Heretic's Historian

[Laskaris]

 

 

 

 

 

 

HERETIC'S HISTORIAN

 

Premise: A mortal Historitor is charged with recording the campaign of the enigmatic Bone Seekers Chapter. On the Death World of Dharax IX he discovers that the Chapter's past contains a secret that should have remained buried.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

- PROLOGUE -

 

The skies above Eusebia were still ablaze when we touched ground.

 

The Bone Seekers show a clear preference for pressure point force. A statement style of warfare. I stood on the bridge of the Pale Despot as Battlegroup B lured the Heretic fleet towards us. For hours, we drifted behind a comet under strict orders to maintain total silence on all communications channels.

 

The Strike Cruiser Marbled Son was the head of Battlegroup B. They had been sent to harass the blockade on Eusebia before our arrival. We received no communication on their movements for a while, at least 12 standard hours. Somehow the Chapter Master knew, and so did his Librarians.

 

The silence was absolute, as if the product of meticulous rehearsal. Astartes or mortal, it mattered not, both played their parts in this intricate play on quietness. It was only when we saw Battlegroup B to our right, that the ritualistic chorus of coordination began. A duality in behaviour which marked the entire campaign.

 

"Battlegroups, engage Nemesis Sacrament"

 

Heard on vox channels aboard all Bone Seeker Chapter vessels.

 

The bridge erupted with the directions of war. Degree shifts, armaments priming, target acquisitions. Our entire fleet took positions as if predetermined. Battlegroup A, the one I was in, emerged from behind the comet, appearing on the right flank of the Heretic Fleet. From the traitor's angle, they were passing by just another celestial body. But their reality would be delivered soon, as they thought to be giving chase.

 

Battlegroup B turned simultaneously with our appearance. Marbled Son faced the enemy force directly, while the two Gladius Frigates dashed to its right, seeking to flank the Heretic fleet as well. These were lighter in armour, but faster and armed with Melta torpedoes, a Bone Seeker Innovation in void warfare called the Dromon Variant.

 

At that moment, I caught myself thinking "Have we even registered on their void-sensors?" Do these traitor commanders realise their position? What were the orders upon the revelation of such a tactical blunder?

 

I was given no time to contemplate on their failures. The flagship's metallic floors shook and an almost blinding flash forced a flinch. The Pale Despot had unleashed its Dual Charon Heavy Lance batteries in concert.

 

One of the heretic frigates was struck in the middle. The void shields were down, perhaps during the skirmish with Battlegroup B. It was torn to pieces. Its severed bow drifted in a direction opposite to that of the fragmented stern. It hadn't even turned to face us.

 

The enemy fleet rushed to scramble into battle formations, seeking to create a semblance of a line against our advancing might. It was to no avail. Torpedoes from every warship that carried them were launched at the forming heretics. When they thought to return fire, they were already executing emergency maneuvers, evading some torpedoes, but suffering hits.

 

"Engage Catastrophe Sacrament, High Profile Pattern"

 

That was the Chapter Master's voice. In the conclusion of his directive, a perfectly synchronized, fleet-wide barrage struck the largest Heretic voidships. I recall perfectly that upon the order, every single available battery unleashed fire. For the next standard minute, every 6 seconds saw those massed salvos released. Were we in a planet's atmosphere, the cacophony would be devastating to the ear. In the echoless void however, sounds exist only in the mind.

 

In short time, ship after ship collapsed. Some Heretic vessels turned to flee towards the safety of their blockade. They were run down by the Dromons, their torpedoes charring the traitor ships' superstructure. Section after section burned. One enemy escort was pulled apart by the vacuum, as its main decompression system was compromised. I recall the sight of meat and metal, sucked away along with any air. Drifting in the endless dark.

 

Those Heretics that remained, could return only marginal fire, and soon they met a fate similar to their tainted comrades. They had been utterly crushed and no one was left to witness it but us, the perpetrators. They burned alone in the void, and even that was short lived, for the vacuum took the flames out almost as soon as they sparked.

 

When we descended on the orbit of Eusebia we found the rest of the Heretic fleet, woefully unprepared for our onslaught. Few escorts were present to protect their capital ships, which bombarded the world's surface. They bled in an hour and a half. The Pale Despot dealt the greatest ruin. She personally destroyed a repurposed Avenger Class Cruiser, effectively cutting it in half in a series of Barrages. I am told she has sent more souls to oblivion than the rest of the fleet combined, with the names of several Capital Ships etched on the guns of her batteries.

 

Not trophies, warnings.

 

A single frigate managed to flee, or was allowed to do so. The Chapter Master never confirmed.

 

The Skies above Eusebia were still ablaze when we touched ground, and two companies of Bone Seeker Battle Brothers were already sweeping the panicked heretic forces in the capital, who offered little resistance. At the Space Marine's heel followed the Chapter's Foederatoi, as they are known in the Bone seekers' native tongue of Trapezan. These 'confederates' were rejected aspirants and volunteers from all over the Imperium, who swore allegiance to the Astartes of their own free will. They made for the largest portion of the Chapter's mortal auxiliary and could be seen serving in occupation, voidship crewing and tithe collection to name a fraction of their duties. I was attached to the Bone Seekers 3rd Company under Tagmatarch Denetrios. He was responsible for establishing a link with the beleaguered guard regiments of the capital hive city, and he achieved that within hours.

 

The Battle Brothers refuse to speak to me, or anyone not directly of the Chapter. Only the officers, and at that reservedly share insight into my questions. Denetrios was different in that he spoke to me at least of tactics and strategy, but my curiosity's probes on the Chapter's culture had been met with indifference or silence at best. He was a determined man, and definitely a disciplinarian. His company is known as the "Unbroken" and is seen as a pure mirror of the Chapter's dogma according to its venerable Chaplain. Their lines have supposedly never faltered, nor has their control of the battlefield. They are known to dominate the tempo of battles, seeking to direct the flow of violence in a manner that benefits their doctrine. This obsession with control is native to the entire Chapter, and it doesn't stop at the edge of its own forces. Myriad reports exist of Guard regiments serving alongside the Bone Seekers. Most if not all bear the same scrutiny towards a specific and repeated practice. The total takeover of command.

 

Here, it was no different. The moment the Bone Seekers, along with their mortal auxiliaries touched ground, Astra Militarum officers were placed under temporary Chapter command. Whatever protests were raised faced swift sidelining under protocols of Adeptus Astartes seniority in hierarchy and ability. The combined forces of the Chapter and the Guard ruptured the traitor lines and crushed them in segments. With their fleet gone, the heretic ground forces stood no chance. Wherever opposition stiffened, it was met with the orbital wrath of the Strike Cruiser "Porphyria". Amongst the Bone Seekers she is known as the "Orphan of Conquest", as she is the lone child guarding her Astartes from the heavens in a fleet composed of void slayers.

 

As the conflict on the ground subsided, and the heretic forces melted away, I ordered my servitors to analyze the various battlefields I visited. Destroyed cities and endless trench networks, debris of ruined infrastructure. The traitors faced such an otherworldly, existential pursuit that our defiled sanctuaries became their own in hopes of staying the Chapter's wrath. The Bone Seekers however, display no qualms in the treatment of holy sites. The Archenemy's presence alone forfeits their sanctity. In short, cold orders, the capital's temples and altars, holy statues and shrines, were all gone, turned into ashes and wastes in the wake of the Bone Seeker thrusts. It was on Eusebia, after the ground battles, that I was faced with an aspect of the Bone Seekers they had not revealed until now.

 

While in their fortress monastery on Trapezos Akra and later the expeditionary fleet, I had thought of them as a grim, passionless Chapter. Obsessed, even by Astartes standards, with precision, control and discipline. Their Chaplains stood as vigils against taint, and in their sermons the skull-faced Astartes preached a gospel of providence and strength against all forms of heresy. They described a war against false gods and misguided shrines. They rightly venerated our Emperor and his realm as the only true authority in the universe. Still, these principles were widely considered as standard for the brothers of the Adeptus Astartes and the Bone seekers' devotion to fact and certainty had so far yielded a collection of reports that mirrored a very pragmatic, if austere chapter.

 

All of these hypotheses were shattered, upon the sight of hundreds of crucifixions I witnessed in the camps and trenches of an obliterated foe. They were being raised by the Foederatoi under the watchful eye of Bone Seeker Chaplains. I was not allowed in their proximity until they had completed the dreaded tasks. I waited, in bated breath, as the screams of those few that still lived echoed in an apocalyptic, urban landscape. The Chaplains would pass slowly through massed formations of captured Heretics, inspecting each one carefully. They would then stop, at a random interval, turn to a traitor and whisper something to them. If the reply was positive, and it rarely wasn't, the Chaplain would indicate them to their mortal auxilia. I know not the nature of that exchange, but those who agreed were nailed alive.

 

When it ended, I rushed to their position. In my distance and anticipation, I had failed to perceive the weight of the act. As I closed in, I was struck by its sensory details. Rot pierced my nostrils, as tainted corpses were abandoned by the ruinous powers, and sepsis swallowed them whole. Hanging entrails challenged my stomach as I held its revolt with all my strength. I saw them everywhere, nailed on those constructs which were shaped in the Bone Seekers Chapter Badge. A spine intersected by two bones forming an X. The crosses however, lacked that purple piercing eye which stood above it all.

 

I sought those alive, and rushed to interrogate them, aiming to get a glimpse into what exactly had befallen these traitors. Hoping that this would yield me something about the Bone Seekers that they themselves had not. I asked the Heretics many questions, but their answers did not differ. In fact, they all said the same thing, delivered in the same dying breaths, accompanied with weeps in agony.

 

"I am an apostle, my fate is of the gods"

 

There, on the surface of Eusebia, I could not understand the character of a Chapter that truly provided me with a clear vision of its worldview. And it would be long before I did. We had crossed the Great Rift months ago and had not met a foe on this side of the Magenta Stars, until now. For a time, I thought I was on an expedition destined to meet a premature end. I admit I had questioned the Chapter's insistence that the Logos send one of our number, to "truthfully" catalogue their long histories. Now I see with more clarity. 17 hours ago we had emerged in the skies above Eusebia. At our departure, they are silent with the Emperor's peace. Our work was done and we were readying to depart further into the Dark side of the Imperium.

 

CHAPTER I.

 

Our fleet set a course for the Skopos System, pacing slowly with short calculated jumps. To my understanding, we had crossed the Great Rift only by luck, and it was by the same luck that we intercepted the distress calls from Eusebia. At the time, it seemed to me the Intelligence reports from the Planetary Governor were the only real parameters in the calculations of our movements. Until we received them, I was certain that our heading stemmed from an inherent gut feeling Chapter Master Paleon Ostos had.

 

This had perplexed me from the beginning, when we meant to pass through the Cicatrix. A Chapter so obsessed with detail and micro administration, with doctrine and logic, yet none of it applied in that crossing.

 

I remember the moment I saw it up close. A great tear in reality, a glimpse at the immaterial plane, where the thoughts and emotions of all sentience in the galaxy, perhaps even the universe, reside. I was sure it would spit forth its denizens at any moment, but it did not. It simply stood there, warping and cracking. It was impossible to go through, and it seemed that already, the Chapter Master had made a mistake. There was no way across to Imperium Nihilus and we would have to find another point in the Rift.

 

But the fleet ground to a halt, and when the final order came and the last ship stopped, silence ensued. I could not understand it. There was no way to pass and yet, no one reacted. I thought to myself that surely, they are ashamed we did not calculate a gap properly. After all, I had not witnessed a single report on Rift movements coming into the bridge.

 

"Soon"

 

Paleon said. I felt it as a prediction then, but it was far from it.

 

The same message was passed a singular time to each ship in the fleet, and engines came to life again, pushing us directly towards that mind crushing maw. I turned to the Chapter Master, hoping to see what madness had overtaken the Astartes. I saw only certainty. Again, I could not understand. I turned my gaze to the Rift once more. Its enormous, apocalyptic size felt as if IT was closing in on us. Bristling with otherworldly energy, the all consuming creation of the Empyrean would consume us. But then I saw a star, and then another, as if reality was now tearing into the tear herself. The Great Rift shook and ripped, it severed and snapped. Then it disappeared.

 

I saw the Dark side of our Imperium and the Magenta Stars royal hue, glowing across lightyears of void. A gap had been created, just as we were passing. I realised then, that I must have been the only soul in that entire fleet to doubt the Chapter Master's order. To our left and right, I could see the edges of a nightmare that extended for untold worlds in each direction. The galaxy spanning butcher seemed to have lifted the cleaver for us to pass.

 

My heart raced to match my mind's awe, and it in turn struggled to rival my soul's fear. I almost felt alone until I heard the ship, struggling with this crossing just as I. Its instruments flickered and its metallic skeleton screamed as we passed through the gap. At that moment, I found more kinship with the Warship's Machine Spirit than in my fellow flesh and blood.

 

And then it all stopped. We were through.

 

That was 1 solar month ago.

 

Now, for the first time, we were heading towards a goal based on empirical evidence and reports. We had received Astrographic maps from Eusebia, established on data after the birth of the Great rift. The Skopos system was about 49 light years away and possible to reach it in a series of short Warp Jumps. The Planetary government of Eusebia, provided us with some information as to the threat we were facing. An insurrection in the form of a Chaos cult. A sub-standard threat for worlds trapped beyond the Rift, and one which the Bone Seekers were very much accustomed with and even geared towards. But many of the Astartes officers did not share my assessment's certainty.

 

The Chapter Master Paleon Ostos had placed high priority on reaching Skopos, and specifically the Forge World of Adrianon. We were informed that it was a rallying point for Imperial troops on this side of the sector and that an Imperial Navy Battlegroup was last seen there. Given that our entire force was only that of the Chapter, the Master of the Bone Seekers was adamant about our destination. He understood that any prolonged conflict would require the two lungs of the Imperial war machine. The Navy and the Guard.

 

Travel without the light of the Astronomican gave such scale to an already gargantuan galaxy. When before the Cicatrix we could travel thousands of light years using the Warp Drives, now we can only hope to achieve a microscopic fraction of that number.

 

Chapter Master Paleon ordered strict, calculated Warp jumps of exactly 3 light years made once every 48 solar hours. A balance between speed and rest for the crew, as well as proper recalibration of the relevant jump instruments. His officers agreed that this was the most proper course of action. Their 50 years of preparation for this expedition had yielded a theory that beyond the Rift "We will be fighting a war of patience" as Tagmatarch Denetrios himself said it. His Super Human mind had concluded that out of all the weapons in the Chapter's arsenal, many of whom I had seen unleashed, the most potent one was in fact prudence.

 

We had approximately 32 standard days until we reached the Skopos System. During one of our routine jumps, augur arrays registered an anomaly in our wake. The Navigators claimed it was nothing more than a psychic echo, the Immaterium toying with us. I thought nothing of it then. I spent most of that time with my attached Company and their Leader, whom I had grown to respect for his strategic and tactical qualities. Denetrios had a gift for precision. During the many drills and exercises upon the Battle Barge, he participated both as member and as mentor. He could pin point, because of this manner of drilling, any weakness in his Company. Working alongside his Champion, Laskaron, they had achieved a level of coordination and discipline unmatched in the entire Chapter, save for the First Veteran Company.

 

Perhaps in their pursuit of doctrinal virtue, I too was absorbed in a culture of uncompromising precision and clarity. I had spent time with regiments of the Imperial Guard extensively. I had recorded every possible aspect of their operational procedures in detail. Yet none of it compared to the level of dedication and pride I put into my work with the Astartes. An utterly devoted and meticulous, to the point of my human insanity, physical and psychological conditioning.

 

I registered and documented without end, hunting as if to find a flicker of flame, as dim as I could, to finally put an end to the impossibility of understanding them. And I did. I had accounted for everything, Company size, drill requirements, squad allocations in training. I did the calculations a myriad times over. Yet they all pointed to the same verdict. The company was always missing one warrior. I had thought that bliss would visit me in this revelation. But in my efforts to reach it, I had only come upon another. This Chapter could not have missed a number. It was deliberate and I dared not ask of it. Already I was granted a gift any Imperial scholar would ask, much less one belonging to an organisation as young as the Logos.

 

I was privileged to witness their elaborate training schemes. In a feat of anomaly, they trained all Battle Brothers in supposed officer positions, both during the physical drills and the simulacra sessions. Indeed, the Bone Seekers placed great significance in their officer corps. In its obsession over micromanagement, the Chapter had even constituted a rank below that of the Sergeant. Known as the Decanos, this Battle Brother was second in command to the Squad hierarchy. The aim of such a doctrine, which was followed by the entire Chapter, was to:

 

"Instill to all parts of this machine, knowledge in its entire function".

 

As provided by the Ossuary Lexicon, the field manual given to all Battle Brothers.

 

So the days passed, and I catalogued the Bone Seekers Chapter. But there was more to this Brotherhood. Even if I didn't have my suspicions, it is a deduction even a servitor can procure. Almost ten millennia of history, barely recorded by Imperial officials. A chapter of the 4th founding, and yet, it was perhaps their deviations with the Ecclesiarchy, as well as their strict field command, that alienated them from many within the Imperium. But now, the light of truth would finally shine on them, even as they pierced deep into the darkest part of the Emperor's Realm.

 

We were about half way to our destination. A calculated Warp Jump had been completed just 20 standard minutes ago. Fleet totality checks had been concluded and we were drifting in what seemed to have been an unknown sector somewhere in the center of the Magenta Stars. The Chapter Master ordered servitor maintenance crews to perform the preservation rituals to all instruments, and for the Navigators to receive ample rest.

 

When the Fleet formed a column and started flowing through the void, I took permission from Master Paleon to return to my quarters and attend to my duties. As I traversed through the steel corridors and utilised the series of Servo-Lifts, I noticed once more how the

the ship's colours emulated the Bone Seekers themselves.

 

Iron Black hue for the steel wall plates was also found in the Pauldrons and Arms, as well as the helmet, the backpack and of course the Imperial Aquila. The Matte Bronze of the ceilings had also been chosen for the Chest Piece and the armouring of the legs. The Ivory of the lines and location markers decorated the trim of the pauldrons. Finally, the Royal Purple in the Bone Seeker Chapter Badge could be seen in the Photolenses of the Astartes helmet.

 

The uniformity, an assertion to the visual senses. Even the Void Ships of the Bone Seekers were considered part of the ritualist nature of an evidently undevout Chapter. A contradiction which would taunt me, for merely a few more standard hours. It was at that moment, when the colors I analyzed all turned to bright red. Flashing lights were accompanied by the sirens of crisis. I was caught off guard. And so was the Fleet.

 

"Malevolent Contact"

 

followed by

 

"Repelling Sacrament in effect"

 

Reverberated from communication amplifiers all over the Pale Despot.

 

Immediately, I knew I had to make all haste to the bridge, catalogue and analyze anything I could of this engagement. As I ran through decks and Strike Bays I saw Servitors carrying massive warheads like automatons. Ignorant to the ruin it dealt to their augmented and disfigured bodies. I witnessed the brave human corps of the Chapter. Officers clamouring orders, Gunners manning battle stations and Coxswains arming and boarding Attack Craft. I was lost in the microcosm of a Deep Void alert, when the metallic floor started shaking. I looked below me, felt as if it would rapture under the stress. We had been hit, I thought, and immediately through our Void Shields. But then I caught something with the corner of my eye.

 

I saw Bone Seekers rushing through the corridor in formation, their sabbatons crushing against the ground, imitating the feel of a calculated geological event. Immediately I thrust my back against the wall as dozens of Astartes passed in front of me. I struggled in their wake. One Space Marine dashing past a mortal can unbalance him. An entire Squad of these advancing Super Humans can strip a mere man of all composure. It lasted a few seconds and then those thunderous, formational steps faded in the distance. Except for one set. Slower and reserved. It was Tagmatarch Denetrios, who approached me.

 

"Your presence is demanded by the Strategos, Historitor."

 

I explained to the Captain that I was already heading to the Command Bridge. He retorted that he was "informed" of my arrival, and that he was sent by the Chapter Master to accompany me. I remember vividly the feeling of unease upon hearing the Tagmatarch's response. I sensed that, I was not watched, but expected. As if my intentions were known.

 

I struggled with the nature of this summoning, but followed Captain Denetrios to the bridge all the same. As we closed in on our destination, the Klarion-horns were stopped, and at the time it appeared that I had missed the heart of this crisis all together. Yet I was wrong. When we finally arrived at the Pale Despot's Bridge, Chapter Master Paleon Ostos was there, waiting for us.

 

"The Historitor, my Strategos."

 

Denetrios declared to the Chapter Master. The Commander of the Bone Seekers turned from his Vox-slates only to see me kneel.

 

"Rise, and never kneel in my presence again."

 

I knew, even prior to meeting the grey-bearded Bone Seeker, that he despised courtly theatrics. I had never before treated him in this manner. In the nature of my summoning however, I had thought it best not to avoid standard Astartes decorum.

 

"I forewarned you when we left Trapezos. When you insisted on the necessity of your presence. Your faith in the importance of your assignment. Now that you have ignored my wisdom and ventured this far, I count you amongst those who fashion themselves men of the Emperor. And so, I alter warning into command."

 

In truth, I did not reply to the Chapter Master, merely felt the weight in his voice. Somehow he knew that I had understood the meaning of his words. Indeed, I knew what he meant. Truth required sacrifice. I was commanded by Chapter Master Paleon Ostos to attach myself to the 3rd Company. Their task: retrieve a stolen relic. Mine: record the operation from as close a monitoring position as I could. I was informed that this relic was in our possession mere moments before the rearguard elements of the Fleet were subjected to sudden and calculated assault.

 

Void-Sensors and Augurs indicate a double pronged strike conducted by a compact, disciplined force, timed perfectly for our emergence from the Warp. Shapes in the size of large frigates, eagerly marked as debris from sensor signatures, sprung to life. They tore through our formation and wreaked havoc while another, unexplainable event took place. The surgical precision of the attack permits only one explanation. We had been hunted through the Immaterium itself.

 

Chapter command confirmed the theory. The Librarius reports Psychic imprints left behind on the point of the attack, indicating direct tracking of the attack's objective prior, during and after every Warp jump. By unnatural means, one of our smaller vessels in the rearguard was boarded. Its crew presumably slaughtered, all communications with the rest of the fleet ceased and the ship was now commandeered by a force recognized only as Chaos aligned. Then, in the mayhem of the assault, the vessel broke formation and made for the deep void, tailed by what we realised was a diversionary force.

 

Our entire fleet was swiftly given pursuing tasks, and our fastest assets maintained the closest distance, aiming to block the traitors path. Vying to avoid encirclement, the Heretic squadron suddenly switched course, and headed for the Death World known to us as Dharah IX. The order from the Chapter Master however was clear. Maintain volley discipline at all times, the contents of the ship are:

 

"Invaluable to the survival of this Chapter".

 

As Denetrios later deciphered it for me while we made our way to the Strike Bay of the 3rd Company. I inquired as to the nature of the relic. Was it an ancient armament? The remains of a long gone revered Brother? Denetrios replied that it bore all those titles, but unlike the material nature of most relics, this one represented the Chapter's true soul. I asked no more of it. Somehow I knew that soon I would find out in person.

 

I readied my equipment. Servo Skulls altered with Auspex Pict for enhanced optics. A servitor retinue. And naturally my Vox-log device. It was at the moment I had completed all my preparations, when our fleet arrived on the orbit over Dharah IX.

 

As the stolen vessel descended towards the world's surface, our void ships finally met the enemy force in violent exchanges. They retreated when overwhelmed, pressuring us into costly pursuit over an unhallowed world's surface. Enemy orbital defences targeted and routinely punished our vessels, but were countered and silenced in precision barrages by the "Orphan of Conquest".

 

Several of our smaller ships had been dealt heavy scarring. The Dromon frigate "Gorgos", the fastest in the fleet, was declared combat ineffective after isolation and bombardment by two enemy vessels of similar displacement. Only the timely arrival of "Marbled Son" spared her of annihilation, the Strike Cruiser's mere presence scattering the heretic raiders. Despite our losses, the skies were secure, and a blockade was set upon that area of the world indicated for our support vessel to have landed.

 

Chapter command provided a three standard hour window for ground operations. After that, fleet attrition could not be further excused, and the threat of greater Archenemy forces present in the area loomed larger. I knew that soon we would make planetfall, and so I looked for the vessel that would bring me aground with the rest of the force. Before I could, however, the deck of the Strike Bay went silent, after a certain word was uttered.

 

"SEEKERS!"

 

Tagmatarch Denetrios exclaimed in his unmistakable voice of command, standing atop an armoured vehicle. In that instance, I recognized the crystalisation of a sentiment. It betrayed itself through the expressions and gestures of his Astartes. Astonishment. It moved them like I had never seen before, standing at attention in perfect, zealous formation. Waiting for their Captain's address.

 

"I am honoured to stand beside you today both as commander and harbinger, for I bear news as to our mission. I am told, it carries our Chapter's highest honor and proudest dignity. That we may be so privileged as to return home, that which belongs to each and every one of us. That which makes us Bone Seekers. That which makes us the defiant scions of the Emperor's Light! March with me Brothers! And in every barrier we break, in every foe that mistakes to face us I shall stand by you and recite you!

 

IN TRUTH WERE YOU GILDED!

 

In heartbeat, the Astartes of the Bone Seekers swung their fists at their chests thrice as they further thrice declared:

 

"AND IN TRUTH WE SHALL ENDURE!, IN TRUTH WE SHALL ENDURE!, IN TRUTH WE SHALL ENDURE!"

 

I recognized the significance of this exchange. It wasn't merely a maxim or a proverb. It was a pledge forged in brotherhood. It weighed like one. Even then I sought to decipher its meaning, but alas, my curiosity was interrupted. I had been assigned a guard in the form of a human contingent of Chapter serfs. One of them had found me and escorted me to the vessel that would transport me at the heart of Bone Seeker operations.

 

On our way to the surface, he introduced himself as Varnavas, a human serf of the Chapter and a Sergeant to a contingent provided for my safety. He informed me that his squad was a boon from Paleon Ostos, who expected the utmost dedication to my work. In the Chapter Master's generosity, we were also given a ground vehicle, to ferry us as needed on the battlefield.

 

Through our descent to Dharah IX, I was briefed on the nature of this planet. Its classification as a Death World had not come lightly at all. Almost its entire surface housed great seas of sand, illuminated in the hue of the bright light shone by the Magenta Stars. Its hostile environment preempted the growth of xenofauna or flora, with even less of it at the area of planetfall. The heat, however, is the most fervent murderer on this world, and thankfully we have brought with us specialised suits and rebreathers.

 

The world had fallen into the hands of Insurrectionist Heretics in the years following the emergence of the Great Rift. It once served as the home of the "Herimites". Regiments of elite fighters specialising in high temperature climates, and prized all over the Sector. Now, the exact nature of the enemy force is unknown, and we were heading into the largest pre-Rift complex on the planet. An Astra Militarum fort.

 

-2 hours & 53 minutes until operational termination-

 

When the vessel's ramp dropped, I was hit by the planet's winds for the first time. They were potent, and supposedly marked the coming of the brief and utterly unpredictable Magno-Sand Storms that the world was known for. If the temperatures were a detriment to organic life, these storms were the killers of tech, owing to their high concentration of metals.

 

I took my very first steps unto the surface of Dharah IX seeking to lay eyes upon the opening stages of this operation. Battle Brothers deployed via drop pods had already established a wide perimeter, as Thunderhawks ferried the entire 3rd Company to the surface. Immediately, I sent my servo skulls around our landing locus to refer to whenever I needed optical imagery.

 

We stood approximately 11 kilometers away from the base. Between us and the complex was a small but steep hill range. Rock covered by sand. Holes and tunnels littering their surface, filled with entrenched positions and movement from crevice to crevice. It was the closest position from which we could mount an assault. The alternative was for the Bone Seekers to endure volleys from the base's batteries for twice the kilometers of open plain.

 

I looked to the sky, spotting the Pale Despot and Porphyria above. The former began to stir, taking its position with the rest of the blockade. The latter remained, claiming it's place next to Dharah's scorching star.

 

I was told that the task of taking the heights would fall to a unique formation within the Chapter's Companies. To the Battle Brothers of the Bone Seekers they were known by their Homeworld's language name of "Akritai". In Low Gothic however, the name roughly translates to "Edge Watchers".

 

Skirmishers clad in a lighter version of the Mark X Tacticus called the Phobos variant, further covered in environment reactive cloaks and hoods. Each squad, a hybrid armed with equal long and short range armaments. Bolt sniper rifles for its marksmen and carbines for its assault element. The latter bore round combat shields strapped in their arms, small enough that they posed no hindrance in the use of ranged ordnance. A close combat weapon, complemented their kit, granting them unignorable power in melee engagements.

 

I knew from the excessive sanding on their power armour, they had already reconnoitred the area. Such was the sand's share in the planet's atmosphere, that the skirmishers' appearance was one of tall desert ghosts, half visible half not, with purple stalking eyes. Denetrios spoke to both their Sergeants, but directed most of his instructions and contingencies to the veteran of the two. The one called Digenis, his name was akin to legend within the ranks of the Akritai.

 

Indeed, the "Edge Watchers" had a special place within the Bone Seekers culture. They were considered to be the eye from the Chapter's Badge, and their work was as symbolic as it was practical. They were not the Scout Neophytes educating themselves on war by observing it. These were fully fledged Astartes, serving vision's function within a living, breathing Chapter organism.

 

The Squads boarded fast moving vehicles called Land Speeders and approached the heights in the cover of dunes, rock formations and Dharah's dusted reality. I followed them with my Servo Skulls, at least as much as I could. They disembarked their marksmen into predetermined positions on rocky protrusions in the sand, at least half way from the heights. The vehicles halted and the close assault element braced in anticipation, while their long range counterparts positioned their instruments .

 

At exactly 17 standard seconds later the snipers began launching volleys on those hilltops. The Land Speeders darted across the open desert, slashing through the increasingly volatile sandy winds. Charging towards their objective. Then, hails of fire erupted from the heights as autoguns tore through the desert, following the assault element's trail as if ripples, puncturing the earth. The swift movers diced through the dunes using the ground's height deviations to their advantage, evading heavy fire. Their marksmen covering their advance.

 

I looked upon the hills through the Servo Skulls. To my dismay I could not locate any of the Heretics that fired at the advancing Land Speeders. Were they so well hidden? I thought. That our advance is against an enemy we cannot see? I turned to those Battle Brothers with their Bolt Sniper Rifles, discharging their weapons with grim dedication. I noticed their firing patterns. They were not suppressing, but executing.

 

From my vantage point, empty heights were being decimated by a level of precise fire, the invisible Heretics were not prepared for. All I could see was torn rock, smoke, sand and the blood splatter of a foe I hadn't yet discerned. I sent my Servo Skulls higher, as high as I could, but the mounting windage permitted only limited peak range. I had finally closed more of the distance when the Land Speeders reached the bottom of the hills and Akritai armed with Bolt Carbines disembarked.

 

The light transports then reared and began to move towards the sniper element from whence they had started, drawing some of the fire away in the process. Simultaneously, the assaulting Edge Watchers began to advance, taking the first short network trenches in mere seconds. As the Space Marines emerged, charging for the second line, the blast from a prepositioned explosive device went off. It blew an Astartes apart and cleaved the left side off the junior Sergeant, ejecting a leg and an arm into the opposite direction it had launched him. Immediately, hidden emplacements and fortified Heretics released a hail of heavy las fire and grenades on the Battle Brothers, who were caught in a killzone. However to the Heretic's dismay, the Astartes had already taken cover when the massed volleys hit their position. In the next instant, they were returning the favor, peeking from cover, erasing with bolter the hopes of any ambushers who sustained their fire for too long. The smoke from the detonation was still in the air, claiming space between the squad and the Heretic positions.

 

Then, in unison, the entirety of the assault force unleashed volleys towards their foes. The fire was deliberately inaccurate, meant to force the ambushers into cover themselves. Then from within the smoke of that blast emerged the sight of the junior Sergeant, pulled to cover by Digenis himself while miraculously returning one handed fire with his remaining arm. I knew of the Astartes resilience, but this was the first time I witnessed it in person. Regardless, the Battle Brothers on the base of the hill were pinned. Fired by heavy weapons from locations that could not be hit by the Akritai marksmen. The assault force was alone and isolated, soon to be overwhelmed by an enemy accustomed to the environment, with firepower and positioning simply too significant for the lightly armoured Edge Watchers.

 

In that moment of imminent disaster, I instinctively thought of Tagmatarch Denetrios. He had sent them without any support, and to my mind it was his responsibility to relieve them. I turned to look at him, only to find him and his Librarian, their combined gaze meeting mine through those Purple Photolenses of their ornate helmets. The Captain slowly turned his head towards the hills, as if instructing me to do the same.

 

It was imperceptible to the eye in the first few moments. I only realised it's onset through a static noise reverberating through my Servo Skulls. Then, almost in an instant, sand overtook the wind and silhouettes blurred. It increased in power, and started grinding onto metallic surfaces. My instruments struggled to hover in its wake and I had to lower them to about the height of a man. One of Dharah's rapid, violent Magno-Sand Storms had hit the battlefield.

 

"Engage Phantasma Sacrament, Lone Seeker Pattern"

 

He said in a bellowing certainty that puzzled me. Had the Captain gambled away the mission and his men on instinct? He gave that speech on the Battle Barge, he galvanized them about the significance of this endeavor. Was this truly the man he was? I thought of him as someone who would never take a risk he could not calculate, yet there was nothing to calculate for this moment.

 

Whatever sentiment it was that I felt in that moment, I fought on against it, cataloguing it as personal ignorance. I looked through my Servo Skulls again, utilizing their auspex gear to see through the raging sand blizzard. I enhanced their augur quality and looked closer through their oculi, only to surprise myself.

 

In the space marines last seen locus, I spotted only the wounded sergeant, clinging to his bolt weapon while the rest were nowhere to be seen. No matter how potent my search, it was impossible to determine their location. I realised that sight alone could not yield me the results I hoped for. In vision's stead I tuned the Servo Skull's audile receptors to their machine spirit's limit. They scanned in surgical patterns, but i could hear only the wind's foul metallic language. For a few seconds I endured the nothingness.

 

Then, a sound. The audio log of one servo skull caught a sound. Sporadic echoes of Bolter fire. It redirected my optics towards the caves and passages spiraling around the hillside. It showed me bodies, dropping from heights. Others, picked up and split apart by invisible hands. Mutilated, deformed, some sliced, some decapitated.

 

An unseen force rising through the sanded cliffside, claiming position after position. Through its visceral path came death, real in its totality, yet mythic by its delivery. A short bolter burst at the stairs leading into a cave, the flash of a grenade coming out of a gun emplacement. The unmistakable sound of slashes, echoing through a blizzard which could mask all, but the screams and violence emerging from those heights. In a few standard minutes it was over. Whatever resonance persisted slowly faded into the sand storm's raging currents, joined in a union of noise that no longer resembled anything identifiable.

 

Denetrios gave the order, and the entire company boarded anti-grav Impulsor transports towards the embattled position. Us mortals utilised our own tracked vehicle to follow the Astartes, as we were not allowed to board their engines.

 

-2 hours & 31 minutes until operational termination-

 

When we arrived at the base of the hills, we found the maimed Sergeant. He was unconscious, but alive. An Apothecary quickly stabilised him, and ordered medical exfiltration. I am told that through Augmetics he will serve again. The rest of the Edge Watchers however, were still nowhere to be seen.

 

We traversed the hidden entrenchments, as squads secured the bottom of the heights in preparation for the assault on the military complex. Upon those rocks, I witnessed the wrathful results of the assault. I could not escape the sight of Heretic guts and innards, of countless destroyed bodies. A stark realisation of what an Astartes can do to a mortal. They littered the trench works and caves of what revealed itself to be a fortress, sculpted in stone.

 

Still, no sight of the Akritai. The sand storm had interrupted communications, and we could not reach them even on emergency Vox-channels. We ventured further up, hoping to find the missing skirmishers. At a certain point, I turned to check on Varnavas only to find myself alone in a blood soaked opening overlooking our position before the storm of the Akritai. In my curiosity's zeal, I had lost those tasked with my protection. I wandered in that carved maze for a precious few minutes, until I noticed a sharp path leading into a cave system heading upwards, inviting me to ascend it.

 

In the entirety of its span I discovered the remains of a futile resistance adorning the walls, placed there as reminders to peril. Statements I am sure, as well as warnings, written in the old language of the Chapter's homeworld, by the bloods and spills of Heretics. I recorded the symbols, most pertaining to explanations as to why this event had occurred, but their exact translation evades me still. All, credited to a Chapter hell bent on its rationality and pragmatism.

 

Through this liturgy of gore, I rose to the peak of the heights, and emerged from the cave system. The sand storm was breaking, just as eagerly as she had formed. In front of me, a world was returning to its interpretation of normality. As I grasped the weather's shift, a body emerged in my path. Her state drew me closer, seeking to examine her final fate. The face had been crushed by a sabaton and the arms torn off from the shoulders. I found the human in me, struggling in this sight. I knew however, that the perpetrator of this work did not feel the same. I speculated that maybe she had tried to surrender, when in his language exists no such word. Perhaps raised her arms in submission, but his response to mercy was an absence of sympathy.

 

"Kneel not for her"

 

The voice startled me. I turned to my right and saw Sergeant Digenis. He was as blooded as his short powersword. He cleaned it against a piece of cloth on his kit, and then poised himself against the base, now visible from where we stood. I looked below our position and around the summit I had found myself on. As the sand storm disappeared, it revealed the rest of the peaks. Upon each, stood an Akritai, their sanded capes billowing in the wind. Their bloodstained armour bearing the fruits of victory, as the returned light gleamed off their dark aquilas.

 

"Did my Brother survive?"

 

Digenis asked me, as he performed an equipment check. I explained to him that the other Sergeant was indeed alive, and was transported to the care of the Apothecarium.

 

"Good, not everyone shared his fate"

 

He waved me to follow him to one of the entrenchments on the summit, as the sound of mechanical servos in his power armour accompanied the weight of every step. There, behind a gun emplacement amidst the piles of mortal Heretics. There, he showed me the body of a dead Akritai, and next to it lay two corpses of the Archenemy.

 

"We did not expect Chaos Astartes here. Thurios and I were caught by surprise."

 

Digenis paused, and inspected the deceased Chaos Space Marines. I had never before seen such entities in my life. Their armour was nothing like his, but tainted and archaic, filled with eldritch scripture across its brown surface.

 

"He held the traitors long enough for me to end them both"

 

The Sergeant removed their helmets, revealing corrupted, mutated faces. Even in death they bore the vilest expressions. He picked them up by their faces, one by one.

 

"Sightless in doom, as you were in life"

 

He said, plunging his fingers into their sockets, prying the eyes clean out, and then dropping them down.

 

"Thus unto traitors"

 

I remembered then, the practices of certain archaeo-realms of old Terra. The penalty of blinding for the infraction of insubordination. A fate reserved for him, who revolted against his sovereign. Digenis concluded his punishment, raised his fallen Battle Brother, and descended the stairs from whence I came.

 

-2 hours & 16 minutes until operational termination-

 

Shortly after, I reunited with my guards. Varnavas scolded me for my disappearance, stating that the grounds had not yet been purified. He was right. The occasional Bolt shot or scream could be heard as Bone Seekers discovered those Heretics that either hid, or feigned death.

 

I looked for Tagmatarch Denetrios within the bulk of the Company's force. I moved around Impulsors and the Bone Seekers boarding them, battle briefings and casualty tallying Akritai. In the midst of the operation's next phase I found him. Gazing at the sky. At Porphyria's shadowed silhouette against the system's bright star. I suppose even a battle hardened Captain of the Adeptus Astartes, is concerned at the prospect of an unsupported assault.

 

He informed me that the Akritai snipers had already moved to forward reconnaissance positions under the cover of the sand storm. He had ordered them to do so as the battle on the heights climaxed.

 

Reports had already been received. It was a Standard Imperial fort structured to withstand heavy assault. Sequential fortifications and layered, interlocking firing lanes. Maximum garrisoning capacity estimated in the few thousands of mortal militia. Four Las Turrets, but half deemed unfit for use. Possible presence of armoured vehicles.

 

"And a small band of our tainted mirrors"

 

In the words of Denetrios. He had learned of the Archenemy's presence, yet I detected no surprise in his tone. Not even on a tactical level. It was not restraint in the face of revelation either. No, he knew of them, intimately.

 

I recalled of Digenis then. He said that they did not expect the Chaos Astartes "here". Did he mean the heights? The world itself? Both scenarios puzzled me. Even if the Akritai Sergeant did not mean either, he assuredly expected them at another place.

 

There was much I could not connect. Questions to be answered and walls be brought down. But first, the very existent walls of a very real fortress had to be demolished. Maybe through them, mine own could too. In the contents of that void ship.

 

Denetrios and his lieutenants deemed it necessary that a mechanized assault, supported by precise suppressive elements, was the only way to capture the base without damaging our objective. The Tagmatarch summoned elements of the 9th Company known as the "Cataphracts". This Codex deviant formation directed all armoured and atmospheric assets within the Chapter. Even the Impulsors used in the ground operation were part of the 9th Company, but attached to the 3rd. They bore a reputation of high technical specialization and operated their war machines with zealous efficiency.

 

Within minutes, two armoured vehicles known as Gladiators were granted via orbital deployment. These were untracked tanks, instead utilising Grav-impellers similar to the Impulsors. In fact, they seem to be based on them. Their design was unorthodox for a tank but enabled them to skim through any terrain, Ideal for the assault. Armed with a Xiphos anti-armour Lascannon they would support the Bone Seeker Transports in the coming assault. I recall the minuteness they inspired with their presence. Those hovering engines of war, glowing in the Bone Seeker color scheme, lifting sand without even touching it, carrying the ancient Chapter Badge on their sides.

 

-1 hour & 55 minutes until operational termination-

 

The 3rd Company prepared itself for the final reckoning. They would avenge the slight of Chaos thievery, and retake that which was stolen. Battle Brothers readied their equipment and boarded their specialised vehicles. Silence gripped our battle line, broken only by Akritai reports on Heretic movements, preparing for us. The Bone Seeker armour was positioned behind a small dune at the base of the heights, impossible to see from any vantage point within the fort. The weather was clearer now compared to the assault on the hilltops, but it still interfered to some degree with targeting-augurs and vox channels.

 

This was an unnerving calm. I was in my guard's vehicle sitting next to Varnavas, who clamoured his helmet between his legs. My servo skulls were primed, and I could use them to catalogue this undertaking. They would soon enter the sight of the heavy Las-turret emplacements, whose targeting-augurs were specifically calibrated for Dharah's Magneto-Sand atmosphere. The price I thought, for avoiding damage to a relic, was readily justified in blood. The blood of the Chapter's own.

 

Denetrios stood mere meters ahead of me, flanked by a small retinue.

 

"Company, forward advance."

 

At the Tagmatarch's command, grav-impellers howled, shooting swathes of illuminated sand into Dharah's unforgiving air. The Impulsors revealed themselves from the dune first, followed by the gladiator tanks flanking them.

 

"All assets, engage Saturation Protocol."

 

Lascannons and Storm Bolters unleashed volleys in quick succession. Heretic positions were hammered, many of the base's defences were silenced, and some destroyed, but an equal amount was still active. The traitors retorted to our assault with a deafening barrage, discharging all their weapons simultaneously. I was standing far away from the assault, yet I could not help but vision the nerve a combatant should have to mount an assault against that monstrosity of defensive planning. An Impulsor was immediately ravaged through its refractor field, as the fury of the fort's gunnery was immense. The barrage hit the transport's grav-impellers and they exploded, swallowing the vehicle in a temporary blue fire blanket. This was 2 kilometres away from my position, yet the flash was blinding. The sound of shrieking metal, crackling on the rock beneath the surface of sand, I heard it as if it occurred next to me.

 

The torched transport crushed into the ground and dragged through its momentum until it stopped, firmly incapacitated. Battle Brothers exited the vehicle, many aflame. They moved calmly and rolled to the ground, extinguishing the fires. They fell into a loose formation and rejoined the attack on foot, running through kilometres of sand plains and howling winds. One of the Gladiator tanks slowed its grav-skimming, the targeting Augurs locked, and its Xiphos Lascannon flared. A Las Turret was obliterated in a burst of molten metal and pulverised concrete. The debris crushed onto the battlements and shattered heretic firing positions.

 

"Majoris threat, silenced."

 

Transmitted from the tank to all Company vox-channels, as the crew increased speed to rejoin their advancing brethren. Then, the fort's answer came. In a feat of heretical coordination, almost the entire base's battery turned its ire on that Gladiator. The desert lit with crimson, as a refractor dome faltered and reinforced armour plates buckled under the weight. The ensuing image was akin to the eruption of a bloated carcass, bending from internalized pressure. The mangled bodies and sinews of Astartes littered the field for dozens of meters around it. I recall a legless figure crawling himself towards a fallen Battle Brother. Not out of desperation, but because of some otherworldly duty to Brotherhood no mortal can comprehend.

 

"Hoplomachus 2 declared fallen, remaining brothers sustain advance"

 

The stern voice of Denetrios, whose determination echoed that of his Astartes.

 

The 3rd Company had lost significant capacity at suppression, and there was still hellish distance to cover under the onslaught. As the fort's defences calibrated again I was sure that the emboldened traitors would decimate the assault before it even reached the walls.

 

Then, a crack. From the heavens came a flash, its echo pierced the sound barrier. The light shadowed the horizon. My hands covered my face of their own accord. My eyes escaped, I would look anywhere but up. In my sight's retreat, it fled to Denetrios and his retinue. None had flinched, except him. His gaze rose to the voidship above us for but a second, and then snapped back to his brothers.

 

As the light dimmed, I saw three objects, moments before impact. Their entry seemingly paused the battle for a moment, as both sides sought to adjust to their presence. They plunged between the armoured advance and the fort displacing so much soil that they mimicked a momentary sand storm. At exactly 5 seconds after delivery they exploded, releasing enormous clouds of smoke. Porphyria's answer to her beleaguered Astartes, a reminder of her presence. A welcome relief, even for the Denetrios of the 3rd Company. Yet I never confirmed it. For when I turned to do so, he had boarded his command Impulsor and strode towards his brothers.

 

The assault entered the smoke screen as Heretic defensive measures again unleashed Las and Bolt based volleys. Soon after, the Tagmatarch's battle engine followed. At that moment, I lost them. The smoke induced an auspex denial area and my servo skulls as visionless as the traitor's volleys. I moved them inside of it to regain my vision through their standard lens, but lost all ability to direct their movements. Eventually I abandoned them within that blanket of blindness. The smoke had spread to the very forefront of the fort, and the fate of the assault force was unknown.

 

-1 hour & 41 minutes until operational termination-

 

I ordered Varnavas to take us to the frontlines, preempting his protest by reminding him of the Chapter Master's directions. He begrudgingly relented. I am responsible for my person, but I led ten more souls into that fort. I gave myself many explanations, strong excuses and sound reasoning as to why I did it. In reality, it was all for curiosity's sake.

 

"Company, engage Portal Rent Protocol"

 

That was the Tagmatarch's voice. The fort was being stormed at its walls.

 

Our vehicle rolled through dunes and plains following the trails of displaced sand left behind by the anti-grav tanks. In the closing distance, the smoke screen resembled dark clouds, bristling with red lighting and thunderous blasts. We passed the destroyed Gladiator tank, and it warned us against our plotted course. Above us, Porphyria stirred once more, seemingly moving with us. Casting its shadow ever closer to the fort.

 

We entered the darkness, keeping the same tracks as reference, when I saw red eyes on the ground, and ordered Varnavas to stop. It was one of my servo skulls, slowly swallowed by the sands of Dharah IX. I retrieved it and cleaned it to the best of my ability.

 

When we reached the walls, we found them in a state unrecognizable to that before the smoke screen. All defences had been devastated and the fort's main gates were breached. The battle could still be heard raging further within the complex.

 

I dismounted from the transport, and my guard shadowed me in formation as Dharah's magnetic winds blew the smoke off the fortress. We traced the wake of the Chapter's assault, and witnessed the vengeance inflicted upon the Traitors. I expected I would find more of the tainted Space Marines there.

 

I analyzed volley patterns, determining a combined armaments assault conducted by infantry Astartes and their supporting armoured elements. Perhaps the most firm proof of my theory, was the impossibly large number of Heretics that had been hit through cover. As if so many had been purged without ever raising a finger. With their heavy exterior defences pacified they had few options other than the Lasguns and grenades we could hear discharging just ahead of us.

 

The cost of the assault however, was ever present. Another destroyed Impulsor, blazing in the midst of one of the fort's many kill zones. Evidently the result of multiple bombardment by anti-armour armaments. The operators had been killed on the spot. I found the gunner cradling that melting Storm Bolter, his finger was clutching the trigger, and the magazine belt appeared empty. Likely kept firing long after basic cognition had failed. Another Battle Brother, a passenger, had shared the war machine's fate facing the rear ramp as flames claimed him as their own.

 

In a hard chokepoint, I saw the armoured carcasses of two destroyed Heretic tanks. This was the variant named after the Wolf King, repurposed to serve against the Imperium. No doubt they meant to decisevely hold that corridor. Their state however, easily betrayed their hollow final stand. Those enormous and clean gaps in their chassis through which sand flowed boundlessly. The lingering smell of ozone creeping through my suit's filters. It could be mistaken for none other than the Xiphos Lascannon. Clearly the work of the surviving Gladiator, whose armament I could hear discharging in the distance. We followed the path of Astartes fallen, surrounded by valleys of dead Heretics and accompanied by the howls of wind and war.

 

-1 hour & 29 minutes until operational termination-

 

We arrived at the heart of the base, and saw 3 great metal doors. In front of them was arrayed the 3rd company, admitting death to those Heretics that survived or surrendered. The armoured vehicles of the 9th were poised towards those gates, aiming their armaments in denial of any sally. We stood back, and took positions along demolished emplacements. I know, we had not gone unnoticed by the Astartes, merely not registered as threats.

 

Along the main gate, stood a squad of shield-bearing Space Marines around the Tagmatarch. I recalled from the drills on the Battle Barge, that those were the veterans of the 3rd Company, led by their Champion Laskaron. The breaking of the Heretic siege and subsequent linking with the Guard in Eusebia, was their work. They utilised the standard pattern of Primaris power armour, but reinforced with heavier parts to complement their role. A configuration known as the Gravis Variant.

 

Behind them, their brothers fixed explosive charges to all gates. Soon, the gates would falter, and veterans would spearhead the main opening, while the rest of the Chapter pursued the lesser entries. My servo skull came alive, closing the distance. Through their path I could finally witness myself the justification for all our losses. Denetrios moved to stand between two Impulsors overseeing the main gate, his arms crossed in anticipation. I saw him gaze at the sky one last time and then again towards that giant steel door.

 

"Company, engage Portal Rent Protocol, Purge all Chambers"

 

Within seconds, equipment checks, munition tallies and adjustments were all completed. We took cover behind the battlements, and my servo skull came to life, closing the distance to follow the veterans inside. With no warning, a roar swallowed the fort's court. Then another. And a final one. Almost in unison, all three reinforced gates fell, revealing the fort's entrance corridors. When the final one hit the ground, Las fire erupted through the smoke of the blast. The heretics had hoped to drown the breaches in ceaseless inferno. But their hopes had been foreseen.

 

Bone Seeker armour launched devastating volleys in the general direction of the destroyed gates. Within 13 standard seconds, Storm Bolters dictated the chorus of the crossfire, and the suppressed foe appeared to obey their domination.

 

"Our arrival declares their fates, Brothers! go now and deliver them to their gods, for the damned already wail."

 

At the Tagmatarch's word, Battle Brothers surged into the fort. Line marines supported by their fire support brethren stormed the two smaller gates. Impulsors ceased their barrages, and accurate Bolt weapons succeeded them. In the middle, the Bone Seeker veterans assembled into a line that stretched from one side of the corridor to the other. And Laskaron gave an order.

 

"Brothers! Iron Aspis Protocol"

 

Ten shield-bearing Astartes transformed into a singular entity. A wall, emulating the impervious fortress they were storming. In their front stood the Champion Laskaron, leading the formation in his ornate Gravis power armour.

 

The thunder of Bolt Rifles marked the other breaches but in the centre, only the rhythmic stride of coordinated sabatons hailed the coming of the 3rd Company's finest. Before them, an endless corridor of steel, barricades, autogun nests and a legion of tainted souls. The veterans advanced beneath the wrathful rain of a determined defender. Blockade after Blockade was stormed. In each, Astartes would break formation to dismantle its defenders. Power swords slashed and pierced in deliberate, methodical strokes, while storm shields broke bodies as if terraforming a world's surface. Makeshift barricades were run through, yielding their forms to the very chaos they were made to protect.

 

Whenever a Veteran turned to face a foe close to the advance, his brothers were already standing in front of him, shields raised, denying even the sight of carnage to their enemies. So zealous in detail was their formation and so fanatical the Astartes in its execution, that its quality ensured only their will to break it. From the heretics angle, it must have seemed that a bronze and black tide painted the walls with the frailty of their resistance as it swallowed their comrades.

 

They broke all who stood in their wake until those few who remained fled further into the complex. Only the frantic footsteps of the retreating traitors could be heard. The veterans formed a wedge with Laskaron in its head and emerged from the corridor, entering an enormous chamber. Long dead engines of war, their machine spirits in eternal slumber. They rested in heaps of rust and decay as far as the eye could spy. This was the armoury of the base.

 

"Hold, Brothers."

 

That was not the voice of the Champion, but it halted the Veterans with equal weight. Behind the squad emerged Denetrios, who had followed in the path of his Astartes.

 

"It stands within our grasp. Command is yours Laskaron, lead us to our goal"

 

He said, and his subordinate nodded in affirmation. I was not surprised that the Tagmatarch had joined his brothers for the final thrust. After all, the threats looming further into the complex were of a different nature.

 

-1 hour & 12 minutes until operational termination-

 

The Astartes advanced, surrounded by oxidized vehicles. They reached a point close to the middle of the chamber when the noise of the heretic flight abruptly stopped, possibly having reached a fallback line. Then, a loud thud. Laskaron raised his sword, and the formation halted. I knew what it was, and so did he. The sound of a Bolter's fury in the distance. Shortly after, the revving of a chainsword. Again bolters discharged, this time massed. Screams cut in half before sentences could be uttered.

 

Laskaron lowered his powersword sharply, and the Astartes dashed towards the cacophony claiming the chamber. Seconds before they arrived at the sound's source, it stopped. Laskaron immediately slowed the pace, and the rest adjusted. It was just ahead of them, hidden by oxidized armour. As they pressed forward, so did my servo skull. We came upon an opening where machines of war once stood at the edge of the Chamber. Tall munition storage units against the walls upon which I rested my instrument and another great steel door leading further into the complex. Beneath it all, a lake of corpses, those of retreating heretics. Slaughtered by the very forces they meant to serve, and I felt no pity for them. Their fate was poetic. Traitors, betrayed by traitors.

 

"You have come uninvited, Corpse servants"

 

A voice, crippled with taint, proclaimed. Its echo resonated in the concrete of reinforced walls, and the metallic frames of supporting pylons. Heard simultaneously from everywhere in the chamber.

 

"Iron Aspis Protocol, Amphitheater Pattern"

 

Ordered Laskaron as Astartes formed a circle of blades, poised towards all directions. I remember my instruments picking the sound of footsteps, surrounding the Bone Seekers.

 

"On the contrary, apostate."

 

Denetrios said, who stepped out of the formation.

 

"We are invited here by a duty your feeble oaths long abandoned. You spoil that which belongs to the Emperor, and we do not forget our vows as eagerly."

 

The Tagmatarch continued, as he took steps towards the source of his verbal challenger.

 

"I know why you've come, you who trespass the domain of the gods. What we have is not yours. It has not been so for millennia. Yet you presume to challenge us now, far from the light of that enthroned cadaver. I would make you as him, were it not for your gift. The four demand I bestow a different fate upon you".

 

"DEATH AND REBIRTH, SERVITUDE ETERNAL!"

 

In the uttering of the sentence, Daemonic Astartes leapt from shadows and rushed for Denetrios, as Laskaron and the Veterans raced to intervene.

Then, my servo skull's controls numbed. Its sight forcefully turned into the sight of two red eyes. In the next moment, my vision was gone.

 

I recall this moment more vividly than any other in my life. Not my sentiments, but my actions. I can't tell what instinct grabbed me out of cover, threw me straight into that corridor past the main gate. Varnavas cursed me the entire distance, and the Astartes holding the entrances didn't stop us. In fact, it was as if they hadn't noticed us. Their mind was on those gates, and none of Varnavas's pleas to stop me moved them. He and his squad followed me inside, they had no choice after all. I don't regret going inside that base on Dharah IX. I do regret that I didn't think of them. Truth was important then, as it is now but I could have been less zealous in its pursuit.

 

We ran the entire distance, past decimated defenders and demolished barricades, until finally we reached the end of the corridor. It was only then that I stopped to look at them. Those men and women that were to throw their bodies in front of mine. I saw the fear in their eyes engaged in constant war with the duty of their assignment and faith in their ability. But It was too late now, and I would not turn back. We heard the clashing of steel. It came from all over the armoury, the squad already fell into a defensive formation.

 

"Advance."

 

Said Varnavas. That was the last word I ever heard coming out of his mouth.

 

It crashed from behind. Perhaps half of them were gone by the time I turned. A few desperate volleys glanced off its tainted brown armour. Lasguns were incapable of threatening it. It took our limbs with its own, slashed right through bodies with that twisted dagger. It held Varnavas from the head, crushed him slowly. He screamed until he had no more screams left. In his voiceless last moments, I saw in his eyes a pain he wanted to express like nothing else in the world. It lasted seconds, but i saw it for what it was. To Varnavas, his torment and helplessness felt an eternity.

 

Its eyes turned to me. That daemonic gaze, I could feel its familiar intent. I sensed the hatred and joy through its teethed, horned, archaic helmet. It moved slowly towards me, walking amidst the broken bodies of my murdered guards. I fell on my back, and crawled backwards until I hit the metal wall. It was towering over me, meeting my terror with fanatical delight.

 

"I am a true angel, mortal. And have come to arrange your departure to the true gods."

 

In a fiendish, twisted delivery shrouded in exultation. It knew I had not come to terms with my fate. It knew I was ridden with fear and guilt. It relished in my state, and swallowed the fullness of my torment. It raised its dagger to the height of my neck, edge first. My guard met a brutal end, but it would make mine sacrificial, in the company of my dread. I closed my eyes. Sought to find closure in my fate.

 

I could not remember the last time I prayed to the Emperor before my imprisonment. Now I remember my prayers to the last word, at the edge of the dark Astartes blade. I never did believe in miracles. I was numb, but I still felt the dash of air in front of me. Everything I heard had been muffled, but I still heard the sound of steel crushing against steel to my right. It almost broke my prayer, made me think something had changed. But the weight of that presence was still looming over me, watching me. At that moment I finished my prayer. I decided I would meet fate in defiance. I opened my eyes, expecting to meet the red eyes of a browned, hellish head. But the Emperor gave me the purple photolenses of a black helmet, graced with an intricate crown of bones and eyes. I had never before seen it.

 

I was not a being of superstition. But at that moment, however a more rational man would baptize the timely intervention, I would not waste it by lingering on its nature. I stood up, and ran further inside the complex as the fiendish voice screamed, and steel collided with steel behind me.

 

I pushed on, with the weight of the fallen resting on my shoulders, to fulfill my pledge to the Chapter Master and to the Logos. My nerves cleared, as duty as great to that of the Astartes overtook any and all fear. As I approached the locus where my servo skull last probed, I believed that the discord of metal I left behind would soon be replaced by an even more formidable cacophony. Instead, silence adopted that part of the armoury, and the image that greeted me was one I did not fully expect.

 

In a lake of over a dozen dead Space Marines, only three were loyalists. Two veterans were spread out amongst corpses of the damned but it was the figure with power armour more ornate than the rest that drew my attention. I could not mistake its intricacies for any other in the Chapter. That was Laskaron. Kneeling, Impaled by several spears through both his hearts, kept at that position through the tension of armaments against ground.

 

-48 minutes until operational termination-

 

I turned my gaze to that open door, leading away from the armoury and into the innermost parts of the base. With no hesitation, I continued deeper into the complex. I passed the barracks and came across more butchered Daemon Marines. They laid drenched in blood, amongst destroyed beds and troop armament containers. In the locus of their wicked end was another deceased veteran. A casualty of the massed, suicidal suprise attacks the traitors favoured.

 

I pressed on. The base's extent was coming to a limit. No sign of other engagements, but no sight of the Bone Seekers either. I found another corridor, and walked quickly to the automated door at its end. When it opened, I saw a locus I had found myself in before. This facility was deliberately built as a maze, and the traitors used its labyrinthian design extensively. I started mapping the correct route for the innermost hangar, but it was impossible. The more I attempted to make sense of the terrain, the more I was defeated by loyalist deception planning.

 

I began to lose my sanity, when I heard the dreaded but all too familiar sound of conflict. Not so far in the distance, the clashing of blades and the storm of bolters could be heard. In an instant, I rushed towards the source of the noise. I passed previously confusing parts of the base. I emerged in places I was seeing for the first time as I neared the noise's proximity, until finally I came across a small door at the edge of yet another corridor. Behind it the noise was subsiding, but there. I misstrustingly walked towards the end of my path and hailed the door's machine spirit. It opened.

 

-36 minutes until operational termination-

 

I walked out of the door into what appeared to be a control room with a large gridded window made of glass and steel. I moved to each edge, and as I lay my hands upon its surface, I finally saw it. The cause of this mission. Dimmed light filled an enormous hangar through its perpetually opened entrance. It was designed to be impossible to spot without the assistance of Auspex scans, which were in turn rendered useless in Dharah. Sand laid seamlessly on the surface of the entrance's light reflector field, as if it rested on air. Below it all, amidst a decayed fleet of atmospheric aircraft, a void ship just a few hundred meters in diameter stood. It bore no defensive armaments, and none of the ornamentation of the Bone Seeker warships.

 

Around it, the wrath of reclamation was ensuing. I saw a veteran plunge his blade at the chest of a dropped foe. Just steps away, his comrade was hacked to pieces by Chaos Astartes after caving a helmet in with his storm shield. In the middle of it all, I saw an embattled Denetrios in his ornate power armour, its purple cape billowing at every step. With a swing of his power axe he cleaved a traitor in half. Another, stabbed through the neck. Stopped by the spiked tip of the Captain's weapon, who turned just before a heretic landed his strike from the rear.

 

"Brothers! Hold and Perish Protocol!"

 

The Tagmatarch ordered in one rallying breath. Immediately he and the remaining veterans formed a loose circle, as their Daemonic counterparts surrounded them. But the traitors hesitated. It was not out of fear, but out of a displayed control unheard of in the ranks of Chaos warbands.

 

"Boundless, is the realm of the four. Already they chant your names amongst the ranks of the faithful, in the choirs of our dark congregation."

 

The familiar crippled voice exclaimed, as the drop gate of the stolen void ship lowered. A tall, cloaked figure emerged. It cradled a malformed spear on its right hand and a clawed gauntlet encased the left, crackling with empyric power. It descended, flanked on each side by a retinue of personal guards.

 

"Your service to the great deceiver is admirable. It attracted the children of our gods. They yearn to walk the galaxy in your vessels."

 

The cloaked figure continued as it neared the surrounded Bone Seekers, his footsteps bearing the sound of servos and the weight of power armour. Black robes covered most of its enormous silhouette, and they were filled with such twisted, unholy symbols that looking at them made their meaning whispered within my head.

 

"We would burn our Chapter to the ground if even you could taint one within our number."

 

Denetrios retorted, pointing his power weapon at the figure before him.

 

"Oh I know, Brother. Your Chapter Master would not hesitate to burn you all."

 

The power armored figure said, as it reached the Tagmatarch, towering over the 3rd Company's Captain

It lowered its hood, revealing a twisted, daemonic face. He was a visage of the taint an Astartes could reach. Denetrios raised his gaze to that of his Chaos counterpart. He stood defiantly as the tainted entity fed in the perceived hopelessness of the loyalists.

 

"I am Maloth, Dark Herald of the Profane Host and voice of the perfect Four. I am sent to proclaim your sacrifice and consecrate it in their name."

 

In that moment however, I noticed the Tagmatarch's head tilt slightly past his dark adversary and through the entrance to that hangar. Merely for a moment.

 

"Sacrifice is a hymn you would not grasp even if the beings you serve sang it in your ear"

 

Denetrios said, as he straightened his stance and lowered his axe to the ground, stepping closer to the Chaos Astartes meeting the daemonic red eyes with his own.

 

"And would yours be worth their toll if your Corpse Deceiver ever stood from his golden cage? Lap dog, you are the embodiment of this bleeding fabrication you call an Imperium."

 

Maloth responded, as he took the final steps of distance left between them.

 

"We were meant to know when the Emperor willed it. But the fanatics of your ilk never could discern wisdom from folly."

 

The Captain replied calmly, as his voice carried the unmistakable certainty of loyalty. I saw then, curious but visible stains of a waning temper in the Daemonic Astartes, materialise in his mutated face. Perhaps for half a standard second, no more. And then he laughed at the Tagmatarch's face.

 

"Do you not mean our ilk Brother?"

 

He said in a voice carrying delight at the prospective answer. Denetrios clenched his fist and held the fiend's expectant stare, but a response never came. The Tagmatarch remained defiantly silent. He looked past its horned head one last time and then snapped back at it.

 

"The Gods will have you, flayed or bending.

Kneel in reverence, before the galaxy's truest."

 

Maloth said as he opened his lightning claw and malignant energies soared through it. His Dark Astartes seemingly came to life again in anticipation of their master's order.

 

Denetrios took no moments to think of his answer. He simply kept his gaze on the fiend before him, as he delivered his final answer, whose direct wording I shall never dare to forget.

 

"WE KNEEL ONLY FOR OUR DEAD!."

 

At the uttering of the final word, Denetrios raised the spiked tip of his power axe and plunged it at the Daemon Marine's chest. A subsequent blast above us, poured sand from Dharah's raging winds, as the light refractor field faltered. In its wake a deafening concert of bolter fire forced my hands to shut my ears. Traitor Marines rolled to the ground smoking and angels emerged from the heavens. They dropped from the mouth of that hangar ahead of a wave of sand, while others watched over, launching golden volleys at the outnumbering Heretics. They crashed amidst the ranks of the dark Astartes led by a familiar figure, who slew two Chaos marines before the rest even landed. It was the Akritai led by Digenis, bucklers and swords in hand as they challenged their foe's lives in brutal combat. At their brother's sight, the Veterans broke formation and directly rushed Maloth's guards, before they could attack the Captain.

 

Denetrios moved to pull his weapon from the traitor's body. But Maloth's clawed gauntlet held onto it. In a second, Denetrios was hurled, dozens of meters away from the fight, landing on a pile of old crates.

 

"Then you shall be cast down and reshaped in their image. Rejoice, for the Dark Gods have written your service unto eternity!"

 

Maloth grinned, as he threw the power axe at Denetrios, and began approaching the Captain's position. The Tagmatarch stood up, grasped his weapon and advanced towards his adversary. Around them, two divergent worlds clashed for survival. Akritai dodged and parried nimbly, retorting with precise cuts and stabs on the exposed parts of traitoris armour. Chaos Marines responded into tight packed formations, fighting back to back, aiming to protect themselves from the multi-pronged assault. Veterans clashed their armaments upon the weight of Maloth's chosen, silence against sermon.

 

"Only the one I serve is eternal, apostate."

 

Denetrios said as he fixed his stance, and charged at the Daemon Marine. The Tagmatarch crashed at his foe with a fervor matching his tactical brilliance. He slashed and lunged perfectly, as if each strike could be death on its own. He overcame his foe in sheer ability of combat as a kneecap was torn and the flesh beneath it maimed. But it only barely affected the Traitor. The Archenemy's resilience was equal to its unnatural size and otherworldly powers.

 

As the undeterred Denetrios raised his axe to deliver yet another blow, Maloth cleaved through his arm mid swing with the lightning claw. A swift stab, passed the traitor's spear through the Captain's abdomen and a kick flung him like a broken effigy with blood trails marking its trajectory. He landed on the large metal gate that connected the hangar to the rest of the base, crashing with his back against a rusted Imperial Aquila. Maloth began to move swiftly towards the Tagmatarch's position. In that moment, I thought Denetrios to be slain. None could have survived that blow. Yet I saw the black helm lift, and its gaze stuck on his foe. He rose as dust enveloped him, defiant but not whole. I looked over to the Archenemy's position. The axe and the Tagmatarch's arm had remained at the Chaos Champion's grasp.

 

No sooner did I process the sight, that I saw Maloth buckle for the first time under the stress of a blue explosion, spreading upon him, forcing him to drop the severed arm. I turned and saw Mighty Denetrios, walking towards his adversary, discharging blast after blast from his plasma pistol. A total of five, accurate shots, with the last forcing both Maloth's hands to cover his face. In an instant, the Tagmatarch took advantage of his foe's imbalance. A dagger, plunged into its neck, sinking deep into corrupted flesh. For the first time, the Dark Herald seemingly staggered, crushing one knee to the ground.

 

"How ironic apostate, that I would never allow the disgrace of yielding before my Emperor, even as you took me apart."

 

Denetrios said, as he pushed his weight against his opponent's wound.

 

"Yet your faith would bend, even under the smallest blade I could muster."

 

The Captain continued with a voice so unshakable in its resolve that Maloth roared. Not in agony, but infuriation. I felt the scream as if it was a corporeal force. It sent ripples across the hangar, but none of the Astartes, loyalist or traitor heeded its magnitude. As if it had not occurred at all.

 

The Daemonic Astartes raged. He shaked frantically and Denetrios was forced to unplunge his dagger from the tainted neck or risk losing it. The Tagmatarch took a dash back as Maloth stood upright once more, bearing at the Captain with an apocalyptic desire to inflict dark retribution. Denetrios readied himself, dagger in his remaining hand and unrivaled defiance in his mind.

 

Maloth charged him, spear pointing outwards. The Captain dashed past it, stabbing his dagger to Maloth's spear arm in the process, aiming to hold it in place with bladed leverage. But the Dark Astartes twisted ferociously. The Tagmatarch's plunged dagger was deep in his foe's arm, and so it slipped from his hand. Maloth, turned and with the force of his drive, struck him across the face plate with the lightning claw, knocking the Captain down helmetless and barely conscious.

 

"I will mold you into what the gods wanted you to be. You will never know release from service."

 

The fiendish Marine said, as he held the Tagmatarch pinned to the ground with its sabbaton and raised the spear against his exposed head, hungering for the final stroke.

 

-21 minutes until operational termination-

 

The sound of metallic servos was heard. The great door upon which Denetrios was thrown, opened. From its shadows a bronze and black giant emerged, dashing. He slammed at Maloth's ribs with a storm shield's edge, shoving him 17 meters away from the beleaguered Captain, at the edge of the fighting.

 

The one with the white boned crown. The same warrior that severed me from death's grasp at the armoury. I thought of him gone, cut down by innumerable strikes. Seeing him alive, I realised that it wasn't his survival that shocked me, but the absence of his foes. Now, he was the only force standing between the Tagmatarch and the Dark Herald. He looked at his broken brother and then back at the foe that brought him down.

 

The grinding of metal and the screech of splitting steel gripped the room, overtaking the sounds of the surrounding battle, as Maloth's spear and claw thrust to the floors. The Dark Herald's momentum stopped almost as soon as I finished my thought. He raised his head to the veteran, and I noticed a shift in his mannerism, given away by a small but powerful indication not even a corrupted Astartes can hide. Hesitation.

 

"I know why your head bears the white burden. Crowned one"

 

Maloth said, as he masqueraded a confident, almost relaxed stance. He took a few steps towards the Veteran softly, and raised his clawed hand.

 

"That they would throw you against me is no surprise, they have long pitted brother against brother."

 

The traitor continued, as he twisted his extended palm.

 

"I know, because they did the same with me"

 

The Dark Herald said, as he elevated his hand over his daemonic head. The pattern of his horns. They resembled the crown, twistedly mirrored and inverted. Abominated.

 

"But I cast my lot with the Four, cleansed the lies in their realm. The gods bid you join me brother, and they may yet grant you the same exaltation!"

 

But the crowned veteran remained deathly unresponsive, as if he were a vessel for his Chapter's deified silence. He simply intersected his shield vertically and his sword horizontally as he locked eyes with the traitor. At the sight, the Dark Herald smashed his performance, and charged with both his armaments dreadfully outstretched.

 

"Autokrator Anthropotis, martera zelon Astarton su"

 

The veteran proclaimed, seemingly unmoved as the attack stood inches from landing. A spear's thrust and a claw's slash were stopped. Maloth pushed, but his armaments were held firmly at the intersection of powersword and storm shield. It was a stance as martial as it was ritual. The crowned Astartes had spoken in a tone with the calmness and authority of the throneroom yet reacted with the weight of immeasurable, controlled fervor. His quote was ancient Trapezan. Its exact translation escapes me, but its intended meaning is clear.

 

'Emperor of Mankind, witness the zeal of your Astartes.'

 

Maloth held onto the clinch and stressed his Warp gifted strength to the edge, but in each tainted push, he was met with equal zeal from his crowned adversary. When he realised that he could not break the cohesion in the Veteran's rigid stance, the Dark Herald stepped his right foot back. The change in battle space was followed with a swift pull of his arm, freeing his jagged spear from the powersword's lock. Then, a total disengagement from the clinch was followed by a thrust of the traitor's spear. Its tip found a mark, directly through the veteran's unarmoured inner elbow. It spilled loyalist blood and forced the Veteran's sword hand down. It claimed blood, but no scream or even a grunt. The Crown Bearer remained silent. Instead the Chaos Marine was forced to rear, dodging a shield slamming retort at the last second. He moved back from the Veteran further, content with the scarring he had dealt.

 

"You are as frail as the creed you follow Bone Seeker! The gods cannot be controlled!"

 

Maloth said, as he pointed his spear against the Emperor's servant. His jabs fell into uncaring ears. The Bearer of the Crown ignored him, and took a step forward. He took another, gaining speed with a wide stride. The Dark Herald, noticing the Veteran's growing momentum, promptly stood his ground. As the loyalist entered his range, he launched a thrust against his attacker's head at the moment before collision, hoping to catch him off balance. It was expected. The Crown Bearer's stance changed almost as soon as the first muscle of the traitor's arm twitched. His footwork tightened and his storm shield thrust rim first, forcing the spear to glance over its surface, replacing material with a clear, carved path. Maloth roared, seemingly out of a mere miss on his behalf. It took the Veteran's fast rechamber and the blood splatter that followed it, for me to understand the real nature of their deadly exchange. A thrust, hidden under the deflection, had struck the Dark Herald between the chestplate and the pauldron in absolute precision. It bore the accompanying pressure of frontal wide steps that pushed the powersword's point deep, stopping only against the metallic ring of Maloth's backplate.

 

"Fool! They branded you in fear!"

 

Maloth spewed as his screams ended. He surged with taunts and strikes onto Veteran, but the crowned warrior remained silent. The loyalist allowed only his battle form to speak on his behalf, as the Dark Herald's spear thrusts and claw slashes slowed, and their accuracy waned.

 

"Your own brothers would slay you, throw you to the gutter at the sight of failure!"

 

The Chaos Astartes continued, aiming to draw the crown's meaning against its bearer. But again, to no avail. Whatever weight was placed on the brother's head along with that bone white visage had no sway over him. I saw the craze on Maloth's eyes, he would end this fight here and now. As their armaments met again, Maloth took a side step to the right of the veteran's storm shield and kicked it as it turned to face him. The force shoved the loyalist several meters away, and sabbatons screeched against the metallic floor until the Space Marine halted the push. The Dark Herald looked upon his adversary, standing perfectly still, but upright, devoid of any battle stance. He analyzed for a moment, and then mustered all of his corrupted essence. With both armaments poised forth, he dashed, and hurled himself at the Veteran.

 

He closed the distance in unspeakable speed and thrust his spear from above, aiming at the center of that crowned helmet. It should have impaled the loyalist's head. Instead, it only took part of the faceplate and dug itself at the gap between the gorget and the pauldron. The Veteran had shifted his posture at the last moment. Where that strike would end the fight, it was now a liability. The Dark Herald seethed in anger, as his lightning claw came bearing down to finish what his spear had started. It sliced the air like the great rift carved the galaxy. And it shattered. The storm shield, bearing the bones and eye, met the attack mid-way. It had split through the plunged spear and now its rim struck between the talons. It drove through the Heretic's gauntlet, rupturing the entire arm until it stopped below the elbow. Maloth roared in pain, but for a moment. Screams were relieved by the sound of pierced meat. The crowned warrior had driven his sword through the traitor's mouth.

 

The Dark Herald was for the first time silent, like his deliverer. He only twitched, and cracked. His body deformed rapidly as his gods' malignant power abandoned him from the very entry of the loyalist blade. The veteran removed his blade, allowing the corpse to collapse upon the floor. He sheathed his sword, and adjusted his shield further up the arm. Two hands picked up the Dark Herald from the head, and each inserted a thumb within its eye sockets. Black blood poured.

 

Αt the sight of Maloth's demise, most of the corrupted Astartes turned to flight. They dashed towards any available exit they could find. Almost simultaneously those doors opened. From them, purple eyed Bone Seekers emerged. Instead of finding salvation, the traitors were presented with inevitability.

 

Their bodies became the apotheosis of a self-fullfilling prophecy. It was conceived long before the orbit of Dharah, made flesh on the bloodied spine of sanded crevices and fulfilled itself here. There, atop a Dark Herald's mangled corpse, by that unflinching ivory crown, surrounded by the traitorous dead lying through the dismantled wake of a metallic behemoth.

 

-12 minutes until operational termination-

 

"Descend Historitor"

 

A voice called to me through vox. It was Denetrios. I turned my gaze towards the place I left his broken body at, only to find him standing, watching me through the protective glass of the control room. He turned and walked directly towards the prize of this operation. I made all haste towards the hangar, passed through Bone Seeker and Profane Hoster alike, as the former regrouped, and the latter was ritually blinded. I reached the very drop gate from which Maloth had emerged. I entered the ship, and found the Tagmatarch, along with Digenis and the Crowned Veteran, all looking at me.

 

They pressed further inside the ship and I followed suit. We found the hallowed bodies of dead Foederari crewmen and women. My brief examinations all pointed to the same thing. Frontal wounds and armaments still in hand. They faced an enemy they could not even scar, and yet none of them ran. We marched softly, so as to not disturb their sacrifice. At the middle of the ship, we came upon an enormous metallic door, bearing the Bone Seeker Chapter Badge. Before it lay two dead Battle Brothers, clad in ornate power armour, armed with tall poweraxes. These were members of the Sepulchar Guard, the personal guards of the Chapter Master. For them to be here, guarding a door in an unmarked voidcraft, I can see that Paleon's words were not hollow.

 

Denetrios stood against the door's lock, and whispered something through his helmet's broken faceguard. The door snapped, as if it listened and agreed. Steam erupted from it, and metallic servos forced it open. A dark Chamber towards which the Bone Seekers walked inside. Step by step, light after light came to life, their pace imitating our own, until our approach hit its goal. A tall, bronze, oval shaped structure. A black spine ran along its height, with her ribs embracing it. Two magnificent black bones protruding from the back, casting a shadow over us all. At the tallest point, near the spine's edge, was again the purple eye that complemented the imagery of the Bone Seeker Badge. The entire thing appeared intact. It bore no marks of forced entry. As though the Archenemy had stolen it by accident.

 

"Brothers"

 

Said Denetrios, and all three of them kneeled one by one, with their weapons facing against the ornate chamber floor. First him, then the crown bearer and finally Digenis.

 

"Do not"

 

The voice of the Captain again. It caught me mid action, and only then I understood that I too would kneel, if not for the Tagmatarch's order. It stood me up immediately, as if my duty was only to witness, and record. Not venerate. They remained silent for a mere few seconds.

 

"I am Truth's steadfast core"

 

Said Denetrios, breaking the silence with terrifying certainty.

 

"I am her terrible instrument"

 

Said the Crown Bearer, whose voice carried an almost dispassionate passion.

 

"I am her vigilant gaze"

 

Said Digenis, with a conviction as pure as the Throne.

 

A crack came from the great tomb in front of us and the metallic structure stirred. Its magnificent doors opened, revealing its sacred contents. A giant, anthropomorphous machine bathed in the Bone Seeker Chapter Markings. Ancient, both in tech and regalia. It was armoured, a war machine. Its right hand had a contraption that seemed to be able to spew flame, while its left resembled a giant gauntlet with sharp mechanical fingers. The helmet had no visor, instead it bore a single eye, right between where the eyes would be.

It appeared dormant, lifeless or asleep and yet somehow, when the contraption it was housed in came to a silent stand still, I sensed it clearly. The unmistakable pulse of a heartbeat.

 

"Afipnise Archaios"

 

Denetrios Exclaimed.

 

"Awaken, Ancient one"

 

A sound came from the great machine. I had heard it so many times. A breath. An attempt to seize air in one's lungs. It felt instinctive, yet empty. As if there was no air to be taken, nor lungs to be filled.

 

"I welcome you, young one… even as you wake me without proper reason."

 

A gutteral, mechanical voice came from the motionless giant.

 

"Forgive us Ancient One, protocol bids we assess your state. Your vessel was taken by the Archenemy, we feared.."

 

"You feared taint could have made its way past these bolts and ceramite. Worry not young Seeker. Taint did not find its way to me when it took my Legion, and that was its best chance."

 

The giant retorted, interrupting Denetrios.

 

"What of your companion? Has our sovereign returned then? That we have the luxury to show ourselves truly before anyone?"

 

He continued, casting an unseen gaze over me that felt like a cloud against a candle.

 

"Not nearly Ancient One, but this one is trusted."

 

Denetrios answered firmly, I almost felt him at my side.

 

"Ostos changed the Chapter then. Hope, Young Brother, that he is right. If not, wake me for my last battle. Now go, nothing more to be gained by lingering in the past."

 

"Rest, Bone Seeker. We stand until then"

 

Said the Tagmatarch, as a vocal order stirred the doors of the Sarcophagus once more and the bronze giant returned to the slumber we had awoken him from. With it, came a question. How would I record all of this? As a Historitor? as a person? a mortal? a servant of the Emperor? I was all those things, but at the time I could not discern which mattered more to the Chapter Master. In the end I arrived at the only logical conclusion I could. I was simply a witness, and recorded as such.

 

Denetrios Voxxed command, and mere moments later, loud footsteps engulfed the ship. Confederates boarded the vessel, taking command and checking for any survivors. As we began ascending, I looked out of a viewport, witnessing the speed at which the 3rd Company's assets were being ferried back into the formation. Swarms of mortal recovery crews lead by Techmarines and Apothecaries seizing everything they could find within minutes.

 

Bone Seeker dead, their blood spilled on the Corridors and outskirts of the bastion, the armoured steeds of the Chapter, still smoking with the smell of ozone, Small bolt casings spent by the Akritai in the dusted Heights. Nothing is invaluable in this war.

 

"Operational Termination."

 

The unmistakable voice of the Chapter Master, declaring an end to our mission.