Four hundred and ninety-six days. That was how long Colby had been on Gildara, a forgotten backwater on the fringes of the Ultima Segmentum. A world so far from the Imperium's heart, it felt like even the stars had forgotten it. Colby hadn't known where he was going when the orders came down, and neither had anyone else. When the Imperium pointed, the Imperial Guard marched, no questions asked.
That hadn't been the problem. The problem had been discovering that Gildara was under siege by the orks—feral, savage beasts bent on nothing but destruction. But the even bigger problem, at least in Colby's mind, was that it had rained every single day since he and the 42nd Altos Fusiliers had arrived.
The trenches were mud-choked rivers, the land an endless quagmire of wet decay. Colby spent every morning bailing water out of their trenches, but the rain always found a way back in. Every evening, he had to fight back ork assaults while knee-deep in the sludge, the wetness seeping into his boots, his bones aching from the cold. He slept soaked to the skin and ate food that turned to mush the moment he touched it. The smell of rot—both from the land and his comrades—hung thick in the air.
More men had died from disease, from the relentless swamp of infection that festered in the trenches, than from the orks themselves. The Imperium's regiments had always been a numbers game, but even the Emperor's will couldn't force men to survive conditions like these.
It had all seemed so hopeless. A never-ending slog of pain and misery, against an enemy that never relented, in weather that never ceased. Days blurred into one another. A miserable existence, with only one grim way out. Death, in one form or another.
Then the Angels had come.
Space Marines—warriors of legend, the chosen champions of the Imperium of Man—arrived without warning. Clad in black power armor that seemed to swallow the very light, they struck like a storm, just as a determined ork force threatened to overwhelm the trenches. Colby still remembered the silence as they came down from the ridgeline, the eerie stillness before the roar of bolter fire. They butchered every ork in sight—efficient, brutal, unstoppable—and then, as quickly as they had appeared, they vanished. Not a word, not a gesture. Just duty done.
Even now, almost a year later, Colby took comfort in the memory. No record had ever been made of their arrival—no orders, no report, no glorification. Just a flash of divine fury. Only two other men from his platoon had seen them too, and both had died in the following months. Now, Colby stood alone in the memory of that battle, surrounded by comrades who would never understand.
And now, as if by some strange twist of fate, the 42nd Altos Fusiliers had been reinforced by more Space Marines.
"Corporal Colby," a deep, vox-amplified voice called from behind.
Colby spun around, his heart leaping in his chest. For a moment, he thought he might have imagined it—this had to be a dream, or some cruel joke—but no. A towering figure stood before him, a Space Marine, his armor slick with rain, glinting like black steel under the storm's rage. It was colored a deep green one half, and pitch black on the other. A skull with a hood, on a field of black, adorned his left shoulder, and a blood-red skull on a white field marked his right.
"Yes, that's me," Colby said, his voice betraying his sudden, overwhelming excitement. The Angels knew his name! He felt like a child again, staring at something sacred.
"My name is Kairos, Sergeant of the Fourth Company of the Knights Repentant," the Space Marine said, stepping forward, the ground seeming to tremble under his weight. Colby's heart skipped. The Knights Repentant—he had heard the stories, legends of the Emperor's fiercest warriors.
Colby swallowed hard. He had drawn the short straw today, stuck in the forward lookout post instead of the relative comfort of the trenches. Yet now, in the presence of this mighty figure, it felt as though the heavens themselves had opened. Perhaps his luck was changing.
"It's an honor, Lord," Colby stammered, his hands slick with sweat as they clutched the lasgun. The words were out before he could stop them, but he couldn't help it. The awe was too much. He'd always heard of them, but to stand before one… it was like staring at the sun.
The Space Marine paused for a moment; his voice suddenly quieter, more direct. "Are you alone, Guardsman?"
Colby's mouth went dry. The tone was flat, devoid of warmth or malice, yet the question still pierced him. Alone? Was he? It was a strange thought. For over a year, he had lived in the mud, fought in the muck, but the weight of solitude never truly hit him until now.
"Yes, sir," Colby replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes flicked nervously behind the Sergeant, scanning the space for more of the Space Marines. Then, his gaze froze. Standing just behind the Sergeant was a figure clad entirely in black—power armor that seemed to absorb the very light around him. A skull helmet glinted ominously in the dim light. Colby's breath caught in his throat. A Space Marine Chaplain.
The Sergeant nodded once, his expression unreadable, before turning to his warriors. With a small, almost imperceptible gesture, he signaled for one of them to approach. The warrior was carrying a portable flamer, its pilot light flickering weakly against the downpour, barely visible in the sheets of rain.
"You were present a year ago when the Space Marines arrived on this world, were you not?" The Sergeant's voice was flat, almost disinterested, but there was something behind it that made Colby's skin crawl.
"Oh yes, Lord," Colby said, eager to please, his words spilling out quickly. "I was there. It was—" He hesitated, trying to find the right words, "—truly a blessing. They arrived just in time to save us from the orks. If not for them… we'd have been overwhelmed."
The Sergeant's head tilted slightly, the motion slow, deliberate. Colby wasn't sure if the warrior was simply considering his words or if something else was at play. It felt… wrong, like something important was about to unfold—but Colby couldn't quite put his finger on it.
The Space Marine nodded, though it was a curt, almost solemn motion. Then, without another word, he turned away, his heavy boots splashing in the rain-soaked mud. He descended from the small outcropping and placed a hand on the shoulder of another warrior, a silent exchange of understanding between them.
Colby watched, confused, as the Space Marine armed with the flamer stepped forward, the rain pattering on his helmet like distant thunder. He raised the weapon slowly, carefully, pointing it at Colby with a chilling precision.
A moment of disbelief washed over him. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask why, but the words died in his throat as the flamer roared to life.
A jet of searing promethium erupted from the weapon, the flames blindingly bright and scorching as they licked across Colby's body. His skin blackened and bubbled in an instant, the heat unbearable as his muscles locked in agony.
It was over in a matter of seconds. The stench of burning flesh filled the air.
From a distance, Sergeant Kairos observed the death of the Guardsman, his posture stiff and unmoving, like a statue carved from stone. His expression remained unreadable behind his helmet, but Colby could have sworn there was a flicker of something—something darker—beneath that impassive gaze. Then, Corporal Colby was gone.
With a sigh, the Sergeant activated his vox. His voice crackled through the static, detached and cold.
"This is Sergeant Kairos of the Knights Repentant. During our patrol, we found the remains of an Imperial Guardsman. The soldier was likely killed by an ork raiding party. We will continue our patrol."
There was no pause, no reflection, no acknowledgment of the life that had just been extinguished. Only the harsh, metallic drone of the vox channel.
And then, just as suddenly as they had come, the Space Marines began to move away, their heavy footsteps disappearing into the rain. The storm seemed to intensify, as if nature itself was responding to the unspeakable act.
Chaplain Morvex walked over to the Space Marine with the flamer, his footsteps silent despite the storm that battered the battlefield. The flamer's pilot light flickered weakly in the downpour, but the Chaplain's presence seemed to quiet the surrounding chaos. He rested a surprisingly gentle hand on the warrior's shoulder, an almost imperceptible gesture, and exchanged a few quiet words with him. The warrior's posture stiffened, but the Chaplain's touch seemed to steady him, his voice low and implacable, like the whisper of a prayer.
When he finished, Morvex turned away, his black armor gleaming with a sheen of rainwater as he walked toward Sergeant Kairos. The storm whipped around them, but neither warrior seemed to notice. The weight of their purpose was enough to drown out everything else.
"That was the last of them," Chaplain Morvex said, his voice colder than the rain that pounded the earth, his tone void of anything resembling emotion.
Kairos didn't look up, his helmeted head angled down as though burdened by an invisible weight. His eyes, hidden behind the dark lenses of his helm, were fixated on something distant—perhaps the bodies of the fallen Guardsmen, perhaps the endless horizon stretching before them.
He spoke only after a long silence. "The Fallen enact a heavy toll on the loyal citizens of the Imperium, wherever they go." His voice was quiet, pained, as though he were asking himself the question. "How many true sons and daughters of the Emperor must we kill to protect the secrets of our ancestors?"
The question hung in the air, lost amidst the rain and the distant echoes of war. Kairos didn't raise his head, but the weight of his words was palpable. The duty to the Emperor, to the Imperium, was absolute—unquestionable. But how far could a man go before he lost everything? How many lives had to be sacrificed to keep the truth hidden?
Morvex, standing perfectly still, turned his cold gaze to the Sergeant. His black armor seemed to absorb the light, as if it were made of shadow itself. The Chaplain's eyes were hidden behind the skull of his helm, but Kairos could feel his gaze pierce through him, unflinching.
"As many as it takes," Morvex said, his words as unyielding as the unending storm.
There was no hesitation in the Chaplain's voice. No trace of doubt. There was only the cold certainty of their grim duty.
Kairos's shoulders seemed to sag under the weight of those words, though he said nothing. The silence stretched between them like a chasm. He could feel the question gnawing at him—Am I still a son of the Lion, or am I just a monster masked in the armor of a Knight?
But no answer came. The storm continued to rage, its fury matching the darkness in Kairos's heart.
Morvex's voice broke the silence again, cutting through the cold like a blade. "The Fallen will not stop. They will keep infecting the Imperium with their lies, their betrayal. We will do what must be done. For the Emperor. For the Chapter."
Kairos nodded silently. His duty was clear. But even as the words left Morvex's lips, he felt a hollow emptiness within him. The Fallen were not just enemies—they were a reflection of the darkness that haunted them all, a shadow of betrayal that stretched across the very foundation of their oaths.
"How many more?" Kairos asked quietly, the question almost lost beneath the howl of the storm. It wasn't a question for Morvex, but for himself. He didn't expect an answer, and he received none.
Chaplain turned and began to walk toward the distant ridge where the rest of the Knights Repentant stood. The war was far from over. And neither was their grim duty.
Kairos stood for a long moment, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, as if holding on to something that threatened to slip away. The rain washed over him, but it did nothing to cleanse him of the burden he carried.
The burden of the truth.