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374.M42 Segmentium Tempestus Disporai Sector Gravi System Forge World Minocus -------- Primaris Intercessor Davin Kelos of the Red Angyls Chapter sat in his Repulsor with his battle-brothers, checking and checking again his bolt-rifle. The sergeant, Greogor Mastallean, sat beside him. The rumbling of the anti-grav machinery keeping the vehicle afloat was constant, but calming rather than annoying. KZZZT! The vox sputtered to life with a crackle. “Squad Mastallean! Prepare f-” The incoming could not come fast enough, as the tank was shattered and Davin’s vision was covered in a blazing blue light… ...then came the black. -------- Davin awoke later, strapped to a massive slab of metal. Upon further examination, it was perhaps the plate of his transport’s armor. In front of him, the disgusting celebration of another battle won. Cultists, thought Davin. The wild, multi-colored dancers performed for their brothers and sisters, each dressed accordingly to each ‘god’ of the Ruinous Powers. Flames burst from torches, doused in promethium and the blood of their poor victims. Scarred helmets of his brothers sat on spears stuck upwards. Davin looked around for a way out, finding... a bolt rifle! He tugged on his chains, the cultists too busy to notice. They numbered in the hundreds, but he could surely take all of them… The chains strained. The foolish cultists forgot one thing to take from him; his battle-plate! CHINK! The chains snapped, and pieces went flying in all directions. Only a few cultists noticed, and horror struck them harder than the bolt rifle that Davin had just retrieved. “DIE, TRAITOROUS SCUM!” The kick of a bolt rifle is not something to be scoffed at. Even the boltgun, the smaller, older brother of the bolt rifle, has the kickback to shatter a normal man’s arm at their peak. Yet Davin held the bolt rifle in place, and fired it in its fully automatic state. He double checked the rune dedicated to the rate of fire of his gun, and saw it was on its maximum setting. Pleased, he continued to unleash the wrath of every Astartes to ever live, with the same ferocity of all of the augmented warriors at the Imperium’s disposal. He then saw a charging, crazed khornate berserker. Chainaxes in both hands, the heretic came barreling forward...only to meet the Intercessor’s knee, stunning the berserker. Davin threw aside his bolt rifle, grabbed the berserker’s arms, and twisted them. The chain weapons fell from the heretic’s grips, and one slid into Davin’s hand. It came back up with a roar, and collided with the berserker’s neck, and with a series of thuds, the revving of the weapon, and a gruesome splattering sound, the berserker fell limp. The cultists all grabbed melee weapons of all sorts, and charged Davin. Davin smiled, laughed, and gritted his teeth. “EVEN THE IDIOTIC FALSE CHAOS GODS WOULD KNOW THAT THIS IS A PITIFUL DISPLAY! THE EMPEROR IS ALL! THE BEST YOU CAN EVER HOPE TO IS MAKE PALE MOCKERIES OF HIS WORK!” Davin kicked forward, obliterating the first cultist to even try to charge. The rest came, piling on with their downsized, mortal chainswords and pathetic laspistols. The chainswords were easily deflected with a shoulder shrug, and the las-weaponry weren’t even worth the effort dodging; the Mark X plate he wore protected him from everything short of a bolt. Davin swung his stolen chainaxe, slaughtering every cultist in his path, before throwing it and the weapon slamming through the head of the head cultist, who was screaming litines in the name of the Blood God. Davin retrieved his boltpistol from a nearby bench, and unloaded an entire clip into the encroaching horde of despoiled bodies. “DIE, SCUM! FEEL THE EMPEROR’S WRATH!” The horde started to disappear, the horde’s morale quickly broken. Those who attempted to flee were either gunned down by those attempting to salvage morale in the style of their former commanders, or by the Intercessor. Davin unloaded his pistol, and then loaded it once more. With the click of the inserted clip, the rest of the horde ran, the ones attempting to restore morale and all. In the end of the carnage, he retrieved his weapons, and picked up the weapon of the berserker he had used. It radiated hatred...but the martian within him made him feel as if the weapon had found a new deity it was fueled by. Not one of pure malice, but one of stern authority and destiny. Then came the familiar crackle of the vox. “KZZZT!---Ss--Ua---Mastallean! What’s your status?!” Davin responded. “Brother-Captain...I fear it’s just I, Davin Kelos of the Fifth Company, left of Squad Mastallean. I avenged my squad-brothers in glorious bolter fire, and await further instructions.” “Well, Brother Kelos...regroup at the Guard outpost, Fort Thesson. Purge every heretic, mutant, and xeno you find on your way...the Emperor Protects!” Davin revved his new weapon. “The Emperor Protects...He is our shield, He is our sword...and He shall guide my fury at those who deserve it most.”