillating frequency the machine's display, mirrored on her scroll, moves finely, each adjustment creating static.

"Did you find it?" Coco asks expectantly.

"I think I got it." Velvet replies, her attention focused on the dials and displays in front of her. "Just got to.. find the right…"

"Ogre 3, good tone! Missile away!" A rough voice, the accent not like anything any of them have heard, suddenly calls out from the scroll, a man's voice masked by something heavy. "Target hit. Good effect on target."

Team CFVY just blinks in surprise at the voice they just heard.

"That's… not the voice we heard before." Fox says, again showing his surprise.

Again, Velvet fiddles with the dials, shifting the frequency in different directions. Each one brings up a new voice unheard of to them. And a new scene that unfolds with each second.

"They're pushing on the right flank! Direct mortar fire to the right! Drop them in close!"

"We need resupply! Third platoon is nearly out of ammo!"

"Bravo Platoon. Hold tight. Second wave of transports in-bound. Just hang on."

Velvet moves the headset off her head to sit on her neck before she turns to look at Coco.

"They sound like they're getting slaughtered over there."

Coco nods her head slowly, taking in the information she's just heard.

"So what do we do?" Fox asks, quickly getting over his surprise.

"Well we've got to help them." Yatsuhashi says simply with a shrug. "That's our job."

"Yatsu, we've been out in the field for over half a day now." Fox counters. "We're all tired, we're low on energy, and I'm nearly out of Dust, and I know that Coco and Velvet are the same. What good will we be in a fight?"

"Huntsmen don't run from a fight." The Mistralian native says, squaring his chest with pride at the name. "We defend those who can't defend themselves. That is our oath."

"That…" Fox says, pointing his hand in the direction of the gunfire. "Does not sound like people who need help defending themselves."

"But they do need help." Velvet responds, fixing her eyes on Fox. She turns to look at Coco. "Those people need help."

Coco is silent for a second before she pinches the bridge of her nose with a grimace.

"All right, all right. I don't want to be guilt-tripped by your or Yatsu. But… damn it if Fox isn't right. I'm running low on fire Dust, and if we get into another stand-up fight, I'm sure as hell going to need it. Velvet, you've used some of your best photos… but I know you've got lots of photos of Fox and Yatsuhashi, so we're good on that."

Coco turns to look at Yatsuhashi and Fox with a solid stare.

"No jokes on this: how good are you guys to keep on going? This might turn into an all-nighter."

Yatsuhashi relaxes slightly, letting his muscles loosen as he works out his shoulders.

"I've been better… but I'm still good to go. My grandfather trained me well."

Fox nods his head before he flexes his wrists, setting Sharpe Retribution to flick forward and backwards menacingly.

"I can keep going."

Coco nods her head at the words from her teammates and friends. They've got their quirks, their foibles and their problems. They can argue and make fun of each other… but she knows that she can rely on them when the chips are down.

"Okay," She says finally. "This is going to be a tough one. So we all have to commit to this. Are we going to help these people out?"

For a second, the room is silent, the only noise the distant bedlam filtering in.

In succession they speak.

"Aye." Velvet says, standing up from her seat.

"Yes." Yatsuhashi nods.

"Let's do it." Fox states.

Coco nods. "Then let's get to it then. Velvet, can you contact these guys? Let them know we're coming?"

"Let me try something." The rabbit Faunus replies, bending forward to fiddle again with a dial. Before long, another set of voices come through.

"Rapier Two-Two, keep it tight on the left flank. Give Warhorse Six-Three enough room."

"Copy that Rapier Two-One."

"Sounds like pilots if I had to guess." Yatsuhashi says as he looks at Coco. "Probably the best people to talk to."

Coco nods her head in agreement before she steps towards the scroll and the machine holding it. Clearing her throat, she glances at Velvet almost for support before she presses the transmit button on the machine before she says one of the phrases taught by Professor Greene.

"Attention; to any aircraft in Valean airspace in the vicinity of Carterstown. This is huntsmen team, Team CFVY, out of Beacon Academy. Can anyone hear me? Please respond. Over."

Static fills the air.

"Who the hell is that?!" The second voice says incredulously. "This is a secure channel!"

"Rapier Two-Two, stow it." The first voice says sternly, obviously the more professional of the pair. "Caller, identify yourself. Your signal is unknown. Please identify. Over."

The team can't help but smile at the request. Again, Coco takes the lead.

"This is Huntress Coco Adel, second year student out of Beacon Academy of the Kingdom of Vale. We've heard the radio chatter from Carterstown and we're willing to provide support. How copy? Over."

Whoever Coco is talking to is obviously military, Yatsuhashi realizes. The tone of the man's voice and the style of speaking spoke of a high level of training. But the accent… that was definitely not something he could place.

The first speaker, the man identified as Oscar Two-One if Yatsuhashi has to guess, speaks up again.

"Huntress Coco Adel, I'm patching you through my superior. Repeat your message to him. Over and out."

"Rude." Fox sent.

Brief seconds pass before another voice comes through. This one is more aristocratic, if Yatsuhashi had to put a word to it. Clipped but almost sing-song.

"This is First Lieutenant de Pikalov, of His Divine Majesty's Imperial Navy and Officer of the Fleet of the 598th Cadian Regiment of Foot. Am I speaking to… 'Huntress Coco Adel'? believe that you wish to provide assistance. Over."

Not a question. A statement.

"That… that's correct, sir." Coco replies, her face betraying her confusion at the proceedings while her voice is level. "We're near the town but we can't get there by foot… Over?"

"Ah," The man named de Pikalov replies. "So you require an airlift. Tell me… how can I be assured that you wish to aid the men and women defending that town? Over."

To his side, Yatsuhashi sees that Velvet is about to say something, something that is likely not to help them, so he quickly steps in and speaks up.

"Sir, my name is Yatsuhashi Daichi. I'm a team-mate of Coco's." He says simply. "And while she can talk for herself, I'll speak my mind; we want to help because we're Huntsmen. Our task is to defend the kingdoms of humanity and the people within them from the Grimm without. We want to help because for the last few hours, we've been hearing the fighting going on at the town. And we've not been able to do anything to assist!"

No reply comes from the other end of the transmission. Fox swats his taller teammates' arm hard.

"Good going, genius. He probably thinks we're idiots."

De Pikalov's voice comes back again, sounding more focused, somehow, as he speaks.

"You'd willingly charge into the jaws of death, into the very mouth of hell, for people you don't know about nor have ever met? Risk your lives for complete strangers?"

Yatsuhashi turns to look at each of his teammates, Coco doing the same before she turns back to address the scroll.

"Yes we would."

"… Excellent!" The man on the other end says loudly and happily, the sound of fingers snapping clearly heard. "I'm relaying one of the transports to your position. Hold tight until they arrive, and prepare yourselves. Good luck to you all. May the Emperor watch over you."

The signal cuts out quickly, leaving the quartet in silence again.

"… did he says 'Emperor'?" Velvet asks in confusion. "… but we've not had an emperor on Remnant for nearly a century."

"Obviously they didn't get the memo." Fox sends.

The voice of Rapier Two-One fills the air again. "Huntress Coco Adel, this is Rapier Two-One. We approaching from the north-west. ETA, ninety-seconds. Suggest you get your gear together. This is gonna be a quick pick up. How copy? Over."

"Team CFVY copies all." Coco replies, a smile on her face. "See you shortly. Over and out."

The signal disappears from the scroll, and Velvet unclips it from the machine, removing the headphones as she does so.

"All right, team." Coco says cheerily. "Let's tear this place apart. Try and find anything that we can use. There has to be Dust in here somewhere. We've got less than a minute to find it."

"Let's hop too it." Yatsuhashi says quickly and simply.

Velvet lands a solid punch against his bicep.

"Ow!" The giant replies, before he realises what he just said. "Oh… well, it's a common expression."

Velvet rolls her eyes. "Come on. Let's get to it."

---

It has taken Team CFVY less than twenty seconds to ransack the support tower for any Dust. Time was saved when Yatsuhashi broke open a weapons locker on his first guess, revealing a store of Fire, Lightning and Ice dust for both Coco and Fox. Of Velvet's coveted Hard Light Dust, there was no sign, meaning she'd have to ration out her weapons carefully in the coming fight.

Prepared for the fight ahead, the team exits the relay tower. Night has now fully fallen, smothering the forest in darkness and shadows. Close up, some of the shadows slither and creep out of the corners, the red lights of eyes signalling the passage of the Creatures of Grimm. At the edge of their hearing, they can hear that the sounds of battle have not diminished.

As they move into the clearing around the tower, a lone Beowolf roars loudly, sensing their presence. It is a chilling roar, a primal sound that chills the blood and makes bone tremble. Velvet hears the sound and she wonders on a question that Doctor Oobleck once asked to his second year class.

"What would ancient man or Faunus have thought when they first hear the roar of a Beowolf or Ursa? The screech of a Nevermore or Griffon, as they huddled in caves or primitive dwellings for protection? The dark night surrounding them, the fire their only source of light, as the red lights of the beasts of Grimm advanced on them. Would they have prayed to whatever deity they had? Ask their ancestors for protection that night? Would they have wept in fear, holding their loved ones close as they sought comfort in their final moments? Or would they have stood against the night, weapons held tight in shaking fists as they prepared to fight to the last?

"And what do we do?"

"What do we do, Velvet?" Yatsuhashi asks, drawing Fulcrum from his back before he tests the grip one more time.

It shocks Velvet that she had said the question out loud, her reverie getting the better of her in the moment.

"Throwing a flare!" Coco yells out as she twists the cap of one of the sticks in her hand and throws it hard over hand. The stick somersaults through the air, even as the cap throws out red sparks that grow into a full, eerie red light. It falls as gravity takes hold and it bounces across the grass before it stops short of the trees, casting the immediate area around it in dancing red light.

Light that catches the form of an advancing Ursa, the bear-like creature emerging from the darkness. It draws drip with what passes for saliva to Grimm, and its claws clutch at the earth as it plods forward. At its flanks, more beasts join the first, their visages made demonic in the red light.

Fox and Yatsuhashi each throw more flares to the sides to light up the clearing, and each point of light reveals more enemies. They are surrounded on three sides, and it is no doubt that more are at their backs.

"So…" Coco asks as she activates Gianduja, the minigun spinning up, ready to kill, as she finishes the rest of their history teacher's question. "What do we do, Velvet? Do we run? Do we cower and hide in our homes?"

Yatsuhashi raises Fulcrum in a middle guard, blade swept back. Fox readies Sharp Retribution, crossing the blades across his chest as he crouches, one leg extended back.

For her part, Velvet activates Anesidora. She's prepped the weapon she's chosen for this fight already, one that she feels the best for the situation.

In a small series of flashes, she soon holds a bright blue wire frame copy of Crescent Rose, the weapon of her friend, Ruby Rose. She holds the wire frame weapon tight in both hands as she takes the same fighting pose as her friend would.

"We stand against the darkness." Velvet says firmly.

The Grimm charge.

Coco open fires, her gun roaring loudly as she sweeps the gun side to side in front of her. The rounds themselves will do next to nothing against the demons of the night, but as they hit their targets, Coco activates her Semblance. Instantly, the Dust in the rounds activate, becoming super-charged. Grimm stop as muscles seize up, lightning coursing through their bodies in voltages that nothing living could withstand. Fur is set aflame, and liquid inside the bodies boils. Body parts explode violently.

Yatsuhashi charges to the flank. A Beowolf makes to swipe at his head. The giant student stops his charge, but swings his sword, bringing the blade up. He cleanly slices off a limb and the head before the Grimm connects with him, and he easily side steps the falling body before he moves onto his next opponent. He fights like the warriors of old that his grand-father told him stories about. He cuts, slices and hacks Grimm to pieces, always moving, never stopping for a moment. Claws slice past through the air, missing him by centimetres, while Fulcrum never misses.

With a blur of red, Fox dashes forward. The low light level does nothing to impede his progress, his lack of sight being as worthless to him in the dead of night as it is in the day. He flows almost like liquid across the field as he is charged by a pack of Ursa. It's almost mocking the way that Fox flows past swiping claws and over broad backs. His blades flash with each pass, and each pass shears off limbs in sprays of black ichor and blood before he either guts or beheads each beast. He is in constant motion, an exemplar of death at speed.

For her part, Velvet stands her ground. A pack of Beowolf see her as an easy target, so they charge at her. One moment she is standing on the ground, then she is spiralling through the air, scythe extended. Depressing the trigger, she fires a hard light round up into the air, propelling herself down. The blade swishes, and a Beowolf is decapitated. Another shot rings out, and Velvet is in motion again, bowling over another beast as she slices it from shoulder to hip just above the hairs on the tips of her rabbit ears. She is always moving, a gunshot sounding off each movement. And each time, a Grimm dies.

The clearing is a battle-scene that would make Professor Port beam with pride. The Huntsmen-in-training are never still, always watching the backs of the other as they fight. Even when Velvet is forced back by an Alpha Beowolf, Yatsuhashi grabs her hand and spins her, using his strength and momentum to propel her back into the fight. Crescent Rose fires again, sending Velvet speeding at the Alpha, blade ready before it connects with the creatures open maw. Speed does the rest as the hard light blade slices the Alpha's head clean in two from cheek to cheek.

Coco's minigun fills the clearing with more noise than she can almost bear, grimacing behind her sunglasses as the barrels keep spinning. Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees a new pack of Ursa charge at her. She shifts her stance to turn her weapon on them.

She never gets the chance.

In a flash of light and a thunderclap of pressure, the beasts are vaporised by a missile. Even before the dust from the explosion settles, more missiles streak overhead. Each one detonates with a flash like a small sun come to life in the darkness.

Hot winds from directly above buffet Coco's Aura, the soul's shield sparking slightly as it stops her being peppered by flying fragments of dust, wood and rock. Lifting a hand to her beret, she looks up above her.

"I think our ride's here!" Fox sends.

Coco is not sure exactly what the machine above her is, but whoever designed it definitely had one goal in mind: aggression. A thin prow, thick body and long wings give it the appearance of a hovering bird of prey, which in the darkness makes it look almost like a Nevermore. The wingtips glow bright blue as they send down buffeting blasts of super-heated air, keeping the craft hovering, while to its back, two large engines roar loudly as they power the machine. A split tail, connected by a rear boon, keeps the aircraft level.

It is not like any craft that Coco has seen, in real life or in fiction. But right now, it's a fucking god-send.

Gunfire, heavy and bass in volume, spits out from the nose as the aircraft slowly spins downwards. Grimm and trees are mown down, their bodies splitting apart from the rounds that hit them. The gun at the bow is soon joined by two from the sides of the thick body, the unmistakable forms of people manning the weapons as they lend their own fire to the fight. Red light comes from behind them, but in the darkness and confusion, Coco can't make out any details of the figures, especially as the vehicle completes its spin.

A rear ramp opens, spilling out more red light above them as the craft moves to hover downwards.

"That's our ride, all right!" Coco calls out over the din. "Velvet, Fox! You two get on first. Me and Yatsu will cover."

"On it." The pair send back, using Fox's semblance to give their answer.

The craft is now twenty feet above them. Speed is needed here, Velvet knows, and if they land, there's still a good chance they could be overrun by the Grimm. So, as she moves to the back of the craft, she does the only thing she knows she can do.

Pushing her Aura downwards, the Faunus Huntress-in-training jumps. She propels herself upwards, sailing through the air, towards the open ramp. As she clears the metal, she sees the interior, red lit and cramped by people in military uniforms that's she never seen before. Split seconds later, she moving forward as she sails towards the interior.

Right into the arms of one of the soldiers, a stunned look on his face.

Velvet gives a grunt as she lands against the soldier, the man wrapping his arms around her to stop her forward momentum. He's tall, lean but powerfully built, and his armour is solidly constructed. As Velvet looks up at his face, she can't make out any major details, other than that his eyes are a shade of purple, and he is looking at her in confusion.

"You jumped?" He asks, raising his voice to be heard above the roar of the engines just above their heads.

Another grunt to the side makes both of them turn, Velvet seeing Fox land easier than she did.

"To be fair," Fox says nonchalantly. "It's not the highest we've ever had to jump."

Instantly, Velvet remembers the fight below.

"Tell the pilot to keep hovering at this height!" She calls out loud. "Do not land!"

Easily removing herself from the soldier's grip, Velvet looks out over the side of the ramp to the ground below. Coco and Yatsuhashi are still fighting the Grimm, but they have now been forced almost back to back.

"Guys!" She calls out. "Quick. Jump!"

Below, Coco takes one quick look around at the situation. The Grimm are getting closer, but the arrival of the aircraft has thrown the assault off balance. She fires off Gianduja once more, using Hype to enhance the force of the fire Dust in the bullets. Grimm are blown to pieces, and she clears the pair some breathing room.

"Let's go!" She calls out as she folds her gun back into her purse. Once it's done, she's jumping through the air, her Aura pushing her high. She catches sight of Fox extending a hand to catch her, which she takes as she sails in front of him. In his grip, Fox spins her backwards and out of the open air into the interior of the aircraft.

Yatsuhashi jumps too, his strength and Aura making him clear the lowered ramp and letting him land squarely on the metal.

All the soldiers are looking at the team in awe and surprise at what they've just done.

"What are you waiting for?" Velvet calls out. "We're all on board. Go!"

The soldier who had caught her shakes himself out of his shock before he puts a hand to the side of his helmet.

"Rapier Two-One! Everyone's on board! Punch it!" He takes his hand off his head as he looks at the team. "Get off the ramp! Inside, now!"

Team CFVY is pulled into the interior of the craft, the soldiers doing their best to make space for them, even in the already cramped troop bay, as the aircraft rises quickly and steadily. The gunners at the sides, men dressed in thick green overalls, steel body armour and full-face breathing masks, still fire their bulky heavy duty weapons down at the Grimm below.

The ramp closes with a heavy 'thoom', pneumatic hinges closing the door tight.

"Hold on, everyone." The pilot's voice comes in through an internal speaker as a warning before the aircraft shoots forward, nearly throwing everyone standing off balance at the speed and force of the engines.

For her part, Velvet is pushed backwards against Coco, who, despite her designer high heels, still retains her balance perfectly, catching Velvet easily. Looking over her shoulder, the rabbit Faunus can't help but give her team-mate a smile.

"So…" Fox says out loud, looking around the space. "Where to next?"

---

AN: And chapter 5 is up! This was simultaneously a pain to write and fun to write too. Pain because I had so many more ideas for this chapter, but it just kept increasing the length more and more and I felt that would become too much of a slog to read, so I had to parse it down a fair bit. It was fun though because I tried out a few new things for writing this chapter, especially when Team CFVY was involved. I think I did their abilities and strengths justice, especially since there's been a recurring argument on SpaceBattles (not blaming anyone) on how RWBY and 40k stack up, especially against each other. It's a bit of a mess, and not really helpful in the long run, but it has given me an incentive to try my damned hardest to get Team CFVY, and the other Huntsmen following in their wake in the story, as right as possible.

So, anyway, read, enjoy and review. Thank you.